KATIE & JEFF

Today I talked to Katie and Jeff.

I'm walking past the Hollywood Museum when a girl standing next to a camera shouts in my direction: "Could we take a picture of you?" - "Well, yes. What is that for?" I ask. "It's for Travel and Leisure," she answers. I agree and strike a few awkward pauses. It's pretty ironic to find myself pausing for someone while I'm actually looking for a person to photograph. Katie is a freelance photographer and her assistant - who is also her boyfriend - is Jeff. She is a direct, daring girl who doesn't seem afraid of approaching people spontaneously. Katie and Jeff are 27 and 26 years old. They met at the California Institute of the Arts where they were both studying photography. Today, they are making pictures to go with an article that will come out in Travel and Leisure's September issue. I ask them if I could follow them around while they work. They agree and we enter the Hollywood Museum together.

In the entrance hall, a large shiny chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. A faded rumba stresses the obsolete style of the place. I notice a sickly but discreet old cooking oil smell. Through a door ajar, I see Mel's Drive-In, the restaurant next door. At the ticket desk a perfectly groomed lady welcomes the tourists one by one. She wears a fitted pink skirt and a white flowery blouse. Her hair is tied in a tight chignon and her makeup - ruby lips and white skin - looks perfect.

The Hollywood Museum is the authentic Max Factor building where all the major actresses would come to buy their beauty products about a hundred years ago. Katie, Jeff and I enter the make-up rooms. The light blue room is "For Blondes only", the currant and beige "For Brunettes only", and the pink one "For Brownettes only". "This room will shoot better," says Katie while she peeks into the pink room. Jeff helps her set the camera in a good place. This room looks like a giant candy: the walls, carpet and ceiling are pink. An original poster of Judy Garland stands next to a dressing table covered with powders, lipsticks, and makeup accessories. Everything seems left in place by an actress who just left. Jeff measures the light and gives Katie the value. She starts to shoot. They work quietly together, exchanging only a word from time to time. In the blue room, the final scene of "Gentlemen prefer Blondes" plays on a TV. June 1st would have been Marilyn Monroe's 84th birthday. At that date, the museum opened the largest temporary exhibition in the world called "Marilyn Remembered". Private collectors and museums sent all kind of objects related to Marilyn: a fridge, personal photos, dresses, a pill bottle, a fox fur, and many more.

"I'd like to shoot Hannibal Lecter's cell," says Katie. In the stairs to the basement, we hear a creepy music and the light grows dimmer at every step we make. The basement is a mix between a shabby prison and a haunted house. The light is so low that I can hardly see the red brick walls. There are portraits of vampires and headless women here and there. Katie adjusts the height of the tripod and chooses a long time of exposure to shoot the cell. "There's somebody lying there," says Jeff. A body wrapped in a white linen lies in a dark corner right behind us. It makes me slightly jump.

The shoot is over. In less than a minute, Katie and Jeff pack their material. We come back to the bright light on the street. A family of red-face tourists wearing identical t-shirts passes by. "Could I take a picture of you?" Katie asks. "No, I've had my picture taken too much these days. We just came back from a cruise," says the father, and he goes off his way. Katie, Jeff and I split on a friendly note. They have more pictures to make and head towards another group of people. I go the opposite way and let myself slowly disappear into the crowded street.

DAVID

Today I talked to David

This is the end of the afternoon. The streets are cooling down after a hot day, and the sun is slowly turning orange. I push the door of the Golden Bridge Yoga center. An electric Indian music fills up the almost empty space. I walk through the library-restaurant where two girls are eating pastries and talking over scented tea. On the other side of the shop, I see a spacious yoga studio. It is empty too, except for a man meditating on a mat. I pick up a book - Krishnamurti to Himself: His Last Journal - and read the back cover. A young man appears from behind a curtain. His blond curly hair is covered with a cloth. He wears thin metal-framed glasses, a long red apron, and red Adidas sneakers. We share a few words about my camera and I show him a picture I just took in the street. A woman passes by. We suspend our conversation. After a pause, he asks: "Hey, you want to take a picture of this?" He opens up a thick curtain that reveals a narrow kitchen. He enters and I follow him inside. "I'm making cinnamon rolls," he adds. I see flour spread on the table and dough in a metallic bowl.

His name is David. He works here as the assistant to the pastry chef and teaches yoga when he can. He loves to cook because it makes him feel more grounded. He tells me that he is aware that his thoughts are transmitted to the food while he is cooking. I notice a man sitting next to the curtain and wonder if he is listening to our conversation, but he seems mesmerized by his book. David grabs a rolling pin, removes the flour stuck on it, and rolls out the dough. I ask him how he got here. "A year ago I began to meditate and focus constantly my attention on working here. I wanted to cook vegan food and practice yoga at the same time. And it worked! I've been working here since December," he says with a sparkle in this smile. David's movements are harmonious and composed. He delicately spreads the cinnamon mixture all over the dough with a spatula and rolls up the dough into a long baguette. At that moment, a blond girl pops her head through the curtain and stares at us for a short moment. "Hi," says David. "Oh sorry," utters the girl. Her head disappears.

Initially David is from Portland, Maine. He was making sandwiches, working as a dishwasher seven days a week, and partying a lot when he realized his life needed a change. He began practicing yoga three to four hours a day. Then, he went to Esalen in Big Sur, California. In this center, people can learn and practice different spiritual arts, techniques, and therapies. David studied Kundalini yoga, meditation, shamanism and some martial arts during one year. "I miss my friends from Portland but that life wasn't healthy for me anymore," he says. He cuts the long roll into slices and creates a ball with each piece. Then he puts the balls on a translucent paper and starts all over again with a new piece of dough.

"As humans we have to evolve because initially we're hunters. When I meditate I feel part of the infinite, the ocean. I feel one. When you experience this, it makes you feel so small and humble. It changes you. Even if you experience it only once," he says. "I think this is why people do drugs. That's a way to experience the infinite. I tried this too. It worked a few times but it's not sustainable," he adds with a smile. Then he wipes his hands on his apron and turns towards me. "Today, I feel really blessed."