stomping grounds

akin to a moody blue sky 🌅

Ramblings

Juan A. Franco Ricardo. Sunrise to Fly (Seattle), 2024. Digital photograph. [a road illuminated with a rising sun, a soft glow. perhaps, the condensation of the cold morning or just the smudge on the lens. a car mirror reminds the viewer of their position as a passenger on this viewing journey. a street light attempts a reenactment of the sun, but ends up artificial in its orange glow. the guiding lights for planes in the background, not so visible, but the structure that holds them, glide across the picture’s horizon. the sun peers from behind, a stoic yellow that begins to wash the moody blue of waking up for a morning flight].

how do memories creep? not in the scary sense, more in their cautious and silent movement. the way a street, a bar, a park scream our name in the most uninterested way. a paradox. walking on stomping grounds carefully reveals the uncomfortable weight of time passed, of looking back, of turning into salt. desboronar is what comes to mind in spanish, but its translation fails to hold its elemental connotations. to step back in this air, a strange feeling that hugs and pushes. moments to breathe, to find respite, to walk, to wonder. there was comfort in a peppermint tea and an empanada at the museum cafe. there was surprise in attending services at a place i was able to see from a window in the past. there was warmth in the glow of lighting candles with mom each night. there was a peace process that was long overdue. there was also first impressions, lip stitches and old friends.

there was a charm, an appealing one, that 
could be promising, but why fall.

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Studio

Juan A. Franco Ricardo. Apartment Studio (Brooklyn), 2024. Digital photograph. [light beams into the room in the mornings, marching across the wall were drawings, photographs, magazine clippings pretend they mean something, as if when placed on a wall, they mean something. the almost disappearing floor, a red wood, on the bottom right corner, gestures at the emptiness, perhaps a need for more time spent or even a different use. the light creates a rainbow, its refraction on full display, thinking itself another thing to look at].

a space to make things. it’s a privilege to have space, to have time, to have both. in a world where scarcity burdens us, it is important to be grateful. all is temporary and it is best used when we have access to it. yet, there is the question of burnout, overworking, beating a dead horse, to put it crassly. is this enough? should i make more? is it even important? i sometimes envy the productivity that i experienced in certain periods of my life, where it seemed i could focus so much time and space to this practice. this productivity now lives in boxes, labelled, organized, unseen. i periodically open them, remind myself of technical and emotional dimensions of the work. i feel a nostalgia and a hope for display, for discussion, for love of the work. there is that word, which is forever. everytime i make something, i remember that it is always coming from that word, from that place — i break it, i catch it, i cradle it, i let it go, and i make things again and always.

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Scraps