Mixteca High and Low, Day 4. Zo-Chil-Quil-Azala

Santos Reyes Zo-Chil-Quil-Azala

We wound down a ridge line road into uncertainty that morning, filled with the excitement of the expectation of heading into the unknown and the possibility of finding another town where traditional style was still happening, the curiosity of what would be around the next corner, and the inevitable anxiety that comes with uncertainty.  In other words, it was a morning like so many mornings during the travels of the Living Threads project.

Santes Reyes Zochilquilazala is a small hamlet on the edge of a big mountain, the entire village facing south towards the gaping maw of a wrinkled and steep valley, bordered by one after another ridge line and mountain top. Heavy rains from a recent hard rainy season have taken bites  out of the steep mountains all around and the open wounds of white and yellow soil shown in the sunlight. Just below Zochi where the steep trails to the cornfields began, one could see that entire corn fields, and perhaps even a home or two had crumbled into the valley below.

Walking around the edge of the planet in Zochiquiliazala

Walking around the edge of the planet in Zochiquiliazala

As we came into the village I pulled out my eagle-sharp spotting eye, trained and honed in sighting people dressed in village style (vs generic style, like me, and most everybody else) and coming around the corner my considerable spotting experience paid off, for standing in a field in the distance I saw someone who appeared to be wearing a white blouse with colorful woven decoration across the chest and an old straw hat! I felt a thrill, there WAS still traditional fashion in Zochi…kilo…silo…umm, well I still hadn’t learned how to pronounce the town name as we drove closer to the farmer in her field.

Not only that, but my eagle-eye had gone platypus,  as we got closer the farmer morphed into a scarecrow! Or maybe it was a decoy to confuse traditional textile hunters, with a bunch of kids hiding behind some bush watching and laughing away, “did you see how that one got all goggle-eyed!!”

I was going to pull up to the house next to the field just the same, maybe take a closer look at the scarecrow, or ask at the house if people still dressed the traditional way here.  Something like this is always the plan coming into a new town where there might be traditional style. Try to see someone wearing it, or ask around, check in at a little store and see what you can learn. And if you get an affirmative, then, and only then, head to town hall and go through the formalities of presenting oneself, explaining the project, debating it’s virtues and demerits.  Nothing at all wrong with that, and always an interesting process, but it can take some time, and if traditional dress no longer exists in a given town, then onward without further ado, for long are the roads and many are the villages that might, or might not, have living threads.

As I tried to find the way closer to the scarecrow, fool-the-textile-photographer house the road went around a bend and…delivered me smack dab into the middle of town, face to face with town hall and a passel of men stacking firewood or looking on. Ours being the only car around, I being the only tall foreigner in the neighborhood, all heads turned to look.

Very well then, so much for the subtle entry and reconnaissance, I guess I’ll just take the bull by the horns here.

The photographer show.  Gears grinding, getting the shot, and in denial about the need for bifocals.

The photographer show. Gears grinding, getting the shot, and in denial about the need for bifocals.

Do tell, where can I find the town president? “This way sir”, and several of us marched up to the second floor of the sky-blue, concrete building, including the president himself, and we arranged ourselves in the small office and began the dialog.  Here, as in Cerro Encino Amarillo yesterday (which, consequently, we could see on the next ridge over), an assistant to the president translated for him between Mixtec and Spanish. I was pleased to see, once again, evidence of the strength and presence of Mixtec in this part of Oaxaca. As ever happy to see that 500 years of Spanish domination and current commercial colonialism still haven’t managed to wipe away the rich and original human heritage of this land.

The bottom line was, these men didn’t have much time to talk as they were busy preparing for a festival, but ever polite and accommodating, they heard my request, considered it and agreed that it wouldn’t be a problem for me to photograph in the village, for indeed, there WERE grandmothers who dressed traditionally. And so I was assigned a guide/interpreter from among the score of men doing their annual civic service, and then the town authorities shook hands all around and excused themselves to get back to their task at hand.

Our guide walked us directly across the little plaza to a small wooden house on the edge of a gathering of homes and spoke into the house to the woman there. She emerged, dressed in a lustrous blue velvet skirt and a long sleeve muslin blouse decorated with fine inlaid designs in reds and oranges.

