Making amends

Many years later, I was invited to join Novica.

The work was absorbing, intense. There was so much to learn. But on Fridays, the entire team had lunch together. It was a time to get acquainted, for bonding, laughter and camaraderie.

One Friday, Julio Ortiz – from the Huichol tribes in Jalisco and Nayarit – happened by at lunchtime. The receptionist went out to meet him and brought him to the dining room door.

"Hola, Don Julio," the director said with a smile. "Come sit down and have a bite to eat with us." He scooted over to make room next to him at the table. Julio was shy, but the invitation was warm and sincere. Little by little, he lost his shyness. We drew him into the conversation and coaxed him to talk about his work and its symbolism.

He joined us often after that, and came to feel at home with us. We talked about life, about our families, our children and our own dreams for them. What a privilege!

And what changes!

Imagine, the Mexico director for an international company sitting beside an indigenous gentleman, sharing a meal and so much more.

And so today I play a tiny part in the changes I yearned for as a student. I witness how yesterday's social injustice is giving way to respect and understanding; we all work together as a worldwide family.

United in this mission, our circle of influence reaches across culture and language. Novica is helping to replace prejudice with dignity, hope and empowerment.

Unfair

In college, I spent a lot of time in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas. It was indigenous Mexico, as captured in Frank Cancian's 1974 book Another place; photographs of a Maya community.

My Spanish was a halting classroom idiom learned from Iberian teachers. Although I had dutifully digested the required bibliography and could discuss it (in English) in scholarly circles, I was an outsider in a market center for the marginalized. There, itinerant farmers from outlying villages brought crops and handicrafts to sell in order to take industrialized goods back home.

In those days, prices were rarely fixed and shoppers bargained for the best rates. There were three tiers of prices. The lowest were for the local people. Tourists paid a higher price. But it was the Maya people – who had the least – who paid the most.

When they passed the rest of us in the street, they were expected to step into the gutter and leave the sidewalks to people with lighter complexions. They did.

Barefoot women carried babies tied to their chests in rebozos while tumplines around their foreheads helped distribute the weight of firewood on their backs. The men fared only slightly better. They usually wore huaraches to navigate the frosty roads, and a few had burros to carry their loads. But men and women alike relied on brute strength. They routinely walked miles with heavy burdens. Prejudice was a further encumbrance. Perhaps a greater one.

While anthropologists from all over the world were drawn to San Cristobal for its indigenous population, these people were the most despised. Cancian tells how a generation before his fieldwork, Indians were jailed for being in town after dark.

It was monstrous! It was unfair! Burning with feminist sensitivity, I wanted to make amends. To raise their consciousness. To lead the way for justice.

Of course, I could not.

Our circle of influence is limited.

Photos copyright Frank Cancian, Another Place, Photographs of a Maya Community, Scrimshaw Press: 1974. Click on pics for large view.

Familiar landscapes

Of all media, I find watercolor paintings the most challenging. Their marvelous clarity escapes me as, time after time, I create puddles of muddy color.

Ana Rosa Navarro also struggled with the medium, and now dominates it with absolute authority.

Her subjects are familiar landscapes in west central Mexico where we both live. Tapalpa's pine forests. Puerto Vallarta's plazas and palm trees. Adobe homes, stone bridges and terracotta pots in flower-filled patios.

She captures the soul of this land and its people.

Anticipation

My training in art and writing was traditional. We first mastered figure drawing, foreshortening and perspective before being permitted to paint abstractions. Painting was a craft, not child's play.

Perhaps that's why I tend to collect abstract paintings. I envy their fluidity, their spontaneity. They capture my imagination. Or perhaps, as T. S. Eliot said, "…human kind cannot bear very much reality."*

(Click on pic for large view)
The pre-Hispanic icons in Alberto Ramos' work convey primal messages. I love the luminosity he brings to his paintings. Revelation is imminent; omens are everywhere. He creates a sense of anticipation in every work.

