#analogartistdigitalworld

[colinboyer]

#analogartistdigitalworld nails my sullen expression.

[kamalinalli]

One for my Fairy Goddess Mother, for Chiapas and for buskers all over the world.

Today, after a couple of days of under-the-weather-ness, I emerged from my cocoon/bed, logged in and was greeted by this much awaited post by the Analog Artist Digital World Blog

Much awaited, by me anyway, because as I was busking for the Orlando Blue Box Initiative last Monday, I couldn’t help but to find all these conexions between this project, the place where I used to busk in Mexico City, the place I will always call home and what I was wearing that day while busking: my bright blue embroidered blouse (try saying it three times as fast as you can, Ha!)

As a teenager, I was convinced that life wasn’t easy, but that’s not news if you’ve been around teenagers. My mom tried my luck at a school that sat right next door to the one I really REALLY wanted to go to, the one that was all about Fine Arts, Performing Arts and all that free thinking non sense that my parents were not at all into, but I couldn’t get in because of my bad grades, actually, so I went next door, and tried, and it didn’t work out. For the next school year I ended up attending another school, this time in Coyoacan. Yes, the Coyoacan of Frida Kahlo and Trotsky’s house, and the Jardin Centenario and the old houses, and the museums and the Cuicuilco ruins, where Husband and I would eventually exchange vows in front of no one, except each other, on top of the pyramid.

Coyoacan was my territory, not only during my walks to school, but also on weekends. With or without my parents, going to Coyoacan on a Sunday was a lot of fun. Going with them meant we would be treated to corn on the cob, and freshly roasted and ground coffee, and tostadas at the farmers market and sometimes we would also enjoy a play or a concert at the Museum of Popular Cultures. Going without them meant spending all the time in the world in the drum circle, talking with every artist and artisan, and sitting in front of the buskers for hours on end. Our “sense of adventure” was fed by the obligated count of the available funds to make sure we’d have enough for the bus and subway fare to get back home, before spending it on feeding ourselves with a few cheap street tacos.

Good times in Coyoacan spanned years of being a handful of a daughter, which eventually resulted in me being sent away to live with my aunt Rosita in Chiapas.

My aunt was like a Fairy Goddess Mother to me. She was at the time raising a dozen of teenagers, the one that was actually her own and all of his friends and bandmates, for she was the ultimate cool mom. She knew all their names and all their songs, and at least once a day she’d belt out Let It Be, standing in the middle of the kitchen, with her coffee in hand. For a few years these trips happened, every chance I had, on every school break, and when I was back in the city I missed Chiapas as if it was my actual home. I still do. My aunt and cousins showed me the real people of Chiapas, the people of the mountains, the colors, the flavors, the music. And then came the summer I didn’t go, because I was infatuated with a boy. That was the summer my “hard life” turned into my life as a pregnant teenager. No more trips to Chiapas for a long time.

Eventually, we made it back to Coyoacan, my sister and I. And Dani, my son.

Coyoacan was changing, they had started to regulate the artisans market in the park and the drum circle, and they even installed rebar spikes around the fountain of the Coyotes to keep people from sitting on it.

It became even more “adventurous” to try to feed ourselves and haul my sister’s 50 lb siberian husky named Bisquet; but we kept on going and those days are part of my favorite memories of hanging out together.

I remembered this one day we were sitting outside of a newly renovated building. A restaurant chain had victoriously moved in. Corporations were taking over the neighborhood, a music store here, a book store there, and no public protest was large enough to stop them. It may have not been the last time we were there, but it somehow feels like it was. We were playing Beatles covers, well over 15 of us, sitting along the wall of the “wanna-be-posh” restaurant. We had a decent crowd listening and we grabbed Bisquet's water bowl and slid it towards the crowd. He was such a charmer, seemed to smile as the bystanders’ coins sang their way into the bowl. Then the cops came, and we were removed from the spot. Though we didn’t stop playing or singing, and a few people even followed us while we tried to find another spot, it killed the moment, and for me personally was the realization of how one of my favorite places was loosing it’s magic.

Recently in St. Augustine and Winter Park, Florida, there have been similar incidents. Towns and cities are letting money speak louder than people’s right to free speech, as they are banning artists and performers from public spaces, instead of finding a solution that works for every one.

In Central Florida, renowned artist Thomas Thorspecken is taking action by spearheading the Orlando Blue Box Initiative. Last week I had the chance to be a part of it and busked in Downtown Orlando for a couple of hours. I am a huge fan of Thor’s work, so this was quite a treat. Only because I was supposed to be playing I missed the chance to bombard him with questions about his art, and influences and all those things I like to ask people I admire. I always find him in very crowded spaces, art show openings, outdoor festivals, maker faire, etc. and he’s busy sketching every time. I had fun nonetheless and after that I made it to my friend Mark’s birthday shindig at Crooked Can, where I got to sing some more with his super lovely friends. I brought home some canned goodies from the brewery for Husband, who also celebrated his birthday this week, and waited and hoped for Thor’s post to be published this weekend so I could share it with my aunt Rosita, who sent me the bright blue embroidered blouse and who by the way celebrated her 75th birthday yesterday. With much gratitude for being my inspiration and my Fairy Goddess Mother, this one’s for you, for Chiapas and for buskers all over the world.  

Chiapas now comes to me in the form of colorful embroidered blouses that my mom and aunts send every couple of years. I wear them at my performances and photo shoots. Some of these are as old as the wallet I bought on my first visit to Chiapa de Corzo back in...

Sigh...

My view form the Blue Box.

Fuente de Los Coyotes, Coyoacan, Mexico City. (photo credit: https://bicitando.files.wordpress.com)

Hey Handsome. (photo credit: Joanna Flores)