Charleston Blvd

She doesn't rush. She never rushes. The light has just changed on East Charleston Boulevard, and the city — rendered in quiet shades of grey — seems to hold its breath as she crosses. Four dalmatians orbit her like satellites, their spots mirroring the bold graphic dots on her coat, as if she dressed this morning to match her dogs, or perhaps the dogs dressed to match her. The Stratosphere rises in the background, a needle stitching grey sky to grey earth, while all around her Las Vegas goes about its anonymous business in monochrome. Only she — and the ground beneath her, and the sky above her — blazes with color. Francisco Estravides, who spent his early years under the colorful palette of the Peruvian sun has now found his chromatic awakening beneath the golden light of California's wine country and glamorous Vegas sky, knows exactly what he is doing here. He is telling us that some people carry their own sunshine. Some people walk through a grey world and gild it simply by being present. This is a painting about glamour, yes — but more than that, it is a painting about the transformative power of an individual who refuses to become part of the background.