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| Me In San Miguel |
I was curious about this place for a number of reasons. Foremost, San Miguel had seemed to capture the heart of my mother who absented herself every winter to join the burgeoning numbers of gringos who were drawn to this artistic city. The pull was Escuela de Bellas Artes, the art school. Artists flocked here and over the years the painters and sculptors gave it a bohemian feel which gradually morphed into richer gringos who decided to retire permanently. There is a huge population of English speaking residents, prices tend to be higher than anywhere else, and it is almost possible to get by on English alone. It was not just the art. My mother had an extensive social life and loved her new friends.
I was charmed by the old world Spanish feel of this place that was rife with heritage, and I found myself fascinated with the stone work. I could not help but admire the creative Mexican spirit that was expressing itself even in the radiating patterns in the cobble stone on the streets and within walls. Older doorways with heavy iron clasps, huge bells, street lamps of wrought iron, and the colonial curvature of church rotundas graced with all of the intrigue and bric-a-brac the Roman Catholic Church has to offer, played with the eye and have fortunately been valued and preserved. In short, I loved it. I could see why people sold up and moved to this beautiful place without looking back for I was asking myself the same question.
I wish to dedicate this blog to the memory of my mother, Joy McAughtrie, and include her art work here that so captures the spirit of this special place where she so loved to live in and paint.
I was charmed by the old world Spanish feel of this place that was rife with heritage, and I found myself fascinated with the stone work. I could not help but admire the creative Mexican spirit that was expressing itself even in the radiating patterns in the cobble stone on the streets and within walls. Older doorways with heavy iron clasps, huge bells, street lamps of wrought iron, and the colonial curvature of church rotundas graced with all of the intrigue and bric-a-brac the Roman Catholic Church has to offer, played with the eye and have fortunately been valued and preserved. In short, I loved it. I could see why people sold up and moved to this beautiful place without looking back for I was asking myself the same question.
I wish to dedicate this blog to the memory of my mother, Joy McAughtrie, and include her art work here that so captures the spirit of this special place where she so loved to live in and paint.
