Coyoacan, Mexico City,
Another day working with Rafael, the sign painter. I am going to spend 5 days a week there for the first month. He was painting a sign on vinyl for a bank promotion. I helped fill in the letters with the second coat of paint. Then we moved on to the computer work, where he wanted two things. One was to print out logos, which would then be printed to acetates and projected on to the vinyl where they would be drawn and then painted. The other work was to produce a couple of vinyl letter outputs to be mounted onto a plaque of some kind. The cutter/plotter doesn't cut so well, but I think it's because the blade is out of alignment.
Yesterday, met up with Isabelle, her guy Francis, and Richard M, who's living here. Richard has a show opening next week with Mindy and Barb and someone else who I don't know...
We walked around the market near the Ninos Heroes park, and then went to the Ruffino Tamayo museum to see jodi.org, some contemporary Chinese and Indian art.
The middle class of China is 100 million people. That's about the population of Mexico altogether.
I really liked the installation of bars of soap for some reason... 30 bars of soap arranged on a big grey plinth. There were a bunch of video works as well. Seems to be mostly about displacement and just trying to imagine the world while being displaced by it.
Reading Collapse, by Jared Diamond. Seems to fit my frame of thinking about the world. How to imagine a better world. This is the challenge.
(from black journal)
Well, working with Rafael is not exactly working out. He is too busy with his business. It is not turning out to be too interesting for me . I am not particularly interested in being his assistant.
It is good to try to draw again. I need to get some prints made maybe of some older works. India prints. Mexico prints.
Nancy R. is very sick. Probably with ovarian cancer. Karen is finding it very hard, but is hanging in there. She seems to have found a way to separate her fears of loss from what's happening with Nancy. This morning I learned that during the last operation they removed ovaries, uterus, fallopian tubes, everything. .. As Karen says, instant menopause.
Antonio's thinking is hilarious. I want to find/make signs like the no alcohol sign in the park in India.
It is raining today, very Vancouver weather. 18? or so. Yesterday was grey too. So not like the Mexico one imagines.
Yesterday didn't do too much, I went to the rotulo painter and said that I had much to do, however, and said that next Tuesday, I might be able to come, if he is less busy. Then I went into the zona rosa, where I did nothing except have a bite to eat at Sanborns', something like quesadillas, and then came back to the house on the Pesero (small bus) it goes door to door but takes about 45 minutes, and is usually full and very bumpy. One thing I liked seeing is how people who get on from the back pass up the bus fare from hand to hand, and the change comes back the same way. I think today, I will get some of the materials together and try to get a handle on some locations for photographing the paintings that I will be making. It has been raining now for almost three days. Maybe I will go to the FONCA and get the paperwork for a card sorted out.
Antonio is amazing.. He wrote a math textbook for high school and it is being circulated. It looks good and is being used by who knows how many students.
In Collapse, Diamond is writing about how Greenland was alternately inhabited and abandoned by the vikings, and how they abandoned their colonization of North America because when they encountered the indigenous people for the first time, they killed all but one. When they returned the next year, the natives were prepared and although they lost the battle, the vikings decided that it was too much work to maintain a colony at such a distance from Denmark.
Still lookng for hope in all the darkness that I feel for humanity.
Karen was talking about mom and saying that the Irish are very prone to bury people before they are dead. It's true. I am bad at that.
Went with Antonio to the Parc Nacional de Tepeyac, where he is going to look at the scene that a painter Velasco painted a hundred years earlier. It's quite amazing. It looks out over the city in one direction and out over the plains in the other. I took my painting of clouds talking that I did the day before and photographed it in various places looking out over the city. The first steop of making this project happen. Finally. This was very enjoyable, except for the rain that drenched us on the way back down. Apparently, this mountain was used by the Aztecs as a lookout point. How come they didn't see the Spanish coming? Oh well.