Detail of fine hand-embroidery on muslin cotton

Detail of fine hand-embroidery on muslin cotton

No scarecrow this time, even I could tell the difference. And my goodness, what a beautiful blouse!  It did resemble the 1960 photo on my treasure map, but much finer. I thought that decoration on the blouse might have been fine back strap brocade, but no, she explained, it was embroidery. Painstaking to be certain, with a running stitch picking up thin threads of the woven muslin blow to anchor it, and all told creating a pattern that to my untrained eye says “pre-Hispanic back strap woven design morphed over time into embroidery on muslin cotton”.

Photographing the sharp-eyed woman of the blue velvet skirt.

Photographing the sharp-eyed woman of the blue velvet skirt.

She agreed to sit for a photo session, and with a small crowd gathered around for the event, Marina began to pull out the gear; tripod, light stands, umbrellas and flashes, and I walked around rubbing my chin and scratching my head and muttering to myself, looking through one eye and then another, making a frame with my hands and putting together the puzzle in my mind of where in this setting I’d do the portrait and how I’d light it.  Always a tense little series of minutes for me, and most certainly one of my favorite experiences of this project of many wonderful experiences.

santos reyes zochiquilazala

I learned that there weren’t many women left who dressed traditionally here. Grandmothers, the last generation of a heritage. We photographed three of those women that morning in Zochi (it is fair to just call it that for short), each an experience. The velvet skirt woman of the first house, then a woman who looked like the butcher’s wife from an old English folktale, who lived in a tight quarters piled high with firewood and cats running here and there. Then to the edge of the village…I wanted to see if I could get a shot that showed the maw of the valley beyond, the ridgelines, the steepness of this place…

My town guide took me to the right place, a house on the edge of the village, the planet dropping off out the back door. The farmer pointed to where half is land had slide away in 2013 with those rains. And the woman we came to photograph had the finest of the fine embroidery I’d seen here, which would qualify it as world class!

“Can we take a picture down below there someone?” I asked, pointed to the trails that wound down the mountain. “Si, si”  And, I asked the woman, “Do you work out there, with a shovel or something? “Of course, we all work”, came the translated answer.   And so, we took a shovel and the bunch of us headed down the hill, past the landslide and onto the spectacular, steep, winding trails.

Snap, snap, snap…can you stand over here… look over there…walk back and forth…hold your shovel like this…look up to the sky…?

Santos Reyes Zochiquilazala-204_HDR

(Get the whole picture here)

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Day 3 Mixteca jaunt: Of Molting Villages

San Martin Peras, like so many towns, going through growing pains.

San Martin Peras, like so many towns, going through growing pains.

As we traveled onward, our overnight stay was in San Martin Peras. This village was a white dot on the textile treasure map. Perhaps, I thought, in this burgeoning town there are people making textiles. But, I saw nary a soul dressing in anything but factory made clothing.

Meanwhile, as I travel, I’ve been trying to come up with a way to describe what I’m seeing in one-after-another rural town. Last evening in San Martin it struck me — these towns are molting. They are in the midst of shedding their old skins that they’ve outgrown, sold on the new construction trends of changing times.  Village after village appears to be a work in progress, an active construction site with half-finished concrete block houses everywhere, piles of sand and gravel, rebar lying in wait along the edge of the newly paved concrete road and protruding like insect antennas out of the tops and sides of the flat roofs of all the grey buildings. All day long the sound of hammers and chisels putting holes in the cement wall to pass waterlines and electrical cables, nothing finished, inside or out, all in movement, change, growth, transformation. It would be fascinating to watch a time lapse film of the villages of Oaxaca from 1970 to present, because roughly speaking, that’s the time frame of this current molt.

Torn down or squeezed in between the new concrete boxes are the remnants of what the previous molt left. Likely that molt happened so slowly over hundreds of years it was hardly noticeable. Tinted gray in concrete dust are the old adobe houses, the wattle and daub, the Spanish tiles, the wood beamed and shingled places, the last grass roof houses. The old time places managed an elegance in their cut and trim that the new buildings fall short of. Try as hard as they might (and some try very, very hard, while others don’t try at all), the new just can’t seem to muster the style of the old.

Hand embroidered blouse, velvet dress and concrete house in San Juan Pinyas.

Hand embroidered blouse, velvet dress and concrete house in San Juan Pinyas.

(for the whole picture, click here)

As with community fashion, once there were marked regional styles in architecture and as I travel through Oaxaca I see the remnants; from the log cabins of the upper Mixteca, the tiny two story adobe houses with wood rail porches and roof crosses in the northern sierra, the bamboo walled, palm-roofed long houses in the Papalopapan region, the thick-walled adobe court yard houses of the central valleys, the masterly built stone buildings of the Tamazulpan del Progreso region, etc, etc.

