We spent a lovely day walking down the broad tree-lined boulevard named Reforma to Chapultepec Park. It was like being in New York's Central Park on a Sunday afternoon. Reforma is closed to traffic on Sundays, which means that it is taken over by bikers and online skaters. On the sidewalk we joined folks walking dogs and toddlers. I had a special conversation with a one-year old boy, who was fascinated by this blond extranjera who spoke to him in his own language...more or less.
I told him that I am also una abuela (grandmother), but my nieto (grandson) is in Chicago. I wish you could have seen his face light up when I asked, "Cómo te llamas?"—What is your name? His sheer delight that he understood me was delicious. When Reed and I turned to continue our walk in the opposite direction, he set off behind us until his mother recovered him. What a treat!
We made our way to the Tamayo Museum, which is set just inside the entrance to Chapultepec Park.
Rufino Tamayo, one of the great twentieth century Mexican artists
Born to Zapotec parents in Oaxaca in 1898, Tamayo died in Mexico City in 1991. His work draws on ancient themes in a very special way. Artistically, Tamayo broke with his traditional past, but remained open to how tradition and mythology worked on him...and on his creative vision.
Sun and Moon are primary gods in Mesoamerican mythology
Tamayo took as his themes scenes of daily life and sought, as Jose García Ponce has observed, "...to represent what is sacred in this life...making our immediate reality become a mythical reality and causing it to leave its own [our] time." The mythical reality, of course, is the Mesoamerican cosmovision.
Museo Rufino Tamayo, Mexico City
The architectural roots in Mesoamerican pyramids is unmistakable. The sculpture at the left is reminiscent of stellae—stone columns on which glyphs were carved to record key events of the reign of each Mesoamerican god-king.
The architecture of the museum building is stunning. As is true with so much Mexican architecture, the design is geometrical—a play with angles and curves that never ceases to surprise and delight the eye. Right angles—why? Take a look at the vestibule (below), which illustrates exactly what I mean. Nary a right angle in sight!
Museo de Rufino Tamayo, Mexico City
Balcony along vestibule overlooks lower level
I have been known to chuckle out loud at the sheer improbability of a building that surprises me into questioning whether the building's shape is even structurally possible.
Museo Rufino Tamayo, Vestibule
The light is all natural from skylights.
The light is all natural from skylights.
I love the play of natural light and shadow in this view—again looking out toward the front entrance but from even deeper inside the vestibule.
The foyer relies solely on natural lighting, and it is museum policy to mount only pieces created just for this space. The current sculpture features—I kid you not!—fire escapes recovered from New York City, where Reed and I lived for twenty years.
The Russian-born sculptor, Monika Sosnowska, twisted and shaped platforms and stairs to form what she named Escalera de Incendios (literally, Ladder of Fires, or Fire Escapes), but Reed dubbed her work...Escapes to Nowhere. We loved this post-modern sculpture—and I think our friends in New York would as well!
The poster photo for the sculpture (upper right) appears to have been shot looking down from the railing along the vestibule and overlooking the lower level. The photo below was shot from ground level.
Escalera de Incendios - Ground level view
After visiting the museum, we decided to rest awhile at the cafe in front of the Museum. We watched the antics of dogs and their owners cavorting in the park—forget throwing a ball, one owner would run and hide behind a tree while her partner held their three dogs. Such excitement when they were let loose to 'find' her!
And we watched toddlers and their parents. The amount of physical latitude that Mexican parents allow their children stands in vivid contrast to the considerably more risk-averse parenting style typical now in the U.S. In a style reminiscent of how Reed and I grew up in the U.S. in the 1940-50's, Mexican parents assume that their children will use good sense and make their way back to them. And they do!
The energy of the city is contagious—and exhausting! I haven't spent time in Mexico City since my Pemex (Petróleo Mexicano) project, 17 years ago. At the time, the Pemex tower was the only high-rise in the city. Now, of course, 'hi-rise' is the wave of the future. In fact, Mexico City's motto is Ciudad Vanguardia, which translates loosely as Cutting Edge City.
Mexico City is distinctly future-oriented—a focus that is especially striking to us because Pátzcuaro is, of course, so intent on maintaining its traditional past. In fact, Chilangos (residents of Mexico City) visit Pátzcuaro explicitly to recapture a sense of the traditional México that is slowly disappearing.
But what struck us with equal force is that the people in Mexico City are often just as warm and welcoming to us, very obviously extranjeros (foreigners), as are our Patzcuarense friends and acquaintances. On the Metrobus, I had an absolutely delightful chat with a young, professional woman probably in her late 20's.
We also found the taxista, Marcos, to be especially knowledgeable about the city and willing to show us how to find our way around. In one of our many conversations, I mentioned that I was reading the book, Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, written in part about the Tarahumara (the Running People) of Northern Mexico's Copper Canyon. Marcos told me that a friend of his works with a foundation whose mission is to provide assistance to the Tarahumara, whose way of life is now threatened by several years of poor harvests of maíz (corn).
The next day Marcos picked us up as arranged. A short ways into the ride, he began looking for something in one of the little shelves near the driver's seat. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He held up two tiny dolls—each slightly over an inch tall. Each was wearing the traditional dress of an indigenous group, but it wasn't a group I recognized.
"Here," said Marcos, "I want you to have these dolls—they are a Tarahumara man and woman."
I was stunned. So was Reed. What could I say, but "Gracias, I will treasure them always."
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