*T. S. Eliot in Burnt Norton I from Four Quartets, 1944

Rocking chairs

The daughter of German immigrants, Grandmother was born in the Midwest in 1890.   She was a thinker, a mystic, a suffragette, a poetess.   An amazing woman, she marched to her own drummer.   Science, literature, organic gardening, theology… she was curious about everything.

She believed that the universe is ruled by rhythms.   Day that fades to night and reawakens to light.   The rotating seasons.   High tide and low tide and ocean waves washing to shore.   Our beating hearts, our breath.   The rhythmic ecstasy of making love.

I remember her in a rocking chair as she told us stories.   Her silver crochet hook flashed in and out, in and out, as the chair moved quietly in unison.

Years later in Yucatan, I loved sleeping in a hammock, swaying to the sound of the Caribbean.   Moonlight on the deck of a sailboat creaking back and forth at anchor.   Rocking my babies, damp and sleepy and smelling of shampoo.

A vital piece of furniture, the rocking chair's rhythmic movements are deeply familiar.   A rocking chair brings comfort and peace.   It invites reverie.   It feels like home.

So wrong

When I was expecting our first child, I bought some beautiful handloomed rugs from Oaxaca.

"The baby can crawl here, and play with her toys," I reasoned.   "I can send them out to clean. Besides, they're absolutely beautiful."

I'd been looking for an excuse for years.

I began searching in shops and markets for just the right choice.   Then voila!   One Sunday in Ajijic, I met Gregorio Ruiz from Teotitlan del Valle, selling rugs on the street.   His family carries on the weaving tradition, shearing their own sheep, spinning the yarn and dying it with natural colors.   Each piece is superbly woven.   And I prefer buying from the artisan rather than stores.

Armed with two new Zapotec area rugs, I awaited my "daughter's" birth.

I was so wrong.

My first child, David, is not a girl.

And he did not crawl neatly on the rugs, but struck out swiftly for cold tile floors and soon made the patio part of his crawling track.

Oh well.   Live and learn.

Cold floors

Wall-to-wall carpets are delightful for padding barefoot through the house on a cold evening.   But I really prefer something I can pick up and clean beneath.

The solution?   Area rugs.


For years I used handwoven Mexican wool rugs from Queretaro and Michoacan.   As I grew older, my choices became more classic ones.   Currently, a copy of a Persian carpet in deep, rich blue takes pride of place.

There's a world of beautiful area rugs at Novica, from Indian dhurries to Brazilian sisal to rattan and banana bark.   Something for every space I could ever create.   What fun!

Fashionista

In grammar school, a patent leather clutch held a comb and white gloves for Sunday School. In junior high, a shoulder bag was all I needed. A sisal market bag from Merida became my college briefcase.


Later on, a sling tote for the beach was a different kind of diaper bag. Today I tuck the laptop in a canvas morral.

Ah, handbags! I love them all, from my Balinese mahogany and tree bark purse to the sleek black shoulder bag from Spain. A beaded Huichol change purse and a hand-embroidered wallet from Guatemala. Evening bags from India and summer whites.

Novica has a bag for each pair of shoes and every occasion. They're my downfall.

Born of necessity

Where are my keys? And the cell phone? Surely I have a hairbrush in here and some lipstick. I need these things! A handful of business cards too, sunglasses and the checkbook….

Somehow, stuff outgrew the space in my pockets. I look lumpy and dumpy. I need a purse!

It's anthropological, isn't it? Even prehistoric people carried flints in leather pouches.

Statuary

Michelangelo's works have always moved me.

In the Ringling Museum of Art, a reproduction of David stands in the garden. When I was in high school, I'd marvel at its perfection. I still do.

The museum is a Renaissance-Baroque style palace modeled after great Italian museums. Throughout its 21 galleries, sculptures appeared everywhere, from classical Greek and Roman pieces to polished granite abstracts.

Sometimes, friends and I would steal over to a quiet spot on the grounds filled with broken statuary. Stone cherubs and marble goddesses seemed alive, caught a sorcerer's spell.

It was a magical place.

