The mad shout of color and constant collision between tradition and punk beauty makes Mexico a thrill for anyone holding a camera. I went with extreme foreboding for the Day of the Dead celebrations just past: My mother had just died, my dead father's birthdate is the actual day of the dead, November 2nd, and a novel I have been gestating for more than two years was finally coming out of me when a friend dragged me to Oaxaca. Last place I wanted to be, but it's not in my nature to bemoan the present; the urge to explore my surroundings is what has made me terminally unable to keep appointments or follow schedules. The shots here are haphazardly gathered, without theme or scheme, and represent a fraction of what I have on my computer. A story is coming . . .