by Dr. David Fialkoff, Editor / Publisher

I went to the opening at Anado's Chapel of Jimmy Ray a week ago Saturday. I've always liked those affairs. Also, I had some money to collect there, from Richard for advertising the event, and from another attendee for earlier advertising hers.

Of course, we all miss Anado. However, Richard has stepped forward and is doing great at maintaining the artistic tradition. Counting out my money, he said that he was very happy with the size of the crowd and its composition. The art seemed well-curated (red dots were on display) and the band and tamales were very good, too.

I went with a lady friend. It was her first time there. Entering from the parking lot through the thatched "hallway," below the hanging wine bottles, we paused at the top of the serpentine mosaic staircase. Looking down towards the Chapel and the party, she declared, "I don't know how I feel about this place." I replied, "You just got here. Take some time to decide."

A politically-conscious Mexican, she was referring to gentrification, to Anado and Richard having constructed such a flamboyantly artistic compound in Cienegita, the countryside, el campo. From New York to Mexico City, San Miguel and around the world, it's the same question, the same complaint: how money changes the character of a place, including the thing that made it attractive in the first place, the lifestyle of and its affordability for its original inhabitants.

As it was, when we walked down the staircase, mixed and mingled, she enjoyed herself; the art, architecture and festivity, winning her over, at least for the time being.

After a while I suggested that we tour the rest of the compound. We did, walking up to the house, eventually coming to rest along the upper edge of the wildly mosaiced patio, seating ourselves on a few stairs in front of a wildly painted gate.

We've known each other for a while, but have only recently been keeping regular company. We are only friends, but we feel very good together. There, framed by the colorful gate, enthroned on the stairs, enveloped by our warm, mutual admiration, with the contrast of our ages, we made an interesting picture. People stopped and, from a respectable distance, stared. Some bolder souls hovered closer and asked if they could take photos of us. She and I were as gay as the mosaics surrounding us.

Other people just smiled and said hello. One man, reminding me where we met, told me he regularly reads these articles. When he went on, praising me as an excellent writer, I withdrew a roll of money from my pocket, flipped through it, held out a $200 peso bill towards him, and asked to everyone's laughter, "How much did I promise to pay you to say that?"

Not only with wine, age has its advantages. I wish I knew then what I know now. Until my hair turned gray, I paid too much attention to details; day by day, I pay even less. The account doesn't figure when you count too closely. If micromanaging helps, you're in the wrong business. The long-run reveals the thing.

It might be nice to get close and admire the workmanship, but the art of the thing, as with the intricate mosaics at Anado's, only reveals itself when you step back a small distance. It's gotten easier for me to take yes for an answer.

The Mayans, Aztecs and Otomis built their temples and pyramids; their sacred nodes mirroring the universe. Anado and Richard constructed their place of worship, their microcosm of the whole. The Chapel of Jimmy Ray, like the pyramids, aligns with the heavens, drawing us into communion with a truer, more colorful world. Certainly, it was heavenly that Saturday afternoon, sitting on the stairs with my friend. Or maybe I'm just falling in love.

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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, public internet, building community, strengthening the local economy. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.

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