visionvision
ORACLE OF THE





Fluxion

Fluxion
HOLLYWOOD HILLS

issue issue
44
During an interview shortly before her death in December 2007, Laura Huxley offered
a visionary perspective on the sources of human suffering, as well as the possibility
of liberation, in a way that intimately relates to the violence and consumerist excesses
of the current era. Her timely and timeless words should be a guide for any political
movement that wants to hitch its promises to the idea of change.
By Nick Street photographs by Mark C. Harvey
The chain from a dog leash keeps the spindly wrought-iron the brilliantly sunlit living room. Several large blue yoga balls
gate in front of Laura Huxley’s house from swinging open. laze like otherworldly housecats on the pristine white shag.
Several dozen bumper stickers—Carter for President, Make “We can sit here,” Laura says as she gestures to a pair
Love Not Bombs—plaster the hind quarters of an ancient of sleek chairs that bring to mind Barbarella and Logan’s
Volvo station wagon gathering dust in the carport. Spectac- Run. “Or we can sit on the floor, which I prefer.”
ular, unchecked pink and white oleander overarches a stone The two of us settle into cross-legged poses, and I
path that leads to the front door of her ‘20s hacienda on a notice a massive olive tree on the other side of the French
quiet stretch of Mulholland. doors that separate the airy living room from a small
I’m surprised when Laura gives me a firm, warm hug courtyard and the chaparral-covered hills of Griffith Park
after she opens the door to greet me. We’ve never met. beyond it.
Her literary agent—a good friend of mine—made the “That was planted by the Spanish,” Laura replies when I
arrangements for our conversation. But aside from the un- ask about the venerable tree. “Deer wander in from the Park
expected emotional intimacy, I’m not sure how to negoti- at night and sleep beneath it.”
ate the physical aspects of my first encounter with Laura. Laura’s voice is soft but deep. Her speech is subtly
At first glance she looks frail: She’s wiry (but stands very accented—a hint at her Italian roots. A violin prodigy, she
erect), a cottony nimbus of white hair frames her head, and made her first trip to the States as a teenager to perform at
her gaze is inexact—a consequence of macular degenera- Carnegie Hall.
tion. Laura is 92. “I was a small girl, and my father was very protective,”
As I follow her into the foyer of the house she shared Laura says. “He told me I could only accept the invitation to
with her husband Aldous (who died in 1963) and begin to perform in New York if I gained 10 pounds. People say that
take in my surroundings, my thought-grid shifts a bit, and practice is the only thing that will get you to Carnegie Hall. For
Laura’s unexpected vitality begins to make some sense. From me, it was practice and chocolate.”
the foyer—where a life-size acupressure chart, a brooding A chalkboard easel in the living room displays a child’s
portrait of Aldous, and a textured topographical map of the drawing of a flower. Laura’s account of her relationship with her
Western U.S. take up most of the wall space—I turn toward great-granddaughter—the artist whose work is on display—
115