Hurtling south through the Yucatan peninsula was one of the most
liberating and exciting moments of my life. In the newly christened
´Jetta/Badboy´ clocking 100kph through lush tropic scenery with all
the fun, weirdness, solitude and of course rinse-out comforts of the
Caribbean disappearing fast behind in the wing mirror, a sense of the
epic nature of what lays ahead of us started to become apparent.
Being a GÜERRO (not gringo luckily) driving in Mexico is not for
the fainthearted. You stick out - even in a beaten up VW that looked
local but also, to be honest, as if it had been stolen in an 80s US
cop drama. Rule 1, the actual cops are crooked. Easily payable in a
tight situation, but can make your life living hell if they want.
Normally 3 days without food in a shared jail cell for any minor
offense or inabililty to pay comes as standard, but also car
impoundment and drugs planting for extortion are not unheard of.
This federal police system is divided into Municipal, Federal and
Army forces. The latter two are not really too much of a problem as
they are only looking for drugs and firearms (unless you have drugs
or firearms both of which we were not packing) and really don’t
care about much else. The ´Pinche Pendejos´ (fucking cheeky
dickheads) are the municipal – underpaid, under-regulated local
lads and dads who are as corrupt as their municipality allows them to
be, but of course without a decent income to support a family there
are always the perks of the job to be had from most situations. It’s
the fault of the state itself, corruption breeding corruption
breeding corruption from the dust upwards. Not to mention
road-tripping here comes with a subtle unease of the vulnerability of
it all. That if for whatever reason you breakdown in the middle of
bandit country you are essentially as easy to robbed or be messed
with as a comatosed K-head with his head in a multirig bassbin, and
as most people walking by are machete-laden you don’t really want
that. However, being hombres with cahones as muy grande as us
cabrones happened to be smuggling, we gave little thought to these
background elements and ploughed on, blaring old skool Jungle and
Rage Against the Machine merrily, stopping for more tacos, taking in
the scenery and enjoying the vibes of what we soon dubbed ´Actual
Mexico´.
The destination was Chiapas, a three day drive
from Tulum around Guatamala featuring the jungle ruins of King
Pakal´s Palenque Kingdom and the Zapatista strongholds which have
been publicly fighting to retain the right to their extremely fertile
(and beautiful) land since 1994. The villages themselves are not
villages, they are occupied zones which are developing their own
educational systems and have their own hierarchy and local government
. We were able to visit and see one of these near Palenque with the
help of the most jokes-hustlers you can ever hope to meet, the one
and only Amador Rosales (Rose Lover). Very interesting position to be
in but after offering one of my drawings in a gesture of solidarity
and good-faith, I was welcomed enough at least to stay outside the
main compound and see it for myself. The word struggle means
different things in this part of the world. The proud residents are
truly showing that another way is possible but of course slow –
signified by the use of a snail with a balaclava in many of the
murals adorning the zone. Mad respect basically and a really humbling
experience to actually see the lengths these people are prepared to
go to stand up for the right to be heard - ´We wear masks so that we
can be seen´.
Back in the car with new found understanding of where we were we
decided to go off the beaten track to see the preserved murals of
Bonampak. They are astoundingly dark with depicting stories that was
the forefront of the understanding that the Mayans were not as
peaceful and as utopian as once thought. Fingertip-less captives
awaiting certain sacrifice and the hierarchies involved are there for
all to see. Great experience and my first chance to see REAL mayan
paintings. We could have returned back along the roads we came (yawn)
but opted in the end to go where we´d been advised not to by most of
the Lonely Planet crew, down along the border with Guatamala and
Central America, where basically all of the drugs trafficked into
Mexico cross over. Again, actual Mexico.
The road along the Guatemalan border was filled
with clouds so thick we did not always take in the military
roadblocks littering the winding roads ahead until we were literally
bumping over them. The tropical rain slamming against the windscreen
didn’t help either. Highly suspicious but also just curious army
youth sticking their noses and assault rifles in our faces became
commonplace as we inched further. To be honest they were nice, just
a little confused as to why we were there if not
to run heavy loads of coke. It´s definitely not your average tourist
route. I recall we only really got the heebyjeebies when we started
to run out of gas, realizing there was no Pemex´s around (Mexico´s
state owned petroleum monster). ¿What do you do in the clouds along
one of the world´s most prolific drug borders without gas and no
phone signal? Luckily, we didn’t have to find out... We were
blessed enough to buy some fuel from some entrepreneurial 7 year
olds who were so surprised to see us weirdos there you´d think they
were refuelling a UFO. It was a potentially harrowing experience, to
say the least, but one that leaves you wondering what really all the
fuss is about. Yeah it’s a bit sketchy not what you would imagine,
the locals were just getting on as in the rest of the state, just
highly isolated by rumour and activities which they have very little
part in. Sadly these horror stories mean foreigners don’t risk it
and venture to see the harsh reality of life for the impoverished
locals here. Maybe some would actually better understand how costly
the cheap nose candy actually is, even for those not involved in the
trade. The clouds cleared, the sun came out, and the streets unwound
meaning we could go more than 40k once more. We were en route to San
Cristobal de las Casas.
San Cristobal de las Casas is magical and I encourage anybody to go
there if they can at least once in their lifetime. I also encourage
you to try living there. It truly has a sense of worlds colliding,
with the indigenous nature of Chiapas in full visibility contrasted
by the ever growing tourism and highlife enjoyed by its richer
residents. It´s cheap too. It was time to settle and we decided to
stay a month, planning to leave after New Year.
I
needed to find my place here, and quick, because I hadn’t painted
for a good while and wanted to get back in the swing of things.
