This post isn't so much
about "photography" as it is about the "photographer".
I want to give more of a context to the upcoming series of light
paintings I'll post. The work soon to be shown, stands apart, but the story of my visit is equally a part of that time and
place. Though words and not photographs, the background remains imprinted in the foreground.
Mexico is a very old Spanish Colonial city once prized for its
silver mines, now emptied of their glitter. Its situated at a
light headed altitude north west of Mexico City in the Central
city climbs up an undulating bowl shaped valley. Lofty
mountains, massive sentinels, encircle Guanjuato neatly, like a
crater rim. The ancient narrow streets are very steep. Sidewalks and
roads alike frequently disappear under higher parts through 40 miles
of damp, dripping tunnels. The Mummy Museum is here and the Museum of
the Mexican Inquisition. I've been to neither. I think those mummies
stay preserved in the soil because there's a high content of
metal. Guanajuato was the epicenter of immense social and
political forces, and a palpable, indefinable presence lies
about, and infuses the colorful city. But this essential quality I speak of,
is neither historical or political in nature. Even in the
brightest sunshine this sense of mystery - inert, primal and raw -remains. "A
street map is like a plate of spaghetti" a smiling local school
teacher told me over dinner.