#architectural digest mexico

[untamedsenseofcontrol]

Front Yard - Transitional Landscape This front yard stone landscaping is an example of a medium-sized transitional partial sun landscaping.

[bikerfish]

Transitional Landscape This front yard stone landscaping is an example of a medium-sized transitional partial sun landscaping.

[so-chill-so-vapor]

[blueeyeddarkknight]

With great eyes comes high light and flashing sensitivity 👁️🕶️📸🥺

It gets overwhelming sometimes and he gets temporary blindness 😵😭

It evolves a lot of squinting in pics, wearing tinted glasses, even indoors (not to mention they look cool ❄️)

That's also why his house (new Mexico) is mostly lit by soft and yellow lights, scones💡 and candles 🕯️even the chandelier.

Source : the architectural digest

[eirene]

Cacti and bougainvilleas in front of a tower on the Mexican coast, designed by Marco Aldaco.

Photographer: David O Marlow

Architectural Digest, October 2006

[feralchaton]

Hotel Esencia | architecturaldigest

[visit-new-york]

This Skyscraper is New York Blue

The form of this building is unconventional. While it features a traditional setback at the base of the office section, the design departs from convention with three volumes that recess at loggias instead of stepping back. This approach, though rare, has some precedents—One Madison in New York, the Silberturm in Frankfurt, and Calatrava's Turning Torso in Malmö offer similar gestures. The result is a visually striking and highly functional design that includes large decks for fresh air, with additional balconies on alternating floors to ensure outdoor access is easy.

As FXCollaborative’s Gustavo Rodriguez explains, the goal was to "break down the massing so it becomes more digestible." They aimed for a design that felt personal, giving tenants the ability to say, "That’s my floor" or "I’m two floors above that," fostering a sense of identity and ownership within the larger structure.

By 2023 standards, the building has remarkably little glass—just 33% of the facade. The rest is brick, carefully patterned and paired with pre-cast concrete spandrel panels. Inspired by the decorative brick piers of Ralph Walker’s designs, the facade isn't flat; it features a pleated brick pattern designed to interact dynamically with light. Avoiding disruptions at the building's corners posed a challenge, so the team created custom hand-pressed chamfered bricks to ensure a seamless look. This attention to detail extended even to the choice of brick shade, with Rodriguez noting, "We needed a New York blue; it couldn’t be a Texas blue or a Mexico blue."

The design also incorporates traditional methods, wrapping the building in elegant sunshades. These sunshades, reminiscent of divided-light industrial windows, maintain the visual integrity of the 16-to-18-foot-high windows while only attaching to mullions between panels. This approach allowed the use of low-reflectivity glass, which significantly boosted the building's energy efficiency.

Thanks to these thoughtful design elements, FXCollaborative’s office in One Willoughby earned the first LEED Platinum v4 Interior Design and Construction certification in New York City and the highest-scoring LEED v4 Commercial Interior Design and Construction rating in the country.

FXCollaborative Brings it All Together

FXCollaborative embraced an unconventional approach for One Willoughby, adding an unusually high number of exterior columns—spaced every 15 feet instead of the typical 30. This decision allowed for fully unobstructed, loft-like floors spanning 140 by 60 feet, creating expansive open spaces without sacrificing structural integrity.

The design also includes internal open staircases that connect the firm's three floors, a feature that can be replicated on other levels throughout the building. The floorplates, while open, are modest in size. Even before the COVID-19 pandemic, the firm questioned the value of massive floorplates. Gustavo Rodriguez notes, “A lot of people realize they don’t need 300 desks; they need 150. They’d rather have a smaller floor plate where they can see each other than one that wraps around a huge core, where visibility is limited.”

Flexibility was a key consideration throughout the design. Larger tenants can connect office floors with staircases, while smaller tenants can easily subdivide spaces. Now, about 60 percent of the building is leased. Before the pandemic, only FXCollaborative and a public school had committed, but the building has since attracted tenants like the Architectural Research Office, the Ms. Foundation for Women, Propel, and Gemic. Additionally, a loggia-level amenity floor provides an extra incentive for potential tenants, as highlighted by Adrian Madlener in Metropolis.

Rodriguez describes the building as a culmination of FXCollaborative’s recent work across various projects, saying, “This is the first time we were able to bring some of our areas of exploration into one building. It was a chance to synthesize all of our ideas.”

The only challenge? “The biggest trouble,” Rodriguez quips, “is having 120 architects as your clients.”

[alllinesarebeautiful]

Day 428 Art meditation, Paper wall sculpture #2, “Tree Ring” Heart Art

Dear You, 

Filling up the house with paper wall sculptures! This is the 2nd ‘Tree Ring’ paper wall, with a pattern of 3 blocks, to see if it inspires something new ...

It’s so meditative. It’s tangible. It fills my heart up with joy. I am healing myself one moment at a time. 

My sister recently told me that she doesn’t define “trauma” like I do, and it was the first time ever we even approached the topic …

She’s right, compared to most people, my version of trauma was nothing.

And I know I would never have bothered to go deep into healing work, but the fact that I have been struggling on so many levels the last ten years, it left me no choice but to go Inward. One of the reasons this journey is taking so long is that my ego-space has done everything to try to get out of it, every distraction possible. But I always end up here, at my Heart.

I am so grateful that G gave me the book by Dorothy Corkille Briggs, “Celebrate Your Self: Enhancing Your Own Self-Esteem”. The single most important book in my (and G’s) life, because it is crystal clear on what it means to find your True Self. There is a reason it was never a best seller - it’s the hardest path.

If my life had gone the way I thought I wanted it to go, I would never have tapped into all this inside me. 

Every time I make a paper sculpture, I am learning how to trust myself more.

Every time I make a new Heart Art Brand Bundle, I trust myself more. 

The art brings up a stillness for me, and there is my voice, and time to write.

(Which is one of the reasons I leave it open to purchase, because combining art and writing is powerful … )

Art 🖼️ on walls …

I’ve always loved to look inside the houses of artists - Henri Matisse filled his house with art, especially in his last years when he was confined to a wheelchair and he and assistant (who was probably also one of his art models) hung the huge paper cut out art pieces all over his house, which later became some of most famous art ever. It’s on my to-do list to write and design a love letter into this part of Henri Matisse’s life and art … I have not forgotten.