Chimeras

Paintings are elusive like chimeras. They invite complicity.

The artist communicates his own vision as he puts paint to canvas. Yet the viewer brings his individual experience to the interchange. Together, they create a rich, unspoken dialogue. Thus the image shares a new and very personal identity with each person who sees it.

There are thousands of paintings by some 750 worldwide artists on the Novica website. Their impact cuts across cultural boundaries and speaks a pure language of sensation.

I often wonder what the elephant artists intended to convey. Perhaps nothing more – and nothing less – than a very primal joy.

Imagining

When I left the big house, I was able to bring the art work I'd collected over a lifetime. Each one means so much to me – the cedar sandpiper by an Ocracoke woodcarver. My own fiber sculptures. A delicate watercolor by Jean Dean.

My favorite painting is 'White Autumn' by Robert York. Its subtlety suggests imminent snowfall yet summer's hues are still present. They compete with the intricate patterns of bare black branches and naked stone. Seasonal green is insistent but no longer dominant, while sky blue remains constant. Sunshine is dappled; the wind is crisp.

I imagine sparrows, their feathers puffed for warmth. I recall the taste of snowflakes and the scent of wood smoke. The artist evokes these sensations with the simplest of line and layers of pure, clear color.

I loved to watch him work.

Downsizing

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.*

Today, I live with my kids and cats. Circumstances have placed me in a little apartment with wooden beams, a small garden and a terrace with pergolas. The boys are in college now, and they've added Oscar Fernandez's reed paper panels to their surfer bedroom.

Small is good, as Novica tempts me every day with their amazing selection in home décor; I want almost everything I see on my work list.

What items are absolutely essential these days? That's easy. A hammock and a hummingbird feeder . From Novica, naturally.

*Phil 4:12-13, New International Version Bible

Minimalism

Old houses are expensive to keep up, and we left the inner city when the boys started kindergarten.   We built a starkly modern home in a gated community on the edge of town.   I love the architecture of Luis Barragan, and we modeled our style after his.   Glass doors, floor to ceiling, opened onto a walled garden filled with bougainvillea in every possible color.   A fat pinto guinea pig and three bunnies roamed freely there – my sons' unpaid but much-loved gardeners.

White walls and woodwork, and white marble floors became a gallery for artwork and   handicrafts.   Bright colors came to life there, and I began to opt for pieces like the Seguso family's amazing art glass.   Ruby Youllouz' sculptural vases.   Stone washbasins by David Solano.   Sisal rugs, Brazilian cotton and soft woolen throws.   Our home became a proud expression of personal identity.

An aging mansion

In Mexico, we eventually settled in a home built at the end of the 19th century.   Carved quarry stone covered a sober façade pierced by tall windows with wrought iron grillwork; the heavy wood door was tall enough for a person to enter on horseback.   The adobe walls were half a meter thick, muffling the noise of downtown traffic, and ceilings were five meters high.   The rooms opened off a central patio where my little boys scooted in walkers around white columns and terracotta flower pots.


Talavera ceramic tiles covered the tiny kitchen;   it opened onto a utility patio with a cement laundry tub and scrub board.   Stairs there led to the service rooms where I set up looms and easels.   We grew organic tomatoes, lettuce and herbs in planters on the roof.

That gracious old mansion cried out for refined home décor – etched glass stemware, gleaming Mexican pewter and Victorian style rugs such as these hand-tied beauties by Ishtyaq.   Colonial paintings by Alberto Torres.   Crochet art by Simona More Silva.   Silver candelabra....   Alicia Lostaunau's bed valances would have been wonderful for my babies.

Alas, we were newlyweds, just getting started. It was a period of terrifying hyper-inflation.   We had far more romance than money.

A Spanish style bungalow

My grandparents first came to Charlotte Harbor in the 1930s.   The town is a quiet bit of the Old South;   my family rests in the cemetery there beneath live oaks draped with Spanish moss.

