Light and Death: Choosing the way of the firefly

This picture drew me to Puebla (Photo Source)

The luciérnagas (fireflies) were awesome.

• A woman died.

The deciding factor for going to Puebla in July was to see the spectacle of the fireflies during mating season.

• Five years ago, Nanacamilpa    was just a tiny village in the verdant, high farmlands of Tlaxcala. Last night as hundreds of the more than 100,000 people who show up to experience nature's "new gold” during June and July, one woman started up the forested hill, following her own journey, and met her destiny on that twisting path.

Our 15-passenger van left the Puebla Zócalo in late afternoon with me as the only gringa on the van. Isolated in a wash of Spanish, fleeting thoughts of California struck me as we wound through the familiar looking rolling green hills. Leaving the highway, we joined a bumper-to-bumper stream of cars, vans, and buses, a temporary intrusion to this peaceful countryside.

• She sat in the seat in front of me. I didn’t know her name; didn’t know enough Spanish to make a connection even if the opportunity had arrived. She was youngish, looked about 40, heavy set, wearing skin-tight, flamboyant leggings that are popular here.

We lemminged our way through the village with hordes of vendors lining the street selling rain ponchos, pulque, and anything else that might be wanted by the solid stream of firefly pilgrims. Through the village and down the narrow, rutted dirt road, we crawled to a park-like setting at the foot of the mountain. There we found a playground for children as well as food, drink, and a chance to visit with our trip mates. I met another couple from Chihuahua who spoke decent English. They took me under their wings and, with Lule, a woman from Puebla who was my seat mate, we had a lovely time eating epilotes ... corn cut from the cob, mixed with lime juice, mayonnaise and chili (of course) ... and sharing stories. They wanted to know about my favorite places in Mexico and shared theirs with me. They laughed and said I knew Mexico better than they did.

(Photo Source)

• It was only 2 kilometers from the park to the firefly viewing area. However, it was uphill and we were already at altitude, maybe 8,000 - 8,500 feet … maybe more. I wasn’t worried. I’ve been walking a lot and was about to have a 90,000-steps week. We listened to the repeated instructions of the guide … by now I understood most of them … no cell phone noise, no camera flashes, no talking. We heard the safety precautions for people who might have bad knees or heart problems and the recommendations not to carry backpacks to avoid fatigue. I carried mine anyway.

Foto: Flickr

The hundreds of people milling around waiting for the adventure to begin created a logistics issue of matching guides to visitors and again explaining the process and restrictions. Finally, we began. Probably too fast. The viewing time to watch the fireflies only lasts an hour.

The path was wide enough and clear but it was definitely up hill and, within minutes, my breath was ragged and I was hot, too hot. I knew I needed to slow down so I fell back and noticed others who were also having problems. 

A few minutes after we stopped for a break and I was beginning to get my breath back, I checked my Fitbit for my pulse rate … it was still 132, far above my resting rate in the mid-50s. I felt a twinge of fear and knew I was hitting the edge of my zone. I was going to have to take it slower.

• During the break, I noticed the woman from the bus. She seemed to be having problems. Our guide was talking to her and when we started again, he set a slower pace.

The light was fading and, with our slower pace, I noticed a few fireflies showing up in the bush. It reminded me of my childhood. I had stripped off a couple of layers of clothing and Jorge, my new friend from Chihuahua, insisted on taking my pack. We walked on for a bit and then halted again. The fireflies were dancing and it was quiet and lovely. Enough fireflies were around us that we could notice the synchronization of their blinkings. The word we shared, quietly, was increíble, a word that works in both languages.

• Suddenly I heard shouting, muffled by the mountains and trees. I couldn’t understand the words, however, the sound was ominous.

(Photo Source)

We still weren’t moving but the fireflies were mesmerizing so we didn’t mind just standing and watching the show around us. 

Thunder began to rumble in the distance and flashes of lightning occasionally lit up the forest around us. It didn’t take long before the wind picked up and rain started. We put on our rain ponchos, but the rain was light so it just added to the atmosphere … for awhile. Then the lightning got closer, the rain fell harder, and we began to move down the hill. 

