headed down and back again

Shudawudakuda. I’ve missed so many opps to tell silly little stories about what’s going on, but what ya gonna do. Backtrack!

It was all smooth sailing back to Nashville. Made it home safely last night after a busy and adventurous summer. Driving home, we spent our first evening in Matehuala's “swanky” Capris Hotel where I smoked a Cuban cigar overlooking a mirky swimming pool sporting a large, partially submerged blue tarp (and lord knows what was swimming underneath). Crossed the border with no drama then made a beeline to Juan's Gorditas in Devine, Texas where we dined al fresco with an excellent view of a giant pile of used tires. Bliss! Drank my beer from a brown paper bag. On our way down in May, we stopped at Juan’s because the Devine Tortilla Factory was closed. After placing my order of a few Carne Asada tacos I was trying to decide between Mexican Coca-Colas and regular Coca-Colas. “What’s the difference,” I asked. From behind me a voice answered: “Mexican Cokes are Bad Ass!” And the voice was correct. Now, Juan’s is a tradition. So good. On the way home we spent the night at San Antonio's Market Street La Quinta Inn, then two nights in Locust Bayou, Arkansas with Becky's folks. Enjoyed a sweaty family reunion under their carport lined with deer trophies from JT’s numerous Mexican hunts, plus wild boar tusks, turkey beards, and a plastic clock that reads 3pm 24 hours a day. And pretty barn swallows flitted about. 99.7 degrees in the shade. Lovely view of the highway twenty yards away with logging trucks rolling on by, and the neighbor's ex-husband with his new girlfriend sitting in HER pickup (waiting with a golden retriever relaxing in her generous lap). He kept returning things to his ex that weren’t quite his during our visit, and JT kept calling out to him: "When you going to sell me that gun?!." The reunion's fried catfish, okra, grilled pork and bbq chicken were amazing! I love Becky’s family, and we had a great time catching up. Terry, Connor, and I practiced shooting red cups, plastic luchadores, dragonflies and lively grasshoppers with Connor's bb gun. After the gathering, the night sky was so clear and full of so many stars, and I enjoyed JT’s salty stories (wish I’d recorded them all). The drive home on Sunday was flat and uneventful, but I had forgotten how lovely Tennessee is until we crossed the Mississippi. Damn it is hot, but so green, rolling, and beautiful.

mas nonsense

Signed the completed edition of Clutch y Frenos this trip. Looking forward to exhibiting Mexico imagery back home, plus at the Ex-Colegio in March. The fine folks at the Jesuita are amazing. I've been creating lots of new pics and finished prototypes for two new nonsense books. And mucho commercial gigs fuel my late night explorations hither and yonder. They also provide fuel for my Honda which we'll be pointing north in a couple of weeks.

la mujer de las cucharas

Sketchbook's hemorrhaging...in desperate need of a tourniquet or duct tape. Gas Express started up just before 7am, beating my alarm by minutes but bested by the roosters. Hundreds of roosters. My neighbor's duck is quacking and a collectivo just drove by. Guinness is sitting on the tiny balcony outside my studio barking at the passerby walking to work or buying pan dulces across the street. Looking east towards Morelia, the mountain is being swallowed by an enormous cloud and the morning's kitchen fires make the whole world smell like piñón. My feet are cold, so I'm headed downstairs for socks, more coffee, and if I have change...maybe a sensible donut.

iglesia

Sketchbook's gettin' fat, heavy and sticky.

Hojalateria y Pintura

Trying my best to fill this damn sketchbook before I get home. Among other things. Mashing together my past and present, what I've seen with what I'm seeing, what I've made with what I'm making. Think I carved that squirrel in the ninth grade. Figure it all out when I get home, maybe. Sure would like to hang that Vulka tire I found on my walk yesterday, above my drawing table. And that tooth-like Clutch y Frenos sign parked near La Guera on the Libramiento...next to it. A beauty. Funny listening to RVU on itunes down here, typing this with dried gel medium on my fingers.

smokin'

