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We stumbled upon it on our way somewhere else and didn't leave the entire night. Danced to old-school industrial, made some friends, learned some handshakes, drank a grip of cahuamas, and left, elated, for tacos somewhere in the Roma area. (Lots of new material, of course. Homie in the third photo up from the bottom was 17 and throwing up.) !!!
This was Nina Tahash's response to downtown Mexico City in colors and lights on Christmas night, that it looked and sounded like Disneyland, ice rink and all. Nina, an all-around L.A. original, stylist, misfit, and underground muse, is in town with me for the holidays. This is us the night after Christmas outside one of the grimy cantinas on Republica de Cuba street in the Centro:
On the secluded beach you can't help but wake up with the morning light. This is the sun rising over the Pacific. You read and write and play cards and swim and detoxify your lungs from the city air. At twilight, you sit and inhale the colors that the dusk makes when it meets the sea. Candles alight for dinner -- filete empanizado, coctel de camaron, icy Indios -- and watching the waves crash in the moonlight.
Yes, a week ago Mexico and people all over the multicultural Americas celebrated la Virgen de Guadalupe, but I thought I'd show you what the following day was like, after the chaotic and claustrophobic midnight march to serenade her. Indigenous danza groups performed in the Virgen's honor all over the Basilica plaza. One that caught my eye was this group that was representing a Native North American nation. Some of the younger ones danced in what looked like ranger outfits.
I also saw pilgrims from Eastern Europe, the Philipines, and nuns from Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity. Above, people leaving the chapel at the top of Tepeyac.
I've been in Mexico City a month-and-a-half now and it's been intense, busy, super-entertaining, and with the book project, a new form of exercise in discipline and patience, a new rigor with words. Intersections is taking the rest of the year off, and what a year it's been. I started this blog on December 20, 2006, as a way to give some context to the piece I did on the L.A. Times's problematic history with Latinos. A year later the blog has a strong weekly readership base and clicks and links from all over the world. Thanks, everyone. For some of my all-time favorite posts -- on L.A., art, gangs, Mexico, graffiti, race, media, the immigrant rights movement, politics, and everything pop -- see here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.
Heading to the beach in Oaxaca ... ¡Feliz año nuevo!
This is a shot of gooey pink and red puke under a seat on the aqua blue metro line, Santa Anita-Martin Carrera, from Wednesday afternoon.
A quick note on life in the big city: the pollution lately, true to the season, has been horrible. I wake up with my throat feeling metallic and gross, coughing up an ugly green gunk. My eyes are constantly irritated. Last night the crescent moon, high in the sky, was radioactive orange. The air literally weighs you down, and all one can do is marvel aloud at its effects on the body.
Below, inside the retro modern hallways of the Jamaica transfer station.
* No wonder everyone it seems is heading to the beach for the holidays.
Somewhere in this mass of people were my lost friends, marching, inch by inch, hour by hour, to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe to see the holy manto of the olive-skinned Virgen and sing her "Las Mañanitas" at midnight on this her blessed feast day, December 12. The pilgrimage took on an epic quality, with success and even survival falling into doubt at the sight of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of the faithful pressing onward, body to body, some raising the Virgen's image above their heads to signal to the "Queen of Mexico" that they've arrived. This, without question, is the Mecca of the Americas.
The pilgrims slept wherever they could in order to greet the Virgen at dawn, as seen above, in a shot showing rare and precious walking space. There were plenty of moments of panic. People were seen carried away in stretchers every few minutes, overwhelmed by the fatigue. Fresh garbage piled up wherever there was room, near sidewalk campsites radiating away from the Basilica into neighboring streets. The sweet scent of marijuana hovered over huddled groups of faithful teens and 20-somethings. Even at 2 a.m., leaving the Basilica proved difficult. People were still pressing in by the thousands, with no end in sight. Pilgrims whistled and howled at others who, in desperation, were jumping fences to cut in line.
* More later.
There are several strong news blogs in English in Mexico, some of which I've added to my links on the right (with the help of my friend Darrel). This week, at Mexico Reporter, Deborah Bonello reports on the shooting death of a reporter in Michoacan. The blog emphasizes issues related to the suppression of journalists and freedom of expression in Mexico.
At Mexico Monitor, Franc Contreras recently re-posted a piece from the Chronicle of Higher Education about an administration-faculty rift at UDLA, one of the most prestigous universities in Mexico, in Puebla. At Uncovering Mexico, Cox newspapers' Jeremy Schwartz reports on a new line of Converse that take the commercialization of iconic painter Frida Kahlo to a whole 'nother level.