I assumed it was because of the rain and lightning hazard. The dark path now was wet and a bit scary. Lule grabbed my hand and together, step-by-step, we retraced our steps, hearing “cuidado” (careful) frequently as we descended.

• At a bend in the path, we came to a group of people huddled on the ground. In the dark it took a bit for all the pieces to come together. Light shining on a bare stomach on the ground … the rhythmic movements of CPR … the woman from the bus. There was nothing to do. Everything was being done.

We continued our descent. Silent. Still gripping hands. One step after another. Lule brought out her cell phone flashlight. The restrictions about light and noise were already broken. We didn’t say much; just kept stepping carefully. At one point we tried to sing away the horror and the fear. Cielito Lindo. It drifted away into the night.

We thought about the possibility of rescue … of life … as we kept walking through the night, through the rain, through the reality of death. One of the things we learned about fireflies is that they like humidity and rain. But, on this dark night, even the fireflies were gone.

• On the trip back, one passenger short, it turned out that no one on the trip knew the woman. She was sola (alone). While I had called her la mujer (the woman), the people on the bus called her La Señora, which seemed so much more respectful. After a long period of quiet, the group began a prayer from their shared religious background. Even though I did not understand the words or share the background, it felt comforting.

It took an hour and a half to inch our way from the mountain back through the village and to the highway, stopping frequently on the narrow road to let emergency vehicles pass on their way to do whatever was left to be done. I wondered what brought her on this journey to see the fireflies. I wondered who she was, what she loved and who loved her. I couldn’t help thinking about my own situation, my own life, the possibility that it could have been me, alone on a dark night on an unfamiliar mountain. 

*****

 Incredible video that will show you this

amazing phenomenon.

"I can't believe this happens on planet Earth"

Firefly Symbolism

I came on this journey because I wanted to see a natural phenomenon. I wanted to see a carpet of magical fireflies doing something that is little understood by the world of science as these fireflies create light without producing heat for one month of their two-year life ... the rest is spent under ground.

However, my experience on the mountain intersects with the book I just finished: The Magician of Lhasa, which on several occasions states: it’s not what happens, it’s how we interpret it. For more thoughts about what fireflies symbolize, I turned to Google and find people stating:

- "When fireflies come into our lives, they are there to guide us to ways of living that are more earth-friendly, and soul-friendly. Fireflies teach us the value of living simply, and relying on our own inner voices for illumination. Fireflies also come to us with a message of creativity, and remind us that our paths are made lighter by the beauty that we allow into our lives.”  

- "An ordinary looking creature during the day, admittedly, the firefly is a remarkable sight when it glows at night. This is a symbolic message to us humans that although our physical appearance may seem one way - it is our internal makings - what is inside us (such as our spirit) that makes us shine from the inside out. That which is within us will always illuminate us and those around us.”

- "In addition to using no heat to produce her light, the fact that fireflies eat very little is another symbolic meaning of economy or efficiency. Adult fireflies use their environment to the most effective extent possible in order to gain their energy. This is a lesson for us to use the resources we have available to us, and not waste or consume to excess." 

This led me to wonder what the lessons of this strange and beautiful night. What were the lessons of  the fireflies?

*** I never saw the light in La Señora. I’m not sure I even see the light in the people I see every day. Maybe that’s the message I need to have: See the light. I don’t have to hike up a steep path on a dark night to see beauty and incredible magic. I simply need to open my eyes. Right now I am on a bus going to Mexico City. It is filled with fireflies. It is my choice as to how many I see.

*** Maybe it’s also to let my own light shine ... without creating heat. What would that mean?

*** Or perhaps it's about feeding my own glow. What makes my light shine?

Puebla: a week of coffee shops

7/23 - Day #1: Monday … The Italian Coffee, (I know, a chain, but it seems to be popular here.) At the corner of 16 de Septiembre across from Jardín de Carmen Americano. Watching amistad in action as five middle-aged men chat while drinking their coffee. Amistad ... friendship ... Mexico has a long history of oppression where friends and family were the first line of defense. Therefore, spending time with friends has become a vital part of their culture.

