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Sketching a Moment
Shoeshiners in the city square in Guatemala, a bench of boys in Chile, coffee shop patrons in Brooklyn.
While traveling, Phyllida Bluemel draws what is around her — her pen and pencil drawings below are accompanied by “verbal sketches” that set the scene for the things and people she saw in her little corner of the world at that moment.
A shoeshiner in Antigua, Guatemala — midday
Parque Central in Antigua is encircled by cafes with glass-fronted pastry counters and frothy cappuccinos to slake the thirst of the discerning tourist throng. This is the changing face of the city. In the square itself, young shoeshiners hunt a different clientele. The Havianas and hiking shoes of Antigua’s visitors do not require their attention. Perhaps it’s for this reason that most of the boys stand idle, signifiers of the change ushered in by an ever-growing emphasis on tourism. Or perhaps today is just a slow day.
They wear caps and trainers. The boy I’m drawing is fidgeting. It seems he cannot decide whether his hat looks better forwards or backwards. Jeans hung low, the shoeshiners banter — with each other and the young busker-backpackers with whom they share their patch. They swing their small metal cases, with brushes and polish clunking inside. A boy of around 13 approaches and sullenly offers a shoeshine to my dreadlocked neighbour on the park bench. He expects nothing, surely, from this sandal-clad prospective customer. Then, with more optimism, he offers to procure marijuana at a good price.
It seems the boys have adapted their trade for the backpacker crowd after all.
A bench in the Lastarria district, Santiago, Chile — afternoon
On the bench opposite mine, too many boys are jostling for space. There’s a clear pecking order from left to right, which seems roughly to correspond to age. The smallest (about 12) barely balances on the end. The lad on the far right plants his feet squarely on the ground. He’s wearing the best trainers and he knows it. They smoke in silence, eyeballing the gringos and art students that dominate this street of galleries and restaurants.
Even in a big city like Santiago, where few traditional institutions remain, most businesses in the smaller districts will still close for a two-hour lunch break. So at this time of day, it’s quiet. All I can hear is the distant twang of chords, as a band in the nearby arts centre go through a sound-check. They’re preparing for this evening’s street culture festival, sponsored by a brand like Puma, or Vans. It’s gloriously sunny and no one, neither me nor the boys, is going anywhere soon.
A coffee shop in Brooklyn, New York — morning
Brooklyn is peppered with them. This morning this coffee shop is full. It fulfils every criteria for the modern Brooklyn café; all burnished copper and exposed brick. There are up-cycled wooden tables, chalkboard menus, and visible ventilation pipes. The whizzing, hissing espresso machine punctuates carefully selected, gently pulsating, electro-vintage beats. The New Yorkers order coffee with an authority that doesn’t exist back home. With soy, without caffeine. French press, cortado, chai. Honey, cream, almond milk. There’s tea for the detox-ers and espressos for those who mean business.
It’s snowing outside. Inside, the MacBooks and Moleskines are opened and ready. Charcoal grey and midnight blue knitwear is slung on the back of chairs. Everyone settles in. Head down, I try to look busy (in drawing the busy ones).
—Phyllida Bluemel