Brrr, it’s super chilly on my rooftop watching fireworks exploding over the Estribo while smoking a Cuban cigar. Reminds me of shooting Chinese bottle rockets from Coca-Cola bottles to celebrate the fourth when I was a kid, and of shooting Roman candles at each other in Donelson. Of sparklers and Black Cat firecrackers, and of Jimmy Fleming smoking one once. He said it had a cool mellow taste until it blew his lips off…right in front of us. Jimmy used to eat frozen French fries and dog biscuits to impress us, I guess. His brother David once sold my dad an Elk rack for a quarter. Tonight I’m drawing beer bottles, frogs playing guitars, cuckoo clocks, and bras hanging from tv antennas, while Becky’s recovering downstairs reading Hardcore Troubadour. I’ve been reading Murakami this summer, and the summer’s tunes have largely consisted of Jeanette “Baby” Washington, Barbara Lynn, Sonny Burgess, Memphis Slim, Fern Jones, and Paul Burch. And of course the rockin’ tunes of Gas Express and Gas del Lago competing for my business early. A dog’s howling a screechy weird howl next door and the rain is settling in for the evening. I’m shuttin’ down soon because my cigar is almost down to its band but not before the end of Femme L’a Dit. On second thought, maybe I’ll scribble some more, then brush my teeth.

Santa Ana

Today around 11:30 am there was a knock at the door, just as we were finishing Becky's amazing French toast made with Ibo's life enhancing bread, and Guinness barked like mad. Nothing new there. Becky answered the door, and it was Silvia. "We'd like to invite you to Artemio's birthday party this afternoon. You can be late." We showed up around 5:30 just as the band started up. Lots of great folks in attendance at Pat and Vero's beautiful home. Dogs, kids making art, and everyone dancing on wooden boards. More please.

contraseña

More experimental collageness at 4am.

amigas

Woke up early this morning thinking about all the friends we’ve enjoyed this summer. Dear friends, Jane Braddock and Carol Mode visited us for a week, and we had too much fun exploring, talking, shopping and eating. Jane woke up each morning to the loud, recorded jingles of competing propane companies blasting throughout our neighborhood. I’d find her reading downstairs surrounded by the smell and sounds of coffee brewing. We’d sit and chat about the sights and sounds of Mexico then I’d usually walk across our newly cobbled street to buy pastries or bolillos or huevos for breakfast. Most days we’d all get out and explore Patzcuaro while other days we’d just hang out at the house, cooking or piddling. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning, Becky, Jane, Carol and Susan walked down to Plaza Grande for Tai Chi with Bob, while I stayed in and worked on a commercial gig. One day we hired Ulysses, a local healer, to give everyone massages while it rained outside. I haven’t had many professional massages so it was a real treat to have the tips of my fingers and toes given so much attention. And face and back, and my head in a towel sling rocked back and forth followed by a stretch and pop of the spine. All was well and I was feeling healed with my face facedown in the donut thingey. Until the donut fell unexpectedly… along with my face. Luckily, I didn’t suffer any major damage, and the healer apologized. Then, after some realignment I tried to relax by thinking about the rain, trying to separate its sound from that of water trickling from our courtyard fountain...then, Bam! Again! I think I chipped a tooth. So much for relaxation and trust. All gone. I spent the next half hour tense and nervously awaiting the next drop. Actually, the massage was pretty great and I am definitely less toxic. Other highlights from our friends’ visit included: a visit with Didier at Real Aduana, a drive to Santa Clara del Cobre, listening to Becky and Jane in the back seat practicing dirty phrases in Spanish, dinner at the EcoHotel, Andy's birthday party with plastic wrestlers on his cake, dinner at Bob & Rosa’s with five virgos, and a beautiful Thai meal prepared by Jane (she traveled here with her own jar of chili paste). Seems like we were always eating and/or talking about food. I enjoyed sharing my red book with Carol one afternoon, and talking about art, teaching, and her upcoming trip to London. We explored the town together, as couples, and in threes...Patzcuaro’s funky bumpy, cobbled streets proved to be an excellent excuse to hold hands. Everyone traveled home safely with their treasures, so now we’re anticipating a reunion in Nashville and tasty meals on colorful tablecloths.

santa anna

I dreamt Nemo caught a bird last night. I was walking out into our courtyard and saw a little wren just ahead of him, standing in the grass; he didn't see the bird and the bird didn't see him, and when they met...Nemo took the bird in his mouth. Nemo turned towards me with that guilty little look he used to have, not making eye contact, sort of noncommittal and feigning innocence, like "nothing's going on over here folks, let's just keep moving it along." That's all I remember, but it was fun seeing him again.

