THE PARASITIC HEAD

oaxaca VII

The run around, run around, runaround. Today was total frustration. First off, we ran across a problem in printmaking. For some reason some of the ink wasn´t registering on my first stone. We then tried Esteban´s plate and nothing registered either. ******* was quite perturbed (love that word). He stood there thinking, hypothesizing, he said. His first conclusion was the water. During the first practice run he had used clean bottled water, and that worked perfectly. However, with the stone and Esteban´s print, faucet water was used. The acids in the water burned the image disallowing the registration of the ink.

Water is a weird thing here. When I was sick I drank pepto bismol. And after every use the mother of the house would get the top (that you drink from) and wash it with clean bottled water. They have to do this with all their main dishes and other important things. I can´t imagine having to do that.

Also, every now and then while walking the streets I run across these trucks with huge tanks on the back that read:

AGUA PARA USO HUMANO

and a huge hose connected to the tank is in certain houses filling up their water supply. Obviously these are the more well off citizens of Oaxaca.

Agua para uso humano

that just rings so well with me. i might do some sort of work or series or music or something based upon the idea.

—Frustration.

So, the stone did not register. This meant I would have to come back today and do a little surgery, opening up the stone and redrawing areas.

Unfortunately, we had another field trip planned. We saw Mexican artists I didn´t care for and Cathedrals that shook no awe into me. I don´t want to sound like an ass, but nothing was rattling my bones. But I did do alot of thinking about just that subject.

I used to think that going into such old, amazing churches and seeing so many old paintings and yada yada yada would be nothing but glorious, and that simply isn´t the case.

Why?

That´s just now how I´m wired, or maybe any of you anymore. We don´t get off on that so much anymore. What is our new drug? Art is in such a flux and has been for so long, but what astounds us now? What doesn´t just feel like an empty tomb?

We want in your face manipulations and multimedia discombobulation.

Hell, that´s what I want too! Again, that´s how WE´RE wired now! And I accept that, but only as a means to continue a search for some sort of ¨truth¨?

——Frustration

so we´re running around for hours looking at nothing that appeals to me (except when I kick back and flip through Francis Bacon art in a library) all the while I´m crying inside to get back to fucking Oaxaca and work on some godforesaken art!! IS THAT NOT WHAT WE´RE HERE TO DO PEOPLE???!?!?!?

Finally we hitch a bus back (on the way before that I bought a cheesy Mexican guitar, more on that later).

I come home, finally eat, get ready, and take off to printmaking. I rework the stone, even better than before for close to two hours. Then I´m done. I´m ready to check out some exhibitions opening tonight and then catch some sleep (tomorrow is saturday studio time for both printmaking and painting), when some of the other students (primarily the UT) come. Apparently they want to check out the shows too. So, I accidently tag along. Instead we run around for like 45mins so they can get some fucking free mescal. I´m soo annoyed at this point for tagging along, but also I´m reminded of those horrible moments wherein I wasted precious minutes of my life riding around with people whose sole goal for the next few hours was to score a fucking sack.

-Frustration.

Finally after they get stupid toasty we head out to the galleries. We basically missed all the openings. Ended up eating somewhere, watching them get more drunk, then they wanted go to another club and I dart off into the shadows back home, screw that.

—Frustration, right?

Tomorrow, though, total work day.

12:09 AM