Can I make a confession? Most of this last week, while the United States proved itself an ever more monstrous threat to international peace, I was abroad. Ciudad de México, in fact: the friends I visited with last year are there again and had a vacancy in their guest room. So off we went! (I set off right after my Thursday morning lecture, returned the night before the next one.) A year ago, the horror unfolding in the US was just becoming clear. Now the mind balks at not just a year of steadily greater outrages but the grim reality that we have been unable to stop it. A highlight this time was the Museo Nacional de Historia in the Castillo de Chapultepec, an inspiring if sobering reminder that history is no walk in the park. At least Mexicans don't pretend otherwise.
Remedios Varo, "Roulotte (Carricoche)," 1955, Museo de Arte Moderno
Juan O'Gorman, "Retablo de la Independencia," 1961, Museo Nacional de Historia
