Forgot how hot it can be...

Purposefully, I came outside of rodeo season. There's a lot going on in those wild three weeks; it's distracting. I'm working with the assets I have, refining the message and researching the delivery.

Researching content like this is difficult no matter where it finds itself. You really need to travel far distances to get the first-hand information to give a project depth. Through contacts I made long ago, I was able to meet with a historian at the cultural center in town, and she informed me that much of what I'm looking for can be found in one of two places: a digital archive within the center, since the original materials are in Bogotá and, quite illusive but infinitely more exciting, by knocking on doors and requesting to see family photo albums. There's another six months of my life, or, with some help and luck, maybe not.

She also directed me to an architecture professor who teaches in the area and who possess the high-res files of everything available online. That saves me a lot. He's gonna WeTransfer vintage scans from which I'll recreate backgrounds for my story,
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OK, I'm going again.

Moments ago, I posted about the illness that flattened me for a year after my last visit to Tierralta—highlands of Córdoba near the Antioquia border. Those days, and the angry, xenophobic U.S. administration, don't matter to me now. I'm leaving in June for yet another journey to finish this installation. Something tells me it won’t be the last.

It only took a phone call with a historian. I held my breath before dialing—his work parallels mine, both of us chasing something fleeting and elegiac. His project is about preserving the architectural landmarks of the region, a fight against not just time and climate, but also a local skepticism rooted in survival. For many who live there, preservation feels like a luxury they can’t afford.

A bulldog's snout is a bottle cap opener.

As I described my work again, our visions aligned. He asked me to send more information, and—generously—offered his time. He’s opening a window into a history I would struggle to access alone. I’ll be meeting friends and colleagues of his from the region to help fill in the missing pieces—essential fragments of a story about how tradition is being left behind.

Even without the Venezuelan crisis spilling across the border, Colombia has its hands full: fighting corruption, confronting the legacy of cocaine, and striving to be seen as a serious center of American culture. Tourism helps. Planes to Cartagena are packed with gringos flying in for the weekend, partying to the rhythms of Palenque music. The old city, which I’ve written about before, is a 500-year-old sleeping beauty, stirred awake by a rapid and tasteful renovation. It’s charming and expensive. I don't know if the same can be said for the interior. I'm focused on the Coast.

I’ve been thinking about this project for years—through the pandemic, through politics, through my absorbing work of printmaking. I'm packing. My heart aches to tell this beautiful story.

Learning the Lingo

 The collar bone of South America spans three "Departments" (the equivalent of the US "States") of Colombia, going from west to east: El Choco, Antioquia and Cordoba. I've attached a screenshot map I swiped from Google maps, and it shows why this tiny neck of horribly inhospitable land is so valuable. 

It rains several times a day in these parts, so a quick plane will get you from town to town, landing on an asphalt strip in the jungle. 

At the moment, with the South American migration halted by the unforgiving US Administration in favor of South Afrikaners (they're white, of course), the Darién Gap is further overrun with strife as people are mired in the extreme instability, crime and violence of Venezuela and neighboring countries to the north in Central America. And, the continued market for illicit drugs and other products we Americans covet ensures that the strife will continue for some time, perhaps indefinitely. 

Even when times were a little calmer, it was not an area to be fooled with. It's one of the most challenging ones to navigate with downpours so extreme that people have drowned in their sleep during a rainstorm. The flora and fauna are relentless as well, with plant growth overtaking the Pan American highway within days and sleeping under mosquito net still a necessity. Window screens mean nothing to many of the bugs in the area--some are so small that they fit easily--and others leave bites with poison lasting in the skin for six weeks. I was there shortly before writing the last post in September 2023 and returned with an unexplained infection that kept me hospitalized for over a week and ten months on antibiotics. Fun.

But, now that I'm fine, I'm going back.