Too much going on to fully capture it all but we're just in from a lovely evening with friends thinking about all the amazing people we have reconnected with, folks we have history with, new friends we're excited about, and Tennessee friends we've lured to paradise. Yesterday, we drove out to Santa Anna, near Patz, to see Artemio and Silvia's new house/studio project—an awesome adobe brick structure on a nice plot of land overlooking Lake Patzcuaro. And we had a beautiful meal at their friends Veronica and Patrick's next door overlooking the mountains and the rains coming in. So much good food, wine, bread, and conversation about art, life, and dogs. And hammocks. Vero wowed us with her spectacular ceramic figures and a demonstration of her beautiful technique, then Patrick concerned me with his improbable homemade muzzleloading shotgun held together with a zip tie and a couple of nails. And later, his great marionette-like ceramic figures. Anne, Dave, Marcia, Bob and Rosa...an afternoon to remember and Guinness got to run, run, run.

pulpo

Just looked out my window to see kids playing in the dirt and kicking soccer balls. The sky is a crazy cerulean blue broken up by white, billowy clouds and the sounds of dogs barking, and recorded messages advertising propane gas and pastries. All strangely reminds me of pop beads and Richpond, Kentucky and digging for treasure in my grandparents' machine shed with Eddie and Emily. Sitting and digging in red dirt surrounded by worn timber, machinery, jars of screws and nails, and garden hoses. Waiting for Moc to call out: "Time for supper!" And of course, we'd dig for a few minutes more then climb over the wooden fence and run through the clanging metal gate next to the garden into the freshly mown yard past the well house over stone pavers under the covered patio that Dad built, past the old stone grinding wheel over two concrete steps up and through the screen door with the little green bean smudge on the door handle into the warm, wood paneled room past the old butter churn and Poc's chair, into the kitchen and onto a wooden chair at the round kitchen table where we used to help Moc separate the rocks from the beans. We'd sit down and eat white beans and cornbread with hamhocks and homegrown, sliced tomatoes with iced tea or iced water in pretty glasses...city water from the Stahl's, poured from clean, plastic Chlorox bottles. Everything tasted wonderful and we would tell each other stories. Moc washed the dishes then we'd sit in the den and watch Lawrence Welk and she'd sit next to the TV facing us, and she would tell us stories about her life on Hanging Fork Creek. We'd try to watch the regularly scheduled programs but her stories about life on the farm are the stories that stay with me...stories about children getting eaten by hogs or drowning, and of gypsies and Freetown and flying in airplanes. Stories, family stories, lots and lots of stories. I know them all by heart.

¡mentira!

Poor Mickey with his face all painted out like that. ?! Walked all over Patz this morning, scribbled, then met with Derli about producing my new book, Vulcanizadora, at the Jesuita this fall. Yeah! 3-4 color screenprint, including a linen cover, silver metallic ink and mescal (ha). Got a show lined up for spring 2011 at the ex-Colegio. Can't wait for spring. Speaking of spirits, the old mescal dude showed up this afternoon at the print shop. 150 pesos for one liter. He's about 90 million years old wearing a white cowboy hat carrying a burlap bag containing a plastic gas tank full of mescal, with a clear plastic tube used as a delivery device. Everyone lit up when he arrived and started looking for empty Ciel or Santorini bottles to fill. He filled mine.

retorno con pollo

Oh, the handpainted signage just kills me...so beautiful, so delicious. And the handpainted type...yum. I love taking snaps of it all, smashing it all together when I get home, and smiling at the results.

vulcanizadora nino

More vulka is more. Detail from my second nonsense book to be printed at the Jesuita this year. Second in a series dealing with rough edges and auto repair. This one is planned as a three color serigraph, concertina-style book featuring angry globelike creatures and stolen typography. I'm cornering the market.

Corpus in Patz

Much like Corpus in Ihuatzio last year, Corpus Christi in Patzcuaro involved much throwing of large objects from second story windows: plastic pots, brooms, hats, and the hurling of dangerous fruits...at us below. Good times and I loved it. Escaped without injury and came home with no pots. Plaza Grande was hopping and the music was amazing and wonderfully repetitive. I am crazy for those sour clarinets.