As I observe the morning, the first man leaves the table of five. He carefully shakes hands with all the others, making comments to each. Later a woman joins a different group, giving a deep hug to one friend and then a hug and cheek kiss to each person at the table. When leaving people hug and kiss again. On the streets as they’re parting, another hug and polite kiss. Best observation place. ****

7/24 - Day #2: Tuesday … Tarlets Coffee near the Zocalo got me with their motto: “The best coffee is the coffee you like.” Since it was in English, it must appeal to English-speaking tourists. At 9 am, the place is empty. Lovely lemon tart. Somewhere back in history I read about a study that claimed eating chocolate cake early in the day helped people lose weight. I dismissed it as fake science, but have decided to test the theory that something sweet with coffee might not be a horrible way to start the day. Loud, jarring music, Tiny cups but real cream. Interesting art. Loud traffic. ** (Neither Google Translate nor I know what their tagline means. ;-) 

7/25 - Day #3 Wednesday … Catalina … funny little place … walk in downstairs, tables upstairs. By myself at 8:30. Lemon cake for breakfast was dense and yummy. Coffee was okay. Nice photos of some onyx lamps. No observation opportunities. **

7/26 - Day #4 Thursday … Zaranda, near the Zocalo. After googling "coffee shops" and finding the first three not open, wound up here at a nice table by the window. 8:45 and no one’s here. Pastry selection was almost nil so I will have one I bought at the local panaderia … which, of course, just flaked all over me and made a mess that clearly showed I had brought my own food in  ... even after an attempt to clean up the damage. There are some quotes on the wall … “Toda gran obra literaria nos propone imaginar." — Carlos Fuentes. Google Translate: Every great literary work proposes to us to imagine.  My take: Every great work of literature aims to make us imagine. ***

7/27 - Day #5 Friday … Café Colibrí on Juarez. I’ve been seeing this chain everywhere. This is a large one but empty right now at 8:30. Having Cafe del Puebla and it is quite good, sweet with spices. Comfortable seating with many choices. Music is not overpowering. Not sure when the people come to fill this large space but it’s now 10 and there is still no one here. A few people have come and gone. Good for studying Spanish but not good for eavesdropping on Spanish since no one's here. Maybe I’ll move on to another place. ***

7/27 - Perro Caffe … on Juarez. A step up: young, hip with creative touches. While it’s a bit English oriented with sayings such as: Creatives working …, Work hard; dream big … Stalk us … the language of conversation is still español so I’m not completely out of immersion.

Turns out this is a franchise from Free & Green, whose tagline translates as “creating experiences” and lists their values as: innovation, humility, honesty, congruency and passion. I love this phrase from their website:  Donde consolidar sus sueños y pensar diferente … which basically means it’s a place where you can bring your dreams together with a different way of thinking. ***** My favorite.

7/27 - Punta del Cielo cafeínabar … on Juarez.  How can you say no to a coffee shop that bills itself as a Point of the Sky? Besides I've decided to finish the final exam of Warren Hardy Book 3 before quitting for the day.

Here I’m trying matcha, cold plus the best pay de límon I’ve had on my travels. Wikipedia explains that matcha is "finely ground powder of specially grown and processed green tea leaves.” Claims are made that it is particularly beneficial to health … "Because matcha is made from high-quality tea, and the whole leaves are ingested, it's a more potent source of nutrients than steeped green tea. ... Another polyphenol in matcha called EGCG has been shown in research to boost metabolism, and slow or halt the growth of cancer cells.”

Somehow, I’m not sure the slightly sweet, milky frappe I was served was particularly healthy, although it was refreshing. 

7/28 - Day #6 Saturday … La Parroquia de Veracruz.  Wanting a full breakfast, I also got a comeuppance. I’ve never been a real coffee aficionado so I normally opt for an “Americano” or a latte if I’m being adventurous. 

