The Activists Using Embroidery to Protest Mexico's Murder Epidemic

Broadly.VICE, July 3, 2018 | Lauren Cocking

For Fuentes Rojas, a collective that reclaims public space through peaceful protest, stitching is one way to remember those who have been disappeared or killed in their country.

A member of the Fuentes Rojas collective holds up a handkerchief stitched in memory of an anonymous victim from Chihuahua, murdered in 2011. Photo courtesy of the Fuentes Rojas Archives

Jenny's translation of bordado text displayed in above photo: 

A man traveling through the streets of the Colonia Altavista, 

was killed by bullets fired by a group of armed subjects. 

Chihuahua, Chihuahua. 04 January 2011. 

[His Death is Number] 3063 / 168,000 [Total Violent Deaths up to 2011]

Rows of handkerchiefs are strung between the trees, fluttering in the early Sunday afternoon breeze. Some are simple, threaded with stark block black letters, while others bear an elaborate, blood-red outline of Mexico. Each one carefully spells out a name and tells a story.  One reads:

“Anabel Flores Salazar, a reporter for the

crime beat of the Sol de Orizaba, was

taken from her home by a group of armed

men on February 8th. The victim’s body was

found with the head covered by a bag,

handcuffed and with the feet tied.”

Referencing the 2015 forced disappearance of 43 students in Guerrero, another reads:

“Mauricio Ortega Valerio, 18 years.

Ayotzinapa, Mexico.

Alive they were taken,

alive we want them back.

Never again.”

I’m in Coyoacán, Mexico City and in front of this patchworked web of handkerchiefs, some black, some white, some pink, sit a group of women — Elia Andrade, her sister Tania Andrade and Regina Méndez (plus her tiny xoloitzcuintle dog, Tonalli) — who together make up the founding members of the Fuentes Rojas collective, a group dedicated to reclaiming public space through peaceful protest.

Their method of choice? Embroidery.

“Sometimes [the sewing sessions are] really peaceful, sometimes we stitch alone”, Elia Andrade tells me. 

“The minute people come closer to read the handkerchiefs, and they realize what they say, there are many people that reject it [and then] there are people that start talking to us.”

Originally, the Fuentes Rojas focus was on homicide victims, of which there were roughly 70 per day in Mexico in 2017. They’d stitch the names and stories in vibrant red thread—naming the dead is a technique also employed by Chiapas’ radical resistance movement, the Zapatistas, Andrade told me. 

Creating a captivating, tangible memorial that was hard to ignore was just the point, especially in a country with such a high track record of impunity.

“Many people wander through Coyoacán and many people, many families, try not to hear about these things, or they don’t want to open their eyes to the true situation in which the country finds itself; so it seems to us very important that we disrupt these spaces and not in a violent way, but a peaceful way… because we must find other ways to relate to one another that go beyond violence,” Andrade notes.

As time went by, the group broadened their focus:

“more people joined and there were many who’d experienced the disappearance of children or parents.”

In response, and although color codes aren’t always rigidly adhered to, Fuentes Rojas introduced green thread (“for hope”, explains Andrade), pinks for femicide victims—in 2016, at least seven women a day were murdered in gender-based killings—and black for deceased journalists (six reporters have died in 2018 alone).

And while the occupation of public space was always high on the agenda for Fuentes Rojas (“Public space only exists when one inhabits and occupies it, no?” Andrade points out), embroidery wasn’t always their calling, something at which their name—literally ‘Red Fountains’ in Spanish—suggests. 

Inaugurated in 2011, the collective first grew out of a Mexico City march held by the poet Javier Sicilia in memory of his murdered son, Juan Francisco. (This march in itself would flourish into the Movement for Peace with Justice and Dignity [MPJD], a.k.a. the Mexican Indignados Movement.) The Andrade sisters and Méndez were invited to participate in peaceful but public protests, during which they would dye the fountains red; however, after several meetings they found themselves warming to the idea of needlework instead.

Tania Andrade carries some of Fuentes Rojas' handkerchiefs on a 2017 march in protest of the 2015 Ayotzinapa student disappearances. The green thread signifies hope for their safe return. Photo courtesy of Fuentes Rojas Archives

Turning craft into a political statement might be nothing new—the Suffragettes could tell you that—but in Mexico, Fuentes Rojas gave rise to a new wave of craftivism. Much like the stories woven into each handkerchief, the word about Fuentes Rojas’ project spun a web across the country, beginning in Guadalajara, then Puebla, and making its way into other towns and cities from there.

Andrade notes that “the initiative comes from us, from this collective,” but some of the contacts they’d invited to stitch with them formed “break-off cells and collectives, dubbing themselves ‘Bordando por la Paz’ (‘Stitching for Peace’).”

