Homage to Kingsley Drive

Growing up in an Armenian household, the first language I ever learned to speak and communicate in was Armenian. Before having the ability to comprehend the concepts of nationality or geography, the only world that existed in my small understanding of reality was the world which was spent during my adolescence. Having been raised in Little Armenia (a community within East Hollywood), my grandparents’ apartment complex was a melting pot of immigrants from an amalgamation of various countries. This apartment building served as the blank canvas for what would ultimately become the artwork representing my identity.

Looking back at the 17 years that were spent in this multicultural enclave in the heart of Hollywood, one can confidently say that the perfect metaphorical categorization of that experience could simply be labeled as living inside a miniature United Nations summit. Though an overwhelming demographic of the building’s resident population consisted of immigrants from Armenia, there were also tenants from France, Nigeria, Romania, Germany, Mexico and Greece. And since Hollywood (like much of Los Angeles) is a city of transplants and frequent visitors, nothing in my life (besides family and close friends) was permanent. It would become apparent from a very young age that many of my fondest memories and relationships over the years were oftentimes temporary and cut short—a grim but common reality entailed in the Hollywood lifestyle.