After looking at the menu, I opted for a normal coffee, even though the menu used terms I wasn’t used to (I had chosen the Spanish menu). What I saw on the tables around me looked like coffee and milk so that should be okay. What came to my table was a glass with about an inch of dark, strong-looking coffee. I tried to tell the waiter that I didn’t want that … I wanted the coffee/milk looking stuff I saw on other tables. 

I’m sure I saw him do a gringa-eye roll thing. Somehow he managed to convince me that things were going to be okay and shortly thereafter, another waiter arrived with an aluminum teapot and when I asked, “Leche?”, he nodded and proceeded to artfully pour a stream of hot milk into my glass. With some stevia, it turned out to be quite good. 

The feeling of being the country bumpkin only lasted a short while. In case you ever come across the term “lechero,” this may be what you’ll get, although Google Translate thinks it may be a dairy or a milkman. I think milkman may be the idea as there were several guys wandering through the guests with their aluminum pots of hot milk.

The other amusement here was watching a Mexican family trying to get their 3-year old daughter to eat her breakfast, which she refused to do even though it was spaghetti on top of frijoles. Breakfast was good and lots of opportunities to observe life in Mexico. **** 

So, that's it. A week of exploring coffee shops here in Puebla. Searching for new coffee shops pulled me into areas I might not have explored and made me a little more observant.  Not a bad combination and made me think of my friend Lynne Snead, who taught me to like working in coffee shops.

Mexico: Heartbreakingly beautiful and fascinating

Mexico is as heartbreaking as it is beautiful and fascinating.  

 

On the Zócalo, Puebla's historic and lovely square, surrounded by the Cathedral, busy restaurants, shoe shine stands, balloon vendors and clusters of families and friends enjoying a summer day. 

 

In one upscale corridor, an ancient woman sits on the hard tile floor, in a position that I'm not sure I could hold for minutes, let alone hours, while the bustle of commerce flows around her. I'm not sure if she planned to sell something or just hoped for hand outs. I just know that, somehow, I was not handed this particular challenge in this lifetime.

 

I am staying in an airbnb near a busy street where I often walk going in one direction or another. On this street there are a variety of street jugglers … small children, older kids with flaming sticks, and the most amazing to me are the kids who stand on the shoulders of another while juggling. Of course, once they stop juggling, they pass through the cars asking for hand outs.

This morning, I saw a mother squat down so her tiny daughter could get on her shoulders and juggle. I wanted a photo and it was clear that every time there was a red light, they would do their act. So, I positioned myself for the next red light and when the mother squatted and the little girl climbed up to start juggling, I raised my camera. 

 

Instantly, the mother pulled the girl down and they started away from the street. It was clear that she did not want her picture taken. The closest I can describe the look on her face was fear. I put the camera away and crossed the street after her to give her all the change in my pocket. She took the money and said something although I don’t know what. It wasn’t Spanish and I had no idea what she thought or felt. I walked on and when I looked back, she was once again in the street with her daughter on her shoulders. 

 

A block away, I found this boy juggling. It’s Friday and somewhere, I assume, there is an empty seat in a classroom because this child is in the streets, juggling for money to help support his family. As I took his picture, I had to wonder once again at the ethics of street photography. Am I merely a voyeur?

I grew up poor, but I never knew poverty. Being here in Mexico reminds me frequently of what a privileged life I’ve led. Mexico is a rapidly developing country and shows signs of becoming a booming hub of commerce. However, veined through the new prosperous shopping areas, new businesses and schools are the left behind: the mothers and children and handicapped who have no safety net, little or no education, and few, if any, opportunities. 

 

My life experience hardly holds space to imagine a life that depends on taking to the streets to collect a few pesos … or walking thousands of miles to escape violence in order to find a peaceful place and better life for your children. Living and traveling in Mexico is heart opening. 

 

Just a flower on the street.

 

Mexico Museums and unexpected reactions

Forastero (stranger) - entrance exhibit to Amparo Museum

Museums have never been my #1 thing to do while traveling. I like learning but quickly find myself in information overload with the facts leaking away and the images blending together as I walk through, typically, long white halls.

