Los Angeles in springtime is a celebration, no less so because we have such subtle
changes of season. As a child I remember being struck by the changing quality of
the light, the fireball that was summer with its golden rays giving way to a saffron-hued
autumn. I watched the light water down to straw yellow, then lose color all together in
winter’s chill. But spring light always struck me as hopeful. The teasing marigold yellow
that smacked of the long days of summer to come.