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Every woman I know is crazy ’bout an automobile…

Ry Cooder

For people who live in other parts of the world, one of the many baffling aspects of American life –- aside from, among other things, its racism, its prudishness about sex, and its tolerance of violence — is the fetishizing of The Automobile. Men tend to be even crazier about automobiles than women, and the names of cars often reflect aggressive masculinity: Gladiator, Roadmaster, Rampage, Cutlass, Marauder, Mustang, Cobra, Ram, Bronco… the list goes on. During my adolescence, the car of my dreams was no less than a Rocket 88. Alas, I was unable to afford one. This was probably good fortune and a guardian angel at work.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

D.H. Lawrence

Not long ago, the owner of a gallery in which I wanted to be represented visited my studio. She had a discerning eye, a successful gallery, and I respected her judgment. To my dismay, however, her verdict on many of my paintings was this: “Miguel, I love your Imagination and these dream-like paintings are mysterious and beautiful. The problem is, I have no idea how to sell them.”

She was right, of course, dreams are strange. They may be real and compelling to me, but why should anyone else have any interest in them?

And yet, and yet, the wind blows….