Mexico museums seem to be different. Frequently I find myself weeping or feeling like my chest is in a vice or that my head has been turned inside out. Because I’ve always been lukewarm about museums, I didn’t start exploring the ones in Mexico until I went to Zacatecas last month. Now I may be addicted to the emotional and intellectual charge that precedes museum exhaustion. 

A snapshot of one wall

Take, for instance, Amparo Museum here in Puebla. Having done three stunning museums in Zacatecas, I had no expectations of this one. I definitely didn’t expect to be gobsmacked just walking through the door. The cavernous entrance is an exhibit in itself ... before you ever get to the desk where you pay a fee … except this was Monday and entrance is free on Mondays and Sundays and a mere pittance the rest of the week.

The ballroom-sized exhibit titled “Forasteros” (strangers) focused on words and numbers related to refugees, immigration, and exiles  … in a way that made it clear that it is a world problem … a growing world problem … related to violence. One of the patterns I’ve noticed in Mexican museums is that they go for a reaction, emotional or intellectual. 

There was definitely a reaction as I wandered randomly about in this overwhelming white space, reading the startling quotes and numbers that made me feel like a small bouncing object in an uncertain world. To bring the staggering international statistics down to a human level, two video booths showed people emotionally describing their personal journeys.

Xenophobia: It is fear, rejection or hatred of the foreigner. With manifestations ranging from rejection, contempt and threats, to assaults and murders. Many times xenophobia is linked to racism or discrimination based on race.

And that was just the opening space …

The first actual exhibit stunned me with its beauty. “Vestigios” (Remains) … a huge, quilted shawl embroidered with epitaphs. “I take with me only a handful of dirt.” “Here I rest.” “I found my way.” 

 

Huge, pieced shawl with epitaphs

Detail with epitaph

The next one made me cry. 

Knitted mandala on the floor

In a darkened room, with a brightly colored, knitted mandala on the floor, we watched a video as it told the story of a group of older women dancing together every week. The women, dressed all in white, moved together, sometimes in ballroom moves, sometimes in free form. As they danced they began to ritually unravel the mandala that had been created by younger women. "Disappearing it," rolling the yarn into balls as they went. While the symbology for me is uncertain, it made tears flow.

This museum deserves a return trip later this week.

More about the Amparo Museum:

The Amparo Museum, located in the historic center of Puebla, is one of the most important historical museums in Mexico.[1] It was inaugurated in 1991 and sponsored by the Amparo Foundation,[2] which was founded in 1979 by Manuel Espinoza Yglesias in honor of his wife.[3]

It was one of the first museums in Mexico to integrate technology such as multimedia systems and interactive CDs, which can provide guided tours in English, Spanish, French and Japanese through twenty one computer stations located in the fourteen halls of the permanent collections.[3] Because of its collection and avant-garde use of technology, this museum is considered to be one of the most important in Mexico and Latin America.[1]

Zacatecas: a place of many questions

Museo Rafael Coronel

Yesterday we went to Museo Rafael Coronel, primarily known for its collection of 10,000 Mexican masks. However, one of the first things that caught our attention was a series of “wizard” sculptures in the gardens. As incredible as the museum is, it is long on displays and short on explanations. It wasn’t until we were ending our time there that we found a signature on one of the sculptures and realized they were the work of Coronel himself. However, there was no information about them anywhere, not even in the tiny gift shop, or, as we would find out later, on the wide world of the internet.

My traveling companion, Bette Brazel, and I spent a lot of time on the internet looking for more about these dark sculptures which seemed to have a strong Asian influence. So, right now, there is a gaping hole in our understanding of who Rafael Coronel was and why he is referred to only as a “painter.” We did find out that he is the son-in-law of Diego Rivera and at 86 years-old is still producing an enormous amount of work while he lives in Cuernavaca. Good thing he doesn’t still live in Zacatecas; we would have been tempted to knock on his door.  Question #1: What’s the deal with Rafael Coronel’s sculptures? This armchair view video gives you a sense of the extensive quality of the museum but does not show the sculptures.