La Frontera

Falling so far behind, but wow, a constant source of inspiration and fun this month has been time spent with our friends, Andy Saftel and Susan Knowles. Brilliant, fun people! And certainly Andy's large scale print projecto completely knocked me out...31 colors, an edition of 13, requiring nearly one month's concentration and talent from a team of five suberb printmakers. The piece addresses the border between Mexico and the U.S., and is based on Andy's experience here last summer, reference photos taken then, and drawings and extensive historical research before and since. More drawings, paintings, and collages produced the watercolor that inspired the prints. Multiple wood blocks were carved in his studio in Pikeville then they drove them to Mexico to experience the border, and to print. Derli, Carolina, Julian, Isabella, and Andy did a spectacular job, including producing of a series of copper plate etchings. Too much, too much, and the party at Susan and Andy's place to celebrate the completion of the project was a night to remember. Fun, ceviche, bebibas, and dancing on the Plaza Grande surrounded by large puppet-like creatures, Banda de Zirahuen, and explosives.

Tacambaro

Traveled to Tacambaro yesterday to visit new friends, Artemio and Sylvia. We gathered picnic supplies and headed off in search of adventure and breakfast. Landed at el Molina after a beautiful hour long drive through the mountains. Passed pine thickets, peach orchards, avocado plantations, and thousands of blackberry bushes. Lots of folks selling pulque along the way but we weren’t tempted. Unmarked topes (speed bumps) kept trying to get us but we were always on the lookout. Saw Synchronicity, Vulcanizadora, and muffler men…Mofles! El Molino’s avocado omelette was super yummy. We hated to picnic on empty stomachs so we ate a lot before lunch. Afterwards, we traveled down into Tacambaro, a beautiful colonial town, and bought carnitas. Headed out to a crater lake to swim but I went for a hike instead. Susan and Artemio swam while I walked up a ridge through burnt fields and enjoyed the beautiful view. Becky enjoyed visiting with Sylvia and Andy lakeside surrounded by red dragonflies, then we all moved on to Taller Martin Pescador. What an amazing day. Can’t quite describe how inspiring it was but it was a day filled with stimulating conversations about typography, letterpress, literature, music, art, politics, and papayas. Juan Pascoe is a worker, philosopher, printer, designer, typophile, historian, writer, musician…and a very nice man. We thoroughly appreciated his hospitality and wished we had known he was in desperate need of ping pong balls. We dined on carnitas and vino while he entertained us with stories about Frida Kahlo, Leo Eloesser, and their letters. We enjoyed seeing his current collaborative effort with Rodriguez, on press, about the Mexican Independence. "Everything this year is about tens." And hearing more about the history of Mexican printing surrounded by sleeping dogs, dancing boxes, and violin playing. And Andy made off with one of Juan Pascoe's shoes.

Mofles

So many muffler shops, so little time. They're so convincing; I'm always thinking: "I really should buy a new muffler."

libramiento

Well, let's see where this goes. So much has been going on since we arrived and I have not been writing about it. No particular reason, just living, walking, visiting, looking, scribbling. Dinners with friends, including a lovely evening at the Eco-Hotel on the Estribo (a beautiful stretch of land along a ridge overlooking farmland below Patzcuaro). So nice, so much fun, too much laughing. Forgot my hat when we left, so Becky and I HAD to return the next morning for hotcakes and more vista. A dinner at Susan and Andy's at their spectacular place on Calle Jose Abad overlooking Patz and the lake and the islands and volcanoes and churches and biblioteca and fireworks. Cocktails at Susan and Andy's with Lon and Santiago then dinner at Mistongo with music. Amazing dinner at Bob and Rosa's with Didier, Andy, Susan, Artemio and Sylvia...so good, so inspiring. Much plans for future adventures, including Sunday in Tacambaro with a picnic and maybe swims in a crater. Walked down to the Plaza yesterday with Andy to see a beautiful competition between two school bands in front of the ex-Colegio. Tough, beautiful bands facing off drumming and much blowing of horns. Very militaristic, orchestrated, strong. When the decision was announced, Patzcuaro's band won and was elated, shaking hands and screaming with joy while the losing team burst into tears but dutifully played on, defeated but proud. Playing background music while the victor's danced, slapped backs, and shook hands. So sad, so emotional. Today, Becky and I walked down to a new little organic market on Dr. Cos. Bought homemade baguettes and pizzas and empanadas and organic chicken. Yum. Becky walked up while I walked on and towards the Libramiento in search of inspiration along the rough little by-pass around town. Walked for an hour or so and saw mostly muffler shops, tire repair shops, radiator repair shops, lumber yards, viveros, marisco stands, and one hundred hand painted signs. I kept one hand on my hat and a finger on the shutter release. Kept crisscrossing the road over and back again, shooting tires and muffler men and squid and pulpo, trying not to get run over, imagining a future book featuring fragments of it all. Tires, retread tires, have been on my mind since we started driving in Mexico. Vulca, Vulcanizadora, Vulka, pronounced "Boolka." Definitely on my mind this trip. Heck if I know why...guess I just like the sound of it, the look of it, poorly handpainted in white letters on a black rubber tire. Last year, clutches and brakes; this year, tire repair. Yep.

