Semana Santa :=) Schoolwork :=P

(From 4-9-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)

I was a little weary on the boat when we were on our way from Cartagena to spend the day on the ocean and the beaches of Isla Rosario and Playa Blanca because I saw the headlines of a local Colombian newspaper that confirmed a victim of the conflict of March first as Ecuadorian. The article, though, relieved most of my tension when it clarified that all the big players were prepared to continue handling the conflict in peaceful forms in the context of the OEA- the Organization of the American States. The topic has proven to be, at least in my own life proximity, pretty much blown over. And to sum up my AMAZING Spring Break experience, I would argue that our trip was wildly successful, perhaps disgustingly beautiful or madly incredible even. Bogotá was wonderful- museums, churches, salsa dancing, Good Friday Monserrate people procession (which was kind of scary because of the people chaos), and there was a huge international theater festival happening, so we saw a play. Bogotá is HUGE and we got to see a good amount of it in the three or four days we spent.

We flew to Cartagena on a Saturday and had three days of SO much fun. I had just begun to read the book Love in the Times of Cholera and thoroughly enjoyed reading García Marquez in that context. I find his ability to describe things entirely relevant and not a bit elaborate having seen Cartagena at night. I don´t know what to think about my concept of beauty. I would argue that is is fairly developed, but ¿What happens when the standard or norm is skewed so that the norm is overly beautiful? ¿Shipwreck!? I dunno. Maybe it´s best just to keep searching and not over think it. Though, what´s new is that I have learned to feel at home with the feeling of being lost, and also, the feeling of falling- that is to say the feeling of not being in control of or understanding everything, only vague directions, images, and supplements, perhaps. Or maybe, more precisely, the feeling of an inability to grab and hold on to things moving around me so fast. What´s more, I think I have developed a funny kind of sense of understanding or even compassion for people who have mastered the art of expressing feelings like this.

I´ve seen this struggle over and over in my studies of Latin America and try to grasp it whenever I can. In Modern Latin American art, for example, it has been observed that from the eurocentric perspective, not only have Latin American culture, art, and people been misinterpreted, misunderstood, but what´s more important to observe, beyond the initial shock of experience lies a consistent lack of ability to express what people think is happening in the Latin American reality from an outside one. This is not a minor struggle. García Marquez once wrote "La primera obra maestra de la literatura mágica es el Diario de Cristóbal Colon. Y ya estaba contaminada de la magia del Caribe que la propia historia del libro es inverosímile. Allí se habla de plantas fabulosas, animales mitológicos y seres con poderes sobrenaturales que no podían haber existido. Probablemente, Colón, que era antes que nada un mercanchifle, hizo todo aquello con el porpósito de entusiasmar a los Reyes Católicos para que siguieran financiando sus descubrimientos. Pero en todo caso, ese texto es la primera obra de la literatura del Caribe." (Translation) In my own brain I am now picturing old Cristobal Colón more like a kind of Jack Black character, but instead of advocating a love for rock and roll culture, the (in)famous quest for God, Glory, and Gold.

In my art history class, my favorite article outlines how the first "encounter of two worlds affected above all, language. In response to this, Alejo Carpentier was the first to propose the use of localisms, even of exoticisms, as an answer to his question: Are we to suffer the anguish of Hernán Cortés when he complained to Charles V of not being able to describe certain great things in America ´because I do not know the words by which they are known´?" Arguably this "journey" to understand things as people other than the Europeans, and now the "Norteamericanos" is the journey the (good) modern Latin American artists face in presenting an art that pleases the perceptions of enough people to gather a crowd.

I feel like I am relating to this exact feeling as a student in the most amazing place I have ever been. It´s like a Third Eye Blind album mixed with the expressionism of Tracy Chapman´s Crossroads, or a Jack Black-esque argument for downloading free music: intoxicatingly beautiful, and filled with daring possibilities, but maybe kind of naughty and potentially filled with contradictions. I am relating to certain art movements and artists recently, I think, because of the "journey" to which my art history article refers. This one Garcia-Torres, “Nuestro Norte es el Sur”, for example- seems overly simple, elementary even. But maybe the most important parts of a cultural "journey" are just that- like my initial silly stumbles and mumbles (that are now an everyday reality on which I don´t have the time to elaborate anymore). I know that it´s humbling, which might be, in essence, the challenge. But still, I want to constantly scream out loud a thousand tiny epiphanies that I think I´ve found. Like- Holy Shit!!! - Remedios Varo has achieved in a single painting Remedios Varo, “Creación de Aves” the artistic representation of all that I could imagine that consists of feminist theory and social constructivism!!! It´s like a door that we should all be entering, just to breath the air on the other side. But to whom do I scream?

For this reason I have learned to appreciate my guitar, ABSURD quantities of music, books more than TV, LOTS of films, good wine and company, and most importantly, but underdeveloped, poetry. Friends and fam, please excuse my lack of many many interesting blog posts, it´s just that I sometimes feel like I would be screaming into the night time. I know we´re looking at the same sky, I just wonder if I have the ability to express what´s relevant. So here are some more photos. And please know that there is an intense longing inside of me just to be with the people that make me feel like home again. Especially when, outside of all of my dream world I have created in my head and written about today, Don Quijote, mountains of academic reading, papers, and tests feel more like lead and bricks in my bag than things I care to spend my time with in the last few weeks of it all. Right now, home is full of rain, music, friends, hills, landslides, adventures in transportation, funny people and games, and mostly, too much of what I struggle to express.

More to come- Here are the pictures. Album one and two.