shifting gears

I really need to push the pause button on this travelblog soon now that we're home...and push play at a later date. But first, a few thoughts about the trip. It all started with virtually the whole planet telling us not to go to Mexico. Well, we went anyway...Swine Flu be damned. After many emails, phone calls and comforting words from friends on the ground, we headed south and proceeded to have an amazing summer. Best summer ever. Granted, it was weird that we were the only people driving thru customs on the way down, and if you had filmed us from way up in the sky you would have seen a little red speck of a car zipping along all alone, pushing south on the cuota towards Patzcuaro. Maybe you would've heard a dog barking madly as we drove out of toll booths, but maybe you wouldn't have...being so far up in the sky and all. Our dogs were always relaxed when I "rolled" the window down to hand attendants 15 or 150 pesos, but as soon as we drove away Nemo would go ballistic. I finally figured out that he must've thought the attendant was running away as we drove on. Who knows. We discovered Nemo hated men in hats, especially men in hats on bicycles, and horses were the devil's work. So they suffered the fullness of his wrath.

Our summer was BUSY, full of artmaking, good food, reconnecting with old friends and making lots of new ones, experiencing small and large cultural events, gardening like crazy, painting the house and fixin' what needed fixin'. My head is so full of stories, memories, and future pics that I have spent the past two days pulling weeds and not saying much. Blissfully exhausted, continuing to prepare for the upcoming semester. Definitely not going down to the farmer's market with a pocket full of cash.

Almost exactly one year ago Becky and I returned home after an exciting summer south of the border. Returned home early because a commercial gig demanded our attention. I thought to myself: "Well, atleast tomatoes and peaches are still in season." After unpacking and doing some laundry we went to the ATM and withdrew $60, then drove down to Nashville's Farmer's Market. Blinded by heirloom tomatoes and white peaches, I was blocked by an old woman with a walker. She wasn't smiling and she wasn't shopping, and she was in my way. Then someone bumped into me. For some reason I said "Excuse me" and turned around to see a small red-headed woman, not smiling, then turned my attention back to the wild display of wonderfulness. Drunk on blueberry lemonade, and loaded down with Cherokee Purples, Japanese Blacks, and Abe Lincolns, I walked over to pay but couldn't find my wallet. My first thought was, hmm. Then I thought I must've left it in my car. Weird. Went back to the car, looked inside and around and on the ground, puzzled. Then I thought of that little red-headed girl; I felt flushed, then pissed, then I started running through the market looking for her. Arrrgh! No luck. No, no, no! This hasn't happened. I drove all the way to Mexico, spent the entire summer in FULL markets surrounded by hundreds, driving all over the country in search of adventure and weird pottery and back again, safely. Back to Nashville only to get ripped off in my own hometown. NOOO! Yes. Went home with no tomatoes. Becky was wise enough to shut our credit cards down immediately, but still, the hassle of getting a new driver's license and all. Uggh. What a pain.

Later that evening, still not believing what had transpired but strangely amused by the irony of it all, we prepared to have dinner at a friend's house. Running late, we were stepping out the door when I heard the phone ring. Should I answer or not; we were already late. I answered the phone then heard a country voice ask: "IstherahDahngthr?!" I said, "What?" "Ids ther ah dang brawthereha?...Ifou nd hidz walletintha Famur'sMakat today." I said, "YEAH, I'm Dang Brawner; who is this?" "My name'sOllie Stanntonn and I'm a truck driver and I'm live in Millusville at Exit 108; turn right near the fireworks stand, past the Doller General and the trailer park; my wife's paralyzed and we're having dinner downstairs; turn left into the agongnaogaog Bnvln vn lsv...I'm a truck driver, leaving tomorrow; if you want your wallet, you better get up here tonight." "WO!!!!...BACK UP a minute; let me find a pencil; which exit?!" Next thing I know I'm dropping Becky off at Jane's and headed to Millersville relieved that I won't have to renew my driver's license. (And as I'm driving along, my mind starts to wander.) And I start thinking about the events of the day and my conversation with the trucker. He kept saying, "My wife's paralyzed." He said, "My daughter's been visiting, and I'm leaving for Knoxville in the morning." He said: "I found your wallet but there tweren't no money in it; someone beat me to it." About that time I started thinking about Pulp Fiction and men in boxes jumping out at me." I started thinking no one knew where I was headed and about Ollie Stanton and his paralyzed wife downstairs eating me for dinner. I started thinking there was no way in hell I was going into that house.

I turned left into a surprisingly nice, new apartment complex, past a swimming pool full of laughing Mexican kids. I parked my car and saw who I guessed was my hero. Toothless, unsmiling, he handed me my wallet. "I'm having dinner with my wife downstairs; did I mention she's paralyzed? We're having fried pies for dessert." I said: "Thank you for calling about my wallet. I really appreciate this." Then he repeated: "Well, there tweren't no money in it; someone beat me to it." Stupidly trying to lighten an unusually unfriendly moment, I said: "This sure is a nice place. Nice pool, too." And he said: "If I want to swim; I go somewhere clean; I go to the river." Chilled to the bone but desperate, I said: "So you like pie and you're a truck driver; do you ever travel thru Arkansas?" "Yeah." "You really ought to try the DeValls Bluff Pie Shop near Brinkley." He said, "I go to WalMart each week and buy six fried pies: two peach, two cherry and two apple. This week they were out of apple so I bought four peach. My wife, she's paralyzed, is downstairs having a peach one right now." I said: "Thanks again", shook his hand, and got the heck out of there.

