The place I work is in a little backwater of Burbank. In addition to the usual array of post-production facilities like us, in the nearest few blocks there are also a custom motorcycle shop, a place that trains security guards for celebrities, A guy that restores old Toyota Land Cruisers, German Shepherd rescue, and a small factory that makes those orange cones for highways. That is not my favorite part of the neighborhood, though.
My favorite part is a small, nondescript space with no sign. When the roll-up door is closed, it looks like a rental garage space. The weather here means that the best way to get ventilation and light means you arrange it so you can roll up one entire wall and get to work. When the wall is open, it reveals a workshop with shelves full of custom plastic busts. In the middle is a table on which artisans work on creating complicated monster make-up, using all kinds of clay and paint and foam and plastics.
There are usually two or three intent, paint-spattered peeps in there when I pass it on my way home. They are creating scarily gorgeous faces which actors will then bring to life. I drive by and I catch a glimpse of someone carefully applying drops of blood or spraying just the right shade of green on an alien head.
Yeah, I like it here.