I spoke via email with Teresa Sordo, the coordinator of one of these groups, Bordamos por la Paz Guadalajara. The

“intention from the beginning was to denounce [the killings and disappearances], go out into parks to find people that needed to talk about the topic that until now had been silenced by the government with the help of the media.”

Meanwhile, Hazel Dávalos of the similarly aligned Bordeamos por la Paz [Let's Embroider for Peace] in Ciudad Juárez, adds that the handkerchiefs work to remind the viewer that victims

“are people, not numbers.”

It’s clear that their craft is political, but is it ‘art?’

No, came the resounding answer, from Dávalos at least:

“Our work is a political statement. We prefer not to call it art,” before elaborating that “by calling it art, we’d be closing off our protest to elitist spaces.”

Other public protest movements in Mexico do consider their work ‘art.’ Take the yarn bombing collective Lana Desastre, pioneers of the phenomenon in Mexico. They’ve embroidered everything from Mexico City metro cars to Day of the Dead altars, and even displayed 52 giant woolen breasts (under the Spanish pun ‘Lactejiendo’; ‘Lac-knitting’ which, unfortunately, doesn’t have quite the same ring to it in English) in the garden of Mexico City’s Vasconcelos Library. Their work is both to “protest and beautify public spaces” Miriam Mabel Martínez, a member of Lana Desastre, writes to me.

Art or not then, all of these collectives, by weaponizing and politicizing a medium so typically associated with the ‘feminine,’ one that is in and of itself intricately linked to the storied Mexican textile tradition of elaborate embroidery and needlework, potently condemn Mexican impunity while lending a voice to the silenced.

As Andrade puts it,

“every stitch, every breath, every emotion, every chat; what we’re interested in is empathy. We appeal to the emotions, completely different from those of power or violence. Yes, it’s a peaceful protest, but it’s also hard-hitting.”

'Playful' Embroidery Workshop Brings Together Women From Three Cultures in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán

Recently I had the great pleasure of attending a Two-Day Embroidery Workshop led by artist Debra Breckeen, who introduced techniques of crewel embroidery to about twenty women in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

The workshop was sponsored by ALAS, Wings, a group formed a year ago by twelve women artists living in and around Pátzcuaro. A majority of the founding members are expats, but they also include Mexican women artists. ALAS Mission Statement is clear:

ALAS is a multi-cultural, bilingual, woman-run organization whose mission is to enrich the quality of life in the Lake Pátzcuaro region, especially that of women and girls, by providing an art center where regional and international creative activities illuminate, educate and entertain.

ALAS, a Women´s Co-op, accomplishes its mission through Workshops and Classes, Exhibitions, Arts Programs for Youth, Opportunities for Local Artists, Dance, Music, Film and Other Arts Programming.

The Workshop was held in ALAS' spacious gallery, located in one of Pátzcuaro's many Colonial era buildings. The gallery's pristine white stucco walls vibrated with the colors, textures and variety of artisan embroideries.

Debby (orange jacket) welcoming participants to the workshop in ALAS Gallery;
Terry (at Debby's side) translates Debby's introductory remarks into Spanish.
Photo: Dara Stillman

Attendees were roughly one-third expats, one-third middle-class Mexicans, and one-third traditional artisan embroiderers who traveled from nearby villages to attend. Later, I mentioned this to a Mexican friend; he actually did a double-take before exclaiming in admiring tones,

"Do you know how rare that is? Social groups here usually stick to themselves; they don't often get together like that."

ALAS events are bilingual, which may be a partial explanation. But another essential component is a genuine shared interest in the arts, in traditional folk art and in community outreach. Not only are ALAS members committed to reaching out via the arts, but members' backgrounds include ties in the Mexican community that predate their arrival in Pátzcuaro. One member, for example, is a retired social worker who ran a clinic for the Hispanic community in California. Another's background is in community organizing. ALAS is one talented group of women!

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In another post, I wrote about life on the verge, the region where two ecosystems meet; in this case, between Mexico and the United States. Legally, the international boundary separating us is quite literally a 'line in the sand' drawn at the end of what the U.S. calls the Mexican-American War, but that Mexico labels "The U.S. Intervention in Mexico."

Culturally, however, the word verge is much more descriptive of the frontier region. Here's a tidy tidbit: Program 2012 is an agreement between the United States and Mexico authorizing their respective environmental agencies to cooperate in protecting the environment and the public's health in a U.S.-Mexico border region 100 kilometers [62.5 miles] wide along the legal line.