Oh yeah, it was a family thing. And the experience was absolutely worth sixty bucks.

don't text while driving

Write longhand but keep your eyes on the road.

the road home: day 5

The last leg of our journey was fueled by ice cream from Sheridan's Yellow Jacket Drive-In, and fried catfish and tomato pickles from Gene's in Brinkley. I missed the DeValls Bluff exit to the Pie Shop this trip but decided to keep going. Made it home in 8 hours surrounded by pine trees, past funny little cabins with vertical logs, and hours of flatness, over the Mississippi, the crazy bends and curves thru Memphis, and deeper into green, green Tennessee, home. It's been unseasonably cool this summer with a nice bit of rain so everything is really lush. We made it home around 6pm to a locked house and no house key. Luckily, our dear neighbor Melanie left one door unlocked, so we unpacked and hopped inside. The dogs found their backyard overpopulated with chipmunks, but they'll soon make the necessary correction. Feels good to be home.

the road home: day 4

From Tyler, Texas to Texarkana to Camden and Locust Bayou, we saw lots of "melons ahead" signs. Mostly from Hope, but we bought a tasty sweet seedless one from Harmony Grove (where Becky went to grade school). Across Cypress Creek, thru pine thickets, past flattened armadillos and foam deer targets guarding metal towers, thru Ouachita County (where Becky was born) and big trucks carrying long pine logs near Poison Springs. We enjoyed our visit with Becky's family, and a pork chop dinner with Devine, Texas pork tamales, fresh peas, yellow squash, cornbread, and Chicago beer. Afterwards, we fished Doyle Jrs' new pond, and Conner (our 4 yr old nephew) caught a catfish with stinkbait. Guinness went for a swim while Nemo visited Jason's howling Walker Hound. Some photos were taken, and I never could find JT's false teeth, presumed hiding within his Lazy Boy. I spent some time walking with Nemo in their deceased neighbor Floyd's deserted shop, looking for relics. He was a nice old man whose company I really enjoyed when I was in Locust. I never saw him wearing anything but overalls; he always asked me about my life, and he loved his Brittany Spaniels—Tuffy and Detective. He would tell me: "There aren't any quail around here any more, but I enjoy taking the dogs out anyways...they like to run." I enjoyed visiting with Floyd. He seemed to me a talented man (a carpenter) who had raised a family he was proud of, knew how to prepare a fine garden, and really enjoyed life. It's sad to see his garden overgrown and unattended, and his house for sale. His shop looks odd with a john boat leaning against it.

the road home: day 3

When traveling thru Mexico, two things are ubiquitous: Pemex stations and Catholic churches. We visit both regularly, drawn to one out of necessity, attracted to the other because of architectural beauty and curiosity. On the road, green Pemex signs are comforting. Gas prices aren't posted because the stations are government-owned and the only game in town (so why bother), but prices are cheap compared to the U.S. and nice women and men pump gas for you. Feels very old-fashioned. It's customary to tip so I always give attendants 50 pesos or so. In small towns and large, Catholic churches are, more often than not, the tallest buildings. Proof of what is most revered and necessary I suppose, and possibly, to some, a constant reminder of the country's rich, volatile history. I always take my hat off when entering and leave an offering, trying to resist the temptation to take photos. I'm always moved by the motions of the faithful. We left Laredo at the ungodly hour of 11am guided by "a satellite-based navigation system made up of a network of 24 satellites placed into orbit by the U.S. Department of Defense," that apparently has no interest in south Texas. Not that we had to rely on Ms. Garmin but it I spent the next 10 hrs following her guidance and imagining her engulfed in flames or tossed into rivers. The same rivers she repeatedly suggested I turn my car "sharply right" into. But all is forgiven.

With Mexico fresh on my mind, long after crossing the border, I was reminded of all the choices available to us in the United States, religious and otherwise. Wow, and so many logos compared to Mexico, where thousands of mom & pop businesses sport handpainted signs featuring carburetors, sofas, and teeth. So many gas stations, so many churches...gravitating to the cheapest with the most appealing brand identity, and impressed by the modest architecture and signage promoting seemingly endless varieties of faith-based religions.

