Every time my wife and I make the 40-minute drive from our quiet village into the vibrant heart of Oaxaca, I feel a shift—as though I’m stepping from one world into another. The journey is familiar, but what awaits is never the same.
As soon as I begin walking the streets, camera in hand, I am abundantly rewarded. The city is a gallery without walls, alive with bold graphics, murals, stencils, and wheatpaste posters. They cling to crumbling facades, dance across doors and down alleyways, and transform the mundane into something mythic. These artworks appear suddenly and disappear just as quickly—painted over, torn down, or slowly erased by sun and time. And yet, there’s always something new rising in their place.
Much of this visual feast comes from a collective known as Subterráneos, whose work pulses with the spirit of the streets—defiant, poetic, urgent. Their imagery ranges from fierce political commentary to whimsical dreamscapes, often interwoven with indigenous symbolism, social critique, or surreal humor. They are part of a larger movement here in Oaxaca, where art and activism blend seamlessly into the public sphere.
As a photographer and artist, I feel compelled to document it—not only as an evolving cultural record, but as a living dialogue between the city and its inhabitants. I often find the most striking moments when people unknowingly pass in front of the murals—when the layers of street life and street art converge. A child skipping by a giant jaguar, an old man leaning in the shadow of a painted skeleton, a woman adjusting her shawl beneath a towering goddess.
These are chance encounters, but they feel like small, sacred alignments. The kind that remind me why I keep coming back—with fresh eyes, an open heart, and my camera ready.
