Gil Garcetti’s photography show, “Dance in Cuba,” closed Sunday. It was at the UCLA Fowler Museum, a place I had never been, a place I found myself sprinting across catalog-perfect college grass to reach as I raced to hear Gil’s last talk.

The photos, and the corresponding book, were a product of the trips he had taken over four years to Cuba, something he managed to do legally. How on earth he managed to do that I have no idea, but as the former DA of LA, Gil can be very persuasive. Dance in Cuba is government sponsored, so just about every Cuban has had some exposure to dance in their lives. All kinds of dance flourishes in Cuba: classical ballet, Flamenco, contemporary, Afro and Haitian-Cuban and some forms that seem to defy classification.

Gil, with his shock of silver hair, stood before each of his black and white photos and narrated the personal history of the subject. Inevitably, he would describe the colors we could not see – the brilliant blue of a woman’s tights set off by her yellow tutu, or the undulating waves of blue and green on a dancer’s skirt meant to represent the ocean as she spun around. So why photograph in black and white? Because he wanted us to see the shape of the dancers’ bodies, the feeling in their hands, the worn tips of the toe shoes, details that would be lost if our eyes were busy sorting out the colors of the costumes and settings.

And as I was looking at the blurred hands of the celluloid dancers behind him, I was trying to remember the first time I saw Gil. It must’ve been on TV, sometime in the summer of ’94, sometime after a white Bronco stopped traffic on the 405 one afternoon in June. He became one of the first people I knew when I moved here; I didn’t know him personally, but I certainly saw more of him than I did anyone else for a few weeks. His face was a constant presence on the news here, as OJ was arrested, arraigned, tried, and ultimately found, under Gil’s watch, not guilty. After that “Trial of the Century,” Gil was reelected, but a few years later in 1999, the Rampart police corruption scandal erupted and took down just about every politician in the city.

Gil went to Cuba soon thereafter, as a tourist, but ready for a bigger change. “It was time to do something different,” he says. He had been a photographer for some 40-odd years, longer than his 32-year career in the District Attorney’s office, but had never devoted himself to a darkroom full-time. In this second act of his life, he’s gone from prosecuting felons to capturing spirits:

“What made the subject matter of dance in Cuba stand out for me was more than just the dances or the dancers themselves. Cuba is a poor country. Everyday life is a struggle. Yet so many people find time to dance or to watch dance. As Cubans dance, they are living in the moment. Their energy, their enjoyment, their dance facility is all evident. One can actually feel the spirit of the Cuban people through their dance… Each dancer seems to forget about life’s challenges. The dancer releases his body to a deep, innate need.”

Prosecutor turned photographer. Gil is one of many people who have had remarkable second acts. Pro-wrestler turned Governor. Carpenter turned Actor. Mom turned Real Estate Mogul.

Lives can, I imagine, be dissected into multiple acts. We change careers. We get married, divorced. Have children. But does a second act like Gil’s speak to a more fundamental shift in identity? Or is it the time and financial ability to completely devote one’s self to one’s passion? Gil’s focus seems to have seismically shifted from bureaucratic dotted-i’s and crossed-t’s to a deeper exploration of the spirit, a shift supported by a state-funded pension. A shift that is perhaps only possible because of the pension. Some first acts are the downpayment on a second act life.

How inspiring to know that second acts are possible, that after we leave our tenured positions or after we age out of our jobs or after we are downsized, we can re-create ourselves. We can re-write our selves.

I sit at my desk, watching painters cover the red and brown deco flowers on the building across the street with a dull cement color and wonder what the next act will bring.