Last night and this morning worked on the DVD to present to S and Emiliano, a master's student I guess, who's working at Esmerelda for some part of his studies. As with going anywhere here, it takes a long time to get there, even if it's not that complicated. I get there to discover that We are not going to meet to discuss the plans for the presentation in class, just fix another time for that. The master's student isn't there until 4 and Ana Cristina, the liason person, asks if I am going to come back to meet him. Well no. She doesn't seem to be doing much to find a more appropriate space. Antonio says this happens all the time here. No respect for other people's time. I go home, we make some lunch, and I get the printer sorted out, and then have a nap. It's 7 pm now, and there's a thunderstorm.
I saw the end of the world today. It is in Santa Fe, a suburb of Mexico city, The corporate world has taken over this section of the planet and is modeling the people in it's own image. It could be anywhere in the developed world. Exclusive to the point where if you don't look rich enough, you are under suspicion. As far as I can tell, no pictures are allowed of the buildings. I want to do something here. maybe run naked in the street, recreate the napalm girl photo from Vietnam. Except with me the 43 year old white guy from a middle class background running in the foreground.
I will have to pick the spot.
The other thing I want to make is to recreate the erection of the flag a la Iwo Jima on one of the new construction sites.
Well, another day without getting much done. On Monday, I talked to the rotulo painter to find out if there was a day that was better for him to learn digital photo, and he said today, Friday would be good. When I get there, he seems a bit surprised that I've shown up and is still very busy. His turns on his computer, and when he begins to type, we get three letters with every keystroke. I look up at the ceiling, which is a very bowed panel of wet chipboard, and deduce that there is water in his keyboard, causing the letters to short out. I end up fixing it, and then holding the store for him while he does an errand, and then that's about it. It's 1:30, and my next appointment is to meet the prof from Esmerelda at 3 pm, Jose S, but I decide to find some gifts for Mom, and Karen. Rafael's daughter Elena, I think her name is, takes me to the Insurgentes metro where I go and take the train to Balderas station. There is a crafts market near there. Lots of people selling the same things. Not so much variety, but there was promise in some of the peripheral areas of the square. There was a guy who made something that looked like table place mats, pounded out of bark (Matte, I think it's called). I thought Karen might think they were interesting, but where would we put these? Some interesting nick naks made out of metal. But I don't think that I'm much of a nick nak kind of person. At least not yet. Needs to have a semblance of a function or something. Then off to meet Jose S at his home. I hope to find a taxi stand, because apparently it's dangerous to flag down a cab in the street, so I think that I'll walk to the metro and see if I can see a stand, but no such luck. I take the metro back to the Sevilla metro, which seems to be the closest one to where I'm going, in the northern part of the zona rosa. I get out. Still no sign of a taxi stand and now I'm late. I see a regular beetle cab being driven by an old man, and flag him down. I can't imagine that you would still be a cabby after a long time if you ripped people off regularly. I get in. He has been driving for 38 years, and has traveled a lot, going to Niagara Falls, Greece, Rome, France and Houston. He said he drove to Niagara Falls. It sounded like he said 24 hours but it would have been something like 74. It's pretty far. It cost him $1200 in gas, which sounds about right. He didn't know the street I am going to, so when we get close, we start asking everyone we see. It takes about 5 or 6 people before someone has a vague idea. Maybe two blocks away. I don't understand how people can not know the names of the streets in their neighbourhood. Anyway, I end up being about 15 minutes late. The cab costs $22 pesos. the driver doesn't have change for $25 pesos. I don't care if that's the extent of being ripped off. Cost of taxi in CDN, about $3.00 for maybe 15 minutes of driving around. From what I understand the hijacking of customers gets a lot of press, but I can't imagine it happening more than a couple of times a day. And there are hundreds of thousands of cab rides every day here. I get to Ss house. He is not there. I am kind of beaten. It took a long time to get here and anytime I move for someone else, it doesn't seem to work out. I go and have lunch nearby, and then walk a few streets, just because I want to see something, but I don't, besides skinny broken sidewalks and dog shit, and then find the pesero that goes all the way back to Antonio's. How convenient. It is about an hour away. At least I get to sit down.
