Las Cosas Que Te Pasan...

A couple of weeks ago an Argentine friend invited me to a film premiere at MALBA, the museum of Latin American art in Buenos Aires. The premiere was for a documentary about an Argentine comic strip artist, Ricardo Siri, better known as Liniers, who has a comic strip called "Macanudo" in La Nacion, one of the daily newspapers here. My friend, Emiliano, is a big fan, and offered to pay for my ticket, so even though I had never heard of this "pibe,"* I accepted.

The documentary was excellent. Liniers, a laid-back, t-shirt-wearing, bespectacled man with an easy laugh and humble aversion to the spotlight, proved to be an incredibly accessible and endearing subject. Liniers' story was told through a mixture of footage of him in action: sketching in the park, at his desk in his apartment/studio, etc., interspersed with revelatory animated cartoons, and voice over narration by the director, an Argentine filmmaker named Franca Gonzalez, who had first gotten to know Liniers while sharing an apartment in Montreal with him as part of an artists' residency.


Sense of humor, and thus cartoons and comics, is very personal; I didn't expect to be taken in by "Macanudo," Liniers' main project. But within minutes, I was "enganchada," --hooked-- on the poignant themes, simply expressed through recurring characters: penguins, gnomes, a small girl and her teddy bear, and Liniers himself, in rabbit form, representing everyday sentiments both revelatory and familiar. I left the theater and spent the bus ride home devouring the book of Macanudo that had been included with the ticket purchase.



The documentary mentioned that a book of his work had come out translated into French, so I looked around a bit to see if it exists in English, but I couldn't find it, and, to be honest, it's probably better that way. In addition to the ingenious way Liniers expresses familiar, everyday ponderings and universal internal conflicts through his drawings, the words and expressions he chooses are Argentine, and this in and of itself is appealing to me.



Spending a good amount of time in the city for the first time on my trip, I've been exposed so much more to Argentine--and specifically, Portenio or Buenos Aires--language, and have become fascinated with its rhythm, tone, slang, and, importantly, accompanying gestures and body language. Liniers captures Argentine speech so well that I can clearly hear and see his anthropomorphic creatures speaking those words in the speech bubbles above their heads. Not only that, but often, the humor targets neuroses or cultural characteristics that are Argentine specific. For this reason, I'm not sure I would have fallen so hard for Macanudo had it been introduced to me six months ago. It's only after being here for eight and a half (!) months that I've gotten under the skin of the country enough to recognize and appreciate its "Argentinidad."


In the documentary and in person, Liniers comes off as humble to the point of shyness--in one scene, he meets up with Franca in a cafe to turn down the documentary project Obviously, he later changed his mind, but the focus is kept to his professional life, with his wife and daughter, who was born during the course of the filming, are only mentioned, but never appear. However, his cartoons are incredibly revelatory and personal. Some give voice to familiar moral dilemmas and inner struggles in such a way that make it clear that Liniers is sharing anecdotes inspired by his own life. Others are like scribbled sighs, transforming the banal into something delightful. In this way, this private man indirectly, but consciously, exposes his heart and soul to the Argentine public every day through Macanudo.


I've included a few gems I found on the interweb. You can find more here.




* pibe (pee-bay) : guy

Photo of Ricardo Siri from http://www.dubidoo.net/category/entrevistas/
Macanudo comics fom http://autoliniers.blogspot.com/

Reasons to Love Buenos Aires

I'm fully recovered from my initial city-shock now and soaking in the advantages of urban life, but one discomforting aspect of the city that I noticed upon returning here a few weeks ago, and which I still struggle with, is the overwhelming presence of consumerism. I spent days holed up in my friend Andres's apartment, where I was staying, because, it seemed, to go outside meant to spend money. Of course, this isn't necessarily true, but after spending so much time on the farm, where I was only in the vicinity of commercial institutions once a week or less, and then in nomad mode, where purchases meant a heavier backpack, I found myself suddenly stable, and in the midst of seemingly endless opportunities for consumption. Not only that, but I also was reminded of how easily I fall under the spell of the wizards of retail. These days, my purchases are mostly of the edible variety, as I'm still trying to avoid collecting things which I'll need to find space for in my backpack someday soon. I frequently find, upon arriving home, that I have several bags of various food items hanging from my wrists. This discovery is somehow always surprising.

