What’s a mojiganga, you might ask.
They are giant paper mache and fabric figures mounted on the shoulders of a person who twirls, whirls, bows, and bobs and weaves and dances the puppet to life. They can tower as high as 18 feet and still dazzle you with the lightness of their feet.
A really good mojiganga puppeteer will bring their character to life with a spry step, whirling arms, and surprising dance moves. Yes, the person inside the suit becomes the character. Continue reading
This is what you get when you step out your front door around 7 a.m. in San Miguel de Allende. Not every day but when it happens you whisper a little prayer of thanks to the photography gods. (Then curse the limitations of your sad and old iPhone.) But taking the photo is just the beginning of what you can do.
I am not a photographer. I am a guy with a used iPhone who takes pictures.
I emphasize “used” because the newest phones seem to be veering awfully close to mimicking the abilities of a decent camera.
Mine is not in that class.
Even if I had a new phone with the latest camera technology, or even if I owned a halfway decent camera, I would never call myself a photographer. Continue reading
What you see here is a merger of the sensibilities and artistic triumphs of Maurizio Cattelan and Andy Warhol, both of who saw the intrinsic (and financial) value in the humble banana as art. I do not expect much for this appropriation and mashup of their creativity. Contact me privately with your offer. Make my Christmas …
Long before there was Maurizio Cattelan and his $120,000 banana duct-taped to a wall, there was Andy Warhol and a whole bunch of bananas. And they both claimed them as art.
Like everyone else in the universe, I have been chortling over Cattelan’s “Comedian” which created such a sensation, if that is the correct word, at the Miami Basel earlier this month.
“Miami Basel is literally such a joke,” wrote one friend.
“It’s a party,” responded another, who actually lives in Miami. Continue reading
Something was a little off when Moppit and I reached the Ancha on our walk early this morning. Not a single car was parked on the normally busy thoroughfare that divides Centro from Colonia San Antonio.
On any other day, both curbs would be lined with cars.
Either somebody was going to be moving a giant house down the street on a flatbed — or there was a parade scheduled. Continue reading
What crimes were perpetrated upon society, so heinous that such innocent-looking flowers should be locked behind bars?
I ask you.
Are they behind these bars for our protection?
Are they the offspring of legendary Bella Donna? Kin to the deadly sweet-smelling Nerium Oleander? Gang members of Titan Arum, alias the stinky “corpse plant”? Continue reading
The bed of a pickup truck is probably the last place most of us would go looking for art.
The pickup truck has one job: to haul things. We fill the beds with wood, bricks, dirt, furniture, boxes, people, camping gear, tools, food, stuff and more stuff … then we haul it from Point A to Point B.
Job well done. Continue reading
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 