Georgia O’Keefe’s gorgeous adobe Studio House in Abiquiu, New Mexico was very simple and every room filled with artful, mindful objects. Dreamy…

Recently I saw a 2016 Architectural Digest article of Marc Chagall’s heavenly house, and I’m not surprised that a lot of his own oil paintings hung on the walls …

Ansel Adams and non-artist wife lived in Big Sur, CA, and I remember seeing the AD issue of their house - the living room was a gorgeous dark blue, the windows all had views of fir trees … And there are all kinds of interesting art. 

So many stories with each art piece, and what a haven, each home. 

If I could travel for one year just visiting artists' homes, I would! Maybe for now I’ll just re-subscribe to Architectural Digest. 😍

I am grateful for these art walls now, together with G’s oil paintings, making our home as beautiful as I can with materials I do have access to. 

I have to remind myself to be present now, that I’m already living the dream, in many ways. And what’s more, art and my creative bubble is where I focus now even during the times I’m not actually doing my creative work. That skill alone took 10 years to build up. 

So grateful. 🙏🙏🙏

Lots of love,

Anne ◎

◎

Ⓒ 2024 Anne Hunsicker | All Lines Are Beautiful. All rights reserved.

[mudwerks]

(via Arizona post office ranked one of the 11 most beautiful in the world)

An Arizona post office has been ranked one of the 11 most beautiful in the world, according to a list published by Architectural Digest.

Listed among gilded buildings in Mexico and structures inside German palaces, the adobe-inspired post office in Winslow, Arizona, made it to the list of "architechtural wonders," as Katherine McLaughlin, editor at the architecture magazine, described them last month.

The pueblo-style building is located at the heart of Winslow on the southwest corner of Williamson Avenue and Old Highway 66, across the street from Old Trails Museum.

[muertarte]

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @muertarte @honeysmokedham

SUMMARY: Metzli is relaxing at home when Nora breaks into their room in search of a shower. The two trade art and Fortnite is involved!

WARNINGS: None

It had been…. Longer than Nora was willing to admit since that last time she had a shower. She was at the point where bathing in lakes was adding to her personal stench instead of helping it minutely. What she needed was a shower. Showers, Nora had come to discover as she walked across the United States of America, cost money if you didn’t own one. She also needed new clothes, but that was easily reminded thanks to someone leaving their clothes hanging on a clothesline. Marching down the row of suburbanian dread houses Nora spotted one with a window open. “Keep watch.” She whispered to Babadook, trailing behind her. “I’m going to get a shower.” 

Nora slid in the window coming to an ungraceful landing inside a bedroom that looked like it was styled for Architectural Digest. Something her dads would have liked. Sitting on the couch was a full ass adult person. In the dark. At night. Nora would have loved to care, but her own eyes started staring at an open door connected to the room. A bathroom. Crossing in front of the staring weird, Nora walked into the bathroom, shut the door and started fiddling with the shower. After a second of testing she was rewarded with a stream of water. As soon as it showed the slightest sign of warmth Nora stripped off her clothes and was standing in the nice warm stream. Maybe she should have locked the door, she thought to herself. It was too late now. She was committed. 

It had taken months of planning to allow themself to leave their windows open, allowing a calm and pleasant breeze to fly past the curtains. Metzli was the cautious type, taught that everything was a threat and they needed to have their guard up. Anita, on the other hand, thought artificial air could only do so much for the energy in the house. She wasn’t wrong. Maine had the kind of air you wanted to greedily breathe by the mouthful. Light and aromatic in a way that Metzli was dumbfounded by when they arrived. A stark contrast to the thick and blazing air of Mexico that persisted well after the moon chased the sun away. 

However, it seemed Metzli’s cautious habits should’ve remained. They should’ve stood resolute in their stance instead of backing down. Because as it turns out—they were right. And now a stranger was striding past them, interrupting their recreational activity of staring at the wall until morning. They nearly ejected themself from their seat to attack, but the abhorrent and pungent smell permeating from the girl gave them pause. It was a familiar smell. Hell, they’d been covered in it before when they were homeless. Which was why they remained seated and allowed her to go to her obvious destination, hearing the water come to life. 

“There is extra soap in the closet.” Their voice reached a level loud enough to hear over the rushing water, thick with their accent. “Please do not use my bar.” Metzli ran to the door and knocked rhythmically in hopes of getting the stranger’s attention, pressing their forehead against the door with a groan. “Or my loofa.” They wanted her to get clean so she wouldn’t damage their senses again, but they really didn’t want to share hygiene products either. 

Nora’s hand had just been about to touch the bar of soap when a knock a the door told her to go into the closet for a bar of soap. Okay. She got out of the shower, her wet feet squelching across the tile floor as she made her way to previously unknown closet. From there she pulled out a bar of soap, a wash cloth and a fresh towel. “Okay.” She called back. At least the stranger was surprisingly cool about this. “Why were you staring at the wall?” Nora asked as she got back into her shower. She wondered if there was something on the other side of the wall that she should be concerned about. Or maybe just the stranger was concerned about it. Like someone else was breaking into this house at this moment and didn’t like the other intruder. The first step was to do a vicious scrub. Dirt fell off her body leaving an irritated pink flesh underneath. It took five minutes of scrubbing to deal with her nails alone. 

The next step was her hair. It was matted. Nora ran her fingers through it for a bit before giving up. Brush. She got out of the shower, once more slapping her wet feet against the tile as she started going through the bathroom to find a brush. Brush. Brush. She wasn’t a monster. No wait, that was a lie. She was a monster. She wasn’t inconsiderate though, so she was looking for a lesser used brush. One that the owner maybe stored for emergencies or back up. She didn’t find any. Nora grabbed the hair brush off the bathroom counter and brought it back into the shower. She had a feeling that the drain would need unclogging by the time she was done in there. 

A sigh of relief escaped Metzli and they took a step back from the door, happy to know their products wouldn’t be used. Not the ones they use on their body at the very least. “I…” They trailed off, trying to put a grammatically correct sentence together. English was stupid. “Staring is like tv. Enter…tainment. Wait until morning for work.” That sounded correct. They hoped it was. All the lessons from Anita and Honey had to be paying off.

