The Mexicans | Paola Bragado.
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The Mexicanos It is a game of double series and double exhibitions; A game whose board reminds of an old mottled diaporama.
The first of these series, at the beginning of 2015, consists of images that seem to leave the drawer of a collector of forgotten photographs: lost scenes of travel newspapers that would have passed through too many hands and too many movies; Overexposed, accumulated, unavailable of a specific time or space.
Images of Mexico City, so charming in its surface effects - veiled, dyes, perforations, overlapping - as apparently lacking in mind.
Thus, more than showing, these images are first of all small gaze obstruction exercises: fabrics, velvet folds, raffium curtains and unfolded canopies that interpose a sieve after another; branches and trees that are rather looms or lace; Veils that are also crystals, reflections and textures.
After this parade of gauze, stereotyped images appear and disappear in front of the eyes to the rhythm of a car of postcards in a chatitus market: cars gringos in apparent disuse, hotel facades, street stalls, advertising posters with figures Charros, artwork Decó de Elegant women, cheap plastic dancer miniatures, the neck in incarnate peak of a pachuco shirt, Chinese lamps, double-wing straw hats, a pheasant feather.
Images that do not arrive on time: Closed cancelas, raw canvas awnings assured by ropes that seem to compose an urban camp, or a cross-police unit, first, by a horse on horseback about to disappear.
But also, and finally - as an intruder in this series that seems to announce the following - we see the headless body of a woman; Her hands at the height of her hips and the fold of her skirt yellowed by celluloid chemists. As if this other world, between the stereotype and the opacity, it was not yours at all.