Vulcanizadora Rag

Daydreaming of retread tire shops while eating mango ice cream in the newly restored Plaza Grande. As much as I love Scott Joplin, and the newly refurbished plaza, I prefer the clippity cloppity of "old men" dancing in wooden shoes with twisted canes... to the piped in ragtime. Bose must've chipped in handsomely for the new pavers, flowers, and speakers. Still, Plaza Grande is beautifully understated.

Reading Hokusai surrounded by teenagers necking, admiring his women diving for abalone in Sangi Takamura from "The Hundred Poems Explained by a Nurse." Amazing detail and very inspiring, but my hat keeps blowing off in the wind. Lost a day due to a stomach bug, which I blame on the altitude and not the delicious eats. I don't blame the mariscos, carne apache, pizzas, cervezas, mescal, ravioli, Sopa Tarasca, guacamole, chuletas de cerdo, Huevos Rancheros, mango smoothies, chocolate flan, consomme de pollo, chilaquiles, or the endless pastries available only a few steps from our front door. Fireworks exploding at all hours, LOUD explosions...sensory assaults demanding God's attention. "Hey God, check this out...BOOM!"

So good catching up with old friends in new places. Walking muchly, making more, sleeping soundly.

los cerebros de diez hombres diminutos

Dang, these masks are so hot I had to take my shirt off. But it feels like I got the brains of ten men! Granted, some are kindly tiny.

Retorno

When I was a kid, we used to tie strings to the legs of June Bugs and they'd buzz around our heads like little motorized kites. I don’t remember who taught us how to do that. We caught Yellow Garden Spiders in glass jars filled with toilet paper soaked in fingernail polish remover and pinned them to boards for show & tell. We shot pretty much anything that moved with our bb guns and reloaded them from cardboard tubes. Of course this has nothing to do with where I am today, sitting here typing at midnight listening to dogs barking and trucks clattering along the Libramiento. Becky’s sleeping and Guinness is lying in a grassy patch in our courtyard. The moon’s almost full and I’m thinking about dinner and laughing with friends. We watched the most amazing fireworks exploding up and over Plaza Chica.

Back at it one year later. Landed safe and sound in Patzcuaro after the four day drive from Nashville, after the flood. Not sure why I didn't keep up this blog thing. So many good things have happened over the past year, and many sad things. Just decided it would be a travelogue. Our adventure south began last week without our dear sweet Nemo. Hate to start up again on such a down note but I miss that little guy so much it's been hard to breathe sometimes. Can't quite believe he’s gone, that happy, manic, busy little dog: Nemo, Buddy, Bud, Little Brother, Brud, Little Guy, Bro, Little Man, Crazy, Boo Boo, Mister. He traveled to Mexico twice only to be hit by a random car on our quiet little Nashville street. Best little companion ever. I missed seeing him in my rear view mirror on our drive down. Came close to canceling our trip but finally realized we would miss him wherever we were.

We headed south last Wednesday, just one day late, and spent the night in Texarkana. Traveled to Laredo the next night and met up with our friends, Susan and Andy. Crossed the border bright and early the next morning into Nuevo Laredo only to drive straight through customs without showing passports, receiving tourist visas, or vehicle permits. We were encouraged right on thru and traveled on for almost an hour before it occurred to me: "Um, we ain't exactly driving here...legally. How did that happen?” So I pulled over and Susan called the embassy, and Ms. Embassy said: “Get your butts back to the border!” We promptly returned and were properly processed. Some time passed and we headed south again. Drove onwards towards paradise with all the requisite stickers in place. Saw some stuff along the way, including a double rainbow. Spent the night in Matehuala at the crappiest motel in the country with doors that partially locked and curtains that partially closed, and things that go bump in the night kept bumping and rattling chains. The next day was full of beautiful scenery and women selling dried snakes and cactus and red birds, and strawberries and caramel and watermelons. We saw one million Joshua trees dancing and boxing, and almost as many retread tire shacks. And we faired well while passing down the middle.