And as with clothing, each of these styles of architecture was a reflection of the region; the natural materials, adaptations to climate (and earthquakes), the needs of the people and creative inspirations over the centuries all rolled into the graceful styling that became the community vernacular.

Similar to the trends of architecture are the trends in dress and clothing. Like the last few steep peaked thatch house roofs with cooling, open bamboo sides surrounded by the new concrete shoe boxes, or the remaining Mixtec log cabins built of local resources in a landscape of migrant trophy houses built of industrial materials, so too appears the community dress in many of the villages I’m travelling to. In all directions people are dressed in impersonal, imported, factory-made clothing with meaningless name brands sewn on; just as I am, just as you are. And then walking through the crowd appears a grandmother, and then perhaps another, wearing full length, hand woven white huipiles with red zigzag patterns woven around the neck and chest with geometric swirls and flowers in oranges and greens. Around their necks they wear a pile of red beaded necklaces, and braided into their hair are two ribbons tied into bows at the end all of which is wrapped around their heads in a style just so, as the women of this village once commonly wore their hair.  What they wear they wove, the work of their hands is in every meticulously placed thread.

Hand embroidered huipil and house of bamboo, palm and wood planks, San Pedro Ixcatlan

Hand embroidered huipil and house of bamboo, palm and wood planks, San Pedro Ixcatlan

(for the whole picture, click here)

There is no meaningless brand name sewn into their clothing, and yet their clothing is a brand loud and clear that says, “I am of this village-nation; I am of this heritage and of this history”.  And though the knowledge has been lost in the last 500 brutal years of cultural attack, the designs around their necks and across their chests once told a story, the colors and shapes are symbolic of stages in life, position, reverence, and connection.

Of course it is these people whom I am seeking. These are people who still bear the woven flags of their village-nations and heritage. These women and men are my cultural heroes. Against tremendous odds, here and now in 2015 some of them still wear their culture. They still weave, dye, and embroider their collective voice. They still walk and dance and work wrapped in the style and brand that says “I am from here!”

Today we are headed to Santos Reyes Zochiliquilazala. This village is a white dot, we-don’t-know-if-there–is-a-textile-tradition village, on the Big Textile Treasure Map. On the back side of the map there is a photo of the blouse in the museum’s collection with the acquisition date of 1960. Odds of there being anything there all these years later are slim. But filled with a sense of adventure and quest, I figured it was worth making the little trek down.

Did we find anything? Tune in next blog…

Mixteca High and Low, day 2

Somewhere out there are villages with textiles.  In the Sierra beyond Juxtlahuaca.

Somewhere out there are villages with textiles. In the Sierra beyond Juxtlahuaca.

Yesterday Upper Mixteca, today Lower Mixteca, or so this region is called. But as we drove out of Juxtlahuaca, where we’d spent the night, our route quickly started taking us up. And up. And up, and within 40 minutes of driving out of that town set in a mild valley, we found ourselves on a winding ridge line looking over a landscape of grand, wrinkled, jumble edges, steep slopes and deep, deep valley bottoms. Big broken mountains for as far as the eye could see, and zig zagging here and zig zagging there, dirt roads heading to villages.  Our paved road eventually turned into one of those dirt roads, dropping off the high, oak and pine forested ridge tops and down to the river bottom, then over a dry grazed hill to a town called Santiago Tilapa.

The trusty textile map had a white dot for Tilapa, meaning the author didn’t know if there was still a living textile tradition here. The map had a photo of the huipil (traditional square cut indigenous womans gown) from Tilapa taken in 1988. If they still made such a huipil here it would be pretty cool, since it was a finely woven huipil, and it would be one place less that has lost its ancestral dress in the last three decades.

So, rolling the dice on a white circle and a photo of a huipil from 1988, we made the drive out here.  Why not? If, like yesterday, it didn’t pan out, there were two other villages in the region that I wanted to look into as well; the white circle village of Santos Reyes Zochiquilazala and nearby San Juan Pinyas, which rated a yellow triangle on the map, meaning the textile tradition was still alive.  Indeed, I was thinking we’d visit all three of these villages today and make some time.

The good thing is I’m quite used to taking my planned agendas and dumping them.

