...said a restaurant to Colleen Sorenson, the founder of Muros en Blanco (White Walls), regarding nipples on a mural in view from their front windows. She objected back because art is full of nipples and so is the world, but the artist accommodated the restaurant by pixelating them.
645a I wake up. I do yin yoga and I DON’T CRY. I think I’m still warm and fuzzy from my perfect night last night, but still I highly recommend doing a yin class. Yin is to regular yoga, what drinking water is to your diet. Not terribly sexy, not exciting but necessary for your health and a great detox.
10a I’m the only person at Via Organica for the Wall Art tour. I meet Colleen Sorenson and get a private tour for the price of a normal tour. Since it’s just me, I opt to drive with Colleen instead of walk the neighborhood so I can see more.
Yes, of course I thought of Stella (my bff, not the dog). I have a WhatWouldStellaDo moment every time I’m about to do something that has the potential to be the least bit dangerous, and it’s made me a more responsible Bianca. (My favorite WWSD moment was in New Orleans at 3am wearing a tiny dress and walking from Bourbon Street to the French Quarter to save money. I walked two blocks, realized Stella WOULD NEVER DO THIS and hailed a cab.) However, Colleen is a retired expat, and more importantly has a very good reputation online. I get in her Jeep without another thought.
She drives me to an overgrown ravine…
I wish I was mean enough to write a gory story of all the ways she bound me with the strap from her Mexican handcrafted purse and tortured me with the glass from her bifocals (she doesn’t even wear glasses). I wish I could describe how her artists showed up and at first I thought they were going to intervene and save me but instead they used my bloodspray to accent their mural, a tortureporn representation of the birth of feminism named simply, “Lloras (You cry)”. However, this is a human being with a passion for art, doing good in the world. So she drives me to a ravine...
...and shows me incredible murals. Guadalupe has become the Arts District chiefly because of Colleen’s passion in spearheading making street art legal, because before 2013 anyone could be arrested for painting art on walls, even with the owners blessing, even if the owner was standing next to the artist, defending them to the police.
The mural project, now named Muros en Blanco, has helped elevate the Guadalupe neighborhood - remember when I comparing it to East 6th in Austin? - from a rundown hood with spray-painted tags on the buildings to an up and coming area with an influx of money from young Mexicans who’ve returned from Mexico City to open new restaurants and stores in the area.
If anyone is looking for a good documentary subject, Colleen & Graffiti World would be a great one. It’s the odd coupling of a 60’s woman who shuns cell phones founding a community of young artists in their teens and 20s in San Miguel and den mothering graffiti festivals that attract artists from all over the world. You’re welcome.
Colleen’s passion for Muros en Blanco and providing for her artists is what spurred the Wall Art Tour that she does six times a week. All proceeds from the tours goes for paint for the artists and to support the community. Needless to say, I highly recommend it and I can’t wait to come back to see how the walls of San Miguel evolve.
645p
I’m writing when I realize the time and weather- it’s near sunset and it’s not raining!
I haul ass to the Rosewood Hotel rooftop to have the expensive drink I poo-poo’d yesterday. The view is better than I could have imagined.
When you walk in San Miguel, the sidewalks are 2ish feet wide (thin!) and put you right next to the building walls. Streets are also thin and all the homes & shops are connected, so you walk around very much in the midst of clustered building snakes. Obviously, San Miguel is dripping with beauty with its bougainvillea, cobblestone streets, neogothic church and epic gardens, but this new bird’s eye perspective really stuns me.
The churros and mezcal are hella nice, too.
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