I Panama City

When out looking for subjects to paint and draw I have often found myself constrained by my limited pedestrian vantage point. This is all the more frustrating as it has often been my experience that much of the most interesting subject matter exists well above the eye level. I have, in the past, employed many tactics to overcome my human limitations from carrying stepladders to fixing mirrors and cameras to poles. But it was not until recently, when I discovered lightweight drones, that this world was truly revealed to me.

Here, up on high, I can now bear witness to this world previously beyond my sight. These places often remain completely untouched for decades save the occasional scrabbling of birds and vermin. Up here the rotting debris is left to be sculpted by the wind’s swirling eddies as it is gradually washed into silt by the rain. In the case of this balcony, the thick layer of silt has been made orange by rotted hardwood and then splashed up against the wall by the heavy rain, staining the once white plaster. The effect provides a sandy sunset backdrop to the delicate blue ironwork.Whilst in the foreground the balcony’s edge has been crumbled and delaminated into a luna landscape by the elements.

These stunning gates are a wonderful example of true quality shining through outrageous circumstances. The gates themselves are no older than the 1930s, as they are the embodiment of Art Deco, although they could be later, as architectural fashion was often slow in making its way to the New World. They are divided into an asymmetric grid pattern, which has been infilled with delicate wrought iron geometric shapes, spirals, and twists. They are balanced and exquisitely designed. The arched head of the doorway is filled with a much more standard piece of ironwork, which is somewhat incongruous but does not detract. The years have not been kind, and many indignities have been heaped upon this humble doorway, but their beauty and pedigree are all too evident.

These doors are amongst my favourites in all of Casco. In fact, this is not the first time I have decided to paint them. It was during the first painting that I realised what it is I love about them. It is the juxtaposition of the two window panels. Whilst identical in origin, they appear wildly different through experience. On the left, the opening has been stripped of glass and boarded up tightly. The exposed boards show clear signs of their exposure to the sea air and are pressed tightly against the decorative metalwork, creating a dark halo of grime and shadow. On the right, the glass has mostly fallen away but is still evident, and the light-painted boarding is incomplete. The result is a light and airy aperture full of dynamic movement. The doors are chained together, inseparable, so different, and yet part of one.

The light at dawn here in Casco is at times breathtaking. On hazy mornings the sunlight adopts a thick golden quality that bathes the grimy streets and buildings in a warm glow. At the top of Avenida Central, beyond Plaza Catedral, the golden light of the morning streams down the narrow avenue created by the deep roof overhangs on either side of the street and, for the briefest of moments, it settles on the south side at an oblique angle before it is once again obscured by the roofs. In this moment, the defused light flatters every inch of these facades, from the battered balconies to the peeling paintwork, they are drawn in hazy highlights and soft blue shadows. It is as complete a transformation as I can imagine, the once dull and dirty buildings are made wonderful in a swirling patchwork of broken light and smokey shadow.

This doorway is an unexpected beauty. The ravages of time and neglect have masked its origin as the fine entrance to a grand home, but its elegant past has not yet been entirely lost. Such is the power of these old buildings to defiantly shine through their torment. This entrance, although beset with rot and wrapped in a blue plastic sheet, remains resplendent in the glow of the morning sun. Its elegant proportions are still evident, and the delicate scrollwork of the transom shines out from the gloom. The billowing tarpaulin has been transformed into swagged drapery by the sun and the breeze, and even the paint-scarred steelwork can offer its symmetry to the composition.

This corner building encapsulates one of the things I love most about Casco: one generation writes its narrative over another but does not erase the old. We end up with these wonderful laminated stories, each transparent layer adding new elements to the scene.

But there is more at work here than a succession of human interventions; nature also has her part to play. The morning light, breaking through a nearby tree, leaves its unmistakable imprint on the façade. The branches scrawl their signature across the walls, whilst the foliage pools and diffuses the light, subsuming everything that falls under its ragged cloak.

This wonderful fanlight window was once the centrepiece of an elegant clothing store’s grand entrance. This unusual semi-elliptical arch spans almost the entirety of the width of the shop’s façade and is framed by two enormous, ornately decorated corbels. Preparations are already well underway for the complete refurbishment of this building.

In the case of this building, it is the colours that most intrigue. The two-tone salmon of the walls and balcony would have been garish in its original condition; however, decades of sun-bleaching have muted their tones into something quite natural. The requisite dusting of general city filth further serves to soften the palette, as well as providing contrast and highlight to the embellishments. The bleached pink and terracotta masonry provide a perfect proscenium to reveal the star of the show: the wonderful patchwork of turquoise glass underscored by forest green stone.

Much like the morning, the light in the afternoon is slightly diffused, and the shadows are soft. But that is where the similarity begins and ends. The blue shadows of the morning have been replaced by mauve and orange hues. The shadows are still soft, but they are much more defined than their dawn counterparts, and even the light itself appears to have lost its warm viscosity, becoming cool and crisp. The shadows themselves are impossibly long; they are extruded from every bump and protuberance, so elongated that they are rendered almost beyond recognition. But it is the puddles of remnant light that interest me the most—the way the last light of the day pools around seemingly random details before it fades altogether into dusk.

I believe that every object has its perfect moment in time, its own perfect “hair day” – the instant when the rich layers of patina serve to enrich its form; when the light strikes at precisely the right angle to gently reveal its curves; and when the elements conspire to twist its lines just enough to render it truly unique. I believe that it is in this moment that these objects catch our eye, compelling us to admire them in their fleeting period of blooming beauty.