 “Have machine but no games. Do not know how.” Metzli was referring to the gaming pc they had been convinced to purchase on a whim. They’d just landed a major sale and with their room bare, their peers guided them on where to shop. They were able to handle what to buy from there, with the help of a salesperson of course. 

“Do you not have housing?” Steam began to roll and plume together in a dance from the frame, warming the edges of the trim Metzli leaned against. They decided they didn’t want to see a stranger in the nude, but to remain close enough to apprehend once she was done. Wait. Metzli thought to themself, trying to recall if there was anything on the intruder’s back to indicate extra clothing. They supposed they had things they could offer, but that wasn’t exactly what you did with an intruder. It was probably just better to ask. “Do you have clean clothes?”

Staring at the wall for entertainment until work? Of all the things Nora had heard in her admittedly short life that had to be the most pathetic. A machine with games? Don’t know how? Nora didn’t know of any walls that came preloaded with the latest ps5. Maybe this person had a fancy hidden TV in their wall and they lost the remote to open it. “Why don’t you just sleep?” The implied like a normal person trailed off into the unknown. Years of being in the public had taught her to watch her tongue or she’d read a canceled post on twitter about it later. 

The water coming off her had gone from a murky brown to clear. It was starting to make Nora feel like she was human again. A whole person. The lie that she grew up with. Guilt fluttered through her. She didn’t deserve to feel human. Liars didn’t deserve anything. The stall of the shower seemed to be closing in around her. Mocking her. Little monster pretending to be human. Little monster pretending to normal for everyone to see. Disgust boiled down her body. She slammed off the water, practically tumbling out of the shower. 

“I have clothes.” Her monotone voice betrayed nothing of what had just happened as she skipped over the question about housing and latched on to the one about clothes. The clothes she’d stolen from one of the neighbors. She dried. Nora didn’t look back into the shower. The mess she’d left behind. Instead she got dressed in the oversized hoodie and leggings and came out of the bathroom her hair still wet. “Okay where is this machine with no games.” As a zoomer growing up with boomer dads, she knew how to teach the elderly how to use technology. It seemed the least she could do. 

Metzli’s brows furrowed together with consideration. They knew they couldn’t outright say they don’t sleep, but what was the alternative? Lying was always distasteful, despite its uses in situations like the one they found themself in. What was the harm anyway? If they really wanted to, they could just kill her. Nodding to themself, they broke the silence, “I do not sleep.” A simple statement. Finite. Should she have further questions, Metzli decided they’d just disregard them as she had theirs. 

She—a child—had given them their alternative, along with revealing herself. They’d never been so grateful that they didn’t barge into their own bathroom. She was still killable, but definitely not worth seeing nude. Though, she seemed to have some worth with her interest in their machine, if only for a moment.

“Hm?” The vampire looked at the girl and then back toward the computer the specialist wouldn’t stop talking about until it was purchased. He was consumed later that night, and the thought brought the tiniest amused smile to Metzli’s face before falling back to neutral. “Over there.” They pointed, watching the girl carefully with empty eyes. “Are you going to try and steal my items now?” 

Don’t sleep? Some sort of extreme insomniac? Maybe they were a robot. That would explain their lifeless eyes. Nora was ready to ask more questions about why they didn’t sleep but she realized one very important fact about that. She didn’t care. Now that Nora was no longer on a mission she had time to examine the wall that they had been engrossed with. It was the most boring wall Nora had ever seen. “I might steal something later. Not your computer.”

Nora crossed the room and plunked down in front of the computer. “This button turns it on.” Nora decided it would be best if she started from  the ground floor while explaining how to work a computer. You could never be to sure how technology illiterate they were. Nora pointed at the mouse. “This is how you control your computer. Just focus on right clicking for now.” After the computer was done booting Nora opened up google.com. “When you have questions type them here.” Nora paused before pointing to the keyboard. “Using that.” 

The robot had told Nora it was a game machine. Nora turned facing the robot with her deadpan stare. Yeah. She knews the game. Nora downloaded a program. “You need to put games on it yourself. You can find them using the search bar I showed you. I set one up for you thought.” Nora launched Fortnite before she got out of the seat and motioned for the robot to take a seat. “Have fun.”

Well, that was different. At least the girl was forthright in her urge to steal. Metzli didn’t care for thieves, but they could respect honesty. As far as they were concerned, she could be allowed to steal one thing. One. “I do not think I will be minding that if you help me with the machine.” They stated as she plopped herself down on their chair. There was an air of confidence in her stride, not unlike the kind they emanated themself. As if she knew she couldn’t be hurt, and that she had done this more than once. Not just teaching someone how to use a computer, but breaking into homes and using the facilities to get herself clean.

At that point, Metzli began to theorize that she may be homeless, comparing their own past to what was happening to them at that moment. The tables had turned, and they were inclined to offer food. She could steal that if she wanted. It wasn’t like they needed it. First thing though, they needed to pay attention. 

The explanation wasn’t hard to follow, and they watched silently until she opened a program that blasted upbeat music through the headphones they had connected in the process of the setup. A brow raised curiously, and they shook their head, “Show me how to play…whatever your name are.” Metzli looked down at the girl, slightly frowning at their grammar. “…is.” They corrected, gesturing to the chair. “I will give you whatever food you want. Roommate is rich. Lots of food.”

Now a normal person would have picked up on the obvious social cue. Whatever your name is. Nora, however, never one to be normal was too focused on whatever your name are. Did the robot know about her bear? Did her bear have a different name then her? There was nothing in Nora’s self centered mind that even danced around the idea that their new companion could just be struggling with English and chose a wrong word. Nora’s eyes shifted up and down them as she tried to decide what to do with this. Robots really did know too much. Maybe staring at the wall was giving them too much power. Nora’s eyes flickered to the wall, lingering there for a minute. Nothing changed. 