In Spanish, I'm a regular reader of DFinitivo and Vivir Mexico, Gothamist-style group blogs that give you a complete picture of the constantly evolving buzz in the capital: the festivals, the premieres, the exhibits, the scandals, the ice rink.
* Photo above, a recent issue of the subway-friendly tabloid Metro.
This shaky pedestrian bridge crosses a choked, intense boulevard that divides Mercado Merced and the Merced metro stop and Mercado Sonora, a sorta freaky place. It's the market where the "brujas" gather to sell charms, candles, voodoo dolls, masks, beads, magical herbs and ointments, images of Saint Death, and animals. Lots of animals. Puppies, chickens, roosters, snakes, frogs, parrots, even goats. The smell is generally revolting. Lots of people in white, indicating an adherence to santeria. Apologies but I was not courageous enough to take photos inside -- at least on my first visit.
I went with the hilarious Quetzal Rangel, 22, half of the indie fashion-designing duo Marvin y Quetzal. Quetzal was on the market for a new pet. He came away empty-handed, but we enjoyed what turned out to be a 14-hour interview.
* A small blog note: I recently removed the tagline above "A blog (formerly) from Los Angeles" in exchange for a shorter tag that reflects a simple reality: A blog is a blog, anywhere in the world.
Diego, wearing boots and a mohawk pompadour, is a psychobilly we met at the famous, slightly saturated Chopo market. It's a rocker's paradise where you can buy everything from raggae gear to anarchist patches to old records, leather jackets, and goth make-up. Diego comes to the market on Saturdays to listen to live music and hang out.
I asked if I could take his picture and he said, "Claro."
El Chopo has been around for more than 20 years. It's the meeting point for all music-based alternative youth movements in Mexico City, inspired heavily of course by movements in the U.S. and U.K. The scenes that gather here are divided into infinite subgenres that would take the patience of a seasoned anthropologist to properly sort out.
"Psychobilly is a little more about slamming, hitting, jumping, it's a way of getting everything out," Diego says. "There's a lot of pressure here, you need an escape." Diego is in a band himself, and is a huge fan of Los Pardos and Los Gallos.
This crew of friends were moshing to the live bands in lucha libre masks. They said they had a group MySpace page. In the late afternoon, I met an older woman standing just outside the market with her daughter. She told me she met her husband at El Chopo waaay back in 1982.
It's changed a lot, she said. "It used to be a lot more punk."
The first Feria de Arte Contemporaneo Emergente took place over the weekend, concentrating exclusively on young artists in the early stages of their careers.
It was largely an experiment: a first-time fair where the artists represented themselves, not through galleries, which is how virtually every other fair in the world operates. This resulted in unusual moments of direct contact between artists and collectors. While the set-up was nice -- food and drinks, DJs, great views -- I heard many artists complain that there just wasn't enough foot traffic. Maybe because whatever community of serious collectors there is in Mexico had already taken off for Basel in Miami?
In any case, there was some strong work here and there, and most people seemed to have had a great time overall. Here are a few works that caught my eye.
Above, Mexico City painter Rafa Uriegas at his booth, standing before a piece of many little versions of himself with beer bottles.
Puebla artist Marcelino G. Barsi collects used bars of soap from public restrooms and displays them in boxes, as if they were rare specimens of insects. His pieces were sold at the subversive little "Changarrito," a mobile art "stand" modeled after the countless snack changarros that crowd the city's sidewalks. The Changarrito is organized by artist Maximo Gonzalez and friends in Mexico City and Puebla who sold work this weekend. These included Carmen Puente and Armando Miguelez. (*See here for the Changarrito debut at ARCO in 2005.)
Queretaro artist Valerio Gamez made the news in 2002 when he held an open "casting" for the new face Juan Diego during Pope John Paul II's visit to D.F. for the 16th Century Indian's canonization. At FACE he presented Catholic Industry, a fashion-conceptual project of Christian symbols decorating racy ready-to-wear.
The most formally refined work I saw belonged to Mariel Quevedo, a chilanga painter who layers organic color forms to create these rich abstract compositions. Her piece in the VIII Bienal Monterrey currently at the San Idelfonso museum I thought was that exhibit's standout.
I really enjoyed the work presented by Gabriel Boils Teran, of Tijuana. He takes promotional paper toys found in prepackaged junk food and lays them out in these simple, symmetrical patterns, on lacquer-covered wood. He says his work is a re-envisioning of pre-Hispanic codices. To drive the point home he had books containting images of actual codices for browsing at his booth's table. The pieces are clean, sharp, funny.
Boils Teran told me he was interested in getting some of his work to L.A., as he had heard somewhere that reclaiming indigenous American symbols, myths, and spiritual practices was really big there. I could only tell him that he was right.
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