My home in Puebla for a month was a four-storey 1939 colonial Mexican California-style compound, newly coated in bright red paint, and shared with five other artists and a musician.
Days were spent finding ways to distract ourselves (like hours of people watching in the zócalo) from the Mexican midday heat, and making sure to not get caught out in the afternoon rain that miraculously poured down daily at 4pm, but never for more than about an hour.
Nights were spent staying up late in the studio, leisurely getting lost on the dreamy, stone-paved streets feeling like we were in Old-World Spain and seeking out secret pulque bars to hang with 14-year-old rebels and punks.
I remember telling a new Mexican friend about how I felt guilty that I hadn’t made more art during my stay and he replied, shrugging “…don’t worry, because your life is the art”.
Words and photos by Lucy Han