Made it to Tyler, Texas and saw some stuff along the way, including: Frio County Line, Leaving Dilley City Limits, "Don't pick up hitchhikers," Big Foot/Yancy exit, fish-stickered pickup trucks, the Devine Taqueria, Splashtown Drive, San Antonio, Austin, "Hand Scraped Hardwood," Snake Farm, Guadalupe Turnaround, Buda, "Buy 1 Get 11 Free Firecrackers," Waco Drive, Friendly Genie Car Wash, (thought I saw a former student driving a blue VW), and onwards towards Hubbard, Texas, Mt. Calm, and a bicycle covered with plastic cemetery flowers decorating someone's private pond. Corsicana Chip Plant, Hwy 155, and Texas 309 to Tyler. Didn't make it as far as we'd hoped, because of traffic, but we slept well.

the road home: day 2

Left Querétaro, Querétaro at the ungodly hour of 10am then drove thru beautiful high valleys and semi-arid regions surrounded by spectacular mountains, past sellers of snakeskin powders and medicinal honey. I love the zones before, during and just after San Luis Potosi and Matehuala. So many lean-to structures advertising tuna (the fruit of the Nepal cactus), frescas (strawberries), strings of ajo (garlic), and dried rattlesnake skins. Millions of Joshua trees! Dozens and dozens of funky little tiendas (shops), restaurantes, bars and simple petrol "stations" with plastic jugs of gas featuring brightly painted numbers. Scored a couple of clay fetishes at one, both sporting twisted wire crosses, and one...a tiny felt dress. We made it to the border at Columbia around 9pm inspired by all we had seen. The crossing took about ten minutes. The guards peeked into our car with a flashlight and only asked if we were carrying fruit. I confessed to a few limes from our garden but they weren't impressed. The dogs didn't even bark, unlike last summer when they acted like a couple of ferocious beasts when the guard's dog sniffed our wheel wells. We drove a "short distance" beyond Laredo then returned to the proper exit. Crashed at a La Quinta Inn where we celebrated our return to the U.S. by brushing our teeth with tap water.

the road home: day 1

Headed north sleepy last Friday at the ungodly hour of 5pm. Said goodbye to our beautiful garden and dirty little street, then made it as far as Querétaro, Querétaro before pooping out. The dogs were very excited to get back on the road, but it's always a challenge to find places that accept pets. Generally speaking, a "don't ask don't tell" policy is honored by the finest, most super funky motels, and some are actually quite nice before we arrive. Just past the Jurica exit we stayed at the former Azteca Motel. Now it's called La Juriquilla Inn. Super nice proprietor, but the room was noisy because the place is right on the highway. Not that I'm complaining; we were grateful for the room. Took the dogs for a big walk around the property when Nemo was suddenly pulled to the ground as if by a powerful dog magnet. BAM! He went down so fast I hardly knew what happened. It was dark, but before he fell I saw a sinister, roundish shadow. Then he proceeded to do his best snail darter routine and shot across the ground on his back in all directions so fast I could only see whitish streaks surrounding me. I was laughing out loud until I smelled something that reminded me of my childhood. Something my grandmother called "cow hick." I didn't realize how bad it was until we walked back into our room and I spent the next hour scraping and scrubbing hick off our little cattle dog and his nasty harness. Before the scrubbin', I had never seen Nemo so happy.

mi libro

Don't quite know where to begin but I did see some nuns' drawers today drying on a line, in the middle of a beautiful garden. And some things that resembled bras and stockings. My mind was confused trying to process all that my eyes were digesting. Seemed funny at the time but in a weird way I wanted to confess. Long story short, we visited our friend Richard today; he has a few nuns residing at his beautiful home for a week or so. They were out doing God's work while we relaxed. Backing up a bit, I finished my book of nonsense. Derli invited us to his home in Morelia the other day to screenprint the cover and glue up a finished book. Great experience. Saw his extraordinary collection of Pre-Columbian artifacts, art, and limited edition artist books (printed while he worked for Brighton Press in San Diego). I've never felt more privileged to be working with such an accomplished artist. Derli Romero is a brilliant painter, printmaker, book artist, and now...a friend. Wow, wow, wow, and he bought us lunch at a cool little Chinese place near the university. The complete edition of 20 books will be produced at the Jesuita by October, but I'm bringing ONE home this weekend. Yeah!

Spent most of today attacking our garden— planting, pruning, potting—preparing for our return home. Ran around town picking up gifts for friends and family, including stone elephants, coffee, oil cloth, plastic bags featuring the Virgin de Guadalupe, lemon liqueur, cigars, and mescal from Oponguio. Hit the garden again, then ran a couple of plants over to friends. By the way, our street's being recobbled...hooray! Our dirty little street should be beautiful in three months, freshly cobbled with new sidewalks. Just in time for Dias de los Muertos. Can't wait. More randomness: I saw a guy outside my studio window this morning wrestling a squawking chicken trying to escape from under a piece of cardboard covering a plastic box tied to the back of his bicycle. Good times. We were planning on heading north tomorrow morning, but with the storms and all, maybe we'll leave on Saturday instead.

