When I was in Los Angeles for the very first time, I was already 25 years old, and the only reason I never set foot there is because it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be missing something. The lure of beautiful hotels was something that my rich and pretty friends would chase after, but I couldn’t think about these things. I was a dedicated installation artist, and the world was my canvas, and film of any kind was a spit in the face of all that was good in the world. Installation was everything, it was my definition of the world, and my definition was everything. I didn’t know that was a Hollywood sentiment until it was too late to be pure.

For a long time, though, that’s how I saw it. It was something I’d decided before I could really think it through, and I said it enough so that I felt tied to it. Even though I was working in some circles where friends were making movies, I would always condescend to them and tolerate their company. They might think film wasn’t dead, I would think, and someday they’ll understand. Eventually, drawn by the idea of making something I could save for when I turned forty, and didn’t want to do this anymore, I went to Hollywood to give in. Of course, the giving was one-sided, they didn’t really care about the gift.

But I did get to see some people I’d always thought about. John Cusack was interesting enough, and could probably be convinced to be in one of my installations, or might donate money from his charity. Or there was also Miranda July , whose films crossed over from the gallery/performance art realm into indie cinema. These were people I would hang out with in L.A., I thought, and for me, seeing someone at a video store or in a car driving by counts as hanging out. Being able to stretch your definitions to fit your reality is very important in this town.

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