USA Environmental Protection Agency: U.S.-Mexico Border 2012 Map
The U.S.-Mexico border region is shared by two nations,
ten states (four in the U.S. and six in Mexico)

Thanks to today's communications and travel technologies, the frontier region is being extended even farther afield. A hundred years ago, the frontier was probably little more than the paired cities (shown on the map—San Diego and Tijuana; Calexico and Mexicali (my favorites because of the word-play); El Paso and Ciudad Juárez; McAllen and Reynosa; Brownsville and Matamoros, etc.)—strung all along the legal line. Is it too much of a stretch to believe that the public's health might well include its cultural and communal well-being?

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Back to the Workshop: My table was fairly representative of the group as a whole. At one end were clustered a group of traditional artisan embroiderers from the nearby pueblo (village) of Santa Cruz. Mary, a fascinating young woman newly retired from the Navy, sat across from me. At my right sat Carlota—born in Mexico City, now retired from her professional work, Carlota is married to a U.S. expat living in Pátzcuaro. Talk about cultural diversity!

Everyone's here: Debby demonstrating for expat Mary,
seated next to two traditional embroiderers from Santa Cruz;
Pátzcuaro resident (light blue sweater) stands working under
watchful eye of Ana (purple sweater) from Zirahuen.
(Photo: Jenny)

Enter ALAS and Debra Breckeen

Day 1: Debby's opening statement set the stage:

"Creating is a process—a journey from the
beginning of an idea to its
physical manifestation. While the finished
work is the focus of attention for the viewer, the artist
hones in on process. Going through the
process, the artist analyses and
solves problems, learning from each work and

carrying that knowledge into the next project.

"Crewel allows the needle-worker more creative
freedom than any other genre of
needlework. Instead of having to wait for someone to
design and chart a work, an embroiderer without any

drawing or painting ability can make designs from a
variety of existing sources, such as porcelain,
wallpaper and carpets, to create stunning
crewel patterns. But I find it exciting to use
one’s own drawings incorporating
personal experiences.

"Crewel is traditionally sewn with wool thread on a white
fabric support, but crewel stitches can be employed using
cotton or silk thread on any material support. Crewel
stitches are like knots that create dimension on the
surface of the cloth. Stitches are not counted. Today and
tomorrow we are talking about surface
embroidery while learning some crewel
embroidery stitches.

"I would like to introduce Ana Lilia
who will be helping me demonstrate the stitches.
And many thanks to Aida and Terry from ALAS
who will be helping us all with language differences.

"Let’s get started!"

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So we began ... struggling to get our fingers ... and our brains ... around the new stitches. Debby and Ana were kept pretty busy demonstrating, checking stitches, cheering our progress.

Day 2: Debby greeted us with the encouraging reminder that

"We're all teachers; as you learn a new stitch, please help others learn it, too."

Debby pioneered her "Each one ... Teach one" approach while working with women who are members of the Ladies Sewing Circle in nearby Zirahuen.

Although Debby has produced an impressive collection of embroidery art, exhibited last May in the Culture Center in the Former Jesuit College in Pátzcuaro, her personal and workshop style is characterized by a low-key emphasis on peer mentoring and mutual sharing.

My overriding impression of the Workshop is sensual. A rich combination of sight, sound and touch:

... observing the collegial concentration of the women intently focused on learning to execute new stitches ...

Learning from each other ....
Photo: Jenny

... listening to the steady hum of women's chatter as we stitched together. Given my limited skill for embroidery, I found myself listening in on the chatter, carried on in both English and Spanish. Here's my favorite exchange:

Expat embroiderer, surprised: "Oh, this is actually looking like something."  

Debby, preoccupied with demonstrating the stitch, replies matter-of-factly: "Well, it's supposed to."

... feeling the manta, Mexican muslin, beneath my arthritic fingers as I tried with minimal success to execute the stitches the women at my table took to like the proverbial ducks to water.

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Almost unconsciously, I had mildly wondered whether the artisan embroiderers would return for Day 2. But not only did they return—they brought their friends. There were actually more attendees on Day 2 than on Day 1!

I can't help but wonder if Debby's low-key, welcoming approach might have been one important factor, but ALAS is equally low-key in its practical commitment to including the broader Pátzcuaro community.

One artisan embroiderer had used Debby's well-designed guidelines to do her 'homework'—learning new stitches at home. She arrived early on Day 2, eager for Debby to check her stitches.

Focused on the common task of learning a new stitch together
Photo: Dara Stillman

Embroidery is sometimes characterized as a 'domestic art', but when I said something to that effect, the women at my table didn't hesitate to chime in:

"My grandfather embroidered," said Mary, the retired Navy chief. 

"My husband and nephews embroider," one of the artisan embroiderers was eager to inform me.

Then I remembered: Not only had my father-in-law embroidered, but the social movement Bordando por la Paz counts many men among those who embroider for peace. Unconscious sexism dies hard ....

