By Yudi Kravzov
I love walking through the cobbled streets of San Miguel with a few mezcales in me, searching with fascination for the roots of the trees that, destroying the pavement, mark the passage of time on the earth.
In June the days are longer and the sunsets have a humid blue color. I took the opportunity to walk, thinking about all that I had just experienced in the drawing class in the gallery, until a couple leaning against a willow, kissing with hunger, distracted me to the point of staying motionless in front of them. A little far away, so as not to scare them, and slowly, very slowly, I took out my notebook and pencil. I wanted to put into practice everything I had just learned about drawing, and the memory of that semi-exhibitionist boyfriend with whom I discovered alleys that I had never seen before in my own neighborhood came to me.
Thinking of who I was then, I began to draw those lovers who were there and silently revived my memories while I tried to draw how we kissed in public places for hours. Our thing was to envelop one into the other and kiss each other even with our noses. Those antics made my heart beat at a different speed. Everything around stopped. I was left feeling love all over my skin, linking my harmony like a stone that hugs the slingshot before shooting off into an orgy of gods dancing inside my body.
The darkness covered the bride and groom in front of my eyes. It was then that I ended the afternoon. I could have gotten closer to them but I preferred to stay still. Later I felt the cold descend and took advantage of the noise of the wind to return home.
Lying down I see my drawing and I look for myself without finding me. I close my eyes and my mind goes to the Irma Appel Gallery, the Noble Coyote tasting, the naranjita, the chapulín chilosita salt, the mezcal kisses, Janis posing, Paola Ripoll explaining the technique, and I come back. I see myself in the town square drawing that couple and those kisses on carbon paper.
Suddenly I’m not sure if the couple in the park existed. I don’t know if the dream got out of hand, if it’s the drawing classes that are connecting me with my memories, or if it’s the charcoal figures that are playing between my fingers. What I do know is that for a long time before going to sleep I see figures in black and white that, dancing, awaken all my senses.
