ARTISANS OF MICHOACAN PRESENTATION

Hello, everyone:
    Below is a short presentation about my experience in the Mexican state of Michoacan. I've been going there since 2001. I spent eight months there in 2008 writing a book called, "Artisans of Michoacan" for which there is a Facebook page by that name. The book can also be found on Amazon.com


Forty-five years ago, I saw something that grabbed my attention and never let go: a caterpiller evolving into an elegant monarch butterfly.  Witnessing this display of metamorphosis would leave a lasting impression on me, one that would eventually lead me on an odyssey of change, of release, the discovery of identity and, ultimately, the human condition.

The journey toward that odyssey began the day my mother showed me how to remove a monarch caterpillar from the milkweed plant outside my Texas house, place it in a jar with plenty of leaves, and watch it grow.  Soon it would wrap itself into a green chrysalis, and I would wait anxiously for it to emerge into an entirely different form of life.  My curiosity was forever ignited by this process of change, and I kept a close eye on the milkweed plants so I could capture more caterpillers and observe this process again.

When the butterflies finally emerged, I would take them outside and watch as they flew into the blue sky.  I didn't know then what we all know now: they were headed for Michoacán.  I wonder if perhaps the butterflies I released took a part of me with them, bringing a trace of myself into an enchanting place.  I wonder if perhaps that part of my soul born on the wings of the monarchs hibernated, even gestated, in the magical wonderland of Michoacán, awaiting my arrival when I would regain part of myself, taking full possession of my poetic voice.

I found the place I'd been seeking my whole life quite by accident, stumbling across it while working on another project.  That project failed to materialize, but by then I had become intoxicated by the state's metamorphic personality.  That metamorphosis was everywhere, in the food, the language of the Purépecha indians, the crafts, and even the very landscape.  The state, I learned, even has two local varieties of the tamal--the corunda and the uchepo--and I discovered that in the Meseta Purépecha, even these and other regional recipes vary from one village to the next, and that the language has slight changes in communities only a short distance from each other: a metamorphosis taking place in food and words.  The very landscape itself is a metamorphic experience, ranging from pine-covered hills to stark deserts, from winding rocky shoreline to tropical jungles.

So strong was Michoacán's power over me that I felt compelled to spend an extended amount of time with her, so I moved there in 2008 and spent eight months visiting artisans in their homes and workshops.  I was quickly charmed by the way they welcomed me into their lives.  I was a stranger who came knocking on their doors, and they quickly extended their friendship to me.  They allowed me to observe them practicing their crafts and take as many pictures as I wanted.  They patiently answered my endless questions.  I was intrigued to discover that even their crafts were continuously evolving into innovative forms, revealing still another experience of metamorphosis.  With every Michoacán experience, my artistic life constantly split and then coalesced into an ever-evolving consciousness.  It was a revolving kaleidoscopic experience of dissonance and resolution, crescendo and diminuendo, soaring to enormous heights and then crashing miserably so that I would have to hibernate for a while until my previous perspective acquiesced to the new insights I had achieved.

However, as my poetic voice matured, so did my perspective about culture.  Initially, my experiences with the artisans were conduits through which I could communicate my ever-changing poetic voice.  The artisans, though, offered me genuine friendship and even a chance to participate in their daily lives.  I sat with them around their hearth fires; they shared their meals with me.  I took them to a cornfield so they could pick loads of corn; then I helped shuck that corn to make  uchepos.  I watched with delight as their children laughed and played together, sneaking up behind me with their toy pistols--BOOM!  BOOM!  BOOM!--before giggling and running away.  I participated in one of their festivals, and soon 'my' project became less about me and more about giving them a voice to the rest of the world, sharing the story behind the crafts for which they are so famous.

As I observed the pace of their daily lives and the way they related to one another, I began to wonder if the crafts, the festivals, and dances are really what define a culture.  Are those the things that really define culture, or are they merely details?  I'm not so sure.  Perhaps the real cultural experience is the way a group of people relates to one another and interacts with each other.  It's a question I still ask myself.

The crafts and artisans and the metamorphic life of Michoacán still have a hold on me.  But I think that Michoacán has taught me a much greater lesson: the value of life and the way people experience that life, and the warmth and friendship people extend toward one another--and even to strangers who come knocking on their doors.  This was truly the greatest of my metamorphic experiences in Michoacán.