a week in images 10/23-10/31

a bit surreal. really.

los hacelotodo. los vendelotodo. los comelotodo.

guanacos. from Miguel Gutierrez Jr on Vimeo.

suchitoto, el salvador

holy savior.

i haven't been writing much these last few days. it's not that i haven't met great people or listened to great stories, but in a way, i haven't felt entirely connected. i guess, in some way, it's similar to rhetoric. distant, in a way. there's a certain level of disconnect. tonight was different though. spontaneous. el salvador offered itself to me; it opened up. i walked to the gas station with my friend cassidy in search of some cigarettes, and ended up with stories from people who weren't prompted to share. offerings. there's alex, a man from new york. a salvadoran who lived in bushwick for a majority of his life, but is now back in el salvador. the product of a situation he didn't ask for. there's also guillermo, a 27 year old man from california, who was brought to the united states at three months of age. guillermo loves california. he knows it like the back of his hand; he knew it enough that he felt compelled to name the freeways for me. also, the american cities he loved and the ones he might never visit. completely unprompted. guillermo was deported three years ago from the only country that he has known. he now lives in el salvador. this is now his reality. his home. the product of a situation he didn't ask for. i can't imagine how i would react given the same circumstances, but guillermo took it with stride. it is what is, so he says. it is what it is.

tropicalisisimo

san salvador

i am in the capital of what is considered to be one of the most violent countries in the western hemisphere: el salvador. before my arrival, in the media, i heard many stories of gunfights, people burned alive in buses and of transit systems brought to a halt by gangs. from people, i have listened quietly to stories that describe san salvador as a place devoid of life, a city that is overrun by pollution, poverty and thieves. though there is truth in these narratives, it is not the only one that exists in san salvador, nor the one that deserves the most attention. after all, we are talking about humans here, and i have had the fortune of meeting great ones in my life. it is extremely simple to regard san salvador as a city full of negativity, one that is more or less in decay, but this does not serve visitors or the people of el salvador well. it is true, san salvador is not rome. it is not barcelona. nor is it paris. el salvador was born from a different context, one of colonialism and of dictatorships. eighteen years ago the country was ending its civil war. inequalities and scars run deep. these things need to be considered when describing a place, in order to fully understand why it is the way that it is. i refuse to believe that el salvador is only those narratives that i have heard. i refuse to believe that a place where people live is devoid of life. there is beauty here, but it is subtle. it requires attention and a careful eye. this is my attempt at attuning my eye to it. i am here, and though it is not easy, i would not be anywhere else in the world.

el salvador.