“There is a rumbly in my tummy.” Nora sat back down, rubbing her hand on her stomach. She hoped there was honey smoked ham. She loved honey smoked ham. After another side eye glance at her new benefactor, Nora set Fornite to no build mode and queued in. She decided trying to teach building mode might be… too much. Now, to be perfectly candid, Nora wasn’t a big Fortnite player. Mostly she’d played it on her iPad between shoots. It was never her go to activity. Still, she knew enough to get a 14th placement in her solo game. As she played she’d mention a few important bits. “You need to thank your bus driver every game by pressing b. Right click to aim. Tomato town is a massacre zone.” After the match finished Nora got up again. “You try. I’ll watch and help make corrections.” 

A faceless entity screaming into nothingness caught Nora’s attention from the side of the desk. She drifted to the corner, picking up the piece of art and examining it. “I like this.” She placed it back down. Nora dropped her backpack to the ground and started shifting in it. She pulled out her well used sketchbook and started flipping through the pages, every now and then she’d look up at the robot checking to make sure they matched. Eventually she ripped out a page and exchanged it with the piece she’d seen on the table. She hoped that they would be too busy with their Fortnite game to notice. The piece she left behind was a horror piece of an undefined figure drowning in their own humanity. People, other humans, were pulling them in multiple directions as their flesh pulled apart hinting at them becoming a deformed  monster. Both art pieces were screaming. It seemed like a fair trade. Nora dropped her sketchbook back into her back. “Don’t forget to thank the bus driver.” She reminded in her bland monotone. 

“R-rum…bly? Tummby?” The word hadn’t been in any of the English dictionaries that Metzli had picked up, nor had it been used in any conversation. Their best guess was that it was young folk talk, as Honey would call it. The words matched rumble and tummy enough that when the girl rubbed at her stomach, Metzli was able to decipher what she meant. Hunger. They could remedy that. “Hold.” They held a finger up and disappeared into the house’s hallways. When they returned, they had a large sandwich on a plate with a side of chips. Something they’d seen Anita make. Hopefully it would be up to the girl’s standards.

“Here.” The plate was placed carefully on the desk, and Metzli watched the game play out until a shot caused the character to fall and end the game. Seemed simple enough in concept, but the amount of movement from the mouse and buttons being pressed on the keyboard made it much more complicated. Nodding, Metzli took the seat and mimicked one of the hand placements they just witnessed, but only the one. They’d have to figure out how to use their nub without clicking too many keys at once. With a soft huff, they moved on, clicking the appropriate prompts until the screen boomed and the bus appeared. “Oh.” Metzli was amused, enjoying the sounds and the colors. They were almost distracting enough for the vampire to miss their art being stolen.

“¡Ay! ¡Basta!” Metzli allowed their character to go idle as they ripped what art hadn’t been taken from the thief's reach. It was probably the most personality they’d had in the whole interaction. “Que chingados…eh?” The top-most piece of work on the stack caught Metzli’s attention, giving them pause. It wasn’t theirs, but it was nearly good enough to be. The girl was an artist. “You draw?” They asked curiously, returning to their robotic voice as they studied the lines and gestures. Where the focal point was and how the composition as a whole led the viewer’s eye all over the piece. “Good art. Can you paint?”

Nora devoured half of the sandwich given to her, and shoved the other half in her pocket. There was a good boy outside who was also hungry and she wasn’t going to let him starve. The chips were also shoved in her jacket pocket. For later. A snake happened to be in the pocket she put the chips in. She frowned. She didn’t know when that snake got there. She moved the snake from the chip pocket to another pocket. Just to be safe. She didn’t know if chips were good for snakes. “Thank you.” The words came as an afterthought. Her monotone voice did nothing to convey how grateful she truly was. It would have sucked to have to dumpster dive for food after getting a shower.

Basta? Did that mean bastard? Nora wasn’t a bastard…. That she knew of. Oh. Wow she could be a bastard. Just because her dads were married didn’t mean her biological parents were married when they had her. This really opened up a good psychological question. Was she still a bastard if the parents who raised her were married when she was born? She was going to have to remember to google that later. Que…She knew that one it was what. Right? Ching a dos. Chingados. Two chingas? Nora had no clue. She was probably supposed to know Spanish. Her 23andMe came back Mexican and Puerto Rican when her dads had it done. They had insisted on enrolling her in Spanish classes so she could learn her culture. She insisted on skipping them to go sacrifice barbies in the woods. 

Still, Nora let the art pile go without complaint and stared blankly back at the person in front of them. How much personal information was too much to give away. What would get her caught? The words no, I stole that, sat at the tip of her tongue. Ready to be used as an explanation to distance herself from the situation. Still, Nora hated lying. Just because she was good at it didn’t mean she should. “Yes.” She answered all the questions, her fingers gripped her backpack as she started sliding towards the window she’d come in from. “You’re going to die.” Nora pointed at the computer screen where the game was still going. Hoping to use that as a distraction to slip closer to the window.

Metzli stared, tilting their head slowly as they watched the girl store her food in her pockets. A strange and unsanitary place, but they supposed there wasn’t really another option. They thought perhaps they should’ve brought extra, properly packed in ziplock bags or disposable containers. “Do you want more? Maybe in bags or in a box? Erm…plastic box.” She’d done them a service, and while Metzli didn’t particularly care for making other’s lives easier, they did believe in basic respect. Everyone deserved to have clean food, regardless of whether or not they broke into a person’s home or used their shower without permission. And they didn’t need to do any favors, but it did help in Metzli’s book. Though the art stealing definitely made the vampire want to help less despite how they could relate to her position.

“How big…are the…how big the paintings are? Framed or no?” Metzli struggled to get the English out, and they felt like it was wrong, but they didn’t care. They were too focused on the drawings and the way the homeless girl was backing away. Then, all of a sudden, a threat? She told them they were going to die, but didn’t point at them. Instead, she pointed past them. Oh. You die in games, if they recalled correctly, and it sounded like a distraction to them. They had seen her die only minutes before, and that familiar array of melodic beeps gave it away soon after the thought began. The same sounds as when she died. “Just a game.” Metzli shrugged, “I want to know of the paintings. I own a gallery. Local art. National art. Maybe your art?” They inquired, leaning forward and stepping closer to the girl they still didn’t know the name of. 

