Chronicles of a Painting: Part 2

I had been with the obsession of buying canvas cloth for a long time even though I loved to paint on masonite panels.  I think it started out of knowing I could get a large amount of cloth at a cheap prize in Reynosa.  Honestly, anything that has to do with buying something at Reynosa makes me happy and much more if I pass/stop at el centro.

El centro is a place that brings me many memories that seem so distant now.  I remember entering into el mercadito and smelling leather all over the place.  I wanted everything all the time.  I wanted a zarape, a leather purse, with leather boots, a sombrero, leather coin purses, all the candy and all the dresses I could fit in.

Last year, my dad and I went to Reynosa without being scared of the violence going on at the border.  I am not a brave one but I am often reminded that I am like my dad who often says, "de algo nos vamos a morir."  It is a joke of course and a harsh one that I also love to say.  My favorite joke coming from my dad has been, up to this point, when I have told him that I was hungry and he replied with, " que bueno, es senal que estas viva."  

I often think of Federico Garcia Lorca and how he went back to his homeland even though he knew he would get killed.  I can say my thought when I crossed the border has been one of happiness.  I can never wait to smell Reynosa.  I love all its ugliness and complexity.  I take it all in.

I had been in Reynosa that Saturday less than three hours when I suddenly found myself at a supermarket restroom trying to calm myself.  I remember wanting to fix my hair in front of the mirror and noticed my hand shaking.  I was scared.  We had been at el centro to buy the cloth and upon coming out we noticed blocked streets we thought were car accidents but in reality was a preparation for a shooting.  

The military helicopter could not had been louder flying over the big traffic congestion we were in.  I saw women running inside stores and covering their heads.  The agony in everyone had vanished all my memories.

When I was in high school, I asked my mom if the amount of violence had increased with time.  If maybe, when I was little it had been calmer.  Her answer was no.  There had been no change.

I think if my grandmother and grandfather were alive I would ask them the same question about the violence that is going on right now.  It will comfort me if they said it was just the same as in the Mexican Revolution.  Yet, what an immense sadness it will generate.

Chronicles of a Painting: Part 1

I left the last painting I created this year "forgotten" to dry for a month that turned into almost three.  I started  with an attitude that usually revolves around me when I begin a painting of not caring for the painting.  My mentality is a plain one: It's just another painting.  But ultimately, it becomes more than just a painting.  Believe me when I say this, all I do becomes more than what it is because I find the meaning to attach to it even if I have to dig and dig and get my hands all muddy.

Now, I knew I had to give it up and this is why 1. I had this do not care about attitude and 2. I procrastinated until the last moment to mail in the painting.  I had always an excuse of next weekend or lets wait another month so it can be really really dry.  All excuses that are non professional.  Today I can say I mailed it.

I felt nervous to the point that I sat in the car writing a letter to Paul and his family and upon seeing my messy handwriting I rewrote it.  I bought the tube at Staples feeling weird to enter with the rolled up painting and finding it significantly easy to find the right tube when I thought it was going to take me an hour.  I made time for I do not know what and I ended up leaving the store close to 4:25pm.  I didn't do it intentionally even though I know they close the post office at 5:00pm sharp.

To my surprise, there was no line.  As I explained to the lady at the post office that I had to mail this large tube to New Zealand, I realized how naive I was of not knowing if I was doing things right.  Where do I put the address and where does my name go and who is in charge of putting tape?

More so, can I walk the painting to the truck? Where are you going to put it in the meanwhile and is there such thing as staying all night/travelling with the painting?

All I got was "thank you," "this is all it" "I will finish packing it" which translates to "yes, please go you are holding up the line."