This window is a patchwork of decay and damage: the wooden panels are slowly rotting away, the rain is gently staining and eroding the stone, and the metalwork is waging a rapidly losing battle against corrosion. All of this is overlaid with splashes of blue paint, hastily patched holes, and a sill strewn with debris. It is this physical onslaught, bathed in soft morning light, that has created this beautiful tableau.

This painting is all about the abstract composition of the scene. I am drawn to the geometry, as well as the disrupted symmetry that lends the work its unique character. The strong shape of the shadow cast by the glass dropping from its frame, the vertical door panels echoed by the building numbers, and the bold, swagged stripes of cables above the door—each of these elements is repeated, yet subtly altered. But it is the collection of rusty electrical boxes that truly captivate me. They share the same geometric structure of rectangles and circles as the other objects in the scene, yet they introduce a bold splash of complementary colour and texture, adding a distinct and striking contrast to the overall composition.

This painting is all about the abstract composition of this scene. I love the geometry, as well as the disrupted symmetry that gives the work its unique character. The strong shape of the shadow created by the glass dropping out of its frame, the vertical door panels mirrored by the building numbers, and the bold swagged stripes of the cables above the door – all these elements are repeated, yet subtly altered. But it’s the collection of rusty electrical boxes that really call to me. They share the same geometric structure of rectangles and circles as the other objects in the scene, but then introduce a bold splash of complementary colour and texture, adding a distinct and striking contrast to the overall composition.

The quality of the decorative metalwork was one of the first things I noticed when I arrived in Casco. These hand-forged masterpieces, built up from layers of wrought iron and held together by collars and pins, are of exceptional quality and consistency. But it is the way they have corroded that truly interests me. Each piece has been made unique by the elements and the passage of time. Their lines have been obscured by rust, their symmetry disrupted, puckered, and blistered; they have become artefacts. Like relics from a shipwreck, they have been transformed into objects of fascination and mystery.

This hydrant is on the wall of Casa Casco, a building at the end of the street where I have lived for the past five years or so. Casa Casco was formerly a rundown hostel but was restored around the same time I moved to this street and now houses several smart restaurants, a small nightclub, and a rooftop bar. The hydrant itself has been installed at a slight angle, giving it a quizzical appearance; the two brass nozzle caps have either been stolen or, just as likely, were never installed. Either way, this has allowed a bloom of verdigris to develop on the water outlet nozzles, creating these green insect-like eyes. This hydrant has also been employed as an anchorage point to secure the plastic bins that sit outside the restaurant. When not in use, the chain is coiled around the hydrant and secured with a padlock.

In my view, this pair of doors are the finest in all of Casco. Absolutely stunning in design and exquisitely crafted. However, these doors possess a beauty that goes beyond their design. Unrestored and unkempt, they shine; their stories, recorded in their scars, elevate them far beyond anything their architects and craftspeople could have envisioned.

These doors are truly exquisite. I adore their almost medieval quality: the beautiful hand-forged ironwork fastened with steel pins; the simple pattern of roundels that decorate the panels; the abstract symmetry and the pastel colours. But most of all, I love their heraldic quality: the palette of gold on a field of turquoise and black, the mix of strong abstract shapes and organic embellishments. I cannot see them as anything other than a coat of arms—an informal crest for Casco.

This door is typical of many anonymous entrances found throughout the historic district. Built more for security than for elegance, it features the distinctly Casco characteristic of the door handle and lock being mounted so close to the frame that they are almost impossible to use. Even when you do manage to contort your fingers sufficiently to insert the key into the lock or grasp the handle, you are rewarded for your efforts with the skin being scraped from your knuckles as the door swings open.

However, when the afternoon sun strikes, everything ordinary about this door disappears. It becomes luminescent; the array of graffiti lights up and transforms into one swirling mass, and the simple ironwork heart, bisected by a steel cross, glows with a golden hue.

The narrative here is truly created by the light. In Casco, at certain times of the day, even the most ordinary objects are transformed by the spectacular light. In this instance, the sunlight has taken a mundane doorway on the first floor of this derelict building and turned it into a captivating story. The ground floor has almost entirely been swallowed by a murky pool of shadow, while the evidence of the floor above is suggested by the balcony’s sharp shadow, stretching across the corner of the doorway, beautifully detailed with a flourish created by the unseen balustrade. The doorway itself is an inky black rectangle at the centre of the composition, decorated only with the fabulous rose-centred wrought iron balustrade. In counterpoint to the drama of the composition of dark shadows, the surface of the walls offers a gently undulating swirl of creamy tones.

Like many in Casco, this balcony is so theatrical that it would be just as at home on a stage or the back of a pirate galleon as it is here. It is a stunning example of a grand entrance waiting to happen. Everything is poised and perfectly staged: the woodwork is decayed but intact; the beautiful ironwork of the balcony has just enough damage to appear authentic, yet retains the elegance of its bell-bottomed figure; and the paintwork has that perfect scenic balance of bleaching and peeling. The double doors are barely hanging by their hinges, leaving them at an angle that practically screams “TA-DA!”. Even the afternoon sun plays its part, providing the theatrical spotlight. All that is required now are the players—the dusky damsel or bare-chested buccaneer—to emerge from the shadows.

This building, though derelict, is not yet a complete ruin, but it is on the cusp of ruination. However, it is not the building’s condition but the remnants of a memory that have drawn me to it on this occasion. It must have been more than fifteen years ago, before gentrification had truly taken hold, that I witnessed a children’s birthday party outside this building on the small plaza opposite. At that time, block parties were a frequent feature of the local ambience, and children’s parties were very much a wonderful community affair. I had all but forgotten those parties until I saw the pink strings tied to the window bars, remnants of the bunches of balloons that once hung there.