Welcome to V. Norton Sedona Artist

I lived in Venice, CA, during the seventies and early eighties. It was a poor community with personality, a home to artists, junkies, street people, communists, beach bums, unemployed actors, older death camp survivors, and many others who were black, white, and brown. It was about living near the ocean for those who weren't rich and didn't care. My house was on the speedway, the street that ran right behind the beachfront. There were still parking lots on the ocean front view lots. The area was kind of scary, due to crime, so affluent people stayed away. However, that did not last. Soon, the developers moved in.
 

I guess that is when I really started my social activism, or my fight for equal rights. Perhaps that could also be called civil rights, since it was about fighting for those who were being held outside of social equality.
 

An announcement that a large condo development was going to be built on the parking lot in front of my house started it all. Venice is unique, in that some of the streets were actually walkways, where cars were not permitted. Our walkway, Breeze Avenue, had families living to the east, and the singles and transients livitopng at my end of the street, near the ocean. I did not know many people, aside from my immediate neighbors, but that was soon to change. 

People started talking, as they are inclined to do: "What do you hear about this building coming in? Can anyone afford to live there? Will they acknowledge the unique character of Venice? What about the poor, the minorities, the elderly?" The drums were sounding. I know it made me angry that outsiders could come into my community with nary a thought of the humans they impacted. If my ocean view was going away, then I wanted it to mean something. This seemed like the first of the dominoes to fall. Could we stop it? Were "we the people" enough to have an impact?
 

The neighborhood came together. We named ourselves BANA, Breeze Avenue Neighborhood Association. At first, it was just people on my street. Then the movement grew to include other local organizations. There were professors, lawyers, artists, communist activists, all of whom were highly vocal and articulate. We united every age, color, and ethnicity in a common fight. We opposed this growth, which did not consider the humans who had lived there before and who could not afford these fancy condos they were proposing. We wrote the Los Angeles City council. We presented our demand that, if a building went in, then it must have some affordable housing—at the very least some units for the elderly. 

I remember how scared I was before speaking in front of the Los Angeles City Council. They were the force who would make the decision about whether this building would include low cost, affordable housing as part of it being passed. Or not passed. I had to stand up in front of a group of middle-aged white men who regarded me with active disinterest as I poured out my guts and soul. All of us wrote letters, made posters, marched, and penned published articles. 

As in all communal efforts, there were some sweet sides to this newly impassioned fight against what I still believe was a social injustice. I got to know my neighbors. I felt I was part of a greater tribe than ever before... and we had some good parties. I realized just how important the ideal of social justice for everyone was for me. But I also remember the end result. The builder put up a high rise, and, in the end, there was not one single unit designated as low cost or for the elderly. It seemed that capitalism did not have a willingness to consider the human factor. 

I left Venice not long after that ending. That wasn't the only reason. I was no longer a city person. I would find a small town, where politics was not the focus. It was time to be an artist and to no longer worry about politics, ever again. So, I moved to Sedona, Arizona.