Oct. 16th, 2005
This evening, José S and his girlfriend Gabriella came by
for drinks and to talk about things, in a way having the meeting that we were
going to have on Friday afternoon. It was actually pretty good. A lot of talking
about where our perception of reality lies. I showed them some of the works that
I've been making. I was questioning the violent perception of Mexico City that
people keep telling me about. Everyone says it's so violent here. I just haven't
seen it yet. I worry that I won't recognize a dangerous situation when I am in
one. I am trying to appreciate that I am in a privileged neighbourhood, and that
I am perhaps not seeing the extent of what is out there. I still think that I
will try to act as though I am living in the world I want to live in, not the
world of fear that people want me to live in, or perhaps even the world that
exists. Yes it's dangerous, but if we can face danger without panic, maybe we
can live through it, instead of focussing on the worst possible outcome, and
going straight to it.
Last night I was thinking about the fact that a policeman here only makes about
$200 to $300 a month. You can't live on $300 a month here. In those circumstances,
no wonder they hold their hand out for money. You are asking for service, and
they cannot afford to give it to you.
Looking up the Refus Global (English
trans., Original
francais) by Paul Emile Borduas. The beginning of the quiet revolution -
without blood.
Yesterday Marcus Miller performed his Coke Dump in Coyoacan square. The coke
didn't last long. Maybe 3 minutes at most. probably only 1/3 got dumped, the
rest taken away to be consumed.
On the 18th, I went to a lab near the Zocalo, and dropped off the CD. This is for a couple of 18x24 inch prints. Price 80 pesos, or about $9. They said come back in an hour, so I went and had a bite to eat in some restaurant. Some tacos with cheese and chicken. They were great. They're so small. Then I had a cappucino, which is a cafe au lait for a Canadian. I wonder how you would order what we would call a capuccino. Mysteries. I go to pick up the prints. An excellent job, although their handling of large prints isn't great. They don't have any table or even a counter to put the work on.
Yesterday went to look at an apartment for the 1st of November. Of course Antonio knows someone just up the street, Humberto, who keeps an apartment for just this kind of situation. Artists coming to visit. It would be good if our shed was big enough for this. He has a beautiful garden, I think it will work out pretty well. I hope. Looks like everything works, and it will come with a bed and sheets and etc.
Today went to the Latin America tower, which was the tallest building in Latin
America for many years, it looks a bit like the empire state building. Has
an amazing view of course, and an observation deck. I made a panorama series
of photos of the city. Also tried the falling man and woman paintings. I should
see if I can get qtvr for system 10...Maybe not. Bumped my head on the handrail
of the pesero. On some of them, I am too tall. Strange to be in that position.
Bought a tie today, a nice yellow one. Now I need a nice shirt to go with it.
Maybe some kind of blue shirt. Colour and texture are still more interesting
than patterns...
Oct. 22nd, 2005
Today, I have the runs. Did the laundry, vacuumed the carpet, just
laid around. Called mom this morning, it's her birthday. She seems to be in good
spirits these days. Karen is visiting with her brothers in Ontario, the weather
sucks there. It sounds like they're going to get snow. There was a mouse in the
house this evening. Not shy at all, just wandered in from outside.