Painting murals in hostels for accommodation I realized here was much
easier than I previously thought in Tulum, and my style seemed to
impress many of the owners I spoke to - which was a big confidence
boost . I managed to wangle a mural for what ended up to be 2 weeks
worth of free accommodation in a hostel called De Ja Vu, on a
beautiful wooden wall in the centre of this vibrant
hostel/café/bar/venue which was definitely on the up and a hub of
activity locally and with the travellers. Having been around so many
ruins and after my time in La Zona Maya I wanted to see how well I
could combine my skills with the incomparable style of the Mayans,
and picked a piece from one of the stalae (carvings) from Yaxchilan,
near Bonampak. It depicts Lady Xook, on the bottom right of the
panel, in the hallucinatory stage of the bloodletting ritual. She
conjures before her a vision of a Teotihuacan serpent. The god
coming out of his mouth is the god of corn and so I combined a study
of this in my style: a huge corn cob growing out of an agave, the
plant that blesses the land with tequila and mezcal. Peering out are
eyes thorough a Zapatista balaclava hole to bring the history into
the modern day, two cultures of Chiapas in one, in colour. I was
thrilled, it was my first colour mural and also in Chiapas which was
fast becoming one of my favourite places on earth.
A
real ambition of mine, to have a solo show in Mexico, was realized in
these mountains. After rolling through the many bars, stores and
music related hangouts of the town I got a tip about a place called
´El Paliacate´ (The bandana) which as well as hosting music
events, political and resistance related events and talks in the city
also had a gallery space. This ex-occupation turned legitimate
cultural space was the perfect setting and I was ecstatic to hear
they had an opening for a week over Christmas and New Year that
needed to be filled. After agreeing the dates I set to work,
realizing that this self organized show would need a hell of a lot of
self organizing, being there without the rest of the Minesweeper
famalam. Day to day I found the places to buy my stuff (London needs
more Papellerias!!), learned the essential words (tape, boards,
frames, glue, prints, paint brushes etc) and slowly orientated myself
around the town trying to find all the necessities. I´ll admit I
have an issue with streets when they are blocks, it seems simple, but
all the corners seemed the same. I got lost more times than I can
remember which was slightly frustrating as it coincided with the
sporadic opening hours of all the tiendas over the Christmas period.
You are going against the grain here trying to organize an art
gallery in a place where most guerros are tourists and not really
doing much else apart from enjoying themselves or political
activities outside of the city, not running into the same photocopies
place three times in a day looking for a scanner. The locals
celebrate a month long party ´Virgin de Guadalupe festival´ on the
run-up to Christmas with fireworks, parades and costumes on show
every day creating a surreal setting for my haphazard project, and it
was really fun to be doing Minesweeper style shows with all this new
energy around me. It helps when you have a crew though and missed the
camaraderie of the Undercurrents Gallery. I designed the poster and
got to work promoting while also selling my hand-drawn baseball hats
(gorras) around the town as I went. This mixed with the mural for my
bed meant I was finally self-sufficient in Chiapas, a great feeling,
that gave me lots of confidence for the future missions.
The
week of the show soon arrived and 3 days before I hit up the venue
about painting a mural before the show. I was to be painting the same
day as my new muralist friend Armando, a great guy who told me a
great deal about the city and the project he was living in -
´Wapani´. We decided to combine our themes, him focusing on
Zapatista imagery and written messages and me on my new idea I had
been toying with for the last days. It was based on a sketch I had
been working on about the situation I mentioned in the last chapter
about the student disappearances. A quote I had heard, ´They did not
bury students, they buried seeds´ was the basis of the piece. A
silent rebellious tree, with the Zapatista skull eyes staring through
a balaclava growing from a flaming grave. The floor in the piece was
littered with bloody corn cobs, symbolizing the grim situation with
Monsanto. I included also memorial candles for the dead students, as
well as 1000 peso bills highlighting the corruption behind all of
these deaths the country is sadly renowned for. From the blood grow
shoots, getting ever larger until finally they become the tree
itself. A huge machine gun like the ones brandished here by the
Municipal police forces leans against the trunk. The tree I decided
needed a positive message as well as these deep themes. Flowering
between the leaves I put all the modern forms of non-violent
resistance that would be needed for any kind of positive and peaceful
continuation from this scene: cameras, smart phones filming
equipment, laptops, paintbrushes and musical instruments to share and
plan these messages of change that the nation was crying for. It also
features shining lightbulbs to signify the need for new ideas in
times like this rather than tired methods which allow people to fall
into the traps the police hope for during direct action, usually
ending in arrest which, in Mexico, I can assure you it is not fun. I
decided to name the piece ´The Tree of Modern Resistance´ and was
met with great respect by the many visitors to the venue over these
days. I consider it to be one of my favourite works, not only for the
position it had in this politically minded city, but for its subject
matter. I could see I was progressing in the direction of socially
minded illustration as well as surrealism. I had also learnt the
ability to put it in mural form again after Tulum, which I had been
worrying might have been a bit of a fluke. The people around
understood its significance without needing an explanation: that's
the root of illustration in my opinion - and something I had always
struggled with before Mexico.
With the mural in place, the accommodation piece finished and a new
rent taken in a shared house at the top of the hill in the centre of
town, all that was needed, was to arrange the works for the show. I
collected and printed my favourite drawings from the Tulum sessions
as well as some new ones and mixed them with my portfolio of UK work
that I was carrying with me through Mexico. I wrote up a written
explanation of the Minesweeper project as well as my own story and
got it translated into Spanish and printed. I mounted the pieces and
arranged my canvas for the Live Art I wished to do during the show
like I do in England. The last flyers were thrown around town and the
music line up confirmed (hiphop-ragga-latin-dubwisefunk). The stage
was set, the missions completed. I sat down in a woolly sweaty heap
with my well-earned mezcal and free baguette and waited (hoping) for
the public to arrive…
To be continued...
