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."

The Art of Memory

Memories are powerful.  They often make us hold on to objects for a long time.  They make us move forward and backwards.  I rather hear people talk than talk.

Some memories are corrupted and others can pass as hallucinations.  In the end they are all subjective.  I think of memories as trees.  In Reynosa, the trees were painted white with cal so the tree would last the winter or plague; anything.  I often think about doing the same thing to memories.  I want to protect the little bits I can remember. 

And I often join them all in a world that only exists within me which I paint so it can exist outside of me.

Rio Grande Bravo

So here it is, finished.  I will always enjoy painting/ drawing the Rio Grande Bravo since it's a place I can say I'm closely related to for spending most of my life crossing it.  I hardly believe in miracles or wish for anything.  I often just think: things would be nicer if such and such thing would happen.  But, if I were to pray for anything, wish for something or just hope, it will be for the water in Rio Grande Bravo to be born again.

The dark weather is coming

Rain, cold fronts and the unexpected hurricane always show up in August and September.  For the longest time, I had not seen lighting.  I had not felt my legs hurt with a change of winds.  More changes are coming in the next days that will be a relieve from the horrible heat we have right now but I know I will miss it once its gone. 
The mesquite trees are the only ones that do not get affected by any change.  They stay green throughout the whole entire year.  Everything else dries easily here because of the heat or cold weather.  There are times that I hear people say how they wish the valley would change colors...the leaves fall and become all white.  There is no change here and I wonder if this is a good or bad.  I wonder if the young prefer change and the old prefer stability. 
The Rio Grande Bravo has changed in the course of years.  People say it was prettier back then when the water was cleaner.  I still say its a marvelous monster that makes you feel tiny and consumes your life for a moment.  We might have changed it but I wonder when it will change us because after all we cannot control it and never will.  We might use it to our advantage but once it gives up on us what will it do to humanity? 

 

The Rio Grande Bravo is unique because it has been used for unnatural purposes.  It is a body of water used to separate two countries that has been filled with bodies and drugs which are things that have stained its image.  I had never gotten close to until someone about three years ago wanted a painting of el Chalan.  I had the opportunity to cross the Rio Grande Bravo without a bridge and without fear.  I remember looking at the sky and all around me realizing for the first time it was a river, one that was beautiful.

This time I remembered a phrase my mom used to say when the cold weather would come "el cielo esta aborregado."  I will not try to translate not because I can't but because it is useless.  Meanings always get lost when they travel through languages.  I rather explain it.  People use this phrase when the sky has clouds carrying ice.  These clouds form the shapes of sheep and from there comes the word "aborregado" from "borrego" or sheep.

In my first and only visit to el Chalan, the sky was "aborregada" and this is why I realized that I had never painted the Rio Grande Bravo when a cold front was coming in.  Cold fronts always make me think more about the water.  Is the water cold?

I still need to define the painting more but here is the start. 

Darkness in the Making

 

It is interesting all the colors seen at night.  I have often seen the sky turn red and at other times tones of gray.  I have found the lights seen at night affect the way we see the sky and everything around us.  What I just stated is nothing new.  What else could they do if they are placed there to purposely affect the surrounding environment we place them in.  But each night is different.  The variables are after all nature and the light is the constant.
 Even though we put lights to illuminate to have some control of our environment, there is no such thing as a light seen every night the same.