This morning, went to Coyoacan square, and bought some coffee. Fine doesn't work in Antonio's machine, so you need to ask for between medium and fine grind. I got fine. So of course the coffee doesn't go through. The bicycle was also acting up, with the freewheel not engaging. It was very temperamental, and I must have walked half the distance. If you managed to catch the gears, you had to keep a steady pressure on it, because otherwise it disconnects and the pedals just spin around without driving anything. A little oil this aft, and I think I"m good to go. Yesterday, I went to Xochimilco on a different, borrowed bicycle with Andres, one of the people who runs the house where Antonio has his studio. He looks after the garden. Xochimilco is a suburb about 15km to the southeast of the city. There really isn't much of a bicycling culture here, and we rode against the traffic, so that we could see what was coming at us, rather than waiting to be hit from behind. The air was pretty clear, and looking back towards the city, you could see the smog pushing out like brown fog. You could see the mountains though, and on the way back, you could see Popocapetl from the overpass at Tlalpan, one of the main north south routes through DF. Today, Saturday, the air seems pretty clear again, and there's less traffic, so it's pretty good. You can see quite a few stars, which must be somewhat rare for here. On my way out, we stopped so that I could take a picture of one of my paintings at the sewage settling area. Pretty gross, but there's lots of birds in there.
Once we got to Xochimilco, we took a little hand pulled ferry onto the island.
This area is what's left of the lake that made up the valley from Aztec times,
all navigation happening by boats into and out of the city. The Olympic rowing
basin is out here as well. We went to one of the rowing clubs there, where
Andres is a member, and we took a couple of kayaks out. There are no flotation
things in the boats, and no lifejackets. If it fills up with water, it's going
down, and I'm getting out. The water isn't very deep though, maybe 1 meter,
but the visibility is only 6 inches. I wouldn't be surprised if this is where
I got my runs from. Maybe lunch in the kitchen. It's hard to tell. Maybe it's
the vitamin c I took last night to help loosen things up, but I don't think
so, because I feel a bit weak and prickly today.
Not feeling very sure about the direction the photos are going. It's like I
want too much, but it's not enough at the same time. There's a disconnect
between the image and the background that's not helping. I think I'm trying
too hard to make statements. Where does this work come from? It's a kind
of response to all the images of artwork that I have photographed and becoming
numb to their content. I am wanting to return to the formula that I used
in art school that gave me so much pleasure. I want to make people laugh.
I enjoy the kind of object and frame relationshiop. It's something that I
connected with when I saw Harry Bowers work at the San Francisco Museum of
Modern Art in 1982. An arrangement of elements that fools the eye as to where
the surface is. What do I like about that?
Personal Theory of Things.
There is no conscious force putting all this thing together that we call life.
Just an interesting energy that has the qualites of order and chaos built into
it. I think I am trying to represent this dichotomy as it relates to human
social relationships. I try to be the person who lives in the world I want
to live in. Be nice, look after the environment, have a good time. I fail.
I like skydiving, driving a car, motorcycling, eating sweet things, forget
important things my friends tell me.
Watching the news, the first images of the destruction of Hurricane Wilma showing
up on the screen. Cozumel is still out of contact, the images on tv shoing
hotels that are nothing but their structural supports left. Chaos.
This morning, went to a design exhibtion at a house that's been converted into
a museum Casa Mayor. Order, I guess. At the entrance there was a sign apologizing
for the fact that the first room wasn't in fact part of the design exhibition,
but was an accomodation for some colonial furniture while they repaired the
top floor that had had a fire a couple of weeks before. Parts of the house
smelled terrible. The show in general was like walking the isles at IKEA. There
were large flat screen TV's everywhere and the sponsors were getting in the
way of any kind of appreciation of design.
Maybe I'm having a mid life crisis, where your childhood fantasies of being
a rock star, olympic athlete, rich, or famous have to be abandoned. It's a
bit traumatic, but maybe it explains why I feel a bit depressed in general.
I guess you could decide to find other fantasies to fulfill.
