Where I'm At: My Mexico City
By mark alor powell
31 March 2007
There's nothing like flying into Mexico City at night. A universe of imagined realities presents itself from above. Lights twinkle fast and hot as if they were individual personalities screaming for attention, boiling up into the air in a bowl of fire that is the valley of Mexico.
On the ground, there is a definite scent that welcomes you back home. It smells like a mixture of burnt paper and papaya. The light is different here. It radiates a pure white, the yellow seems to be missing, the clouds hover closer because of the altitude. You can't tan from it, just turn a little green. It's a reassuring light, a big pueblo light, a light that completely envelopes everything.
When I first came to the city, it was wonderful to photograph. I hit it while it was hot and reacted to it without effort. Photos seemed to come easily. Lately it has become harder to shoot in the city because it is my home. It has settled inside me and is now hard to separate.
My family is here, my son was born here and it is now where I work. I am excited by its familiarity, and the photographic landscape it offers. Little secrets show themselves more now - as if the city were a dog that now knows me, nudges me, licks me on the hand, points me, urging me to see it as a confidant without the bite.
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