SOLD
Approximately 35 cm x 20 cm x 12 cm high
In late November 1992, I tried to walk into the streets of Caracas, Venezuela but was stopped by armed security. As they escorted me back to my hotel, I noticed that the usual cacophony of noise was absent. The streets were deathly silent. In the air, pa pa pa, shots were fired between fighter jets.
For 3 days, the staff of the hotel slept on cots and mattresses in the garden of the hotel. They continued to feed the guests who were lucky to have sanctuary in their private rooms. A curfew was in place following Hugo Chaves’ second attempt at a coup.
Eventually, people were allowed in the streets between 8 am and 5 pm. Women hung out their windows banging pots and crying out for political peace. Arriving at the bus station, I asked how far they could take me along the coast before curfew set in.
A hut, a hammock and freshly caught fish on a smalltown beach east of Caracas was the locale of my forced “vacation.” Standing in the ocean allowed me to eat mangos with the juices running down my chin and torso – mixing with the green Caribbean Sea.
