Here in the home camp, we have been going through a metric crapton of photos and other assorted memorabilia from the Smith family Robinson (what?). Anyway, those will show up in another place and time, and wow, I could go on forever about that. And I also now see that a) I really should label my photos better/at all and that b) my niece and nephew are going to have it really easy when they go through my photos when I am dead, because most of them exist only in digital form, and hitting delete doesn’t take much energy, I don’t believe.
But miraculously, I was able to find a couple of pictures I’d been looking for, to bring you this.
Sometimes you’re just walking along, minding your own business, hanging out with Margaret your photographer (blogger, winewriter, translator, etc) friend, and you spy a colorful alley, this one off of Parque Forestal just west of Plaza Italia.
And you go off to investigate and open the pretend shutter on your pretend camera, or the real shutter on your pretend camera, or real shutter on your real camera (but not the real shutter on your pretend camera, because that’s just silly), and you get this.
And then four months later, I happened by on my bike, as I am wont do to, and I caught this vision (go phone photography!)
And I know it’s just paint, and it’s possible that the person whose building it is never wanted the mural or didn’t want it anymore, or even that the very artist who painted it had come to cover it up. But that’s not likely, and it was art, and it was my art, mine as in that I get to see it whenever I pass that corner, and now not.
And maybe I’m just too emotional to fall in love with street art, but I was disheartened, and I still am. Which is why I have to go out and take pictures of everything, even if my niece and nephew have to get finger cramps hitting delete, delete, delete a million years from now when I die.