La fuente en la esquina de calles tenerías y ignacio hernández macias.
What a wonderful institution fountains are! I mean fountains that you can use, for example, to rinse off your hands, such as this gentleman is doing during a recent fiesta in my neighborhood plaza. Or to splash some water on your face during a particularly hot afternoon. Old, appealing fountains are abundant here. Not all of them are still in working order unfortunately.
So it is that we enter upon the “fountain series” in this blog.
What is the deal with all this photography in my own case? This whole blogging endeavor of mine has evolved through the years, just as that of most other bloggers does, I suspect.
Three years and some months ago when I took off and headed south, I hit upon the idea of maintaining a blog as an easy way to keep some few people up north apprised of what I was up to. Some few up there followed it for a time in an initial flush of interest. However, when it turned out that I was not soon kidnapped, shot, or decapitated, that interest waned. This was to be expected, I realize in retrospect. The vast majority of folks up north have no interest in or even curiosity about Mexico. Indeed, they are aware of Latin America generally as only a vague, amorphous geographical blob to the south somewhere. Latin America captures their attention only when something that occurs here threatens their precious supply of petroleum—cheap, under-priced energy being of course the birthright of all those who live in the north.
I do not wish to be too hypocritical in writing this because I, too, shared in that lack of interest and curiosity during most of my adult life. Then for some mysterious reason, late in the game, I was moved to go south and take a look. Obviously, a sea change occurred in my attitude as a result.
But back to the point of all this. There then came a time when I asked myself why I continued to fuck around with blogging? At the same time I came to appreciate that the snapshots that I was posting were, and had consistently been—not to put too fine a point on it—awful! I determined then to learn a little bit about making photos that better portray those things, big and little, than enchant me here, if for no other reason than for my own satisfaction.
As for this temporary black and white period in which I find myself, I can only explain it this way. The colors in Mexico are so intense that after a time they overwhelm my old gringo powers of perception. In part I attribute this to the incredible light where I live. Occasionally, I feel the need to remove this color from the photographs I take so as to see the essence of some things in a different and more revealing way without the distraction of that color. But this is only a temporary respite from the color. I shall return.