la fiesta de patrón santiago en sahuayo

Amazing road trip yesterday to Sahuayo, Michoacan's 479th festival honoring their patron saint, Santiago (St. James the Greater). Mardi Gras meets Carnival, we were definitely the only sober ones there. I was surprised to see Spiderman drinking. The day started with Bob and Rosa meeting up at Casa Brawner at 10am for coffee and sardines, then we set off towards Lake Chapala. We wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And we were also traveling with our friend, Santiago. Perfect. A partial list of the towns we traveled thru: Patzcuaro to Tingambato to Sevina, Nahuatzen, Cheran, thru Once Pueblas, near Patamban and Ocumicho, Loma Linda, Zamora, and a dozen other interesting little places. And dozens of topes (speed bumps) mostly noticed in advance. Everything was green and growing with majestic mountains as the backdrop for a fertile land. We saw strawberry fields and fields of corn, blue agave, squash, and catfish ponds. Wildflowers everywhere, including Indian Paintbrush, and men selling fresh, spiky red liche nuts and pitahaya on the roadside. Liche nuts taste kinda like plums or grapes, and the pitahaya were white and not quite as sweet as the magenta pitaya we had experienced. Both were weird, beautiful, and delicious. Saw lots of ornos (stacked brick ovens for making bricks), and lots of concrete teepee silos. Pulled into Sahuayo, then parked and walked several blocks to the main plaza in search of food and men wearing large feathered masks. Santiago steered us into a great little mom & pop, family-style eatery featuring an old man playing a grubby guitar (sounded good!). We ate the daily special and prepared ourselves for something else. Becky ran off with her camera in search of her Pulitzer while the rest of us shopped for zapatos (shoes) and walked towards the music. Saw a group of penguin clad folks jamming to a funky little band, then Wonder Woman and el Diabla walked by. We followed them and found ourselves in the midst of a constant stream of partygoers, Fred Flintstones, Luchadores, Pink Panthers, and a dozens of people festively dressed in LARGE masks. Children, too. So many bands, so much ponche (a drink made of pomegranate, chocolate, walnuts, coconut, apples, cinnamon, and cane alcohol), and all of the streets were lined with plastic chairs full of onlookers. After walking for awhile, a nice man asked if we'd like to sit with he and his family, so we did. He spoke English, said he lived in the States, and offered us the use of their baño. I guessed his family owned the business behind us. He said the two young boys next to me were his grandsons, so I said: "Me llama es Daniel. Como se llama?" To which they replied: "We're from LA; we're not from here." Many photos were taken and much confetti was thrown. The whole city was celebrating, and apparently it went on into the wee hours. The costumes were beautiful, and each mask weighed about 40 lbs. Many costumes included rows and rows of little aluminum tubes sewn onto the outfits like fringe. Heavy! Made a nice jingling sound. Met up with mi esposa at 6pm and everyone shared stories about what they'd seen, then we walked back towards our car and made plans to return next year for the 480th anniversary festival. Saw troupes of paraders resting beside their large hats near the basilica, and I tried one on. First one didn't fit but the next one was just right and nearly tore my nose off when I took it off. Amazing artistry goes into each one. So much thought and storytelling.

Drove the four hours home towards rain and lightning. And Servina was hoppin' on a Saturday night. Everyone out walking on wet streets, and boys on horseback were flirting with girls in pretty dresses. Came home exhausted and the dogs were fine, but they did break a cool bird-covered bowl we bought last year in San Jose de Gracia. Served us right. Our penance for leaving them behind...you guessed it...mortification of the flesh, and frisbee.

pasaporte a la muerte

Yeah, ok, the pic has nothing to do with my day but it's well worth $29 (about two bucks). Haven't watched it yet, but the cover and typography alone are worth atleast $20, and it's "a colores." Walked down to the ex-colegio this morning to trim pages for my book. The printmaking staff is on vacation but Derli made arrangements for me to still use the print shop. I'm in! A nice man who guards the Jesuita galleries lives directly across the street, where he and his wife own a very delicious chocolate shop; he let me in. Feels good to be there by myself and cranking their music up way too loud. Surprisingly, the print shop's musical taste is largely Bob Dylan, Janice Joplin, Ray Charles, and Cold Play Live. I spent most of the morning listening to Bob Dylan, cutting Japanese paper and red book cloth. The Jesuita is open from about 9am to 2pm (then, lunch), then it's open from 4-7pm. It's the typical Mexican day. Reminds me of Europe. Seems very humane and very condusive to a creative life. I started my walk home for lunch around 1:30pm, saw a dead fish in the street (looked like a crappie), then walked up Lerin past a man carrying a sink on his head. "¡LAVA...platos!" He yelled something like that, and he had a barotone voice perfect for radio. Amazing, lyrical, beautiful! Hell, maybe he was just crazy; he did have a sink on his head. You see that sort of thing a lot down here. Someone carrying one 2x4 down the street, or three plastic buckets, or twelve bird cages full of tropical birds, or a plastic pail containing one raw, dead chicken. I saw two kids carrying large baskets of pastries on their heads. I made it home before the rain, out of breath (the altitude at the print shop is about 7,200 ft, and Casa Brawner is about 7,500 ft...It inspires a lot of stopping and admiring). Ate yummy leftover pasta, then drove to Tzurumutaro with Becky to pick up a curtain rod and stairwell railing from the blacksmith, then back to the print shop to glue red book cloth to book board. Becky drove on home and I walked up later. On my walk home, I heard Johnny (the blind accordian player at Once Patios), saw some interesting spoons in the street, and some of those funny little discarded plastic prizes Andy was collecting. I'll pick them up on my way down tomorrow. Came home to a house full of doggies sporting pink-tipped ears courtesy of mi esposa —the doggie hairdresser—and chicken boiling in a pot. Then my pal Nemo turned on me, cursed me, and demanded frisbee.