So in an attempt to overcome the temptation to buy, I set off the other day on a long walk, with the explicit intention to purchase nothing. With the Japanese Garden, several blocks to the north, in mind as my destination (I never did make it there), I went in search of those features of this city that define and enhance it.

I didn't have to look too hard. As I made my way north, through the neighborhoods of Almagro, Villa Crespo, and Palermo, I found Buenos Aires charm on nearly every corner. Here are the fruits of my latest afternoon stroll, and a few of the things that, for this girl, make this city special:

1) Free flowers! Okay, so technically this one involves consumption, but since there's no monetary transaction, let's let it slide. I had only walked a few blocks when I came to the "flower district," an intersection lined with flower shops, which I had passed before, and marvelled at, but which this time offered an important new discovery, which I think has changed my life here. Though it was the middle of the day, boxes of discarded flower bouquets and plant arrangement lined the streets and bordered the dumpsters. I'd been tempted by these flower stalls before, but, unable to reconcile a frivolous purchase of fleeting beauty with the nagging knowledge of the realities of the cut flower industry (pesticides, poor working conditions, etc.) in countries not so far away, I'd until now gone flowerless. Free, dumpster-bound flowers, however, posed less of an ethical hurdle, and so I rescued a still-beautiful bouquet of multi-colored daisies, which spent the day with me, riding around in my backpack (and are still, two days later, brightening up my room in yellow jug by the bed). Though surely not a feature unique to Buenos Aires, this floral free-for-all is a huge discovery--I have already started walking out of my way to pass by, and last night put together another bouquet to give to a friend I was meeting.







2) Old stuff: Cobblestone streets, antique subway cars, antique shops, old cars, nineteenth century architecture--history is everywhere in this city. Not just in the cute, touristy, historic neighborhoods like San Telmo, but all over the city. Cobblestones abound, peaking out here and there from under asphalt caps, or just as often, on proud display for blocks and blocks, in curved, fanning patterns or straightforward rows. Grand, ornate buildings with cornices and gargoyles and large wooden-shuttered windows provide a visual feast, and, though I didn't take it on this particular day, when I'm lucky I get to rest on the wooden benches of the 1920s-era cars of the A-line of the Subte (subway). These still-functioning relics make the city's distant past seem not so far off.




3) Street art: Again, all over the place. Vibrant, wacky creatures, political murals, artistic graffiti tags--they're everywhere, making a walk through the city like navigating a huge, labyrinthine art gallery.



4) Used books: Okay, so another questionable inclusion in this supposedly non-commercial list, but they're used, which in my mind is different, and I have somehow successfully resisted purchasing even a single one. There are rows of stalls lining Parque Centenario, where I go running each day, filling up a pocket of Parque Rivadavia, five blocks west of me, and along a median on Avenida Santa Fe, in Palermo, among other places, I'm sure. Though I haven't been buying books, I love browsing, and the very presence of so many yellowed, crinkly pages all over the place is reassuring.



5) Verdulerias: Fruits and vegetables are so much more alive when displayed on street corners in stacks of rainbow-hued crates. These I do purchase from, daily even, but also find it a soul-warming pleasure to walk by and absorb the vibrant energy of so much fresh produce.


6) Balcones y Terrazas: Especially after being a New Yorker for five years, I have a keen appreciation for the urban 'backyard' known as the balcony. While apartment searching a few weeks ago, it was all I could do not to exclaim out loud in excitement upon being shown the terrace, rooftop, or balcony. Only after visiting four or five apartments, all of which had one or more of these, that I realized that what in my city is practically an urban myth, is considered to be a human right here in Buenos Aires.

Each day I find new things to add to this list. I haven't completely cured my consumption blues, but at least, moving around with an eye out for the subtle beauty Buenos Aires has to offer, I've managed to hold on to a few more pesos.