Corner stores are always great sources of information as we travel. They also have yummy cookies.  Photo by Marina

Corner stores are always great sources of information as we travel. They also have yummy cookies. Photo by Marina

We parked next to the under construction church of Tilapa and I got out to ask a man where the town hall was. Nearly everywhere we go, first stop is town hall to introduce ourselves, explain the project and ask for their blessing to work in the village.  The man pointed across the street to a building also under construction which would one day be town hall. Then, in a friendly manner, he asked us what brought us here, from which ensued a conversation that led to him signing on as our local guide, his wife cooking us breakfast and us spending the next six hours with him tracking down grandmothers in huipiles.

He explained to us that in Tilapa there were women who still wore the huipiles, his mother and grandmother-in-law in fact, but their huipiles were made of embroidery on muslin, whereas deeper into the mountains were other towns where the women still wove the huipiles.

Take me there, I said. And he did.

But until now, I hadn’t seen a huipil anywhere. All the women in the village wore floral print skirts and blouse shirts of polyester in pretty colors. To be certain this was community unique dress, a uniform of sorts — the modern, inexpensive and convenient agreement on how one should look here. But no huipiles, nor anything else that looked like more traditional dress, which didn’t worry me that much. I know that in places where the old style is disappearing it can often be only a handful of grandmothers who still wear it, and they don’t show up downtown much. However, I wasn’t sure whether this man actually understood what I was talking about.  How often does someone show up saying “show me the grandmothers dressed the old way”?

We wound up in a steep ridge top town oddly named Llano Encino Amarillo (Yellow Oak Plain) and, as is correct, headed to town hall. Court was currently being held on the porch in front of the town hall building by a group of rural farmers doing their civic service as president, secretary, treasurer, etc. They were seated on long worn wooden benches with the three main fellows behind a beautifully aged pine table with just a hint of the original yellow paint still showing.

This will go into history, won’t it?

As we walked up they pulled chairs out for us, and other onlookers came closer to see what it was all about. I introduced ourselves and then presented the project — to which they all listened attentively but passively. This was followed by a long, animated discussion in Mixtec that bounced from one person to another and often between several all at once. The only person who didn’t say anything at all during this was the president.  Finally, a man sitting to my right who had taken on the role of interpreter, or perhaps speaker of the house, said something to the president, who grunted what sounded like an affirmative. Then the man turned to me and said, “Yes, there are women who wear the traditional huipiles here. And the president says that as long as this photography and book project is not going to cost the village anything, you are welcome to do your work here.” Then another man said, more as an affirmation than a question,  “This will go into history, won’t it?”

Explaining to my would-be model, her extended family and neighbors as well, what the heck I'm up to, with the aid of a sample book of portraits I've taken in other villages.  Photo by Marina

Explaining to my potential model, her extended family and a few neighbors as well, what the heck I’m up to, with the aid of a sample book of my portraits taken in other villages. Photo by Marina in Santiago Tilapa

Then three of them got in a truck and beckoned us to follow, which we did in my little car. After a half mile of eating dust, following behind, we pulled up to an adobe house. The three men went inside and pretty soon a woman came out dressed in a pristine white huipil. The dress was beautiful, with two horizontal red ribbon stripes joining the panels and exquisite baskstrap woven geometric patterns across the chest plate (front and back) in neon reds, oranges and magentas with green accents.

Wow!  Textiles alive and well out here! And here was a huipil in full rural fashion without any of the color dimming influence that seems to happen in villages that have contact with outside buyers. These buyers relentlessly lobby for more “earthy tones” in an effort to please “we the urban folks” in our over-stimulated, over-synthetic worlds.

And the photography began.

The first traditionally dressed woman we met in Llano Encino. Her granddaughter joined in, sharing a school book with grandma.  Photo by Marina

The first traditionally dressed woman we met in Llano Encino. Her granddaughter joined in, sharing a school book with grandma. Photo by Marina

We spent hours making pictures, with her, her granddaughter and then travelled on, finding grandmothers both in Llano Encino Amarillo and Santiago Tilapa. A very gracious family cooked lunch for us in Encino and we shared travel stories. The mom was fromVeracruz, and once lived in Baja California before she married a man from this village, where she learned Mixtec in 3 years. Her son had been to California and Washington and told stories about long hours picking Halloween pumpkins.  And they asked me the question I’ve been asked so many times, “Why can you come here, but we can’t go there?”  It’s all about money.

Another traditional woman in Llano Encino and a makeshift studio in her house. She holds cotton that she is preparing to spin.   Photo by Marina

Another traditional woman in Llano Encino and a makeshift studio in her house. She holds cotton that she is preparing to spin. Photo by Marina

The day’s work wound up with a dream photo session in the hilltop graveyard above Tilapa. At my behest,  Antonio, our guide for the day,  talked his mother and grandmother-in-law into going there with us. I bought flowers and it was that time of the day when the light goes from good to unbearable.

