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.