Today I went to the anthropological museum. I had a mission to draw, but was not feeling it too hard because drawings are exhausting and only part the way to a painting. I frew for a couple hours, beafore taking abreak to go outside to paint. I got a bag of popcorn for cinco pesos and sat down on the edge of a dry fountain there in the park behind the vendor stands. I saw a man with a clever set-up by which he made due sharpening knives for food vendors. He would set his back tire up on a stand, fix a rubber band around his back tire, which he fixed also to a wheel sharpening stone. He sat backwards on the top tube, and pedaled to turn the wheel, sharpening the knives. I set up quickly and blocked in colors. He finished a few blades, then moved along, so I finished the painting there from memory, pluggin him in to what I had left of a sketch. It was just after lunch hour, so cooks were taking their breaks, gathering around me to watch the painting come to fruition. I think I had twelve visitors during the painting. A couple came by and were very curious about my work, so I flipped through my sketchbook for them. The husband said, "Congratulations, youre an artist." It was small, but also very big. It was a casual validation. I dont feel that im fully cooked yet, but its good to have little tickers along the way to keep you going I guess. Back in the museum, I was feeling better baout drawing. Its crazy when whats standing between myself and drawig is a painting, how fortunate I am. Sometimes its a donut, but this afternoon it was a painting. I sat in front of El Creador, a scuplture of whom I percieved to be God, (not sure whether to capitalize). Again an audience formed, mostly school children on a field trip, some other museum goers too. The guards took a liking to me and word got around the museum I guess- as guards asked to see some of my drawings. I stayed probably for six hours today. I feel that I have hardly seen a quarter of the museum, and plan to return tomorrow.
The day before, I went to Xochimlico, which is where the water ended up after the Spaniards did what they did here. Today, as a tourist, it is a little Mexican Venice, where the thing to do is to rent a boat service to pole you around the little islands while drinking beers. I didnt do this, but got immediately distracted and painted a little section of interesting architecture in a neighboorhood. Form there, I took a walk to the water, and after declining several boat service offers, found a spot to paint a little water and boat scene. The boats are called trajineras, as my bartender tonight told me. The spot I chose to paint in smelled terribly like urine and the light was fading. The painting was a quick one, but the scenery did much work. On the way back to the train station, I saw a photo-copy service, where I made a color copy of the architecture painting. It seemed to me that this was a home, and that (perhaps vanity) they might like a copy of the painting. I went to the building, and spoke with the shop owner below. She referred me to le puerta, where I could deliver my photo-copy. I rounded the corner as her hand gestures implied I do, and saw a small woodshop, where two men were making cabinets. I gave them the photo-copy which took about eight-times longer than had we spoke the same language. I signed and dated it, which clarified the transaciton a bit. Strange making work and weighing wether anyone.. you know. or not.