Explaining where I wanted them to stand with hand gestures and translations into Mixtec. The results are invariably unexpected!  Photo by Marina in Santiago Tilapa

Explaining where I wanted our models to stand with hand gestures and translations into Mixtec. The results are invariably unexpected! Photo by Marina in Santiago Tilapa

Unbearable is when the light is so good…and the setting so good…and the models so perfect that I feel utterly overwhelmed.  It’s like being handed the perfect opportunity and it is my job to mold that opportunity into striking beauty, to not waste the gift of the light, the place, the beautiful ancient style of the grandmothers and the moment. I feel a tremendous responsibility to get it right, like the whole world is watching and saying, it is up to you to craft this moment into perfection.

My models patiently await as I adjust the lights, work on my shooting angles and cheer on my volunteer light grip.  Photo by Marina

My models patiently await as I adjust the lights, work on my shooting angles and cheer on my volunteer light grip. Photo by Marina

Sometimes the pressure of moments like these feels so big I think I’m going to implode.

But instead I look around for the best spot, wring my hands a bit, and take some test shots to see how the scene frames up, what the light is like in my screen. I get Marina to set up the lights, stand in front of them as my test model (so as not to wear out my real live, never-done-this-before country models) to check the look and then get my model(s) to stand where Marina was and try not to look like a frozen plank. Click, click, flash, flash, the sun is perfect, PERFECT, but do I have this composed right? Are my flashes doing what I want them to do? What DO I want them to do?? I point and wag my hand at Marina, unable to make coherent words as the gears in my head go into overdrive in the creative excitement of the moment. I tell the model to look this way and that, stand here and there,  I try to say something funny, or nothing at all and just let her gaze as she will…

Click, click….click.

…check the final results here.

This will go into history, won’t it?

Mixteca High and Low, day 1.

Fried Chicken in Chalcatongo

Fried Chicken welcomes you to Chalcatongo!

This was our welcome into the deeper reaches of the upper Mixteca.  High country of pines, low mountains and hills nibbled to the nub by sheep and goats. Eight thousand feet above the ocean and frost on the windshield at dawn. Old country where the ancient Mixtec kingdoms once ruled and the old time artisans made some of the finest gold jewelry and alabaster sculptures seen in the Americas. Most of the few books that survived the conquest are from this area, offering a glimpse into the elegance and complexity of the old Mixtec societies.

Unique in this pine covered highland is the log cabin architecture…one after another well-made rectangular pioneer-style log cabin with steep, wide-eaved tin or shingle roofs , or a newer version where large chainsaw cut planks take the place of the logs.  And then the even newer versions with builders emulating the old design but making them bigger and fancier, two stories tall, sometimes even three, with especially wide eaves and even four sided roofs…looking something like a cross between Uncle Tom’s Cabin and a Japanese pagoda.

Log Cabin in Ticua

Traditional upper Mixteca house

 

But by the time you’ve made it to Chalcatongo you’ve gotten deep into the Mixteca and the architecture belies that fact. See, the thing about the Mixteca is that…high, cold, dry, thin soiled…it was an act of true mastery carried out by those old time peoples to build civilizations on this stingy land. These days it is better known for its erosion and for having the highest rates of immigration to the United States in all of Oaxaca.  The deeper you travel, up to a certain point, the more immigration you’ll find. There are vans and pickup trucks in the streets with license plates from New Jersey, Texas and California. You will encounter guys on the streets who say, “good morning man, how you doing?” There are even Chinese restaurants!

The new Mixtec houses appear as a version of the American sheet rock palace. There are large two or three story trophy houses with gabled roofs, dormers, ship lap wood-like siding, front porches, all expertly made from concrete. The architecture speaks bold statements saying loud and clear, “I made it big!” These are also non-verbal expressions of “I’m not an Indian!” which in Mexico means third class citizen.

The streets of Chalcatongo, and the towns further down the road as we travelled onward, were dotted with these statements of success and efforts to bury inherited shame.  Amazingly opulent places, some even actually made out of wood by skilled carpenters who learned their trade framing houses in the suburbs of Las Vegas and Phoenix bringing their tricks back home and hewing 2x4s with chainsaw mills.