La Leyenda: outside hint of what's inside

After leaving the museum, we had lunch at La Leyenda (the legend), mainly because I had noticed colors and interesting objects on the front of the building. Turns out, if there were an international contest for the restaurant with the most “stuff” per square inch, this one would definitely be in the running and might even be the winner. Some would call it kitch, but we wound up exploring every small room and level of the art and artifacts on the walls, floors, ceilings, tables, and everything in-between.

One tiny space inside La Leyenda

One of the cooks told us that the owner/collector worked as an accountant for many of the big restaurants in the area and that this was his “hobby.” Question #2: Who is this person and what prompts his collection of all things interesting?  

 

Zacatecas Cathedral

A question that carried over from my first trip here is about the Cathedral. A UN World Heritage Site, the Zacatecas Cathedral (Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption of Zacatecas) is the head temple of the Diocese of Zacatecas, and was elevated to a basilica in 1959 (according to Wikipedia). Considered one of the most beautiful temples in Mexico, it is ultra baroque, a style called “churrigueresco” or sometimes “over the top” for it’s extreme ornamentation in a stunning red-pink, locally quarried stone. For an armchair view, watch this video. At 3:55 in this video, you can see the cross with the crucified Jesus. However, when I visited the cathedral, the cross is bare, something I’ve never seen in any other Catholic Church. Question #3: Why is the cross in this important basilica bare?

Print on the walls of Acrópolis

My first trip here, again with Bette Brazel, started the questions flowing when we happened into a coffee shop named, oddly enough, Acrópolis. The first question, of course, was the name, but the bigger question came from the hundreds of art prints on the walls … from Dalí, Picasso, Joan Miró and an extensive list of artists, known and unknown, international and local. Some internet scouring revealed that the Acrópolis was the first coffee shop in Zacatecas and had been started by a young Syrian, Said Samán Farah, who came to Zacatecas looking for his sister. The unanswered question was about this young Syrian who managed to collect an art collection from so many artists. Question #4: Did all these artists pass through Zacatecas … was it some sort of magnet for the international art crowd? (One of our favorite hangouts here is Mi Dalí Café which reinforces the idea of amazing artists coming and going through this city. So far, however, I haven’t been able to discover the reason for the name.)

Museo Pedro Coronel, photo by Travel by Mexico

The museum that started my questioning process of Zacatecas came when we visited the Museo Pedro Coronel. Not only does the collection include a huge variety of work from artists such as Dalí, Picasso, Miró, Chagall, Braque, Hogarth and Vasarely, it includes collections from pre-Hispanic Mexico, from Egypt, Greece, Italy, Africa, China, Japan, India and Oceania. Walking through these collections, I began to feel like I was walking through the brain of a genius. This occurred again while walking through the museum of his brother, Rafael Coronel. Question #5: Who were these brothers and how did they come to assemble such major collections of the world’s creativity?

Bette and I have already talked about coming back for 2-3 weeks next summer. However, I have to wonder if I will get any of these questions answered or if Zacatecas will just throw more at me. Stay tuned. 

BTW, if any of you know answers to any of these questions, please comment below.

Wonder Woman: Marianne Carlson, founder of Feria Maestros del Arte

Bujo Speaks ... inspired by an alebrije

Not long after I moved to Ajijic, someone told me about a folk art fair here. Sounded like fun, so I went online to fill in the volunteer application.

Little did I know how those few minutes of filling in some blanks would change my life.

Some time later, Marianne Carlson called and wanted to talk about the Feria Maestros del Arte. Turns out, after 16 years of shepherding this event into its position as the premier folk art festival in Mexico, she was ready to delegate some of the tasks she was still doing … like the newsletter and publicity. I was definitely interested but I had never been to the Feria and I didn’t know Marianne well enough to know if we were in sync. So, she invited me to wander the Feria, take pictures, talk to people and think about it.

Several hundred pictures later, I was in love and my wallet had a definite dent in it. It’s one thing to see beautiful folk art in Tlaquepaque or Tonalá and something entirely different to meet the artists in person, see a huge selection of their art, and learn more about how they make it. My first purchase was an alebrije made by Zeny Fuentes Mendez which inspired the image above and sits on my mantel offering me wisdom when I'm wise enough to listen.

