Nudes w/ Grandma
It was a lot of work, but I believe we conquered all the crappy Mexico shopping for this trip. I'm glad we got it out of the way, and are now free to focus on more important endeavors. We started out yesterday with the Covered Mercado. It used to be open-air, but that left vendors exposed to RIAA and MPAA satellites. Under the security of the finest warehouse technology available to central Mexico, a free market has flourished. There must be some master wholesale planner who travels from city to city, designing modern-day bazaars. Take a look at Saigon Plaza in Chinatown, LA if you have any question what I'm talking about.
This morning, in our incessant search for authenticity, we cabbed it out to the traveling Mercado, the Tiengas. To get an accurate picture of this cultural phenomenon, I recommend the Palm Springs or Orange County swap meets. If these are not easily accessible, please consult Google for your nearest swap meet. Okay. I confess. I've never seen live chickens an American swap meet. Even baby turtles tend to keep a low profile across the border. But whatever points this wins Mexico in this game, they forfeit for having feeder bunnies. I call foul! (see Flickr for proof).
With the mindless consumerism out of the way, I'm now free to focus on the main purpose of this trip. No, not escaping my existential rut. Despite what my previous writings might suggest, the real point of all this is to spend time with my Grandmother. I'm here to pickup any stories I've missed along the years. I'm here to measure myself up against the life she's led. I'm here to bond. And let me tell you: there is no greater bonding experience than live sketching of a nude 20 y.o. dreadlocked nymph. None. Beat that. I dare you.
Okay. I'm mostly kidding. Both Grandma and I have worked with live models. We were completely mature about it. There were a few times Grandma broke down in a fit of giggles, mumbling "booobies", but she's only human. I kid. The experience was almost completely humbling. In my former life I studied to be an animator and took months of life drawing workshops. It's amazing how quickly technique falls away when it's not backed by genuine talent. Only in the last few poses and after my last few margaritas did I shake free even a bit of muscle memory.
Tomorrow we move onto painting.
After class, we hustled over to the Tiatro Santa Ana for a guitar concert we found in the paper. During the day, San Miguel gives off the impression of being terribly crowded. The narrow sidewalks push everyone into the street, which slows the cars way down, giving the impression of traffic. The cobblestone roads and blind corners exacerbate the effect. But once inside, be it a store, a restaurant, or a theater just off the town center, we have the place all to ourselves. Every time. All to ourselves. This concert must have been well publicized since there were two other people waiting when we arrived. It really was a fine performance. Diego was a talented guitarist and a strong singer. So what if he looked like Agent Smith playing Elrond in Lord of the Rings? And so what if he was backed up by a midi drum machine? His fingers moved nimbly across the strings. I've not enjoyed Latin music so much since I bought that Santana CD at Amoeba. I must, however, take issue with his understanding of what it means to be a concert performer. It does not mean you invite the woman in the audience with a guitar up on stage to perform. I don't care if she makes up 25% of said audience. I know for a fact that at least 50% of the audience did not come to hear a 40 y.o. Canadian singer/songwriter berate the B.C. provincial government for their sale of water rights to foreign investors. Oh Elrond. Is this what it takes to increase turnout to your performances? For shame.
It was a lot of work, but I believe we conquered all the crappy Mexico shopping for this trip. I'm glad we got it out of the way, and are now free to focus on more important endeavors. We started out yesterday with the Covered Mercado. It used to be open-air, but that left vendors exposed to RIAA and MPAA satellites. Under the security of the finest warehouse technology available to central Mexico, a free market has flourished. There must be some master wholesale planner who travels from city to city, designing modern-day bazaars. Take a look at Saigon Plaza in Chinatown, LA if you have any question what I'm talking about.
This morning, in our incessant search for authenticity, we cabbed it out to the traveling Mercado, the Tiengas. To get an accurate picture of this cultural phenomenon, I recommend the Palm Springs or Orange County swap meets. If these are not easily accessible, please consult Google for your nearest swap meet. Okay. I confess. I've never seen live chickens an American swap meet. Even baby turtles tend to keep a low profile across the border. But whatever points this wins Mexico in this game, they forfeit for having feeder bunnies. I call foul! (see Flickr for proof).
With the mindless consumerism out of the way, I'm now free to focus on the main purpose of this trip. No, not escaping my existential rut. Despite what my previous writings might suggest, the real point of all this is to spend time with my Grandmother. I'm here to pickup any stories I've missed along the years. I'm here to measure myself up against the life she's led. I'm here to bond. And let me tell you: there is no greater bonding experience than live sketching of a nude 20 y.o. dreadlocked nymph. None. Beat that. I dare you.
Okay. I'm mostly kidding. Both Grandma and I have worked with live models. We were completely mature about it. There were a few times Grandma broke down in a fit of giggles, mumbling "booobies", but she's only human. I kid. The experience was almost completely humbling. In my former life I studied to be an animator and took months of life drawing workshops. It's amazing how quickly technique falls away when it's not backed by genuine talent. Only in the last few poses and after my last few margaritas did I shake free even a bit of muscle memory.
Tomorrow we move onto painting.
After class, we hustled over to the Tiatro Santa Ana for a guitar concert we found in the paper. During the day, San Miguel gives off the impression of being terribly crowded. The narrow sidewalks push everyone into the street, which slows the cars way down, giving the impression of traffic. The cobblestone roads and blind corners exacerbate the effect. But once inside, be it a store, a restaurant, or a theater just off the town center, we have the place all to ourselves. Every time. All to ourselves. This concert must have been well publicized since there were two other people waiting when we arrived. It really was a fine performance. Diego was a talented guitarist and a strong singer. So what if he looked like Agent Smith playing Elrond in Lord of the Rings? And so what if he was backed up by a midi drum machine? His fingers moved nimbly across the strings. I've not enjoyed Latin music so much since I bought that Santana CD at Amoeba. I must, however, take issue with his understanding of what it means to be a concert performer. It does not mean you invite the woman in the audience with a guitar up on stage to perform. I don't care if she makes up 25% of said audience. I know for a fact that at least 50% of the audience did not come to hear a 40 y.o. Canadian singer/songwriter berate the B.C. provincial government for their sale of water rights to foreign investors. Oh Elrond. Is this what it takes to increase turnout to your performances? For shame.