Travelling through this landscape of migrant dreams and lost heritage, we slowly headed into an area where the houses faded away and the woods grew big. We saw pine trunks in between sharp karst limestone boulders that opened to grand vistas of deep spreading valleys and ridge line after ridge line.The Penasco Valley, Oaxaca

Then we zig-zagged out of the highlands, rattling through the little towns of Yucunicucu, Zaragoza, Monte Verde, Tezoatlan. Distracted we missed the right connector road somewhere I suppose. So we went winding down through oaks on a narrow little track that held little promise of going anywhere until we came to a clear stream lined with big cypress trees and a creek crossing that threatened to swallow up my little car.

Indeed, my car was swallowed up, but the creek then spit us out on the other side with hopefully only minor scratches on the oil tank. We then came to a house way up the valley on the other side and asked where the road was to “such and such a place” which we thought we were near. The woman said, in so many sighs and grunts, “boy are you guys far off track!”

Will she make it?

Will she make it?

But she got us back on track and by brunch time we arrived in Santiago Nuyoo, near neighbor to Santa Maria Yucuhiti. These two towns were our day’s destination.

Side note here…I’m saying “we” and “our” here so let me introduce she who makes the adventure plural, Marina; my photography assistant and sweetie who also takes most all of the behind the scenes photos of these photo outings, but leaves the driving to me, and we like it that way.

Nuyoo and Yucuhiti, two Mixtex towns sitting on a little slope at the head of a canyon under the semi-circle amphitheater walls of enormous limestone cliffs, one hell of a dramatic spot! Why did we decide to drive hours down convoluted dirt roads to get here? Because we’d heard a rumor that people might still wear their community fashion here.

 

Let me say right here at the outset of writing about the field work for this book that there is no guide book to the textile villages of Oaxaca, there is no text book, there is no series of published academic papers telling one where these villages are.  However there are two important resources, both with their pros and cons. One is word of mouth, which is usually accurate, but can often be hard to come upon and often with limited reach.  The other is the recently published map of Oaxacan textiles put out by the Museo Textile de Oaxaca, which lists every place they’ve ever heard of that in the last 100 years had a textile tradition. This map is a gold mine of information, no question about it.

However it has some idiosyncrasies that makes this exploration all the more interesting.  It lists villages with symbols as follows:  1) UPSIDEDOWN ORANGE TRIANGLE= Once having a textile tradition, but not anymore(we are not interested in these villages for this project, they are textile extinct) , 2) RIGHTSIDE UP YELLOW TRIANGLE = having an active textile tradition (we are interested in these villages), or 3) WHITE DOT= uncertain if there still is an active textile tradition (we are uncertain how interested we are in these villages, they are a crap shoot).

The other idiosyncrasy of the map is that it has so many villages and so many small lines indicating those villages that is near impossible to read.  But that’s how treasure maps should be, riddles in their own right, and this one is most certainly a treasure map and most certainly filled with riddles.

Museo Textile Oaxaca textiles treasure map

Museo Textile Oaxaca textiles treasure map

Deciphering the riddles,  I found Nuyoo and Yucuhiti with this map, both listed as having a yellow triangle active textile tradition. I then followed up by doing an image search on google to see if anyone had posted images from these villages showing people dressed in village fashion. And bingo, I found a couple of good images. So between the two solid clues I planned the visit.

But a couple of important details: First, the textile map’s aim isn’t to talk about villages where people still dress in their villages clothing, but rather to identify villages where there is or was or might be an active textile tradition. If they are weaving or embroidering, that is an active tradition of course, but it doesn’t mean anyone is actually wearing their work in their day to day lives.  Meanwhile, the key to being included in my project is that the textiles have to be used on a daily basis by someone in the village. That is the parameter I’ve set to call something “Living Threads”; the threads are still walking, working and dancing on someone’s back and hips, part of their life every day, and part of a continuous heritage dating back who knows how far…but a long time to be certain.

The other important detail is that while pictures of people in a village dressed in village fashion found in an image search on Google is a great clue, it is wise to remember that in many villages the old style has been relegated to the role of the tuxedo, pulled out of the closet only for special events. And these are the kind of events that then get posted on the internet and indexed by Google.

And this was the case for both Nuyoo and Yucuhiti…yes, as the textile map suggested, there is still a textile tradition here, some women do still weave. But no, they don’t wear their community unique dress anymore, except, as in the case of the photos, when a big wig comes to town and is received with honors.

We got here a decade too late. So we had a brunch of huevos a la Mexicana with orange juice in a backroom kitchen that served as Nuyoo’s main restaurant and then headed on down the line.

Loco Motive!

