Oaxaca City, Mexico

Last week I told a colleague, "I wanna work from home. I wanna work from the office.  I want all the options, all the time -- I want it all!" Four* consecutive sentences that begin with "I want" is my version of crazy. And right now, everyone is going c.r.a.z.y. Times are "unprecedented" they say, aka crazy. But the three and a half year old roommate I live with is the least craziest person I know -- and most of what he says begins with "I want". More often than not though, his wants are legitimate needs so someone always helps him.

I've always wanted to be an artist. And I don't mean an artist who makes pretty little paintings, I mean an Artist. Like O'Keefe because she was the only female artist I knew that had posters as big and wide and everywhere like Picasso and Van Gogh. For the usual woe is me reasons (i.e., family, culture, patriarchy, capitalism, earth, the big bang), I kept my want hidden and ended up making pretty little things on the side, even though what I really wanted was to be an Artist.

So this little roommate of mine makes me wonder: If I rephrased my wants into needs, would I help myself more? Would someone help me? Would it all work out?? Of all the places I've been drawn to in the world because of art, Oaxaca City is the only place that made me realize that some of our wants** are actually needs.

If I can find a costume made out of electrostatic non-woven polypropylene fiber, consider it paid.

These tunics, or "threads of the land of clouds", (swoon, I need to relearn Spanish) show a weaving pattern that's unique to a village in the state of Oaxaca. Pretty safe to assume that the threads on the Oaxacans to the right are mostly from China or Bangladesh or Taiwan. That said, similar tunics are sold throughout Oaxaca City. From the market in the center of city, to the stalls before the the covered market, to even more stalls within the covered market. So if Oaxacans aren't buying these tunics, then there are plenty of people who are. Some of these people have a penchant for bohemian style and a keen eye for the intricate designs (ahem, ahem). Designs which are often the work of an artisan, and not a machine.

By chance there was a smaller market behind the center market the day the art museum closed early. Every stall had an artisan selling tunics, and even from afar I could tell that they were exquisite. The way the hanging fabric billowed with the wind, the saturated colours, the luminous threads -- my insides thumped. I knew I couldn't justify something like this in the states, but 21.75 pesos to the dollar? ¡Olé!

I picked a favourite and quickly hacked a conversion in my head. Was it a misprint? Picked another. My calculation? Picked another one. This time I asked for the price in dollars -- not a misprint nor my calculation -- DAMN! I looked at the weaving, then back at the artisan. She smiled. God, dang it! I couldn't do it. I couldn't bargain. "Muy bonita. Eres una artista!" And Quasimodoed my way out...

The same thing happened the following day at the art collectives uptown: prices were a lot more than I expected, smiles were exchanged, I Quasimodoed my way to the next collective: What's wrong with you?? You're brown! Everything is negotiable! 

At the top of the hill there was a bean-to-bar chocolate roaster. I've been to a few chocolate factories and "factories" to know that this place had to have artesenal (artisan) on their site or bar somewhere. It was tiny operation, and naturally the owner was there. I thought for sure he'd be stoic with tourists coming in at tail end of his day, but his "tour" was sincere. (We moved ten paces from the grinder to the smelt to the mixer.) At some point my friend asked him a question I couldn't quite make out. "The price is like...an honor thing..." he said. I stopped eating my seventh sample of 70% Chiapas cacao with passion fruit. "It's what they feel is fair... for you and them... And it usually is! But if the hotel tells you a cheaper price, say something nicely... No bargaining. Not in Oaxaca. Oaxaca is different, even from the rest of Mexico. That's why there are so many artists here."

:mind_blown:

No wonder I couldn't bring myself to bargain -- it didn't feel right. The steep prices set by the artisan weavers, printers, and the chocolate roaster ($10 a pop!) was actually a request: I need to create. This is what I need so I can live to create. Will you help me? I couldn't help the weaver (a basic tunic started at $200), but there were plenty of willing people as soon I made room for them. My friend helped out one of the collectives (birthday present -- thank you!) What about the roaster? I had no regrets paying almost $50 for Chiapas chocolate.

Fake street lamp -- art!

Real hanging plants -- art!

As an artist, chicken scratch graffiti irks me like no other. If you're gonna make the effort to tag something -- own it. Make me stop and look! So I don't know how or what made me stop at this graffiti. I think the translation is something like "Oaxaca is not ethnic folklore, it's indigenous rebellion." That, made my brain stop. It's true: many of the artisans creating the works I couldn't stomach in dollars are from indigenous tribes. And art is often a form of rebellion.

If the artisan at the market -- with FAR less resources than woe-is-me -- found the faith to speak her need for her need to create, and in a way, rebel, then I think it's about time to revise the scripts that run in my head.

* Technically three? I'll never get along with grammar.

** Probably most for people like me.

Length of Stay

About a week

Docking Index

       

Eight anchors. Easily. The dry heat (perfect hair!), the colours, the art, the artists, and the perfect frozen treat I've always wanted but never found until I came to Oaxaca City. The coffee flavour was like an affogato, gelato, and granita it one -- it was everything! But does Oaxaca City have everything for me? It seems like it on first impressions, Mole with chocolate? Yes, please. After that first bite though, Umm... Yeah... Interesting. I wonder if that'll be a common refrain as a resident...