Carolyn's Journal

Farewell Fiesta

January 2006

I believe that something very important happens on these trips, something that goes beyond the fun, the college credits that students get, or the dollars that we ourselves make. We stay in a small town and work side by side with the traditional artists. We learn from them, and they learn from us as well.  It has been an amazing exchange of ideas and cultures.  On our trips with students, there is always an interesting mix of traditional techniques with contemporary design; and to the local people, we  Americans  become real people who are interested in learning, who stumble and have to try again, who sometimes need encouragement and at other times jump in with every bit of energy that we have.

Last January on our final night in Santa Ana, we had an exhibition of the students’ work.  We put up the pieces that the students did in the various workshops -  weaving, ceramics, and basketmaking.  (You can see the students’  rugs hanging in the background of  the photo).   Primo, our weaving and dyeing maestro, invited the teachers from the different villages we had visited as well as other artisans from the Santa Ana -  other master weavers, a master furniture maker, a painter, a master musician, and other friends, all  to see the work that the Kansas City Art Institute students had created.  There were more than 30 guests as well as the ten of us who showed up on a chilly,  windy night.




Carmen made tamales and atole, a hot corn drink, for everyone. One of the women who was visiting told me about her sons who left several years ago to find work in the US. They crossed the border illegally because legal entry is nearly impossible. There is plenty of work once they are here, but they risk their lives and often pay close to $4000 to get across the boder. So once they cross, they stay. If they return to Mexico, to visit their families, they eithe risk their lives again or lose their jobs in the US.  And like the sons, it is nearly impossible for the parents to obtain a legal visa, so they can not visit thier children in the US.  As a result, the families go years without seeing each other—not because of the price travel from Mexico City to Los Angeles, but because they are not allowed in our country.

I heard the story over and over again in Mexico. I don't know if it was because I spoke better Spanish this year or if it was because I was dressed in their clothes and participating in their local customs, but people would just walk up to me and start crying asking if I lived near California and could I please go visit their kids. It was heartbreaking.


 But there were no politics that night, the night of the exhibition.  We were celebrating what we did together, rather than focusing on our differences.  After we ate, Lucio, Carmen's oldest son, gave a speech (in Spanish, but  translated for our students), thanking all of the workshop teachers who had participated, as well as all of the students who had come to Santa Ana to learn and work together. He spoke of art and of how through learning and making we can come to understand each other even though we are from different worlds and don't even speak the same language.  Through what we are doing together in the workshops, there are no boundaries and no borders.  We are just artists and makers; we are all both students and teachers.



Then the master musician picked up the guitar and played. Everyone who knew the words sang along.  Carmen brought out more atole, and Primo poured another round of mezcal.  Others took turns at the guitar. One of the women sang to us, and then we danced.  It was one of those moments when life is perfect.




When I think of all of the harshness in our world, the misunderstandings between one culture and another, I think that this trip and the class is the most important work that I do.  If somehow on this small scale a few people can understand one another and come to cherish and learn from another other culture that feels so different from our own... that somehow the world is a little bit warmer, a little bit kinder. And it gives me hope. We can break down borders. And to me, that's the best that art can be.