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From Federico Jordan, Illustrator:
The American Gothic Dream
Okay! Where should I start this story that changed my life? In Saltillo City? Yes, my hometown, an oasis in North Mexico.
Two years ago, I was in my illustration studio where I have my computer on a messy desk full of papers with drawings and sketches. On the wall hangs a portrait of my friend Loyda Gil, "La Princesa," and an old, faded, small postcard of Grant Wood's painting American Gothic hanging up with a piece of scotch tape. I was surfing the Web that day when I met Mags Gould Stewart, at that time Creative Director of Tripod, Inc. Since then, I've made many "chirombolitos" (small drawings) for this site.
She went crazy last summer about my drawings and invited me to work in the Tripod headquakers in Massachusetts. At once, my super Canadian and lawyer friend David Stewart started the paperwork for my NAFTA work visa. As soon as all were done, I took my little postcard from my wall, I flew, I arrived, I walked like a robot directly to my work space with the American Gothic postcard in my right hand. As soon I arrive to the place where a brand new computer was awaiting me, I looked all around for essential stuff to live my idea of the American Dream: a cozy chair, a wife with lot of dough to get old together, a burger (I was hungry), fancy friends, lost coins in the floor, etc...
Suddenly I saw a young man surfing a skateboard in the building! This was our 25 year-old CEO, Bo "Jefe" Peabody. I saw the whitest gen-X boy, called Matt Quann, making robotic moves to another coworker (Jesse Milden), a Canadian doing strange sound-effects to himself, a group of persons walking close together in one direction like penguins, talking in a C++ language. A culture shock had started!
Just when I thought all was over, a funky music filled the work space and I saw a man with a Mick Jagger look, but smaller, walking and dancing at the same time towards me with a great coordination. "Yo!" he shouts to me. "What's up, dude! Word is born! So watch your back!" Following that, he presented himself, opening his arms like a priest preparing to say something solemn. "My name is C. Pop Johnson, welcome aboard!" Then, another person that looks like Tin-tin sez to me with a crazy smirk, "Hi! My name is cyoung, the Toymaker, and I have coupons for a free lunch at Subway for the rest of your life!! Ha, ha, ha!!"
I was paralyzed; I point my eyes looking through my big window with a beautiful summer view of a rural landscape in Williamstown, MA. At the same time that my thoughts about the American Dream were dissolving, I turned my head to see another new friend that talked to me at that time. "Hi, my name is Wilde Dick Wilde." I turned my head to the big picture window and, without noticing, my American Gothic postcard flew out my hand.
Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.
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