Tijuana's artistic production has developed less as a stable scene and more as a succession of networks, spaces, and communities capable of reorganizing and reappearing in different forms.

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There are many ways to name the city where the homeland supposedly begins, and Ingrid Hernández has found a few of them. They are refreshing ways that inscribe themselves in and at the same time run against the grain of a certain documentary tradition in Mexican photography. "Tijuana, where my family's restaurant was. Tijuana, home to nearly 500 active maquiladoras. Tijuana, where my daughter was born. Tijuana, 300,000 daily crossings through the garita [border crossing]. Tijuana, with more homicides than most of the country. Tijuana, where I grew up alongside my grandmother. Tijuana, always peripheral, first city of Latin America."¹

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I was walking hand in hand with my mother the first time I visited Líneas de fuga by María Ezcurra at the Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil. It was a Saturday around lunchtime and the room was empty except for the large, strident textile bodies in tension, the pile of shoes flying like a flock of birds, the house made of suitcases, and the quinceañera dresses suspended in waiting. The show is Ezcurra's first retrospective and caught my attention from the start for the versatility of formats and thematic axes that run through gender, migration, ecology, and the symbolic languages of materials. It is in this last point, however, where I find the genius of her work and the capacity to evoke sensations so personal and situated that they captivate and disturb at once.

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The Football World Cup in Mexico was sold to us on the promise of modernization and national celebration. While the latter is still underway, rather than projecting stability and prosperity for the country, it has thrown into sharp relief the fractures and griefs we have been building up as a society in recent years. In that spirit, the current collective exhibition at La Quiñonera, Anti FIFA Fan Fest: Al balón le vale m*dres [Anti-FIF4 Fan Fest: The ball doesn’t give a d*mn]—organized by the collective MalPaís and curated by Patricio García Formentí, Mario Stoylov, and Ana Sofía Esteva—uses the World Cup as a starting point to dissect the political and social symptoms that the spectacle attempts to conceal by all means available.

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