flechas

Today contained a week's worth of inspiration, from pink walls to pink dogs. I began by walking down to the print shop to screenprint red arrows (flechas) on top of nonsense, lunched at La Surtidora (a 100 year old coffee shop) with Becky and Derli, gobbled down little cups of mango nieves, walked across Plaza Grande and printed more flechas, then over to Galleria La Mano Grafica to buy handmade Japanese paper (where I met Silvia Capistran and talked about meeting her and Artemio in Tacambaro next week). Then walked up Calle Lerin in the rain and into Casa Brawner with a newly painted PINK stairwell. Yeah. Helped Becky prepare a dinner of colorful organic Swiss Chard, crazy delicious eggplants, homemade Tuscan-style sausages from Zirahuen, and handmade Ricotta-like cheese. Dang! Followed by a delicious shot of homemade mescal from Tacambaro. A talented man wearing a rather large hat visits the printmakers weekly loaded down with plastic Ciel bottles full of spirits nestled in an old burlap bag. Tastes especially good served chilled.

Came home to emails from the editor of the Flannery O'Connor Review—a literary journal devoted to the Southern writer. Bruce Gentry wanted my opinion about the cover and interior which features my work. Cool. I'm very proud to be included in the journal which contains six of my pics and my commentary about the work. A very good day indeed. And dinner was amazing. It's cool in the mtns; my studio door is open to the night air; my belly is full, and the drive home and upcoming semester inspires me. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit to dreaming of a life south of the border.

dragon fruit (pitahaya)

Thursday night's party at Casa Brawner for the Ex-Colegio printmakers was just great. I'm going to miss my morning walks to the printmaking shop, and my new friends there. They're off for a well deserved vacation so we wanted to thank them for all they've done for us and our friends. They're world-class printers and artists. Becky wowed everyone with delicious eats, including catfish tacos and dragon fruit (discovered at a new Friday market and former biker bar), while I plied everyone with cervesas and margueritas. And the dragon fruit stole the show. CRAZY looking and very alien-like with BRIGHT magenta flesh and a kiwi-like texture and taste. Beautiful and delicious. All the food and party photos are by my multi-talented, beautiful esposa. More Spanish speakers than English were in attendance, plus one fine P'urhepecha man who taught everyone a few words of his native language. The party included a lovely couple of artists from Mexico City, a puppeteer (Felippe) from the Ex-Colegio, who is working on a new production of Peter y el Lobo for children in surrounding pueblitos (villages). We talked about trading a poster design in exchange for one of his puppets. Yeah! Derli was there with cute friends, including one girl who was good with a knife. Talented Carolina was practicing celebrating the success of her senior thesis exhibition the following night. Julian, Bob, Santiago, Lon, and others were all having a festive time enjoying good eats and good company with Elvis and Little Walter as the soundtrack for a creative evening.

¡Progreso!

My nonsense book is on the drying rack. Julian prepared the stone with gum arabic and a few drops of nitric acid and let it work its magic overnight. Then wiped the image away yesterday with turpentine, scraped the edges of the stone with a razor, brushed more nitric acid on to clean the edges, then Maestro Derli Romero began pulling proofs on newsprint. The press was adjusted to apply more pressure and a final proof was printed on good paper. Everyone seemed pleased with the final results considering what they had to work with. It's a grubby little book but I'm excited to see it coming together. Julian printed thirty sheets with Carolina Ortega and a friend while I cut book boards in preparation for the screenprinted cover, interior icons and typography. The amazing printmaking crew is going on a two week vacation in a couple of days so we're having a little thank you party at Casa Brawner tonight. Hope Julian brings his harmonica.

birds walking left…my left.

My edition of ten etchings is finished. Four for the Ex-Colegio's permanent collection, which travels periodically, five for me, and one for the printer, Julian. Beautifully printed on creamy Hahnemühle paper. It was a great experience, and I'll definitely be working with drypoint more. It's very raw, just scratching images directly into a copper plate, inking, wiping, soaking paper, and printing.

dummy to stone

Uploaded commercial pics this morning around 1:30 am to meet my Monday morning deadline, then began scribbling on a stone promptly at 10am. It all began with transferring my drawings by placing them face down on sanguine-prepared paper, then tracing over each line to properly transfer the drawing. Then re-drawing them with litho crayon. It took all day to transfer nine pages of nonsense. Nonsense based upon real and imaginary people and plants I've encountered while in Mexico this summer.

Curious how the physical surface you're working on changes things. I'm usually working on a super flat surface that weighs practically nothing. Stone is heavy and it's thick. You move; it doesn't. It changes how you draw but not what you draw. And the preparation necessary to begin is tedious, requiring some time grinding the stone down, grinding away former beautiful drawings or mistakes. You're thinking: "Don't make a mistake or I'll have to grind that damn stone again." But you shouldn't think about such things, really. Just draw and forgive minor "mistakes." So today was a really pleasant day spent with my friend Bob, a day full of drawing and forgiveness…and good tunes.

