urban anthropology

this mural is tucked away 2 blocks from my house. it transforms a dead end street into a portal to the otherworld. walking around is pleasant here. in the winter morning light i am reminded of walking to studio with a purpose, and pining for you. the stockings of the old ladies match their sweaters, which matches their hair, which matches the bougainvillea growing outside their houses, which are painted an analogous color exactly 1/3 of the way around the color wheel. the houses look as if they're made of marzipan, and their victorian-era railings are illogical. nobody judges me when i break out into ecstatic dancing fits to the yeah yeah yeahs in the middle of the street.

lately i've been wanting to do boring things like make experiential accounts of youth culture in mexico city. but art is feelings, not critical explorations or distanced surveys of contemporary culture, and don't you ever think otherwise. thus is my dilemma.