From Neither Here Nor There

The From Neither Here Nor There project is a series in three parts and takes place in two countries. It is a personal project that documents my experience facing certain challenges I have been confronted with in my life, without reinforcing stereotypes of my race and economic status. The places themselves have also had a significant impact on my development and growth as a human being and as an artist. It is a project about memory, loss, change, and survival. Part Two: Lampazos For most of my childhood and adolescence, I spent every summer living between the border town of Lampazos de Naranjo and Monterrey. I couldn’t be happier. An aura of mystery surrounds most border towns. Border towns are places with a bad reputation, steeped in violence, cartels, prostitution, and drugs. Lampazos has not been immune to these dangers. In 2012, the violence reached its peak. Grocery stores and bars, long abandoned, are full of bullet holes and covered in graffiti. Businesses and homes remain abandoned because owners have fled from cartel extortion. Nevertheless, Lampazos has always captivated my imagination. Amidst the arid desert landscape abundant with native grass, lush cacti, and mountains in the distance, it is saturated with the ambience of the savage and romantic Old West. My Grandmother was born in Lampazos. She was the youngest of five children in her family. She dropped out of school in fourth grade to earn money and take care of her two sisters and two brothers. Her home has stood on Calle Antonio I. Villa Real for 150 years. She has been the only member of the family who took responsibility for its upkeep. The house has an air of desolation and solitude. It is a testament of strength and endurance. The décor and furniture has remained in the same place for years. The yard in the back of the house leads to the Black Door. The Black Door is actually a gate that is always locked. The Black Door served as a symbol for all that my mother was going to inherit from Grandma. One month ago, I discovered that the door was open. To my surprise, it was just an abandoned patch of land. I suspect my parents always knew there was nothing there, but it was their private joke. The joke was that whoever died first promised to leave this marvelous, unknown fortune behind the Black Door to the other who was still alive. In 2012, my mother was buried in our family plot at the town’s cemetery, six blocks away from the house. The cemetery is a quiet and peaceful oasis, full of flowers, color and love. Sometimes Grandma boasts about the spot that is reserved for her. She often tells us that she does not want to share her space with anyone. These days, I go to Lampazos with Grandma, my wife, and two year old son, Maximiliano, to pay my respects to my mother, as well as to escape from the chaos of urban life. We spend a lot of time at Ojo de Agua, the local spring. The majestic, ancient Montezuma Cypress trees provide a shady haven from the oppressive heat of the sun. Max loves to splash in the water with his friends Pilo and Jonathan. They take care of my son as if he were their brother. I used to play with their fathers when I was young. When I watch them, I am filled with nostalgia for the past and hope for the future.