July 15 2010

Conejoblanco was empty. I had the entire store to photograph without anyone interrupting me. The hardwood cracked, my shutter echoed, but no one came up. I went from room to room until I got to the bathroom. There were books everywhere. In the sink. In the tub. On the toilet. I reached over for Peter Kuper’s “Diarios De Oaxaca.” The sketches were riddled with images of Mixtecos and soldiers. Finally I heard a voice. A customer walked in asking for a collection of someone for someone. I put the book down. My private time was over.