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Reed (retired psychologist and child therapist) is a strong believer in play therapy:

"This embroidery workshop sounds a lot like what (English Psychoanalyst Donald) Winnicott dubbed the transitional space. 'Play' occurs in a transitional space because actions in play have no consequences, so anything can be tried out."

In this sense, Winnicott's transitional space can be viewed as another kind of verge. At the workshop, different cultures came together in a shared space created by their mutual interest in embroidery and their curiosity in learning about and experimenting with the stitches and knots that make up the crewel tradition.

Notably, Winnicott's notion of 'play' isn't restricted to children's activities. All the arts—music, dance, literature, drama, painting and the plastic arts—may be viewed as forms of adult 'play' (sports are another).

Reed added:

"It sounds as if the atmosphere of openness and mutuality, of equality, cultivated in the embroidery workshop created an important transitional space where all three groups felt not just welcome but safe to 'play'."

Reed is on to something. As we women worked together, neither skill level nor social group seemed to matter. Beginner to professional, across the social groups, with Debby periodically reminding us to "Each one ... Teach one" — we gathered together around the mutual endeavor of learning crewel embroidery techniques.

In preparing for the workshop, Debby stitched an embroidery sampler to show how different crewel stitches can be incorporated into a design. Her colorful sampler is delightfully playful.

The horizontal rows demonstrate some of the new crewel stitches; at the bottom Debby put them together to create a leaf, a flower, a fanciful sun.

Crewel Stitches and Knots Incorporated into 'Playful' New Designs
Photo: Dara Stillman

The two-day workshop was a great experience on many levels:

reaching across cultures, women connecting with women around the common joy of learning something new in a space where new ideas could be tried out, along with their intriguing potential for opening new avenues of creative expression.

It just doesn't get much better than that. ALAS and Debby Breckeen are both to be commended for creating a place where so much could happen ... on a quiet summer day in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

Still Curious?

• Debra Breckeen's Embroidery Art and the Art of Seeing, a review of the exhibit at the Culture Center in the Former Jesuit College, Pátcuaro, Michoacán;
• Art and Friendship in Zirahuén, Michoacán, a visit with artist Debra Breckeen at home;
• The Art of the Zirahuen Ladies Sewing Circle in Michoacán, México;
• Life at the Verge;
• Jenny's Neighborhood: Making Friends Mexico City-Style includes guidelines for framing embroideries stitched on manta Mexican muslin.

"Embroidery for Peace" Exhibited at Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Some of you know that Reed and I are part of Fuentes Rojas / Bordando por la Paz  [Red Fountains / Embroidering for Peace] here in Mexico. It is a way for us to express peacefully, yet forcefully, our profound concern about the impact in Mexico of some U.S. policies.

Yesterday, I read this article about the exhibit titled Disobedient Objects at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. The exhibit includes an embroidery stitched by a member of Forces United for Our Disappeared in Nuevo León (fundenl), part of Bordando por la Paz.

As assemblage, the embroidery is simple in appearance, yet its sophisticated stitches and incorporation of everyday objects combine to convey a strong, emotional message. More about this later. Here's the article:

fundenl [Forces United for Our Disappeared in Nuevo León]: 

Is there a war in Mexico? In December of 2012 [President Enrique Peña Nieto's swearing-in] the Mexican government began a communication strategy for making the War invisible. By so doing, the government denies the reality of Victims of at least eight years of bestialized violence. Victims who have suffered heinous crimes like The Disappearance of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, husbands and wives. 

In 2012 a valiant group of activists began to embroider the memory and pain of war: Embroidering for Peace was born. Embroidering for Peace has subsequently become the symbol of resistance against the war in many states of Mexico. A war we did not ask for.

The Victoria and Albert Museum, London, England, has mounted an exhibit titled Disobedient Objects showing the powerful role of symbolic objects created by movements for social change in different countries, objects that show the creativity of collective political activism.

A bordado [embroidered man's handkerchief] from Embroidering for Peace was selected for inclusion in this exhibit.

Text (Upper Right): "Roy Rivera Hidalgo, 22 January 2011: I don't know
what will become of you, how you might be, how they might treat you ... but I
hope this kiss might arrive for you wherever you might be. Ricky"
Text (Right): "You are in our memory and in our hearts, with total love, Letty"
Text (Lower Left): "It's worth it to cry, but never give up. If we don't search for our children, no one else will. Letty"
Photo: Jamie-Leigh Ruse

This embroidery shouting of the struggle for the return of Roy Rivera Hidalgo in a Forced Disappearance from Nuevo León was embroidered by Teresa Sordo of Guadalajara, Jalisco, and includes a message from her close friend and Roy's mother, Irma Leticia Hidalgo.

