There is no place quite like Hollywood.

Story and Photography by: Greg Clarke
continued pg.3

It was dark, but I felt compelled to continue shooting. Photography has a way of pulling me into the moment. It allows me to connect not just with my surroundings, but also with my own deeper emotions and intuition. I scanned the LA Weekly for inspiration and headed to the Knitting Factory on Hollywood blvd. A number of bands were playing that night, so I figured one of them might provide a good photo op. The first one was a bit mellow, nothing too exciting. I was hoping to see some high energy, mosh pit craziness. ‘Wait till the next band,’ said Meatball, a tall, lanky kid with the side of his head shaved. ‘They’re gonna blow this place up.’ ‘Awesome ! Are they well known?’ I asked. ‘Don’t think so, I found ‘em on the Internet. Authority Zero they’re called,’ he replied.

As soon as the band started their set, the energy of the place shot up. The singer got right into it, jumping around, running up to the audience, raging his lyrics, the mic in his hand. The crowd went into a frenzy. Random people, even hot girls, were stage-diving into the crowd. A huge mosh pit formed on the dance floor and I got right in the mix of it, trying not to get trampled in the process. I learned to duck and shoot as bodies were flying above me. The thing is I don’t like being on the sidelines.

I grabbed Meatball afterwards: ‘Damn, where’s the next show?’ ‘Yeah, that was good, hey,’ he yelled, sweat pouring off his forehead. Well, my camera and I made it out, exhilarated, and in one piece. I reluctantly put the camera away, no more power. I had gone through three batteries that day, a first.

One AM and not ready to go home yet, I wandered down the boulevard, and ran into a couple of paparazzis. They turned out to be rather nice guys, just doing their strange job of stalking celebrities. They showed me pictures taken earlier that night of Stevie Wonder, Jackie Chan, Tara Reed and others. Their tactics were worthy of the FBI. There were five of them total, staking out this exclusive nightclub, linked together by radios and covering every exit. Still they got nothing during the hour I hung out with them. They did have entertainment though. Random girls would run up to them and say: ‘Oh my God, are you guys paparazzis? Here, take our picture!’ as they posed provocatively. Yes this was Hollywood, where if you’re not a star, you’re hoping to become one.

It was time to call it. On my way home, I meditated on my day, my head buzzing with images and experiences. Having a camera in my hand always makes me happy, and on a day like today, well... it was bliss.

models pg.1  > musician pg. 2