¡Más cucharas!

Si, more spoons. I got a whole bunch of 'em now, and I may just glue them into and all over my sketchbook. The neighbors must think I'm crazy or really lucky to be finding so much money in the streets. I swear, I've got the whole town looking down for gold and silver. Ha. Funny thing about collecting, you start to get really picky. Last week I would pick up just any ol' filthy little spoon, but now I'm all sophisticated-like…leaving the ordinary to disappear into the dust forever run over by collectivos, firewood-laden horses, and vintage VWs, forgotten…choosing only the best, most bent, smashed, twisted and colorful. White is nice but you can't beat color, and every now and then, a rubberband surprises.

Worked all day in the studio. Commercial gigs are upon me, but I did make a little book dummy for Clutch y Frenos. All this technology available to me in my modest studio only to discover that stone requires cheap photocopies for a proper transfer. Something to do with chemistry and bad ink being better than good. So I walked down to Plaza Grande to a copy center/internet cafe. A lovely woman asked someone behind me if they needed "copias." I turned around and saw no one. Embarassed, I quickly realized her eyes wandered every which way, over and around me, but not at me. So she proceeded to make some off-centered, crooked copies for me. Walked across the street to buy 14 pesos worth of mango ice cream in a tiny plastic cup and ate it sitting on a stone bench with a clean white spoon. Rico!

Tomorrow, I'm transferring childhood imagery and collageness to a beautiful stone surface, then I have about two days to screw it up. Scribble, scribble, scribble. I think my book needs more Angel's Trumpet. Sent my type off today to have screens burned for the cover, etc. Hopefully, I'll come home with some finished nonsense books that measure about 6in x 6ft. We'll see.

clutch & brakes

Too sleepy to write much, but this is pretty much what I did today: walked down to the print shop to transfer imagery and make test scribbles on stone just to get the hang of it, lunched at our favorite eatery located behind a Pemex station (Camino Real), bought a clay pot, bought eggs and cereal, then almost got us killed making a u-turn on a dangerous curve in the road in order to photograph a cool sign, so my book of nonsense drawings will have a title. Clutch y Frenos (Clutch & Brakes). I used to think it read Clutch & Friends. Funny. Came home to hungry dogs, walked upstairs to watch clouds shifting and morphing into a medley of N.C. Wyeth adventure paintings, waited for that little red bird to visit us (and it did, but our camera battery pooped out), then the full moon made an appearance. It's so beautiful down here. Best trip ever.

corpus Christi y papas

Yesterday was a full day. Spent most of it in Cucuchucho (it's taken me four years to learn how to say that), gawking, walking, and collecting. Hiked UP above the town for hours with Becky, Bob, and our trusty guide Didier, along animal paths and fire breaks, beneath orchid-laden Oak-like trees…poked regularly by very pointy agave plants (I'm still bleeding!). It was a great day. After our hike, we drove down to C-town for the Corpus Christi celebration. Seems a bit late, but what do I know about the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ...I'm a Methodist. But I may convert to Catholicism after experiencing all this pageantry, partying, and wicked costumes. Six bandas played for hours; people wearing painted masks, dressed in traditional Purepecha finery, and some dressed like Davy Crockett or fish. Kids were CUTE and dancing up a storm; the women were lovely, and house parties were everywhere. And the music and spicy homemade potato chips were excellent. What's not to love?! Afterwards, we eased down to a muy rustico lakeside eatery for fish soup, baked trout, homemade tortillas, HOT habanero salsa, corundas and cervesa. Drove home sated.

¡Un libro fantástico!

Last night I had the great pleasure of going to an amazing art opening at the Ex-Collegio. The event, which included a lecture and live music, celebrated the completion of a fully illustrated, handprinted artist book featuring Jose Ruben Romero's collection of poems: "Tacambaro." A collaboration between Juan Pascoe and Artemio Rodriguez, the book contains 72 black & white blockprints by Rodriguez. The text was typeset by hand (letter by letter); each page was beautifully composed, and the final books were printed on handmade paper with a 1838 R. Hoe Washington Press by Pascoe's Taller Martin Pescador. It's a handsome book and a remarkable achievement. The exhibition fills two galleries, including a nice display of Romero's original 1922 book, Rodriguez's tools, and a few of his carved blocks. It was great to meet the illustrator/printmaker, and to reconnect with master printer, Juan Pascoe, who I met a few years ago at his home in Tacambaro. Last night I reminded him that the last time we saw one another, he said: "Hey Dan, come back sometime and let's print together." So now it looks like I'm going to Tacambaro next weekend…where I hope to set a few words and print them in his taller (shop). It was an inspiring night, and now I'm the proud owner of a first edition, signed copy of "Tacambaro." I can't wait to share it with my friends, family, and students back home.

las dos ratas

Wow, I really need to clean my scanner.