“Metzli.” They revealed their name, placing a hand to their chest, gesturing it then to the stranger. If they were going to do business, they figured names should be given first. Though, it seemed their guest wanted to leave, which was just as well. As much as they wanted to curate her art, Metzli wasn’t one to hold people captive. At least, not innocent ones. Well, as innocent as an intruder who needed a shower and meal was.  

The food was a tempting offer. One again the gears of extreme mental math started turning in Nora’s brain. Pro, more food. These days her stomach was always growling. Con, this was obviously a trap. Who would offer to give her more food? Maybe the cops were on their way because she broke in and this person was just keeping her busy until they got there. Then when the cops got there… It would be over. Her eyelids lowered almost imperceptibly in a minute glare. 

The more Metzli asked about Nora’s art, the more the delinquent seemed to shut down. Her hand gripping her backpack turned white, her legs tensed ready to run and her face refused to show any emotion. A blank empty stare started to drift past Metzli as Nora tried to remain calm. There was nothing about her art that was made for public consumption. People didn’t get to come in and ridicule her for her efforts. They didn’t get to live in their perfect lives and judge her for what she made. They didn’t get to make fun of what was put out there. People didn’t get to understand what was happening to themselves and turn around and write the most god awful reviews about her point of view because they thought it was funny. 

Anger seized Nora. Her eyes started to glow red as an illusion started over taking her. Her skin became shrouded in oil painting strokes, covering her. “No.” It was as much of a scream as her monotone voice could manage, despite sounding like a reasonably volumed exclamation. Expecting the illusion to cover for her, Nora threw herself back out the window and took out running. Babadook fell in step right behind her. It said a lot about Nora’s anger that she didn’t stay to try and make a meal of Metzli. She just wanted to be gone.

[diasbajoelsol]

29.08.2024

I dreamt something and asked AI to digest the text for me.

Berlin unfolded in a way I hadn't expected, with Ceci and Edgar, dear friends from Mexico, guiding us through the city like they knew it by heart. They led us to this colossal building that, at first glance, seemed like just a music shop. We wandered through the aisles, flipping through vinyls and pretending to know the bands we were reading about. It was a good time, but they kept hinting that the real adventure was yet to come.

They weren't wrong. The massive building turned out to be a nightclub, and the music store was just the facade. It was a whole experience. The theme was a wild mix of ancient Chinese-Malaysian aesthetics blended with extraterrestrial elements. Everything was bathed in shades of orange, and the staff, dressed as aliens, added to the surreal atmosphere by speaking in an unintelligible language.

The acrchitecture was magnificent, making you feel in palaces and ceremonial rooms the entire time, while blasting very hypnotizing music. Each room was a portal to a different world, with its own unique vibe. There was even a mystery puzzle game we could play if we felt like it, adding another layer to the experience.

I was there with my boyfriend, but at some point, we got separated. It was his first time in this bizarre place, and as I searched for him, I couldn't help but worry a little. My friends helped me comb through the alien architecture—ornate, opulent, like a palace from some forgotten Southeast Asian dynasty, yet undeniably otherworldly.

It took what felt like ages to find him. When I finally did, he was buzzing with excitement, sporting a strange new haircut that involved patches of his hair dyed in different colors. He looked odd, to say the least, but his happiness was infectious. I couldn't help but smile with him.

As we left the club, he animatedly recounted everything he'd seen inside. We walked together to the train station, the surreal night behind us but still lingering in the air

[simon5547]

Avance parcial 2

Alebrijes

Oaxaca

En Oaxaca, los alebrijes se hacen de madera de copal y se inspiran en la idea de los nahuales, los cuales, son vistos desde dos perspectivas: un ser mitológico o sobrenatural con la capacidad de transformarse en animal, así como un elemento de la naturaleza relacionado con la brujería; o la conexión espiritual entre otros.

Esta gran artesanía es muy famosa por todo México Aunque fueron originados en Ciudad de México, los artesanos de Oaxaca imitaron las figuras, pero sustituyendo la técnica de cartonería por la de madera tallada tradicional de la región oaxaqueña. Conservaron los brillantes colores y la tradición y elaboración de alebrijes esta técnica de artesanía se origino en los pueblos de San Antonio Arrazola y San Martín Tilcajete y están agradecidos por eso.

El creador de los alebrijes es Pedro Linares López, cartonero de profesión y originario de la capital del país. Linares relata que la creación de estos animales nació de sueños causados por una enfermedad que padeció y que al recuperarse decidió replicar las criaturas que encontró en sus sueños. La tradición iniciada por Pedro Linares lo llevo a recibir en 1990 el Premio Nacional de Ciencias y Artes y aún después de su muerte su familia continúa engendrando alebrijes de colores.

Esta gran artesanía que muchos la conocen se preguntan

¿Para qué se utiliza?

Al ser parte del arte tradicional mexicano, se cree que regalar un alebrije ayuda a "espantar" a los malos espíritus de los hogares, especialmente aquellos alebrijes con un aspecto más "monstruoso". Asimismo, estos se consideran como un símbolo de buena suerte.

Sin embargo, también existe la creencia, de acuerdo con la mitología zapoteca, en la que cada ser humano nace acompañado de un animal que lo guiará durante su vida, denominado “nahual” o “alebrije”.

Una de las características de los alebrijes es su colorido, por lo que cada uno de los tonos tiene un significado distinto. Por ejemplo, el verde se asocia con la naturaleza y la empatía, mientras que el rosa es un color sensible que simboliza el amor.

El naranja se utiliza para liberar las emociones negativas y el amarillo se relaciona con la expresión de nuestros sentimientos, la alegría y el lujo. El azul refleja la tranquilidad, mientras que el café significa la conexión con la tierra y los animales.

Y entre otros significados.

SUS MATERIALES SON:

Ya que los alebrijes son de la Ciudad de México con cartoneria pero los oaxaqueños sustituyeron la técnica esto hace tan especial los alebrijes de Oaxaca.

1.Madera de copal o Copalito

2. Machete filosos

3.Juego de cuchillos

4.Lijas

5.Pintura

6.Pincel

7.Sellador

¿Cual es su realizaciones?

Al tener la madera harás un dibujo de como vas hacer el alebrije después de ello con el machete cortaras y con los cuchillos darás mejor la forma de ojos etc al acabar se ligara todas las superficies y después se pintaran y se sellara y listo.