ESE_6731

Picking up where I left off, with the question of “how on earth do I document over 60 villages?!” when I’d thought it was going to be 15, when I’ve got a full time job and other projects on top of that? How to make this happen when I’ve got a fully scheduled life happening already and hadn’t worked into my 2014-15 calendar “photo document people from here to Oaxacan kingdom come “?

Well the answer is actually quite simple.  When the task before you makes total sense no matter how you slice it, you find the time. And that’s how I see this project. I find it to be profoundly inspiring, meaningful, important, challenging and fascinating. And in the long run it might even feed me. So I’ve hired people to do most of my day job; great people to guide the tours I was to guide; an excellent manager for my tour company who does the job WAY better than I ever did.

And then, tighten the belt a bit and go to work. And while I’ve had no clear map at all as to how I’d get from point A to B on this project, nor even point A to A.1, the vision has been enough…more than enough…it has felt like a locomotive inside of me pushing me forward.

Loco motive! And it has brought me a long ways.

Indeed, this month marks the one year anniversary of the first photos created for Living Threads. It has been a year of immense creativity, tremendous journeys into the fabulous corners of Oaxaca, lots of being exhaustion and the making real of a day dream built on the dangled carrot of  “would you like to write a book on Oaxacan textiles?”.

As of today I have worked in 35 villages, photographing some 130 beautiful woman and men. And in one hour from now we head out again for another 7-day field trip. We are headed to the upper Mixteca to visit a handful of villages out there where there might or might not still be living textiles. In my upcoming blog posts I’ll share tales from the road…from this trip about to unfold, as well as from other trips from this past year and upcoming weeks.  I’ll give you a peek behind the scenes and I’ll even share some of the finished work with you.

Join me for the journey, and tell your friends. It’s not every day we get to take a trip like this!

 

15 villages (?!)

Alright, I said, if I’m gonna make this book about traditional dress in Oaxaca, first thing I need to do is figure out the scope of the project. Oaxaca is big and broad and deep. How many villages are out there where people dress traditionally? That will tell me how long I’ll be travelling, roughly how many portraits I’ll be taking and about how little or how much of my life this will consume.

Who do go to for the answer? Well, I figured I was a great place to start. After all,  I’ve lived here twenty odd years, have made a point of learning about traditional textiles and run a tour business proud of offering trips to the fascinating textile villages of remote Oaxaca. I’ve spent long, long hours traveling to those villages to learn about them and create the tours.  Indeed, if I didn’t feel like I had at least a decent sense of the scope of it all, I wouldn’t have dreamed up this idea in the first place. In other words, I ought to know.

So I sat down and made a list of every village I could think of in Oaxaca that had traditional dress. Several of them I knew well, had visited many times. Others I only knew of through legend, old photos or hearsay.  I wrote names, scratched my head, walked around a bit to see if something would come to mind I hadn’t thought of, and then did it all again.

"All" the Oaxacan Textile villages.

“All” the Oaxacan Textile villages.

When it was all said and done, I had 13 names. However, I thought, there were probably more, because some of those names I had where based on vague knowledge. Usila, for example, for all I knew the tradition didn’t exist there any more…or maybe it did and there were other villages in the area with dress as well.  Like Usila I had several examples…maybe there was, maybe there wasn’t, maybe there were more than I knew of in that region.  So in the end, doing the kind of math that my mind does using complex algorithms, hypothesis and artistic delusional equations I came up with the number 15.

Fifteen. 15! That’s how many villages in Oaxaca have traditional dress.

Good.

Now, if in each village I make 5 portraits I’ll have 75 portraits. A fabulous body of work. And if it takes me 4 days to make those portraits in each village (including travel time) it will take me two months of field work to get this project photographed.  A big time commitment, but achievable.

With this solid bit of knowledge stored away, I prepared for the job.  And in the mean time I consulted some other friends who also knew about textiles in Oaxaca pretty well.  Between them they came up with the same list I’d worked up, plus two more villages.  Suddenly it was 17.

And then I headed into Mixes to photograph the two villages I knew about there. And once there I asked people if there were others. Yes, yes of course, they said, and they named five more villages. Five more! 22 villages!! Goodness!

Maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought I did!

Then I happened to met a woman who knew the Usila region (Papaloapan) quite well. Yes, she said, there is still traditional dress in Usila. And she went on to name a long list of other villages in the region with traditional dress as well. Eight more! Thirty villages!

Wait, wait, wait! What have I committed too?