For many years, an old California style bungalow sat vacant on the bayfront.   It intrigued me, and we inquired about the price just so we could explore inside.   I dreamed for years about that house, imagining it was mine.   I still do.

Zorro could have felt at home there.   Abel Rios' and Oscar Pastor's hand-carved furniture would have been perfect in that setting, crowned with candleholders by Rafael Rocha.   I'd have added handmade table linens and colorful china

The cottage isn't there anymore except in my imagination.   I see it in my mind each time I browse through Novica's home décor section.

My first apartment

My first apartment was above a garage next to the flower shop where I worked during my first years in college. Looking back, it was a challenging layout – Pullman kitchen, long, narrow living-dining space and a vintage bath off the bedroom.

How to imprint a personal style on an architectural afterthought filled with castoffs? We were ingenious, working on a nonexistent budget. We covered a wall with burlap and painted the stucco a pale ochre. An Aztec calendar took pride of place, perhaps predicting the path I'd take one day.

It was tiny, eclectic and inviting, each piece related through color and texture. I remember those days with nostalgia.

Even at school

I've been on the mommy track for more than 20 years. It's a lifetime position. Our sons studied in the Pierre Faure educational system in a Spanish language school and we were always very involved. Over the years, I met and interacted with almost all the other parents.

One of their friends, Bobby French, was also bilingual from birth and always spoke English with me. I knew his mother as Bobby's Mom.

What a wonderful surprise when she joined Novica! I had no idea Michele French is such an amazing designer. She combines Mexican silver and precious stones in jewelry that is at once modern and ancestral, and signs each hand-crafted piece. To me, there's a Jungian aspect to her images that resonates on many levels. It's absolutely beautiful.

Take a peek!

Shiny things

When I lived in Florida, I spent as much time as possible on Sanibel Island. In fact, I did my first archeology there. After a long day excavating shell middens, we'd rinse off in the ocean. Crows in the Australian pines watched and cackled while we splashed in the shallows.

Crows love things that are shiny. At Christmas we'd hang silver tinsel on the sea grapes and, next time we were there, we'd find that tinsel in the treetops, woven into nests.

I'm a lot like those crows. When I see shiny things, I want to take them home. My taste runs toward the handmade jewelry from Novica – ethnic pieces to wear with natural jute and muslin, or with silk in jewel colors.

I'm in love with jewelry by Brazilian designer Claudio Bravo. He weaves buriti palm fiber into wonderful necklaces and bracelets, adding details in gold. Some include gemstones, selected for their natural energy.

Putu Sutarka is a young designer from Bali. He crafts his jewelry from brass with beautiful handmade textures. Clusters of shining hoops suggest a bold, modern lace, and the ethereal geometry of his bracelets, necklaces and earrings makes me feel forever young.

After all these years, Mexico is home to me, as much my home as Florida. Martha Vargas' jewelry is modern, but rooted in the traditions of Michoacan's indigenous peoples. Inlays of natural rosewood, crystal or bone contrast with silver. Some pieces incorporate religious icons and milagros, often given to the image of Christ or a saint in gratitude for miracles performed.

These are a few of the shiny things I like.

Choices and changes

Blog? Why would anyone read my blog? Besides, I'm a blog virgin.

But I've always taken the road less traveled. My choices have always been different ones. And so this Florida native who grew up barefoot and blissful on the warm Gulf shores is living in the Mexican sierra. And loving it.

Some people who are very dear to me asked me to share a bit of myself online, so here I am.

When I was in kindergarten, my teacher and parents decided I was destined to be an artist. All my life I had paints and charcoal, canvases and clay, even looms and a potter's wheel to explore my creativity. But in college, I was drawn to anthropology as I spent more and more time in the Yucatan. I linked both passions in my senior thesis – an iconographic analysis of classic Maya art with field drawings done in Palenque.

Today I have a dream job… I write. And I use that experience in art and anthropology every day in my work. Novica is probably the most meaningful job I've ever had. I've personally witnessed how artisans are empowered and their extraordinary work is appreciated all over the world.

I invite you to take a look.