Bibliografías

Ochoa, A. (2020, 28 octubre). Alebrijes, las figuras fantásticas más coloridas del arte popular mexicano. Architectural Digest. https://www.admagazine.com/gran-diseno/alebrijes-las-figuras-fantasticas-mas-coloridas-del-arte-popular-mexicano-20201028-7622-articulos#:~:text=Pedro%20Linares%20L%C3%B3pez%20un%20cartonero,gallo%20con%20cuernos%20de%20toro De Educación Pública, S. (s. f.). Pedro Linares López. gob.mx. https://www.gob.mx/sep/acciones-y-programas/pedro-linares-lopez#:~:text=Aprovechando%20su%20habilidad%20de%20cartonero,vida%20a%20los%20%E2%80%9CAlebrijes%E2%80%9D

Parte de ingles

Alebriges

Oaxaca:

In Oaxaca, the alebrijes are made of copal wood and are inspired by the idea of the Nahuales, which are seen from two perspectives: a mythological or supernatural being with the ability to transform into an animal, as well as an element of nature related to witchcraft; or the spiritual connection among others.

This great handicraft is very famous throughout Mexico Although they originated in Mexico City, the artisans of Oaxaca imitated the figures, but replacing the cardboard technique with the traditional carved wood of the Oaxaca region. They preserved the bright colors and the tradition and elaboration of alebrijes this craft technique originated in the towns of San Antonio Arrazola and San Martín Tilcajete and they are grateful for that.

The creator of the alebrijes is Pedro Linares López, a cardboard maker by profession and originally from the country's capital. Linares reports that the creation of these animals was born from dreams caused by a disease he suffered and that when he recovered he decided to replicate the creatures he found in his dreams. The tradition initiated by Pedro Linares led him to receive the National Prize for Sciences and Arts in 1990 and even after his death his family continues to engender colored alebrijes.

This great handicraft that many know wonder what is it used for?

As part of traditional Mexican art, it is believed that giving away an alebrije helps to "scare away" the evil spirits of homes, especially those alebrijes with a more "monstrous" appearance. Likewise, these are considered as a symbol of good luck.

However, there is also the belief, according to Zapotec mythology, that every human being is born accompanied by an animal that will guide him during his life, called "nahual" or "alebrije".

One of the characteristics of the alebrijes is their color, so each of the tones has a different meaning. For example, green is associated with nature and empathy, while pink is a sensitive color that symbolizes love.

Orange is used to release negative emotions and yellow is related to the expression of our feelings, joy and luxury. Blue reflects tranquility, while coffee means the connection with the earth and animals.

And among other meanings.

ITS MATERIALS ARE:

Since the alebrijes are from Mexico City with cartoneria but the Oaxacans replaced the technique this makes the alebrijes of Oaxaca so special.

1. Copal wood or Copalito

2. Wired machete

3. Set of knives

4. Lijas

5. Painting

6. Paintbrush

7. Sealant

What are your achievements?

When you have the wood you will make a drawing of how you are going to make the alebrije after that with the machete you will cut and with the knives you will give better the shape of the eyes etc. When you finish all the surfaces will be tied and then they will be painted and sealed and ready.

[diyanaeatsalotagain]

David Duplanti house, Mexico, for Architectural Digest

[psychedelic-cartel-chronicles]

  Chapter 4: The First Load Arrives

“It’s the weather, Bob. They have to wait until it’s perfect. Right now it’s snowing in El Paso,” I told Bifocal Bob on the payphone call to New York.

“Snowing in El Paso?” he asked, “Is that even possible? I thought it was in the desert.”

“It’s the high altitude desert, Bob, and the crossers don’t want their movements tracked in the snow.”

“That’s ridiculous. Just get me the fucking load. Otherwise, I’m spending my money on what Neanderthal Ned brings me.”

“Neanderthal Ned” was a reference to one of my border smuggling competitors. He notably lived in a luxurious, retrofitted cave in the mountains overlooking Tucson and was able to amass substantial amounts of Mexican cannabis from independents operating along the Arizona border. Architectural Digest had written a favorable article about his Taliesin West inspired residence which was equipped with advanced automatic features like automated sky lights and floating stairways well ahead of its time. Ned, operating outside of cartel jurisdiction, retrofitted motor homes whose interiors had been altered to fit his shipments which averaged over a ton.

As well-known as Ned and his operation was, it was his girlfriend, Molly, who captured the most attention. Molly and I moved in the same circles. After she and Ned parted company, Molly showed up as a companion to Billy Mercedes, one of my main San Francisco distributors who lived in Marin County. After that Molly married a certain well-known television doctor, who wrote an anguished book, “Taming Molly” about his attempts to get Molly to conform to suburban life while married to medicine.

Ned was reliable, I explained, but this was on another level. We were sending the best genetics to Mexico. Commercial logistics were being arranged. The cartel had ensured a steady supply.

“Bob, you’re about to be on the other end of a pipeline,” I explained.

“Snowing in El Paso? That has got to be some bullshit. Get here as soon as you can.” Patience was not a virtue with Bob.

Waiting is the hardest part of the game. Tension continues to build as the wait goes on. The tension is composed of one or two parts anticipation and several parts fear. Fear that your warehouse might stand out, that crossers would be captured and the authorities might start working their way up the supply chain. Every day I spent at the Las Cruces, New Mexico Marriot was another day that law enforcement might start to wonder what I was doing there, comfortably ensconced in one of their suites in an area not known for tourism. Staying in one of the Marriot suites, playing the tourist and seeing the wonders of El Paso and Juarez? Hardly.

What to do with all that nervous energy? You couldn’t leave El Paso because the shipment was imminent. It could be seized at any point and then you were out whatever investment you had made and you might attract Federal attention. You couldn’t sit in your room or you’d go crazy with boredom. Every day, to avoid the anxiety, I would make the culinary circuit with Brian: breakfast at Lucy’s or Mi Pueblito with the great chili con queso, always followed by scrambled eggs with jalapenos or an egg over easy on one of their traditional red sauce enchiladas. Then we’d head over the bridge and spend the afternoon at the Florída in Juarez. The Florída restaurant was widely known to be owned by members of the cartel so we felt comfortable. Whatever the restaurant, Brian made sure that we were always supplied with an endless pitcher of margaritas.