Was reading the crime statistics for the City. It seems there are a little less than a couple of murders a day here, which for 20 million, makes it just about the same as Canada. The assault rate seems higher though. Chaos. I'll have to keep my eyes open
Oct. 24th, 2005
Went back to the lab today, I had hoped that my files would be properly formatted
for the lab, so they would cost only 70 pesos, and not 80, but this was not to
be. They have to be fitted into one of their standard sizes, and although 18
x 24 is the natural size coming out of the camera, it isn't for the lab, which
is 20x24. So I guess they have to add borders in Photoshop. Again, service 1
hour. So I phone Antonio to find out where the murals of DIego RIvera are at
the Edificio de Education Publico. It turns out the phone booth I am phoning
from is right in front of the building. It is strange that this isn't on the
map for tourists, but certainly tourists come. There are a lot of murals on three
levels. It took him 5 years to paint them all, and this is where he met Frida
Kahlo. I am trying to imagine what he would paint in Canada. There is a particular
line, "He who works, eats", or perhaps it's the inverse... "He
who doesn't work, doesn't eat". There are labourers around, and an artist,
who doesn't look like he's eating. I don't get it, because there isn't that sense
of humour in the rest of the murals. They are very sincere and anti capitalist.
The snake picture in the header above is from the top floor.
On the way back to the lab, I pass a street stall, and see a baby in a recycling
plastic box sleeping. The mother is tending the stall, I think that would be
a good picture to take, but decide against it, I am not sure I could take the
photo in a way that wouldn't be a violation of their space. They are more trapped
into their situation than I am, and the photo would prove it.
Still feeling intestinally challenged. Just going downtown wore me out. Antonio has made lunch of rice and tuna. I can't eat more rice. I go to sleep afterwards and sleep three hours.
Gente Peligroso (Dangerous People)
For the second time since I've been here, I've heard the term "gente peligroso" when
I'm asking a stranger where something is. The first time was when Antonio and
I went to Park Tepeyac in the north east part of the city. We were just leaving
the entrance to the park, when someone told us that it's possible that there
were "Gente Peligroso" ahead. We decided to go anyway, and found
a rural situation where it was a bunch of people who farmed land in the city
in the park. Probably people who were there before the park was named. Today
I went out to find Nina Menocal gallery, and when I phoned in advance to find
out if it was open, the line was always busy, so I figured that it must be
open. I take the Metro Bus up Insurgentes to get there, and walk a number of
blocks only to find the gallery closed. There is no show, and I don't have
an appointment. Oh well. I decide to keep going down Calle Zacatecas to find
the metro, and when I hit Cuautemoc, I ask someone where the nearest station
is. He says two blocks up two blocks over. So of course I take a step towards
the two blocks over direction first, and he says, "Don't go that way,
there are dangerous people down there". I looked. I didn't see anyone.
He then pointed out that there were more people on the street that I was on
and that it was safer. I thanked him, but was curious as to what the Gente
Peligroso were doing and what they looked like. Walking home, I thought I saw
a couple of Gente Peligroso right here in Coyoacan, walking down Fernandez
Leal, so I gave them a look that said "You won't attack me by surprise" and
kept walking. So far so good. I always imagine the alternate reality in my
head and have a little battle. I'm sure the elevated blood pressure from that
fantasy will kill me sooner than anything.
I change my mind about going into the metro, and walk to Balderas, to see the
exhibitions at Centro de l'Imagen. There's one photo that sticks with me, that
of the hand of a prisoner sticking out through a rusty hole in the bottom of
a door, hoping for something, probably food, maybe money. The vulnerability
of the gesture is unsettling.
I go to the studio and paint a painting of shit.
I have a studio at the Esmerelda. It is now one month since I've been here, and thanks to Jose Springer, Carla Rippey made a space for me in her studio for 4th year students. Looking forward to being around people... Went to a poetry reading by Claude Beausoleil. The girl beside me (Susanne) left her cellphone on and of course someone called, but she decided that she had to answer during the reading. How can people do this?
