Dali in the Land of Mescal

"The art of Frida Kahlo is a ribbon around a bomb"  Andre Breton  

In the book "Traveler's Tales, Mexico",  we are told that Andre Breton, the founder of French Surrealism, said of Mexico "There is no need for our art movement in this country. Surrealism is a way of life here."    A variation of this quote is attributed to Salvador Dali, "I won't be in a country that is more surreal than my paintings".  Whoever said it, we can all agree;  Mexico defies reason.

 

 

 Andre Breton with Marxist Leon Trotsky and Muralist Diego Rivera in Mexico
 

Mexico is an irrational country, composed of disparate and unexpected elements, visions and sounds that clash and then resonate, that make us uneasy, that exhilarate, that make us wish we had been born here but grateful at least to live and die here.  It is  a man drinking down the moth larva floating in his mescal while his toddler, perched lovingly on his knee, snacks on sugar candy coffins.  It is boisterous laughter at a funeral. 

                                                          En Suenos.  In dreams.


The divide between reality and dreams in Mexico has only widened since the late '30's when Breton returned to France.  Mexico had taught him all she could but now there is so much more in Wonderland to trick the eye and send the mind reeling. 

Carolyn in Mexico

Brisa's Grandmother

            

 


Brisa is in her late teens, tall,  beautiful with Indio hair and skin, and classic Castilian features.  She works with her grandmother who is a juice vendor in an open-air market in central Mexico.  Brisa is physical perfection.  The only things separating her from the glossy pages of Vogue are make-up, a modeling contract and her grandmother.

Real Mexican markets, far away from tourist spots, can be fascinating, garish, beautiful and repulsive.  We had gone to this particular mercado to buy long stemmed roses, eucalyptus and purple statice from the flower stalls and at these prices we could fill our home in Mexico.  We could also buy pirated movies, house paint, live chickens or just chicken feet, saddles, rebuilt cell phones, or day of the dead toys but on this particular day, amid the smells of garbage and aftershave, the sounds of cumbia and crying babies, in this chaos, we spotted Brisa.  She was exquisitely out of place, scooping fallen honey bees out of the watermelon juice that she and her grandmother were selling.

Silver Nina, the website, would need jewelry models.  Brisa would be the first.  Her grandmother thought not. 

We explained ourselves; we offered references and remuneration; we invited the grandmother to come for the photo sessions.  But no.   In the end we left them our business cards and asked them to contact us, should they reconsider.  They won't.  Grandmothers in Mexico have the last word. 

~Carolyn in Mexico.

Long weekends

Like every single person I know, I do not wait well, but after the forms are filled, after the package is in transit, after all the phone messages have been left and every deadline is still far enough out that it's inappropriate to start calling people to ask, "Are we there yet?", one simply must wait.   As if on cue, a four day weekend has arrived where we plan to do very little other than relax, and put meat to fire as we sip refreshing adult beverages with those we love.   Here is hoping you enjoy your time off as much as you enjoy going back to the tasks you love and that you don't ever have to wait for anything.  Ever.

~Tracy in Newport Beach

The first silver

It feels like the long-awaited adoption of an already beloved child has finally gone through, and doesn't she take your breath away.

p.s.  "She's" on instagram /silverninanow
~Tracy in Newport Beach

Violante Ulrich

Violante Ulrich (right) with Shayna Weeden at an exhibition of Romero Betsabeé's work. Photo: Gilberto Covarrubias

I once met a slender young woman with long dark hair and pale skin who lived a privileged but purposeful life on a ranch outside Taxco, Mexico.   Her home was an inheritance from her father, Alberto Ulrich, an Italian engineer, who had purchased the ranch from his friend William Spratling along with furnishings and creative works.  Though it all belongs to Violante and her sister now, it is still called Spratling Ranch.  

The property was not really a ranch as we know them in Texas, but rather an estate, what might have been a former hacienda or the remnant of larger land holdings and wealth.  Restoration and preservation filled much of Violante's purposeful life; that and managing the grounds of the estate, part neatly cultivated gardens, part jungle pushing up against cream colored adobe walls and over terracotta tile roofs.  A long lane from the iron gate winds under an archway, past hand stacked stone fences, aviaries and a swimming pool off  the main house where she lives in dark cool rooms and works at making silver jewelry.

Spratling Ranch was not a museum, not a place where strangers could ever hope for an invitation but on a buying trip to Taxco almost a decade ago, we met someone who knew Violante and who was comfortable dropping by unannounced.  He offered to take us to meet her and after a 30 minute drive out of town, we were at the ranch .......where he drove his car over a freshly washed Persian rug drying on the pavement near the front portico of her house.  I know that she has forgotten the few who have made the pilgrimage to her front door over the years and she has forgotten me, thank goodness, but she isn't likely to forget the day tire marks appeared on her oriental rug.  We were horrified.  She was gracious. 

I was in Taxco last summer and learned that Spratling Ranch has opened part of the estate as a bed and breakfast.  What better way is there to hold onto her legacy than to share it?

~Carolyn in Mexico

Well, I did say I want to live closer to the equator..

The weather has been ridiculous.

Our normal temperature for this time of year hovers around 70F. It's topped 100F all week, and errands wait for "no hay días calurosos".  The silver is here!!

Fortunately, the shops between point A (my car) and point B (fedex) are beautiful if not immune to the freakishly hot weather and I have all the makings of agua fresca in the fridge.

In the meantime, enjoy your Friday and some refreshing color brought to you by the slightly mad and ever cool genius herself, aka Betsey Johnson.  Check back Monday for an introduction to another woman you want to have lunch with in the person of Violante Ulrich.  Even her name is fabulous.

~Tracy in Newport Beach

Silver:The Other White Metal

Once you fall in love with silver (capital J) Jewelry, it tends to break your heart when you realize what you've missed all these years. I'm genuinely horrified that I once thought sterling silver jewelry was what one settled for when one could not afford the "good stuff". I have, as they say, seen the light.  Silver is the precious metal so within reach that it is really the only choice for fine jewelry to be worn every day in any life on any woman.  Over the next weeks years worth of Wednesdays, we're going to show you exactly that.
To wit, here's a sneak peak of the master silversmith, Antonio Pineda, in your post post modern life:

[1] Victoria Beckham silk and wool-blend dress via My Theresa [2] Antonio Pineda (1919-2009)  obsidian and silver bracelet [3] Leuchtturm 1917 lined notebook in orange available via Writer's Bloc [4]Stipula Tuscany Dreams Peposo fountain pen via Writer's Bloc[5]Casadei black patent pump via Shoe Scribe.

~Tracy in Newport Beach