mujeres y zapatos

Back to beautiful Morelia today to pick up supplies and see "Mujer" (Woman) at Museo de Arte Contemporaneo Alfredo Zalce (MACAZ)—a 19th century building located in the Cuauhtemoc Woods Park on Acueducto Avenue. Powerful lithographs by Fanny Rabel of the Taller Grafica Popular stole the show in my opinion, but upon leaving the museum a "gum" tree won the day. Between the museo and the aqueduct, near the entrance, there's a crooked tree leaning over the sidewalk COVERED with bubble gum. Crazy, nasty fun. I don't know the trees of Mexico very well but I'm guessin' it was a Sweet Gum. Reminds me of a canoe trip Becky and I took several years ago with friends, David and Kathy Wariner (parents of one of Those Darlins), down the Blue River in Crawford County, Indiana. We gathered (saved from certain death) a garbage bag full of trilliums, short-crested iris, wild ginger, indian pinks and jack-in-the-pulpits, and we had lunch afterwards at a riverside cafe. We ordered hamburgers and french fries, and before we finished, the cook invited us back into his kitchen to watch the Kentucky Derby. Seems like he won some money so he plied us with liquor in a dry county (it's not illegal to give it away). As we left the cafe I saw a funky little handpainted sign nailed to a telephone pole that read: Shoe Tree. I asked David about it and he said: "It's a big ol' tree that people have thrown shoes up into for years." I said: "I want to see that!" So we drove south of Milltown to the intersection of Devil's Hollow and Pilot Knob Road, the intersection of nowhere and there. There we saw an enormous tree full of shoes and other shoes hanging on telephone wires and nestled in the weeds. So of course we hopped out and flung the grounded shoes back up into the tree. I don't remember what we did after visiting the Shoe Tree, but I do remember having a great time and wishing our friends still lived in Nashville.

centro cultural clavijero

Too much, too much, too much. Forgot to mention seeing a fantastic international poster exhibition at the Centro Cultural Clavijero last week. 10a. Bienal Internacional del Cartel en Mexico…AMAZING! There must've been 100 enormous posters exhibited in one of Morelia's most beautiful art museums. I recognized only a couple of designers from the States—Lanny Sommese and Paul Davis—favorites of mine since I was in college. But the real standouts for me, for inventive imagery and original type design, were Japan's Linda Ritoh (sculptor, graphic designer, and typographer) and the creepy modernist creations of the legendary Kazumasa Nagai. Limited color, beautiful compositions, odd...Yeah!

lost

Wow, wow, great weekend. Met our friends: Didier (and his dog, Chanel), Bob, Rosa, and their son, Earl,  and drove to Ihuatzio (Place of the Coyotes) for a hike above, around and back to its pre-Columbian pyramids. We hiked part of the Camino Real (an ancient walking path connecting Ihuatzio to Tzintzuntzan) to the top of a small mountain for a beautiful view of Ihuatzio’s twin pyramids, Lake Patzcuaro, the isle of Juanitzio, and the mtns beyond. Five minutes after we left our parked cars, I lost mi esposa. Most of us  took a fork in the path (right), but Becky was so moved by the scenery and photo opportunities that when she came to the proverbial fork in the road…she took it (left). Bob and I waited for her on an incline while she descended towards stone fences and no one waiting below. We waited and she waited and we waited and she waited, and then I walked back for her,  calling: “Becky!” And she finally replied: “I’m down here!…where were you…why didn’t you wait on me?!” (Some time passed.) Then we shared the beautiful vista with everyone. Small plants were collected, I mean saved from certain ruin. Then we all hiked across gorgeous farmland between stone fences up to a pine forest populated with agave plants and beautiful wildflowers. The smell of pine perfumed the air. We walked thru curious rock formations caused by ancient volcanic eruptions, more stacked rock fences, and small rock dams designed to prevent erosion, then we hiked down thru farm lanes and past a farmer working his fields with a horse and plow. Down to the highway for orange drinks at a tiny market and a long walk back thru Cucuchucho where we saw four men in a walled area carrying a giant hog with a knife in its heart. Then it started raining. Becky was feeling funky so when a friend of Didier’s happened to drive up, we asked if he would give us a ride back to Ihuatzio. He kindly agreed and drove us to our car. Then it really started pouring. So we drove back for our amigos; everyone piled into our little red Element, and we headed home. Checked on our doggies back in Patzcuaro then drove down to Casa de la Real Aduana for a hearty, delicious meal of hamburgers, fries, a killer salad, and black Agave mescal served in British silver laced shot glasses. Malbec made an appearance, as did Aduana’s secret weapon, Gemma. All enjoyed in a beautiful dining room full of exquisite furniture, crafts, corkscrews, and walls lined with Cindy Sherman, Joel Peter Witkin and Didier Dorval photographs. All set to good tunes and good stories followed by yummy chocolate mousse. Afterwards, the women escaped the men and returned to their respective casas while the guys stayed up late watching Chinatown with cervezas in the media room full of Rufino Tamayo, Judith Deim, Dali, and Walker Evans. Pinch me; surely I’m dead or dreaming. I walked home inspired across a Plaza Grande filled with live music and festive people, turned right on Doctor Cos past Once Patios, over and left and and up the heart-pounding super steep Calle Naverette, then right on Calle Lerin past the carniceria and the parked trucks with crazy great toppers, left on muy rustico Calle Claviero into Casa Brawner Sur and everyone sleeping. Aaah. ZZZ!