If it was the right time of year, the Florída had cuitlacoche, the gray, stone-shaped fungus that becomes like tar when it is cooked and has an earthy, tangy, mushroom-like flavor with a hint of raw corn. Farmers call the dish el oro negro, or black gold. The Florída was also renowned for all of the classic Mexican dishes: turkey mole with three kinds of chocolate from Oaxaca, cooked for thirty six hours in clay pot, or carnitas tacos made the old fashioned way, carved from a roasting spit.

Later, after margaritas and a couple of joints of Mendocino homegrown, we would reconvene at Juarez’s renowned watering hole, the legendary border saloon, the Kentucky Club. The Kentucky was frequented by Generals Pancho Villa and Alvara Obregón, the first president of Mexico after the revolution. “The Kentucky” had a timeless quality with pictures from the Mexican Revolution of Pancho Villa riding majestically through town on a horse festooned with turquoise and silver bridles, Villa handing out chocolates or silver bullets to children, Villa with what looked like a cannabis blunt and of the U.S. general, Pershing, who led the Villa Expedition to find and punish Pancho Villa for his attack on Fort Bliss. If you stayed at the Kentucky Club long enough you hear all the stories about Villa. He was famous for his consumption of cannabis, celebrated in “La Cucaracha” and it was historical legend that Villa smoked his cannabis at the Kentucky.

Tables at the Kentucky, with the afternoon light casting shadows, reminded me of an elegant bar somewhere in the British Raj as the sun was setting on the Empire. Any table held court on an international assembly of stealthy high-end thieves, secretive smugglers, cartel lieutenants and Federal agents trying to avoid detection. The Kentucky was styled with thoughtful attention to detail from another era like the soft green-tiled trough that circled the bar which allowed their card playing patrons to urinate at will and not leave their cards unattended. Since the bar was constructed before refrigeration, every day at 4 PM, a skinny young kid, who looked as if he should still be in middle school, carried in the blocks of ice used for mixed drinks on his back. He was always accompanied by his boss, a seasoned four foot dwarf, who directed him and collected money for the ice. The dwarf danced back and forth with a nervous tick as he visited each table to offer an earnest “Buenas tardes”. He always stuck out his hand, expecting a tip in recognition of his status.

I formed a special bond with the Kentucky’s oldest bartender, Andrés, when I brought him a New York Times Travel Section article about him and the Kentucky Club. He framed it and to this day it’s still hanging from a favored location on the wall behind the bar. With great ceremony, he offered to give me his secret margarita recipe which I will reveal now for the first time: one part Hornitos Reposado tequila, one part squeezed lime, one part the Mexican orange liqueur, “Controy”. Andrés was insistent that I not try to substitute the French version of this same liqueur, “Cointreau”. It was finished with lots of hand-chiseled ice.

We blithely disregarded the DEA agents who would occasionally occupy a shadowy corner table, but later, when Brian’s partner Charlie was indicted, we found out that an entire Justice Department task force had been listening and waiting for just the right time. Brian and Charley had arranged for a planeload of Colombian cannabis, flown by some Southwest Airline pilots, that was abandoned before it was fully unloaded in the Palm Springs desert. Years later, the DEA confronted Charlie right in the Kentucky, laid out their evidence among the shots of tequila, and secured Charlie’s cooperation.

Still half-lit from the Kentucky, we would hop back into Leilani’s Cadillac and get in line to go back across the border. It was time for a nap to sleep off the tequila, to clean up and get ready for the evening.

Brian’s answer to the waiting doldrums was to honor a Texas tradition and visit one of El Paso’s multitude of topless bars. El Paso, being part of the South, with the Fort Bliss army base and the University of Texas, El Paso was a prime location for the industry. On my second day in town, Brian took me to lunch in a small downtown café called the “King’s X”. Just as I was biting into my turkey club, the clock struck one and the staff, with matching uniforms, came out to engineer a spectacular transformation. A small stage emerged from a hidden panel and four gorgeous college girls from UTEP walked out in sequined bikinis. It wasn’t long before I stopped eating lunch to watch the performance. Maybe I had led a sheltered academic life previously, but I was from California and had never seen anything like this: one minute I was eating lunch and the next there were college girls dancing topless with breasts unexpectedly inches from my face. Brian noticed my discomfort and immediately called over one of the UTEP girls and insisted she sit on my lap.

He introduced me as a “professor” and asked her what her major was. “I’m studying law,” she said and asked if I could help her with her homework as Brian slipped her a twenty.

“This is my friend’s first time in El Paso,” Brian explained, “I’d like you to introduce him to the way we do things in the state of Texas.” At that narrow, two-person table, she took some time to show me the affability for which Texas was famous. My wire-rimmed glasses were smashed and bent, but I was infatuated.

Unlike California, topless bars were everywhere. There seem to be an attempt to anchor shopping malls with the classic troika of Texas: a topless bar, a pawn shop, and a church. There were some that catered to those who liked heavier girls, to those that liked thin girls, to natural and artificially constructed girls and to every possible ethnicity. Some of them tried to overwhelm you with scale and sheer numbers of dancers and then there were others that were all nude. The latter required one to bring one’s own alcohol, because of an obscure Texas law that recognized the potential for social chaos if alcohol and complete exposure were sold in the same location at the same time. Another timely framed rule on the wall of every bar in Texas, “It is unlawful to discharge a firearm in an establishment where alcohol is sold.” Only in Texas would the constabulary feel the need to spell out the obvious. I gradually settled on two bars that stood out: the Lamplighter, and Prince Machiavelli’s. The Lamplighter became my favorite and it wasn’t long before all California propriety was gone and I started dating the dancers.

One morning, Brian showed up early at my room at the Marriot. Brian was always well dressed with a starched collared shirt, a selection of one of his Patek Phillipe watches and exotically skinned boots. “Del, it looks like we’re out of pocket today so I’ve decided we need to get you out of those tennis shoes.” Several of the cartel lieutenants had mumbled a comment or two regarding the informality of my choice of footwear.

