ART SCHOOL (and ghosts)

Since we decided to spend time here for the next couple of years--about 50% of my time living here, the rest at home in the USA--I signed up for art school. I am working on a dissertation, I have been teaching college for almost 10 years. Tired of theory, I want to work with my hands!

The City government has art schools here, one is the School of Plastic Arts--in which one gets the equivalent of an AA--and the more artisanal Municipal School of Art at the old Palacio de Correos, which as it name indicates, is truly a palace, built in the late 1930s, and which used to host the Post Office. Now it is Centro Metropolitano de Cultura. Basically, a free space for artists, a free school of art.

I'm going to have to talk about ghosts at this point (again!) because people keep asking me, "Have you encountered any of the ghosts?" The arc pictured above, they say, is haunted. Actually, all of the huge, wide corridors are supposed to be haunted. I don't know who would haunt the building or why, but from what I know about ghost stories here, I wouldn't be surprised it's a "woman in white" ('cause everywhere I go here, places are haunted by a "headless nun" or a "woman dressed in white"). I think this says more about the local collective unconscious than about any real paranormal experience.

Anyhow, the building is supposed to be haunted and many seem to believe it. The building is not that old and it has always been a post office. Still, it makes the place more romantic, alluring and mysterious. It does seem of a period older than it really is, as well.

So, whatever, lets just say that the place is haunted. Lets just say! Myself, not a big believer in ghosts and, not to discount my friends' and acquaintances ghostly experiences, but I am sure that most stories have an explanation grounded in real world phenomena (perhaps electricity?)

What I do like is that when the weather is nice, students are taken to the corridors, which tend to face open gardens and other open spaces. The floors, ceilings, every single area of the building is beautifully detailed with woodwork and ceramic tiles (see picture of kid with cello). The place is always very lively with young students of all ages as well as adults and teenagers. I especially love to watch kids learning stuff such as break dance or chess! Talk about learning old and new.

The art school operates mostly free or based on small fees (like $4 a month), the instructors are all renowned and well-established artists, and it caters to the well-off and the poor--but mostly makes sure it is accessible to the humble--and the teaching is really good. The pedagogical methodology is more hands-on and artisanal than academic. There aren't really any theory or history of art courses taught there. They do house the School of Folkloric Dance, a Drama school, ballet, choral, the Municipal School of Painting, the Municipal School of Sculpture (and the yearly student expos are amazing), the Experimental Printmaking workshop and many other arts. However, for theoretical courses, one would have to go to the University.

This works for me right now. I just want to learn to work with my hands and that, I do with great gusto. Plus, it is within walking distance to our inn (www.qualityguate.com) and apartment.

All printmaking instructors belong to the design art collective La Torana ; they've all won many important awards, and the ambiance in class is rich in art, culture and humor. I enjoy my classmates, the work, the exposure to other artists and to progressive political views. Often older, famous artists keep dropping by to chat with my instructors!!! (sooo cool). In the background, while we work, not only do we listen to the artists' conversation but also to students practicing their musical instruments and the the choral class practicing Bach, Telemann, and other works.

Okay, so we also listen to the latest rock! One cannot live from Classical music alone. It is all art. And I like the un-stuffy crowd there. Guatemalan society is way too conservative, socially and politically---think the USA in the 1950s!--and one can feel quite claustrophobic sometimes. If I didn't have art school and books, I think I wouldn't be able to survive here, as beautiful and exciting as this country is.

LETS BE DAZZLED

I can't claim that my life is a tsunami of busy-ness--no rat race for me, thanks!--but I do keep busy enough. There is always work to do, between the inn, dissertation, articles I am committed to write, art classes, friends and family to hang with, etc.

However, there is one thing that never fails to make me stop and enjoy it--I never take it for granted---and that is the awesome sunrises and sunsets to be seen from my balcony. Okay, so sunrises are SELDOM to be seen (by moi) as chances of my getting out of bed anytime before 8 am are as common as a cow jumping over the moon. But still, they ARE breathtaking.

The mist rising, the sweet morning dew, the crystal-clear views of the volcanoes and mountains, the early silence, the birds singing. Lovely. I leave that for others. If you enjoy early mornings, you can tell me all about it some day. I'd rather sleep it away in my huge, wonderful bed.

I prefer the sunsets (see pictures). The hues are much more intense and the change in color and weather is fast and dramatic. The birds are singing really loud before sunset (why? Anybody know?) and the traffic noise increases yet feels sort of mellow and faraway. People are rushing home in cars or taking buses and they sound less frantic than in the morning, happier, a hot meal and warm bed awaiting, I guess.

