Abraham Cruzvillegas, Self portrait as a childish junkie living at the corner of Orizaba and Zacatecas Streets just after WWII

There's something reckless about the way we Mexicans handle certain things. Within some decisions we make, there's a conviction nothing can really happen to us. The composition of these events manage to keep themselves from collapse, roughly tied down in miraculous ways.

When I watch these situations, I think about Cruzvillegas work. On how he managed to render these experiences into his work. As an unconscious collective, pouring out from his intuition through his hands.