I know it’s not smart, real-estate-wise, to get attached to space. It’s just space.
But I can’t help it. Space is where things happen.
About this time 9 years ago, Ken and I, fresh up from California, signed our lives away to get into a non-descript office/warehouse in what is called the East Bay area of Provo. Lots of trees and grass and water features. But best of all, less than 15 minutes from home. After spending the previous few years living about 1-2 hours from the office, the idea of living so close to an office that you could barely make a dent in a book on tape really appealed.
The warehouse seemed cavernous. Yet at the same time, we knew it would be snug. After filming the first two Liken movies on the soundstage at the old KJZZ studio near the airport in SLC, we figured out that if we planned carefully, we could perhaps make this space feel just as big.
Over the next few years, that space became the Valley of Elah, where David slew Goliath; King Noah’s court, where Abinadi threw it down before the king and his bad cats; King Ahasuerus’ palace, where Esther sang the king off his feet; a lowly stable in Bethlehem, where it all began; a den filled with some hungry, vegetarian lions; and the walls of the city of Zarahemla, where the Nephite Archery Corps couldn’t touch Samuel.
Just writing that last paragraph brought a flood of good memories. Some good-hearted, ridiculously talented folk made their way through that space, and that’s where our paths connected, in that lyrically addressed building, 512 E. 1860 South (Utah’s addressing system is rather utilitarian). If you were one of those people who came through those doors and spent with us a period of time, long or short, I just want to say thanks.
Now we’re off to a new space. Downtown Provo. A space that reminds me a lot of some of our stomping grounds in Old Pasadena. It’ll add 5 minutes to my commute, but I’m up for it. Time for a reinvigoration. Looking forward to seeing what new batch of memories the space will bring.
So last night, I finished packing up the last box of my office stuff, grabbed my backpack and the large picture of my lovely women, turned off the AC, punched in the alarm code, locked the door behind me, walked out to my car, and took one last look back.
So long, 512. You sure are not much to look at. But in terms of memories, they don’t come any finer than you.