Art weekend continues in a lazy, colorful, setting-up-shop kind of way. The first wrap I've had in months churned the butter in the oven, the museo de bella arte had a cooling effect, and malba (museum of latin american art in buenos aires) got it back into a boil. Benches had locks of wood beams that extended up and over and twirled and around, and it isn't everyday a bench makes you feel like a ballerina. That was too much, actually, because I certainly didn't feel like a ballerina but flowing qualities there were plenty. Later a human rights photographer of a beautiful sort greeted Alex and I at an art gallery opening I set out to enjoy inside of a room that could be a very roomy walk-in closet. We didn't stay long as the crowd seem to know each other intimately, and it's already odd enough to be the only anglophone, let alone the only stranger.
A punk venue was found and some Punk Attitude enjoyed. I spent quite a long time this morning debating about volunteering with the chinchillas, and a verdict has yet to be reached. I must shake off this sitting in filth effect and keep moving into the evening.
hoooola new life!
- whitney
- there once was a girl who liked change, mirror images, and the tide. she found herself curiously exploring options while thinking side thoughts of painting her nails. she wants to meet the rain forest through spanish eyes seeing flocks of butterflies instead as las mariposas. she wants to feel uncomfortable. she wants to smell the smell of a city millions wake up to every day. she wants to ride alongside gauchos. then one day she flew to buenos aires and stayed a while. this is her story.
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