A Magical Realism Life with Mia Pratt

When I was 5 years old I stole a box of crayons from St. Vincent de Paul kindergarten in San Francisco, where my family lived. Our house was literally right next door to the school and when I arrived home that day my mother noticed a large rectangular bulge under my sweater.  When she asked what it was, I lied and told her Sister Theresa loaned me a box of crayons to take home for the weekend. However, I have the bad fortune of turning beet red when I lie and with a block of contraband conspicuously outlined beneath my sweater, my mother was instantly suspicious and walked me right back over to the classroom.  My mother asked Sister Theresa if she did, indeed, loan me the crayons, but before she could finish the sentence I started bawling my eyes out. I admitted that I’d lied because my little box of crayons didn’t have the gold and silver ones and I really, really needed the gold one especially. The sister walked me and my mom into her office where I expected to be punished. Instead s

Introduction Artist Churro Chapala Jorge Eduardo by Mia Pratt (Translations are made using AI Artificial Intelligence and may contain errors.) Churro Chapala Jorge Eduardo is a talented artist and singer living in the Mexican town of Chapala. For our interview I met up with him in the Soriana’s parking lot and we drove out to his art studio, which is located outside of town in a rural span of agave fields.  The vibe of his studio is that of comfortable old Mexico, authentic and down home. Inside the studio a collection of large acrylic paintings are either hanging on available wall space or stacked against the walls. He paints in acrylics in a freeform fashion that blends his love of caricature with shades of magical realism and surrealism to create scenes that take us beyond our imagination. Viewing Churros paintings in person catches you off guard due to the direct statements made by each painting. There is no pretense or artifice in his work - it makes a statement that leaves you co

When I was five years old I had an odd but magical experience in a redwood forest in Napa, California. My aunt took my mother and me out for lunch at little Italian restaurant, where we were seated on the back patio beneath a grape-covered arbor. When the two women became engrossed in grown-up conversation, I took advantage of the situation and wandered off to explore.  I discovered a tiny pond with a rock border, and the bottom was covered in undulating velvet moss. The water appeared shallow at the edges and grew darker in the middle where an island of water lilies shaded silver minnows as they darted in and out of its cover. Thrilled at my discovery, I sat down at the edge of the pond and removed my socks and shoes so I could wade in. But just as my toes touched the water a small voice shouted out, “No!”  I looked up in surprise and saw a little man standing on a lily pad across from me. He was about ten inches tall, dressed in a black top had and vest, and he was holding a silver-h