By Carrie Classon The Painter I see him painting every afternoon. Every day I take a walk and, when I am in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, my walk usually takes me through an old fabric mill that has been converted into gallery space. Most of the galleries sell the work of artists from Mexico City and beyond. But some of the galleries are spaces where artists are both working and selling their work, and the floor is spattered with paint, and easels hold paintings in various stages of completion. Usually, I don’t see the artists. They seem to be somewhat elusive. Perhaps they don’t like being pestered by looky-loos coming by to see what they are doing and how they create their magic on canvas
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