Mother's Message
Photo: Jamie-Leigh Ruse

This bordado represents the thousands of families struggling in Mexico for the right to Justice, Truth and Remembrance. Bordados stitched with red thread recall those killed; green thread symbolizes hope in the search for The Disappeared; purple thread cries out for women murdered in femicide; black thread speaks of murdered journalists. 

The primary driver of these struggles is LOVE for our cherished ones. Embroideries for Peace break the dead silence that the governments want to instill. Spanish original

Miniature clothespins attach two small bordados to a thin string.
Note pattern of deshilado above text. (For detail, click to enlarge)
Photo: Jamie-Leigh Ruse

Tiny necklace circles to form an embrace connecting embroidery of
broken hearts to word corazónes (hearts) embroidered on bordado at left.
Wings of the Dove reach out from a heart-shaped body (lower left).
Photo: Jamie-Leigh Ruse

Let me add a couple of comments about the embroidery. The image stitched at the upper left corner is a representation of the ancient image of the quincunx. Based on the four cardinal directions (represented here as four circles enclosing hearts), the:

• Vertical's topmost point represents the East (Rising Sun); 
• Bottommost point represents West (Setting Sun);
• Horizontal line represents the Earthly Plane, where daily lives are lived; and the
• Point of intersection (center) represents the axis mundi, World Axis, center of the world. 

According to traditional beliefs, priests in altered states of consciousness pass along the axis mundi (world axis) between the three planes of existence:

• Earthly plane; 
• Heaven (above);  
• Underworld (below); the 
• Three concentric circles represent the 'center' (axis).

Let me also call attention to the two 'white on white' design strips found on the two small bordados. The technique called deshilado (Pulled-Thread) involves pulling or bundling together fabric threads with embroidery stitches, creating an open, lace-like effect. On this bordado, the deshilado passages appear 'white on white' because the deshilado is superimposed on top of the primary embroidery fabric, but its shadow is perceptible.

Finally, the bordado may be regarded as assemblage because it incorporates non-artistic objects (here, miniatures clothespins and tiny necklace are set next to embroidered passages) used to express both a message and an emotion. The clothespins demonstrate connection to the Bordando por la Paz movement, whose groups install strings of bordados (also see first photo above) to make a visual statement of the victims lost to violence.

Embroidered handkerchiefs hung together with
clothespins make a visual statement of the
collective impact of the violence
Photo: Jamie-Leigh Ruse

The necklace with its tiny stones evokes, perhaps, the maternal embrace interrupted by the heartlessness of violence. To repeat, this bordado is remarkable for its simplicity and its layered complexity. Its inclusion in this exhibit is a powerful statement of making visible what many would prefer to hide or forget.

Embroidery exhibited at angle prevents stress
Photo: Jamie-Leigh Ruse

Still Curious?

Disobedient Objects: Introduction

Related Jenny's Post:

• Embroidering for Peace and Citizen Education.

Debra Breckeen's Embroidery Art and The Art of Seeing

It is difficult to imagine the vulnerability that artists must feel about the prospect of showing their work. Art is intensely personal yet, paradoxically, art is somehow only fulfilled when it is shared. The artist's hands and eye create a work expressive of the artist's deepest sensibility and purpose, but art does not exist in a vacuum. Artistic creation is intended to be seen and received, taken in by others.

By completing the circle of communication, it is the viewer's eye that fulfills the artist's purpose and brings artistic work to fruition. To the extent that each viewer is a person with his/her own personal history, communication is complex, fraught with sensibilities and ways of perceiving the world that are almost inevitably different from those of the artist. What each of us 'sees' may be unique to us, yet our view also invariably forms part of the human experiential tapestry.

A novelist observed that her work isn't complete until it is read, but that the experience of publication carries its own risk. For as the work is read and discussed, it takes on a life of its own, a life quite independent of the writer.

This reflection came to mind after attending the opening of an exhibit of the embroidery art of our beloved friend, artist Debra Breckeen, originally from Houston, who now lives in Zirahuen, Michoacán. Titled Eco, the work can be seen until May 4 at the Culture Center in the Former Jesuit School of Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

Invitation

It is striking that Debra chose to title the exhibit Eco, Echo. Normally, an echo refers to the sound or sounds reflected from a surface back to a listener, as in an echo chamber. But Debra has something else in mind. As a forward to her artist's statement, Debra chose these words of Chicana writer Gloria E. Anzaldúa:

"Caminante, no hay puentes, se hace puentes al andar"

(Pilgrim, there are no bridges, one builds them as one walks)

- Gloria E. Anzaldúa

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Echo

I had no plan....just a dream. 

In 2007 I took the opportunity to realize a long-held dream.....to simplify my life and live in rural Mexico. I retired, liquidated my holdings in Houston, Texas, and moved to Morelia, Michoacán. 