This afternoon, went to the Centro Coyoacan, where there are a lot of street vendors and musicians hanging around. There was a jazz trio playing very well off to one side. They were young men enjoying an afternoon in the sun. And they were good. Last night went to a party at Esmerelda to meet some of the students. Of course I am old enough to be the father of most of thema, but that's OK. People are pretty nice. We had parties like this at art school, but they seemed wilder, although maybe they seemed wilder because I had seen less. I am needing a good discussion about the direction of my photo project. Feeling a bit lost again today. Should just get used to it.
Listening to CBC radio on line this afternoon. Randy Bachman talking about Jimmy Page, starting off with a clip from the New Yardbirds, playing Randy Bachmann's Rickenbacher guitar.
Yesterday went to a conference with Maris Bustamente and Kathy Davis and Orlan. It was a the University of Claustro San Jeronimo or something. Anyways, when I arrive there, a half and hour early, there is a big line up of students already. I join the back of the line, but the line is actually growing from the middle because everyone who is in the line already is letting their friends in. Eventually, someone comes out and says that the students have to form a line differently from the everyone else. I'm thinking, good, at least there's a chance I'll get in. I start talking to the woman next to me, she's a Chilean historian, specializing in feminist studies. When the doors open, they start letting the students in and then someone else comes out and says that if anyone is part of the conference, they will be let in. So in the end, the line I am part of moves slower than any of them. This was supposed to be a conference open to the public, but I guess not in reality. Anyways, the conference has been going for about 15 minutes when I finally make it to the front door and can see in. The line up is moving so slowly, because everyone is lining up for the headsets for the simultaneous translation. I just kind of push through, and someone asks, "are you a teacher" I say yes, and they say go on. I go into the room, and essentially they are still in the preamble. I get shown to a chair. I am glad to not need the translation gear. The room is full of noise, the volume of the speakers is somewhat turned down, and you can hear the sea of headsets with the tinny voice of the translators coming through. You can hear the translators themselves in the back of the room, and then there is a lot of whispering, and cell phones going off, so there is really a lot of distracting noise. The speakers themselves are speaking slowly, so the translators can keep up, and this means there is a lot of repetition and things aren't happening very fast. Orlan seems to be relatively together, talking about how she is often asked to talk about the surgical work, and that that was something she did from 1989-93 or so, reminding us of the fact that she is an otherwise ordinary artist. Kathy Davis looks very familiar, and sounds like she is an academic from Toronto. Maybe we met somewhere, at Kim and Robert's or something.
Orlan talks about her relationship to feminism, that she doesn't like to describe herself as a feminist, but doesn't like to deny it either. Kathy Davis talks about how suffering is good for artists. Orlan denies this, saying that she could not do her work, if she couldn't have anaesthetics and 'real' pain killers. Sometime later, after a lot of clarifications, Kathy Davis, says that she wasn't really referring to physical pain, but the psychological suffering that goes with creative work. That is an important detail says Orlan, and that is the end of that. All in all, very little is said, and even less of anything new or interest, but it is good to get a sense of Orlan, and to see a bit more than the myth of her.
Walls: There are a lot of walls here. High walls with electric circuits to keep intruders out. Up until now, I haven't been able to reconcile the gentle people I've been meeting with the need for these walls. There are prisons in Canada with less secure walls than this.
The need for the walls has been with Mexico for a long time, and is perhaps
a consequence of a history of violent Spanish-Indigenous conflict. I guess
the more damage you inflict on someone, the more you worry that they will inflict
that kind of damage on you.Combined with stories of a knifing here, a robbery
there, and everyone feels more and more vulnerable. There seems to be a fear
of vulnerability here. If you let your guard down, then apparently people will
take advantage of that. Yes it happens everywhere, but people expect it more
here.
Went to visit with Isabelle B in Colonia Roma to talk about work and whatever,
we ended up taking a few pictures in the street where they sell paintings.
I photographed my man with the extra long penis there and the shit painting.
It is so much easier to work with another person. The people who let me take
pictures in their displays enjoyed the interaction as well. It felt good to
be a part of something fun.
