San Antonio Winery - The LA Flood Project (sitios de interés)
Descripción del sitio
Stage I
In the little canyons of artist studios and light industry, all the potholes have become pater noster lakes aswirl with oily rainbows. It takes a leap of faith (or two) to navigate across the parking lots to the office doors. From the flat, gray buildings, workers watch the rain. Some dream they are Picasso, Degas, Diego Rivera. Some only dream of lunch.
Stage II
The restaurant in the winery is windowless and restful. A guitarist sings tourist songs in Spanish. The artistes drink wine and pool their funds for lunch. The dress shirt boys pop beers and try to expense everything. There are empty tables where the bus loads of church ladies should have been. Cell phones ring and sing and jangle suddenly all at once just before a huge cask cracks in the flood’s first crush.
Stage III
In a broken barrel, a conceptual artist bobs. She has a garland of plastic grape leaves wrapped around her head and is waving her leopard-spotted bra at the rescue copters. “Viva el Sol!” she cries. A soggy suited man clinging to her ankles waves a bottle of Cardinale and answers, “And viva la revolución!”
In the little canyons of artist studios and light industry, all the potholes have become pater noster lakes aswirl with oily rainbows. It takes a leap of faith (or two) to navigate across the parking lots to the office doors. From the flat, gray buildings, workers watch the rain. Some dream they are Picasso, Degas, Diego Rivera. Some only dream of lunch.
Stage II
The restaurant in the winery is windowless and restful. A guitarist sings tourist songs in Spanish. The artistes drink wine and pool their funds for lunch. The dress shirt boys pop beers and try to expense everything. There are empty tables where the bus loads of church ladies should have been. Cell phones ring and sing and jangle suddenly all at once just before a huge cask cracks in the flood’s first crush.
Stage III
In a broken barrel, a conceptual artist bobs. She has a garland of plastic grape leaves wrapped around her head and is waving her leopard-spotted bra at the rescue copters. “Viva el Sol!” she cries. A soggy suited man clinging to her ankles waves a bottle of Cardinale and answers, “And viva la revolución!”