I’ m gonna eat some humble pie and make a long story short, trying to keep the word count of this blog under 1,000 because I know you’ve got lots of other things to do. Between one thing and another, not the least of which was the publication of an insane map earlier this year by the Museo Textile de Oaxaca (in which they show every known village in Oaxaca with a textile tradition that once existed, currently exists or currently may or may not exist [because no one in our urban realm really knows in a lot of cases])…between one thing and another that list is now hovering around 65 villages and/or style regions.

There is so much more out there than I’d ever imagined! Clearly, I had no idea! How exciting to learn that the world of textiles in Oaxaca is a magnitude greater than I thought.

But how on earth am I going to photograph in so many villages?

Catch part 2 of this article for more on that…

A Photographic Style

As I mulled over the concept of doing a book on Oaxacan textiles, one of the key elements that made me say YES was the vision I saw inside my mind about how I wanted to make the photographs, create the portraits. Indeed, it was clear to me that the project was largely about the images, and that the images would tell the story. Clothing is very much appearance, it is style and fashion, it is adornment and color and texture. A lot of words might convey that…but you know what they say a photo is worth!conrado-110

It was also clear to me what kind of portraits I wanted to make, and those were, to some degree or another,  the kind of images one sees in glossy magazines or on movie posters. I wanted to photograph the people who dress traditionally in a similar fashion to how we (we being the Westernized Community) photograph our cultural heroes; movie stars, top athletes, beautiful models, musicians, etc.  I think you know what I mean…think of a movie poster, think of the cover of some hip magazine, think of Micheal Jordan in Nike shoes.

Now, for some reason, that’s not done.

Now for some reason, that’s not done. When it comes to us taking pictures of the traditional people of the world, the unspoken rule seems to be that the approach should be documentary style. Examples are National Geographic or gritty black and white type. I have great admiration for on the spot street photography like that and do plenty myself. And I AM doing a documentary project. But, well, for me the people who carry their heritage on their backs, who are the visual icons of their community’s history, THEY are MY cultural heroes. And so I want to portray them the way my Westernized community portrays its cultural heroes, via the photo shoots with models posing, multiple flashes and fancy post production editing. That’s how all those movie posters, shoe ads and magazine covers are created. And they look great, are eye catching and in one way or another, affect the way we perceive and think about things (I wanna be like that guy…)

I’ve decided to break the unspoken rule. Not dramatically, but significantly just the same. I’ve made a decision to approach my subject matter similar to how one might do a  commercial shoot- Ie, you conceptualize the shot, choose the location, pay your model, bring in lighting, have the model pose and work the angles and expressions until you get what you feel is right and then that shot is transferred into the computer “developing room”, aka Photoshop, Lightroom and other great software helpers, and it is rendered into a visually rich image.

That is not what we’d call documentary photography. Yet I’m doing a documentary. So go figure.

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However I am making some changes over a classic commercial photo shoot. First, I have very limited choice in who my models can be. There is one requisite, and it is that they must be a person who dresses traditionally on a daily basis. Otherwise, no dice.  Second, I make almost no wardrobe decisions. The point is to take photos of people dressed the way they dress. And finally, I have limited choice over location. It has to be in or near the community the person lives in, and in most cases it has to happen within about 50 feet of where I meet the model. Photo shoots in these communities are not a common event and to have the model traipse around town with me, my camera and tripod and assistant with light stands and umbrellas, it’s a bit too much of a bizarre parade in a small town.

So I want to picture my cultural heroes the way my culture pictures it’s cultural heroes, even though my cultural heroes are of a different sort and from a different culture. You follow?

Two main reasons for that.

One is that it will turn heads in my Westernized community. All we’ve really learned how to see are pictures of traditional people through the traditional documentary approach. To see something in a new way is a gift, both to the viewer and the viewed, because it offers a new perspective, and in that new perspective there is the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the broader truth and a drop more of understanding. Both are precious things to all involved.

Two is that it will turn the heads (I hope) of the people I photograph and their extended communities. You see, they watch the same TV as we do, encounter the same kind of magazines or see the same kind of advertising.  Their eyes, like ours, have been trained by the pros up in the marketing department to be attracted to a certain kind of imagery.  All their young boys wanted to be Micheal Jordan in Nikes too, their young girls to dress like the models and actresses they see. In other words, they, like us, want to be like our cultural heroes.  They also understand when the photograph is portraying them as the “marginalized Indian”, as the photographs so often see to do. What if the photo wasn’t doing that? What if instead it was saying “to be who you are, dressed how you do is right on”?

Because a photo can say that. And its true.

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