Sunday, we met Bob, Rosa and Earl in front of Patzcuaro’s museum where the pastry folks set up. Great place to meet up in case anyone arrives late. Yum. Didier and super cute, wrinkley Chanel met us there to see us off. Sadly, they couldn’t join us but we had a good chat and a donut. Then we all set off for Morelia’s flea market and were almost immediately separated from one another, then reunited, then separated again, but not before finding lots of bootleg cds, yummy eats, torn comic books, and albums featuring funny men sporting sombreros and mugs of beer. The Sunday fleamarket in Morelia is a maze of covered streets full of people shopping, selling and eating. I’ll always regret not buying a medical mannequin that spilled its plastic guts. Becky and I had a couple of yummy popsicles then reconnected with Bob and Rosa who had lost their son. After awhile we pretty much gave up on ever seeing Earl again so we all decided to enjoy a delicious comida at the Hotel Vierrey’s sidewalk cafe. (Some time passed and Earl miraculously reappeared). Then Becky and I drove home to find two dogs very upset we’d left them behind.

cucharas

Back from the Friday market with a replacement flower pot, a cool dark rose, a climbing something, avocados, cilantro, and fresh, hot tortillas. And a plastic bag full of used (cucharas) spoons. Yeah! Thanks to our recent guests, now I'm looking down for inspiration instead of up. Amazing what you can find down there. Of course there's the usual dirt, rocks, candy wrappers and bottle caps, but also, TONS of plastic spoons. Which is pretty telling I guess; Patzcuaro's famous for its nieves (ice cream), and everyone around here has a powerful sweet tooth (which probably accounts for the alarming number of dentist offices in town). It's definitely a great place to graze. Seems every few steps one is tempted by gigantic sugar wafers or sugared peanuts or foot-long crueller-like donuts or amazing ice cream served in little upside down hat-like wafers or cotton candy or flavored ices or sugar cookies filled with jam. There must be fifty panaderias (bakeries) in this town. Two seconds ago a man walked down our street yelling: "FRESAS CON CREMA, DAMNIT!" (strawberries & cream. He didn't really say damnit). He carried two woven straw baskets full of the wonderfulness but I wasn't tempted. And this morning the popsicle girl kept ringing her jingley-jangley bells outside my window at 10am. Wasn't exactly Pop Goes the Weasel, but maybe our dirty little street really is paradise.

ave maria

Off to the Friday market in search of odd birds, plants and pottery. Scribbling this afternoon. Looking forward to hiking above the Tarascan pyramids in Ihuatzio tomorrow, and traveling to the Sunday fleamarket in Morelia. (Detail of my drypoint etching "birds walking left" above)

mayan extra

it manufactures of matches and fosforos
the independent one worn for sale
it be closed before to be used
contained 50 matches

manola elegante

match seller the head office
before being lit
50 matches of security
it closes of before to be lit

corrupt straw hat

The suit of the man from to horse
of velvet and razo
with galon tie of organza
with blanket and sombrero

Freetranslation Spanglish Trash Poem #1. Image courtesy of our little dirt corner. Inspired by the ultimate gleaner, Andrew Saftel.

Ex-Collegio Jesuita

Well, our guests traveled home safely on Sunday and Monday; the temperature's dropped twenty degrees since they departed, and our fireplaces are roaring. Love this weather. The rainy season is fantastic—cool, clean, and the whole town smells like woodsmoke. The sky is beautiful tonight and I'm thinking about time spent printmaking last week with old and new friends. The fine folks at the Ex-Collegio Jesuita (Derli Romero and Julian) were extremely generous and taught us all a thing or two about printing. Andy Saftel got the ball rolling by teaching Steve and me about drypoint, and how to prepare, ink, and properly wipe a plate. He provided copper plates, and I donated ink to the shop. Since Andy and Steve were headed back to Tennessee before me, their editions were printed first, just in time for their trip home. Beautiful. Andy created a compelling image of a curious man in a boat; Steve created a feisty luchador, and I scratched four birds walking left. After coming up with images, we gathered around my dining table to begin working on the thin sheets of copper. Andy suggested we take our plates outside and rub them against the stone patio to create an interesting background (great idea!), then we started drawing and scratching on the plates with a twisted etching stylus, and burnishing down “mistakes.” After a late night of artmaking and squeezing limes, the next morning we walked down to the shop to pull proofs and see what we had. We made adjustments to the drawings there and later at Casa Brawner. Then back to the Ex-Collegio the following day for finishing touches and final printing. Excellent work was created in such a short amount of time in the beautiful 16th century ex-Jesuit college (which is also an exhibition space and cultural center). So great, and only about six blocks away. We had a impromtu dinner party back at the ranch on Thursday night to celebrate the week. Steve belted out the blues on a cheap guitar from Paracho, and Julian played a mean harmonica while Andy banged on a plastic bucket used for stirring dirt paint. Sounded amazing. Good times. Can't wait to get back down to the shop tomorrow to print my edition and begin a new book project.