“Man, you can’t wear tennis shoes unless you’re at home,” they told me. ”Why even your president wears boots,” Don Chui’s son, Armando, said, referring to George W. Bush. Over time, a growing consensus and low key concern from Leilani to our Mexican friends had determined that it was a matter of Texas pride, gentlemanly decorum and respect for local customs that demanded that I should immediately be outfitted with appropriate boots.

Brian had shown up with Charlie, his Mexican partner, who was dark-complected, short and heavyset, with a mustache reminiscent of Emiliano Zapata. Charlie always wore shorts and sandals which drew attention to his ample abdominal girth. He was dating the widow of a West Texas oil tycoon, Deborah, who just idolized the notion of her Charlie as a wild, pot smuggling outlaw. Deborah, the stylish blond Texas cheerleader, with her expensive outfits and jewelry, presented an odd couple when matched with Charlie. “My former husband was in the awl business,” she explained with a full Southern drawl, “But I just love my Charlie”. She loved showing Charlie the outlaw to her El Paso society friends and she made it clear to everyone that Charlie had improbably captured her heart as a virile Latin lover.

We arrived at Brian’s bootmaker who occupied a small shop in the old part of town near the border. The bootmaker was a small older Mexican man whose hands were yellow dyed and worn from years of working with leather and lasts. There was hardly room to sit as the shop was filled in every available space with the exotic skins of endangered species. The bootmaker took my measurements to build a last that would serve as the foundation for many future generations of my boots. Having taken my measurements, the bootmaker, under Brian and Charlie’s direction, began to bring in a selection of skins. Once again, with my California sense of propriety, I began to cringe in alarm as they showed me crocodile (endangered), lizard (endangered) and elephant (obviously endangered). The bootmaker mistook my wide-eyed examination of the elephant skin as an interest in the species, so he brought out an “elephant face” skin. Really? I thought, elephant face? There it was with a bullet hole right in the middle of this poor elephant’s skin face. I settled on ostrich, which I knew to be farmed.

“Del, you’ll need a second pair. You can’t just have one pair of boots,” Charlie explained, Pick one more,”

“Yes, you’ll need more than one pair,” Brian echoed. At this point, everyone was beginning to understand my reservations and laughed.

“Since you’re from California,” Charlie said laughing, “ you’d probably be happy with the alligator. Alligators are farmed. Unlike crocodiles, there’s plenty of them.” I settled on the alligator.

We decided to go out that night to celebrate my boot purchase. I selected the ostrich skin for a night on the town. We settled on the Lamplighter which was always our favorite spot. I called Theresa, my latest flame, and she came to pick me up in her classic 68 Mustang with her name, “Theresa”, written in sparkling sequins on each side of her car. My memory of the evening’s events was hazy, but I did remember a chorus line forming at one point with all the dancers joined together in a Rockette like performance.

I woke up early to the sound of a knock on my door. It was from Brian. He was up and ready.

“The crossers came through last night and the first load is in the warehouse, “ he said smiling.

[blueeyeddarkknight]

Val Kilmer‘s House in the Hills of Santa Fe | Architectural Digest

@foreverralways here's the article I've telling you about.. Hope you like it 😉❤️

[mknlm]

Frida Kahlo- La Casa Azúl

The first time I visited Frida Kahlo's house was in the early 1990's. I was probably 16. She wasn't known as just "Frida" yet. My family was going to Mexico City for the first time. We were tourists, taken under the wing of my father's Mexican uncle with whom he'd lost touch over the years. I had no idea what to expect. The only request I had was that we visit the home and studio of this artist I'd seen a feature on in Vogue magazine a few years before. She was beautiful. Colorful. Madonna liked her.

Mexico City was beyond my wildest imagination. It was gritty and over populated. The air was thick with smog. There were kids breathing fire on street corners and selling Chiclets everywhere. It smelled like tacos, disinfectant, guavas, and VW exhaust. It was vibrant, alive, and never ending. There was something to experience and explore at every turn, and I adored it.

La Casa Azul was perfect. It was a quiet respite in what was the largest city in the world. There was no need to buy tickets online; without the internet it would have been impossible anyway. There were a few visitors, you could buy a few snacks, and the gift shop (always my favorite part of a museum) was miniscule.

The home and studio were almost a painting in itself with vignettes everywhere. Frida's house decorated as she painted...with color, personality, love, and pain. The teensy clay mugs in the kitchen that spell out Friday y Diego. The small mirror she used to paint her reflection in the bedroom reminding us of her physical frailty. You felt like you were stepping into her life.

At a time when the world was moving forward and modernizing, Frida stepped back to find her inspiration. From her traditional dresses and jewelry, collection of and painted clay tiles in the kitchen Frida turned towards her country and her family's history to animate her. She collected retablos and pre-colonial art.

It is now 2023. Frida (last name no longer needed) has become a world wide phenomenon. Her image is everywhere from magnets to murals. Amateur artists put their own spin on her, selling their own wonky Frida portraits on Etsy.

This time I couldn't really find Frida. She was lost between crowds of people, a narrow gallery with poor lighting, and a serious of architectural modifications that closed the house off to the outside in order to control the flow of traffic. The house didn't feel so much like a house anymore. She was there, but she wasn't there.

Her art is still powerful, but it needs space to be able to breathe and be digested.

When we look at Frida's paintings, peruse her and delve into her story, pain taps into our pain...her wayward lover, her accident, her disfigured leg. She did what we are scared to do: she was vulnerable.

The piece that had the most impact on me was the watermelon still life that is inscribed "Vida la vida." Unbeknownst to me, Kahlo painted it days before her death in 1954. I would translate it as "Long live life". I think of watermelons as luscious and sweet, representing all that is good in life. The colors are vivid. The seeds could represent the most basic building block of life. As we saw throughout our many museum visits in Mexico City, watermelons (and fruits in general) are a prominent subject in Mexican art. They nourish us and give us pleasure. It fascinates me that Kahlo, someone who spent so much of her life in pain and was in pain up until the end, would choose to wrap up her life on such a colorful note. I recall reading that on some level she was aware her days were coming to an end. As someone whose life is particularly fragile, If I ever decided to get a tattoo, I think I have my inspiration.