Prison Doll

One of the surprises at the Feria (and, apparently, there are always surprises) was a booth of dolls made by women in prison. They were so charming that two of them went home with me and are now living with my granddaughters. This one actually inspired another piece of art as I began thinking of her as an embodiment of the lady of the lake.

Lady of the Lake

Budget expanding huipil

One of the booths I wandered through more than once was a group of textile makers from Oaxaca, called Mexican Dreamweavers. I was enchanted with their huipiles but they were out of my budget range. They were doing a lecture so I went and saw a video of how they actually “milk” the ink they use for dyeing from a purpura snail. It’s a dangerous job only done by a few men, called tintoreros, willing to brave the wild, rocky shores to find and gently coax the snail into sharing its ink which, in sunlight and on cotton yarn, transforms into an amazingly rich color. After the video and actually holding the shell of one of the snails in my hand, my budget suddenly expanded enough to include a Dreamweavers rebozo. (Read more about this experience here.) (And, don’t miss this video where you will see what it takes to gather this precious dye … it’s not easy!)

These were just a few of the amazing experiences I had during the three days of the Feria, the event launched when Marianne decided that it would be a good idea to bring folk art artisans and potential customers together. Since then, I’ve grown to greatly respect Marianne, her creativity, organization, determination, and generosity. The Feria could have been a commercial venture supplementing her income. However, she chose to make it a non-profit venture supporting artisans from all over Mexico, as part of a growing movement to save the future of Mexican folk art. 

The Feria “business" model:

• Every peso the artisans earn goes home with them.
• There are no fees or commissions charged the artisans.
• The Feria pays all transportation costs for artisans (including renting buses from Oaxaca, Chiapas, and Michoacán)
• The Feria pays ALL expenses related to the event. Period. (artists are hosted by local families - (more info here)
• The Feria cooperates with other local nonprofits to benefit the community (Such as Operation Feed and the LCS Children’s Art Program)

The brilliance and generosity of this event enchanted me so much that I said yes to everything Marianne wanted and shortly thereafter found myself on the Board of Directors … which is a wonderfully loose, amiable, committed, diverse and also generous group of Mexicans and immigrants. It has always been Marianne’s vision that the Feria will be a community event for Mexicans, run by Mexicans.

Marianne's gourd art prior to Feria

Marianne traveled the world before she settled down in Ajijic and then Chapala. With a diverse background from running an Arabian horse farm to working at a nuclear power plant on the central coast of California, she brought a lot of skills with her, however, mainly she brought a creative spirit and a huge heart. She has changed lives for artisans all over Mexico and created a powerful force for saving Mexican indigenous art which is still threatened by modern, mass-produced processes and synthetic, plastic materials.

However, today, in some areas, children are staying in their villages, learning the old ways of making beautiful, quality products with local materials. The Feria offers them a way to get those products out into the world. And, the money they earn has built homes, educated children, and provided a way to keep families together. (Read more about Marianne Carlson and the early days of the Feria here.)

Miniature kitchen in a gourd

Here in the lakeside area, hundreds of volunteers and host families are connecting with people and places in Mexico they might never ever have met otherwise. The Feria is a meeting place for art and commerce, old and new, beauty and function, ancient traditions and modern processes. Marianne is quick to talk about all the people who have made the Feria a reality, but it is always her spirit that guides this amazing event. She is truly a Wonder Woman. 

And, as for me, my life now has a layer called Mexican folk art. It goes with me everywhere and changes what I look at and for, and how I look at it. A recent long conversation I had was about sand ... not a subject I've ever thought much about, but it is amazingly important to artisans working with clay. More about this later.

All of this reminds me of how the smallest actions often open up doors to new experiences. If I had not entered information into that online volunteer recruitment form, an incredible world might never have opened to me. My life is so much richer for it.

More Information:

My journey into Mexican folk art

Another video of the tintereros and the making of cloth using the purple dye.  In Spanish.