Observations and Insights on the Nature of Things
By Eve West Bessier, Poet Laureate Emerita of Silver City and Grant County, New Mexico
A hand-embroidered Otomi table runner adorns the marigold wall of my living room. I didn’t want to subject this work of art to the staining dangers of mealtimes. Imagine the long tail feathers of quetzals in flight, happy rabbits bounding, deer in the fields, rainbow hummingbird wings and exuberant Gerbera daisies in every hue. The Otami is a tapestry of vibrant life. It brightens my own life every day.
I purchased the table runner at Fiesta Latina, in Silver City, two years ago. The festival featured Latinx art, crafts, music, films, foods, and culture. I bought the Otomi not only because it is beautiful, but also because I wanted to support the women who carry forward this textile tradition, which comes from the Mexican state of Hidalgo. The artisans told me about the process of its creation. A rectangular wooden frame is used to hold the muslin cloth in place. Three women sit on each long side of the frame to do the embroidery work. The cloth is pre-printed with traditional Tenango designs using a water soluble ink. The women follow the designs and choose from plant-dyed silken threads in a myriad of colors.
I can hear their chatter and laughter as they bring to life the rainbow-colored creatures and flowers. It’s like a quilting bee. The world of women has always contained this kind of socialization around handiwork. I hope it always will, despite the isolating effects of cell phone screens and pandemic concerns.
The Otami are an indigineous ethnic group of central Mexico. They are known as the Ñuhu or Hñähñu, which means “those who hunt birds with bow and arrow.” Settling in the Sierra, Highland and Mezquital Valleys before 800 AD, their culture predates the Toltec and Aztec civilizations that later ruled in Mesoamerica, and it survives today. The genealogy of Central America is complex, the Otomi are likely related to the ancient Olmec and Mayan peoples. Their roots run deep.
Otomi women were weaving their cloth and embroidering their huipils long before the rise and fall of Aztec stone temples. In Tenango de Doria, mystic and realistic animals roamed on cave walls and made their way into the Tenango patterns of Otomi cloth.
The Aztec absorbed the Otomi into their civilization in the 1400s. The Otomi later allied with the Spanish against the Aztec thinking to liberate themselves, but the Spanish turned out to be untrustworthy allies. Yet, the tenacious spirit of the Otami people prevails, and their textile traditions still thrive today.
Until recently, Otami embroidery patterns were used only on traditional huipil blouses. These cotton blouses, shaped as a sleeveless poncho, were worn by Mayan women for centuries. In the 1960’s, due to drought and food shortages, indigenous women began to rely on selling their crafts for survival. Their colorful, embroidered blouses were introduced to the wider world in part by the traveling young hippies and Peace Corp volunteers of the decade.
The huipils are still sold at market stalls in Tenango de Doria, but the beautiful clothing has gone viral and is sold through online venues like eBay and Etsy, and even through upscale importers in New York City and Paris. Otomi cloth is now one of the most popular exports from Mesoamerica and the traditional patterns can be found on pillows, blankets, wallpaper designs, curtains, and clothing as far away from the humid valleys of Mexico as Sweden.
The creation of these jovial, optimistic rainbow-colored creatures has survived every storm. The indigenous women of Central America know their intricate work like they know the soil and weather of their land. It is said that the old women’s hands know everything. Las manos de las viejas lo saben todo.
But new storms are raging in their native lands, tragic storms, impossible to endure. Drug cartel extortionists take all of the meager income from families at gunpoint. They forcibly enlist young sons into illegal armies of addicts, banditos, rapists, and extortionists.
Mothers hide their young children in houses surrounded by barbed wire fences for safety. They themselves are afraid to go out in the streets or to the markets for fear of being shot, or worse.
Mothers suffer insufferable trials to take their children across uncrossable borders to the promise of safety, the promise of a better life, even just a livable life.
When they reach the US border, if they survive to see it, they are detained without adequate food or water. They are forced to live in tent cities under inhumane conditions, their small children pulled from their clutching hands, to be placed in secret camps, without any reassurance of reunion.
How can a mother’s soul survive such cruelty? How can the colorful traditions of her people survive such darkness?
How can innocent Tenango figures animate life in such a devastating reality? Will the bold colors fade away as hope drains? Will a millenia-old art form representing a belief in joy be extinguished by modern systems lacking all compassion?
Cultural traditions are the soul of a people. They represent not only their creative voice but also their core identity.
When there is no place to call home, there is no loom for the warp and woof. When there is no vision for the future, there is no garden for the flight of rainbow birds, no field for the bounding of rainbow deer, no meadow for the frolic of rainbow rabbits.
How can this be allowed?
How can we make it unallowable?
Scroll down to About The Author for more information and check out Eve’s website at: www.jazzpoeteve.com
(Photo credits, Eve West Bessier 2021)