Mexico found me before I found Mexico. There was much to learn…..the language, the culture, the landscape. It took almost a year in Morelia before I found my place in Zirahuen. I am still learning .... 

In transition in Morelia, when I began to doubt my dream, I also began to sew. It began with a stamped pattern of a horse given to me by a friend. I discovered that sewing could be like a prayer, a wish, taking a deep breath. It calmed me and felt like drawing in slow motion. With needle and thread, it was possible to build dimension as well as texture. I could build depth and make a real shadow. Stitching was drawing sculpturally. 

I completed the horse and bought other stamped patterns, but found that I wanted to alter them with my own drawings. Now I sew only from my drawings. I am attracted to the idea of using such domestic materials and methods to make political statements. I make embroideries about the negative effects of NAFTA, genetically-modified crops, the proliferation of industrial food and our judgments about the real and the ideal.

I still have no plan … just a dream.

- Debra Breckeen (April, 2014) 

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Debby has been deeply influenced by David Foster Wallace's incomparable novel Infinite Jest, where Wallace writes:

"You can be shaped, or you can be broken. There is not much in between. Try to learn. Be coachable. Try to learn from everybody, especially those who fail. This is hard. ... How promising you are as a Student of the Game is a function of what you can pay attention to without running away.” 

Wallace might as well be describing Debra Breckeen, whose capacity for paying attention without running away is reflected ... echoed ... in her embroidery art.

At Home in Zirahuen

Light is shed on Debra's art by gaining some familiarity with where she lives. Debra's house is tucked away in a pine forest on a hill above the shores of Lake Zirahuen, which is about 26 kilometers (16 miles) from Pátzcuaro, a Pueblo Mágico about 50 kilometers (33 miles) from Morelia, the state capital of Michoacán.

The road from Pátzcuaro to Zirahuen winds through the spectacular Michoacán countryside, pockmarked by extinct volcanoes. Located on the north side of the Lake, the village of Zirahuen is a popular destination for sports-minded tourists and lovers of the outdoors.

Lake Zirahuen surrounded by Pine Forests
'Bare' Spots on far hillside are newly-planted Avocado Orchards
(Photo: Reed)

Michoacán is in the news these days not only for the violent crime that goes hand-in-glove with obscene sums of money passing to the drug cartels but for the self-defense groups that, in desperation, have risen up to drive out the 'bad guys' from their towns. But there's more to it than that ... much more.

The three of us—Debby, Reed and I—moved to the Lake Pátzcuaro area in August of 2008. It was our great good fortune that Debby sought us out at CELEP, the language school where we were all taking classes to improve our Spanish. Our experiences and understanding of Mexican culture have grown more or less in parallel ways.

In line with the deepening of our individual yet complementary cultural awareness, we three have become increasingly cognizant that we live in what might be defined as a cultural verge. In biology the verge is the place where two ecosystems meet. In an earlier post, I wrote:

"In Mexico we seem to find ourselves on a variety of verges practically on a daily basis—traditional and global Mexico, U.S. culture and the many levels of Mexican culture. What is increasingly clear to us is that, in all instances, the verge is precisely the place where known and unknown not only meet, but sometimes collide." 

Living on the verge takes a special adaptive skill and not a small amount of confidence of the kind that Gloria Anzaldúa describes: the confidence that as we walk we somehow create under our feet bridges capable of bearing our weight, giving us the confidence needed to take the next step ... and the next ... and the next.

Debby obliquely refers to it when she writes,

"I still have no plan ... just a dream."

More than once, Debby has mentioned David Foster Wallace's parable of the fish, which he told as part of his Kenyon College Commencement Address:

“Two young fish are swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way. The older fish nods at them and says, ‘Morning, boys. How’s the water?’ The two young fish swim on for a bit. Then eventually one of them looks over at the other and says, ‘What the hell is water?’ "

Wallace continues:

"... the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience.

"It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

"This is water."

In one form or another, Debra, Reed and I have been having this conversation for about as long as we've known each other. But seeing her work framed and hung drove home recognition that Debra's art is, in large part, about seeing 'what is real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us'.

Debra Breckeen (yellow blouse) greets a visitor at her Exhibit of Eco,
Centro Cultural Antiguo Colegio Jesuita, Pátzcuaro, Michoacán
(Photo: Florence Leyra Jeune)

The Artist's Eye

This quality is most apparent in the series of pieces that present everyday objects transformed in ways that Debra describes as "judgments about the real and the ideal."

During our last visit, Debra and Reed got into a spirited discussion about Reed's photography class. The instructor's favorite way of introducing the camera to newcomers is to ask: What is the most important element of taking a picture? The instructor's view—'light' is the 'correct' answer—betrays an underlying technical bias in favor of the camera and its settings.