I often just stop whatever I am doing and step out to the balcony outside to watch the sun set. Sometimes I am joined by other apartment neighbors stepping outside to smoke a cigarette or with a drink, while enjoying the view. We comment on the view, the weather, national gossip. Inn guests often go upstairs to the roof to do the same, as the view there is even better. It helps that we are surrounded by centuries-old buildings, church domes, mountains, so that the whole effect is natural and historic--timeless.

Most of the time, I just enjoy the view in silence. Silence is something one learns to enjoy (oh, so much!) after having raised 3 children and they are grown and gone.

Here such quietness is more a state of mind than a reality. It is, after all, rush hour outside. Yet it reminds me of my nanny when I was a little kid, always telling me "¡Estése sosiega, estése sosiega! (be still, be still!) and me wondering impatiently, why would anybody want to be still? But now I know: for this. We should always take a little piece of our day and be still and enjoy the view. We should reserve a time of day to allow ourselves to be dazzled.

Sunset is mine.

THAT PESKY LITTLE ORGAN

And so it was that we walked for a coffee and after that, went to a música sacra concert, titled Crucifixus, which was held at the City's Metropolitan Cathedral.

The whole premise made me think of Anne Rice novels and those years of my life when I was held in thrall to her vampire books. I am so into all that stuff. That's what happens when one grows up in New Orleans.

So, we got there as the sun was setting and the lights were ... well, lighting. Birds singing loudly, cold evening breeze.

The audience composition was interesting: some heavily tattooed metalhead kids arrived and sat through the concert, as well as wealthy people and humble people, everybody sharing the pews and staying throughout the concert. The church was full. Music, the great uniter! Within limits, of course. There was no holding hands in a circle nor singing of kumbaya. We all sat and stared at the altar or the ceiling while the music played behind us. Very relaxing, actually.

The only instrument in the concert was the organ. The Cathedral's organ (see picture), was brought from Austria over 70 years ago, and is only one of 30 of its kind in the whole world, as well as--according to some Swiss expert--the most important of its type in Latin America. I wouldn't know about that, but the organ looks properly impressive. The music it produces IS quite impressive.

The recital was held by a world-famous Guatemalan tenor, Luis Felipe Girón May, and his students. The concert did not adhere to the program order, so it was a confusing, as one was expecting an Ave Maria and turned out the singer would skip a couple songs and move on to another one. Some student singers were pretty good and the music echoing in the Cathedral felt magnificent and moving, whereas there was one student whose reedy, wobbly voice was grating and annoying. People exchanged amused looks and snickered but everyone provided polite applause for her.

Yeah, the singing of that particular student, lets call her Susie, was pretty awful, but surely she did a better job with that song than I would have accomplished. Having said that, one has got to know one's limitations! I wouldn't try to pursue an operatic career. Neither should she.

Bitchiness aside, the concert was good enough, mostly Baroque ... and Broadway (Andrew Lloyd Weber). (Go figure!). The organ-playing impressive--its funereal grandiosity does make one half-expect that Igor of the horror movies will come lurching by--but I really enjoyed it. However, my better-half spent the evening trying to slash his wrists with the concert program, yet he did enjoy a couple of the performances. Okay, so that music isn't for everybody! But it was a free concert and a nearby walk, as our inn ( www.qualityguate.com ) is a couple blocks away.

I did have organ music resonating inside my head for hours afterward. The resonances of which can be found in classic rock, such as Queen and Metallica. And, of course, Rob Zombi! Gotta love Rob Zombi: Crawl into me, sink into me, Living Dead Girl!

Next, we're going to an open-air Jazz and Blues concert this weekend, more my husband's type of fare. Sunpie from New Orleans, Louisiana is coming to town! That's my birthplace, y'all, can't miss out on that.

WHAT'S WITH THE ANGELS, YOU ALL?

Something that kind of gets me here in Latin America--especially Guatemala and Mexico--is that, I swear, they have a quite a thing for angels. The word obsession comes to mind.

The preferred angels here are specifically, very Baroque angels, with Baroque to the nth degree. The kind that have masses of reddish curls and convolutedly draping clothes that churn to the sounds of Bach's hallelujahs. THAT kind of angels. An army of them.

I mean, they're everywhere.

As for me, I don't believe in angels or fairies, nor in any sort of ethereal beings flitting around, but I do like the idea of angels. Mind you, not the commonplace cherubic angels of Hallmark cards, but the fallen angels, the kind that roam the earth tragically, like in Pérez-Reverte's The 9th Gate, in which the devil is a beautiful young college student who falls for Johnny Depp in the film version. Taylor Caldwell wrote of a young priest engaging in a long and complex conversation with a beautiful young man who was, the priest knew, the devil. I'd like to think of him as a very young Josh Harnett, if it were a film. You can find that story in the excellent book Grandmother and the Priests.

