I’ve always loved the drama and the fantastic landscape of clouds, the gentle ones, the soaring, towering ones, and even the angry ones. Coming into Oaxaca by air late last Friday night, the sky on the horizon was rippling with orange and purple and yellow and red, and below us, rather than above, the color of the sky above was still its deep azul, dissolving into those colorful paintings of light.
The shapes were of a fantasy, unexpected sworls and columns of exploding puffs. Below them, the darkening earth became lost in a mist of thin vapors and the entire landscape was as though we were inside a fabulous painting. Like hump-backed whales, the Sierra Madre emerged from the fluid mist below — all this on an immense world scale.
We couldn’t have known when we made our reservations a couple of months ago…or more…that it would be such an arrival to remember.
*Editor’s Note: Tom Robbins is an art photographer who shoots in black and film film that he develops in his studio darkroom in Columbus, Ohio; he also teaches college-level photography. Web site: www.robbinsx2.com Tom’s wife Sam is teaching a workshop at the Museo Textil de Oaxaca this week.
