PRE-HISPANIC MYSTIQUE
This is my new work. They are photo collages generated from photos of our tapestries and distorted landscape photographs.
Art Talk
Want to show in a prestigious gallery?
I have found that with the exception of having to deal with wavy, unleveled , conduit filled, metal beam supported walls, a professionally curated Gallery in Mexico is not that much different than those north of the border. In 2003, I approached the prestigious “ Centro El Refugio” gallery in Tlaquepaque, unannounced, but armed with my presentation. The curator ushered us into her private office and was very gracious and receptive.
I took in photographs of the two bodies of work I desired to exhibit, a series of 20 paintings titled “The Discovery of Adolescence” and a series of mixed media-pastel works titled, “La Charreria.” I also brought statements about each series, copies of my art history, education, previous showings and a sample of both bodies of work. I was asked to leave everything so it could be shown to the board and given a two week appointment.
Upon returning, after I was shuffled around for half a day, I felt sure I was being snubbed, until the curator finally appeared with a contract for me to sign. They gave me three Salas near the front entrance to exhibit my work. Along with the contract was a package of papers that included a diagram of the first floor of the Museum with room dimensions, placement of switches, and protruding architectural elements. I was given a date to bring in the work and the dates and times for the opening and exhibition.
On my studio’s floor I laid out my artwork as they would appear when hung. As the works in “La Charreria” were under glass and widely matted they did not need as much as much division between them as the paintings. (The mat had given them “breathing room”.)These pieces were done in more detail with secondary points of interest in the background. I chose the long narrow Sala for them to be seen up close. The “Discovery in Adolescence” paintings brushed with bolder strokes on a larger scale were shown in the 2 large Salas spaced by massive architectural elements.
Each piece was labeled with the title of the series, individual title, size, media, my name and price, making a duplicate for the curator so she could use it to print up the display tags. Each was then wrapped, and marked on the outside with my name, the name of the exhibition, Janice Kimball Paintings and Pastels, the Sala where it was to be displayed and a number to correspond with the one put on the Museums floor diagram showing where it would be hung on the wall.
The Centro El Refugio provided two long tables for the cocktails and botannas which I brought. I was told they would mail out 1000 invitations to patrons on their mailing list. I got the invitations to them three weeks before the opening. They did not mail them as they were not received more than a month ahead of time. (Read your contract carefully.)
From that point on the show was the “baby” of the curator. The exhibition was absolutely wonderful. The curator gave me referrals to two other national galleries, (the curators are all friends with each other.) Before you get too excited about embarking on this journey read my next month’s column where I will explain why I chose not to take this option.
Janice’s Gallery and Weaving Studio’s are now all on the first floor. Maestro Francisco would love to show you around during the week, Janice is in on Saturday. 232 Carr, Pte, Rancho Del Oro, East of Rio Bravo 766-3543 .We are on the lake side, across from the new hardware store. Closed Sunday and Monday
Here's one more for you, Janice
Excerpt from Chapter 3 – Pomeranian and the cart woman.
A fat woman on the way to get her hair done at Alexander’s snooty shop next door came barreling up the road in her golf cart, its sun roof tassels swinging, her Pomeranian freshly groomed sitting in the seat beside her. Her and the dog got out and went into the beauty parlor.
With a devious smile anticipating what was ahead, the older officer said, “Let fatty get her hair done first.”
“That isn’t language befitting an officer sir, and you should be ashamed of yourself” Max squawked.
Francisco took him back inside and walking the length of the building tip toed into Janice’s bedroom and placed Max on the back of a chair next to the bed where she had fallen asleep, and left.
“They say that parrot talks, did you hear him talk? The older policeman asked his partner.”
‘Nunca,” He replied shiftily casting his eyes on the roadway. “I don’t think we should have let him speak to us that way though.
“We need to check out the neighborhood. Alejandro the great is not going to be done with fatty’s hair for a long time and we can come back later to ticket her and take that dog that rides with her into the dog shelter.”
Yes, she should be charged with animal abuse, speeding along in an open cart with no doors subjecting that poor, fancy, innocent, dog to danger.” The younger officer laughed as he spit on the cobblestone street.
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. Janice saw Max sitting on the chair beside her when she woke up. “Do you dream Jefeta? (an endearing term for boss,)he asked her.
“Yes,” Maximo,” she said. I just now dreamed of children, poor children from way up above the Milpa’s that lived in adobe huts, and they were dressed like old men. I brought a truckload of them home with me, and when I got here I found they were all ducks, and when they took off their masks their heads were beaked and they looked just like you!
“What happened next?”
“Well, I opened the tailgate, and then I woke up. “ Max, feeling at ease in this intimate setting alone with Janice, began to tell the sad tale of his poaching.