Reed counters that it's the photographer's eye that makes the photo by honing in on what to show and deciding how to frame, or compose, the picture. As Reed puts it, "enabling the viewer to see what I want them to see."

Our normally laid back friend became positively fierce in her defense of the artist's eye:

"The camera is the medium; dealing with the light requires technique to choose optimal camera settings. But without the artist's eye, it is nothing."

In a series of four bordados, Debra invites us to see what, in Wallace's words, is 'hidden in plain sight'.

I. Pineapples (2008)

This work explores two ways of seeing a pineapple.

Pineapples (2008)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune
[Right-click to Enlarge; Back Arrow to Return to Post]

The left-hand pineapple, with its clearly articulated features, is perhaps more realistic. Its companion's features are softer, even muted, in a way that seem to echo reality ... is this muted pineapple, then, the ideal? What comes first: the chicken or the egg?

Does reality reflect the ideal or, conversely, does the ideal come about as a reflection or echo of our experience of reality? Put differently, is the ideal our projection of how we would like reality to be? The work invites us to reflect on this provocative, platonic question.

Detail - Pineapples (2008)

II. Nine and Nine (2008)

Nine and Nine invites us to pay attention to two tropical fruits, corn and bananas. Although we eat corn as a vegetable, botanists classify it as a fruit, along with tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, zucchini and other squashes.

The eye notices the compatibility of their elongated shapes and the similarity of their colors. Both are yellow fruits; bananas have a slight curve, whereas corn—at least the varieties we're familiar with in the U.S.—are straight. This work depicts a Mexican corn similar to what in the U.S. is known as Indian corn.

The eye also picks up the textured play of light and shadows on the manta, Mexican muslin, on which the image is stitched.

Nine and Nine (2008)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Corn was first domesticated in southern Mexico (more about this later). Someone recently observed that maís (corn) is an essential ingredient in Mexican cuisine, used in the preparation of more than 600 food dishes and drinks. It is simply impossible to overstate the quintessential role of maís in Mesoamerican culture and mythology. 

Bananas are available year-round, low in price and high in nutritional value (rich source of energy and minerals), so it's no surprise to learn that bananas are also a staple of the Mexican diet. In terms of value, bananas place second among fruits cultivated in Mexico (second only to avocadoes); thus, the banana sector also generates much-needed direct and indirect employment.

Corn and bananas are not only classic staples of the Mexican diet, but together they have traditionally constituted one of the pillars of the Mexican economy.

The corn and bananas depicted in Nine and Nine are from an original drawing; a commercial pattern was used only for the flowers framing them.

III. Pineapples / Pinecone (2009)

Pineapples / Pinecone (2009)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

At first glance, the composition of two Pineapples set beside a single Pinecone has a whimsical quality that suggests a play of shapes and textures. Pineapples / Pinecone beckons us to see similarities in what, on their face, seem to be objects only tangentially related.

Pineapples originated in the Amazon River Basin somewhere between Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. In Mexico, pineapples are grown in the states of Veracruz and Tabasco on the Gulf Coast; and Chiapas, Oaxaca and Nayarit on the Pacific Coast. 

It surprised me to learn that pine forests are found in the mountain regions of these coastal and southern states. As the transition zone between two of the world’s major biogeographical zones, the lands of Mexico form a bridge between North and South America. Geologic and biologic factors have combined to create in Mexico the fifth most biologically rich country in the world.

The country's pine-oak forests are one of the ecosystems presenting tremendous species diversity. Over 50% of the world's pine species grow in Mexico. Unfortunately, the country's pine forests are also one of its least protected ecosystems—threatened not only by natural, accidental and even intentional forest fires, but by deforestation for subsistence (wood-burning cook stoves) and sale of commercial timber.

Pines are among the most commercially important tree species valued worldwide for their timber and wood pulp. Pine wood is widely used in high-value carpentry items such as furniture, window frames, panelling, floors and roofing; the resin of some species is an important source of turpentine.

A second, more intentional look at Pineapples and Pinecone is rewarded. Pinecone is stitched in the 'open' form for releasing its seeds, and it joins the enigmatic Pineapples encountered earlier [I. Pineapples]. 

Here, presumably realistic Pineapple provides a solid background against which its more fanciful companion Pineapple is set next to a Pinecone seemingly suspended mid-air yet improbably moored by a relaxed ring of red flowers.

Not to be ignored is how the manta, Mexican muslin, once again eases into the composition, the texture of light and shadows echoing and enhancing the image.

In Pineapples and Pinecone our eye plays with the complex choreography of light and color, texture, shapes and shadows, even as we try to wrap our minds around complicated interactions of the natural world, traditional lifestyles and the implied intrusion of modernity.

