Robert Calero

New York, NY

portrait by Beth Mobila

Other than the axiomatic facts—He was born and he died—Robert (Bobby) Calero wishes there were clever threads to neatly unify this narrative, which is to serve as a condensed biography. Unfortunately, there are none.

In lieu of that, here are some things he has experienced and enjoyed: alongside pastel fishing boats, he swam in the cerulean Mediterranean Sea, which calmly rolls towards small islands filled with groves of plump lemons; under the watchful eye of Hispanic Fagins he purchased chicle’ and horchata from dirty children at the foot of Mexican temples: crumbling monuments to abandoned gods; he has camped on the shore where vitriolic waves collide with the crags of the California coast; he has wandered the ports of Buenos Aires alongside packs of stray dogs that bivouac through the night; he stood in the New England drizzle of Maine and stuffed himself with lobster meat until he could stuff no more; he once stood at the edge of the Grand Canyon and wondered how anything could possibly be so large as this painted desert, having grown accustomed to the limited perspective Manhattan’s towers of steel and glass allow; he has watched his lady laugh at most of his jokes and agree to marry him despite his sense of humor. He has done these things, as well as hundreds of other various little adventures; and yet, still he knows that these experiences amount to little when considered against the vast as-of-yet-unknown.



Click to view work contributed to Glasschord Magazine by this artist