Francisco was made of softness. He was painfully shy, his resonate voice spoke on a level below everyone else’s, and sometimes it seemed he was not even in the room. There was a time when Janice did not know that he spoke at all. He looked young, not at all his real age then of 43, and short, five feet, the same height as Janice, and nicely rounded. His mother was from the Yucatan, and with his perfectly round face the color of burnished honey there was no question about his Mayan heritage. He looked at the Senora with compassion. Avoiding Max’s “mistake” and careful not to disturb the arrangement the beauty shop next door had put on her silver tipped grey hair, barely brushing his arm across her shoulders draped his hand on her far shoulder as if it was a blanket. It felt warm and comforting. She could not believe she would let a strange man put his hand on her, yet she did not protest.”
“We are sorry about what happened. Max did not mean to go to the bathroom on you, it was an accident. He forgot that he had just finished eating his seeds this morning. Look over at him, his head is hanging in shame. Janice will help you if you let her, and I have some cleaning fluid that will make your blouse as good as new. This is nobody’s fault, it is just life. This is what life is.” Francisco explained.
Francisco felt tender towards aging American women. He could sense in them a feeling of desperation as they hung onto their independence with a pride that belied the fact that there was really no other choice. He sensed that this woman felt violated, like she was made suddenly less by Max’s “Accident.” She seemed forlorn as she looked down at her hands folded on her lap. “You are a beautiful woman, how lucky you are with eyes the same color as your blouse and hair that shines like silver. There are so many things in life that we can be thankful for.” The woman, who had a secret desire to have a man say something sweet to her began to sob, and she sobbed and sobbed as Francisco held her.
Yesterday I told you about the exciting new dyes we received several days ago. Now we are putting them to use and it's just like cooking dinner! In fact, if you're driving by and glance over, it probably looks like we're out there cooking carnitas.
We are dying wool in front of the studio with a large gas cylinder connected to a "calientador" (usually used to cook carnitas or charales) but we are cooking wool in hot acid dye solution. I'm helping and doing a lot of supervising, being very careful not to sleep into the kettle and get dyed a different color myself, I'm pretty proud of my current feathers.
The dying process is slow, taking about 3 hours per batch. We have been hanging out in front and welcome anyone who wants to stop and watch. We will be doing this all week. STOP WHEN YOU SEE THE POT BREWING. We'll be happy to show you around and you can check out all the fine tapestries which have been marked down.
Aztec Studios is on the lakeside lateral of the main highway at Calle Rio Bravo, 1 mile west of Ajijic.
OUTLINE FOR MAX BIRD—
The story is set in the real live/work art gallery and studios of the writer in Ajijic, Mexico.
This is an expose of Max Bird, a talking parrot poached from the wild and integrated into the human world as the gallery’s public relations director, Maestro Francisco Urzua, a Mexican weaver of mixed indigenous heritage, and Janice Kimball, an artist originally from Detroit.
The story tells of how the three of them came together to create their own reality. In the beginning their art studios were open 5 days a week. Janice, in a desire to find tranquility opens fewer and fewer days until they are not open at all, leaving Max without a job. Max writes his memoirs after Janice hires Betty, who becomes his secretary. Through this process Max discovers that he is not the only one that lives in a cage. Janice and Francisco also live in cages. When Betty snoops into Janice’s computer files Max is shocked to find information that explains her strange human behavior. After that Max and Francisco team up to help her find peace. In the end Max finds freedom for the three of them. The gallery reopens after the woman in blue linen who visited them in the first chapter returns from her condo on the Mediterranean and finds it closed.
A story of love, survival, injustice and rebirth.
A SHORT EXCERPT FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER
The little courtyard was between the storefront and Francisco’s weaving studio. It’s main feature was Max Birds bulky round topped cage that was set up high on a foundation. It dominated the tropical garden and tiny fish pond arranged around it. With Max on top he could see everyone that came in and everything that went on outside the door, the front display area, weaving workrooms on the back side of the courtyard and imagine what went on in Janice’s bedroom and bath tucked in private behind that. He could hear everything that went on upstairs with his super sensitive ears and with a tilt of his head see a lot of it as it was arranged the same as the main floor, the area above the courtyard being empty except for an elevated walkway open to the sky. The stairway leading to it began only 12 feet from where Max’s cage stood and often Janice and Francisco would hang their heads down from the walkway upstairs and check in with him to see if everything was okay.
> Max loved it when the glass doors were propped open so he could feel the breeze as it came in from the street to ruffle his feathers. He knew how to handle being in charge puffing out his feathers to elevate his plumes, stretching himself out full length while clutching the cages round top, hanging onto its bars, facing the entrance for anyone that might be walking along outside to look in and see. He had a way of what might be called “flapping elbows,” with his wingtips folded back and tucked up under his breast sockets, while flexing his shoulders in a macho posture that said he was in charge. There was a flip side to this mannerism. It made him look like he was a cartoon character trying to lift off taking the clumsy cage, as if it were a dirigible with him, but even so it could be seen that he was a credit to his species. He was a red crested parrot with the heart of an eagle.