The best angel is the one which challenges our assumptions of right and wrong; as the angel in one of Mark Twain's short stories, in which children encounter a true angel, who, having never known the nature of evil, is incapable of recognizing it and commits a very evil deed. Very disturbing. That one would be a Joachim Phoenix kind of angel. Or Angelina Jolie. Dark and seductive, but sad. It is a very good story on the ambiguous nature of innocence and evil, and the ways in which these can become confounded.

I also like the tradition that states that the Seraphim have 4 faces--I guess to look at the 4 cardinal points at the same time?--and of course, the notion that death is an archangel sent by God. That's usually one hell of an unwelcome angel, I'd say! Must suck to be him. Or her. Always received like you're the worse news ever. Gotta be an angel not to care!

This picture is of an angel statue in the underground parking lot---yes, it is stuck in the parking lot---of the art school I attend for free art courses. It is the height of a 10-year-old and was stored there with some other Easter/Holy Week paraphernalia, since the processions, concerts, candlelit marches and other celebrations and rites of the Lent season have begun. We are lucky that our apartment and the inn ( http://www.qualityguate.com/ ) is located right on the path of several of the best processions. I will definitely have to keep you all posted on that.

RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS AND SENSELESS BEAUTY

This week I went with my husband, who is in international real estate, to look at a property in which some of his clients are interested. It's located in a rural industrial warehouse area ... now, try to break that down so that you can imagine how dismal the area is: in a small developing country, in the backwoods, an industrial warehouse area. It was dusty the warehouses, which used to be maquiladoras, lie empty, shuttered, rusting away.

So. Husband was photographing the property, which has what must be the fugliest building ever--cinder block, painted nauseous green, flat, sprawling--on a wide and dusty lot with rusty chain link fence around it. The idea is to tear it all down and build modern warehouses on it. Yet! Incongruously, it's surrounded by meticulously neat and blooming rose bushes. I was like, what the hell????

The caretaker was a tiny guy, scruffy, missing several teeth, wearing an old, stained shirt. He looked as neglected and dismal as his surroundings. I asked him, "Do you take care of this lovely garden?" and he blushed and kicked the dust in bashfulness. He admitted he'd made the garden. Apologetically, he added "but on my free time! I do all my work, I paint, I repair, I do all the building maintenance that is needed and on my free time, I garden."

I imagined the kind of hours this man puts into such a garden--on property that is not even his and is fated to be sold and torn down--just to create this fabulous little garden. I congratulated him and he was embarrassed and shrugged. I mean, in such dismal surroundings, in a life of dire poverty, and he has the feeling for living things and the eye for beauty to create this lovely garden in the middle of nothing? How does this even begin to make sense?

When we were leaving, he ran after me saying "Doña, wait, let me cut a couple of these for you, since you liked them so much!" and very carefully cut me a couple of his best roses. It was hot and dusty, and having nothing to place them in, we had to pick up a discarded water bottle to place them. I was going to put them in a glass vase here at home but decided that the whole ethos and aesthetics of the thing called for leaving them in the plastic bottle, where they adorn my kitchen. Unbelievably, the are still blooming.

My kitchen is the sunniest room in the apartment. The brightness plays well with the flowers. Moreover, I enjoy the touch of the absurd to it all. It cheers me up and reminds me of that saying, "practice random acts of kindness and senseless beauty."

TO THE MARKET! (La Patita va al Mercado)

One of the best things to living and spending time in the historic center is the Central Market (Mercado Central), a huge 3-story behemoth of arts and crafts, ceramics, fruits and vegetables, basketry, jade, silver and costume jewelry, fish, flowers, candles and artisanal dairy, etc. It has a wide parking lot where you can get your car washed for around $3 while you shop and its own security force.

The guy in the picture is the man from whom I always buy my macadamia and cashew nuts, as well as toasted peanuts, all of which are big, fresh and delicious. Definitely much bigger, fresher and cheaper than what I find in the USA. Many people buy them and make their own nuts & peanuts mixes, with spices, etc., but I buy them mostly to make granola and, along with the organic honey I buy here, comes out great. One adds, of course, the incredible fresh fruit to be found here and it is a heavenly meal.

Part of the fun, for me, is in the good-humoured haggling and negotiating engaged in with all the vendors. It makes me feel as if I have some control over the price, which I really don't. There is very little one has true control over in ones life, really, but haggling in the market is one of those things that give the illusion of control.

That and nagging my husband, of course. Shopping and nagging: cornerstones of a marriage.

The inn ( www.qualityguate.com) is about 3 blocks away from the market and so, going there becomes part of my daily walk and finding stuff in the market always makes me feel a little bit as Alice in Wonderland, a fun (and cheap!) little adventure. Moreover, I often have that old Cri-Cri song going round in my head: La patita, de canasta y rebozo ... va al mercado ...