San Telmo Sundays

My first immersion into the world and culture of the street fair that takes place every Sunday in Dorrego Square in the neighborhood of San Telmo was more than a mere thrill for a lover of the old and curious collections of the early 20th century in glass, lamps, victrolas, graphics, plastics. It spawns the gamut of style and era, epochs of design and influences and spirits under the sun.



My greatest desire, besides an evening nominated for an Oscar would be an evening spent under the moon on a crisp but balmy night, dancing slowly under the stars, listening to an old love song on a victrola that would be all mine.



But above all it is a street fair. A square mile or less that brings together the colors, the vibrations, the music, the melancholy, the laughter, the mercantile and the magical from the entire history of Buenos Aires' time and art into one singiular pulse of humanity. Street performers, the perfume of cooking meats coming from the many restaurants and open air grilles, costumes, travellers, merchants. It is a collision of everything in the history of the plastic arts in Buenos Aires.


Near here, in Boca, I am told, was the first real cradle of the beginings of Buenos Aires. The old sea port, of course. But after Boca, St. Telmo became the outcropping, the begining of the journey ever-outward. Here the streets are cobbled and you walk past the endless parade of pieces and people. There can be few things in life as relaxing and other-worldly than musing over old things, connecting with the ancient spirits and makers of objects.

For the modernist, this carnival echoing the tired and lovely strains of the tango through open windows would be nothing more perhaps but maybe the peculiar and a bit absurd confluence of so many people over so much old junk. But to the eye of the artist, the romantic, it is beauty incarnate to see all these people assembled with their passionate curiosities and the feeling provoked is charming and timeless. I stroll. I photograph. I taste. I listen. I am alone. I am free to move in any direction I choose. This is candyland for me.

For the various clowns, costumed carnys, and performers it is the day to drink of the milk of human kindness. And good weather permitting and the spirits in good form, a peso or two may land in your lap, or cap or luggage or plate for a song.