IV. Real / Ideal (2012)

Real / Ideal (2012)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Lake Zirahuen trout are famous, but they have been seriously overfished. Although still to be found in the lake, they are few in number and hard to catch. The Lake Zirahuen's white fish are also famous and considered a delicacy.

In this context, Real / Ideal is an intriguing work. One might assume that the real fish would be in front with the ideal fish providing a kind of background. But that assumption would be incorrect.

So this bordado challenges my underlying assumption. Here the fanciful, ideal—we might even say imaginary—fish commands the foreground, while the more real fish swims alongside in the background ... and, oh, yes, we are encouraged to observe how the tail of the real fish violates the seemingly inviolable boundary of the stitched frame.

Here is Wallace again to remind us that:

"... one part of what teaching me how to think is really [about ... encouraging me to be] just a little less arrogant. To have just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded."

In the post mentioned earlier, I wrote:

"We are discovering life at the verge to be dynamic and full of conflict, both creative and destructive. In biology, some species are in process of being destroyed even as new species are evolving. Culturally, the same is true: it is at the verge that traditional cultural forms slowly change even as new cultural forms are in process of coming into being."

Political Works

As I continue to reflect on Debra's art, Kurt Vonnegut's notion of canaries in the coal mine comes to mind. Pondering what the use of any of the arts might be, Vonnegut articulated what he called the "canary in the coal mine theory of the arts", which says

". . . that artists are useful to society because they are so sensitive. They are super-sensitive. They keel over like canaries in poison coal mines long before more robust types realize that there is any danger whatsoever.”

~ Kurt Vonnegut

Debra's super-sensitivity shows up in her series of 'political' pieces, notably NAFTA (2008) that she, quite intentionally, chose to head the invitation. That the North American Free Trade Agreement has had a devastating effect on the Mexican countryside is a conclusion widely recognized on both sides of our shared border.

The unanticipated consequences have been dire for ordinary people: driving the migration northward of poor young men and women who see no future for themselves in Mexico; and increasing the resources of drug traffickers who approach poor farmers no longer able to sell their crops, paying them to grow marijuana in their fields or to allow meth labs to be set up on their remote mountain properties.

I. Border (2008)

Border (2008) is Debra's first embroidery in Mexico. Starting from a commercial pattern given to her by a friend, she embroidered upon (pun intended) the original pattern:

A helicopter passing overhead casts a shadow on the ground in front of the horse's hoofs.

Border (2008)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Some background is useful for understanding this image.

Following a deeply flawed election, President Felipe Calderón took office in 2006. Critics say that he launched the 'war against narco trafficking' as a way to distract the public and legitimize his presidency. Calderón, speaking recently at a Harvard forum, said that when the U.S. ban on sale of assault rifles expired in 2004, the violence in Mexico began to spiral upward. On other occasions, Calderón has protested: "I had no other choice."

In 2007 the U.S. Congress passed the Mérida Initiative, which provided military equipment to support the Mexican government's 'war'. Including helicopters. We living in Michoacán began to hear and see black helicopters regularly flying overhead. 

In an attempt to reverse the spiral of violence, Calderón also sent the Mexican Army into the streets, first into Michoacán. But soldiers are not trained for police work; they are trained to exterminate the enemy. Predictably, human rights abuses occurred, and citizens began mighty protests against the militarization of their towns, cities and countryside.

Update - December 21, 2017: Mexico President Enrique Peña Nieto promulgated the highly controversial "Act of Internal Security" designed to give legal cover to Mexico's military taking part in what are normally assigned as police actions. Strong protests by NGOs and human rights organizations both inside Mexico and internationally have been lodged regarding the law's constitutionality. The law is now before Mexico's Supreme Court awaiting its decision. 

The helicopter's ominous shadow cast on the ground in the path of the riderless horse bears silent testimony to the violence suffered by the ordinary people of Mexico in this so-called 'war against narco trafficking'.

II. Bees / B52s (2008)

Bees / B52s (2008)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Debra's work Bees / B52s echoes mounting citizen protest against the militarization of Mexico's towns and countryside. 

The rose is a special, almost sacred, flower in Mexico. The peasant Juan Diego picked roses in December at the command of the young, brown woman on Tepeyac Hill who spoke to him in Nahua; the young woman personally arranged the roses in his tilma, or cape; and, when he opened it for the Archbishop, those roses fell from his tilma, miraculously replaced by an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Mother of Mexico.

Three hundred years later, roses appeared on the banner of the Virgin of Guadalupe carried by Father Miguel Hidalgo at the start of the peasant rebellion that is recognized as the start of Mexico's War of Independence from Spain.

Thus, B52s are juxtaposed against the natural world of bees buzzing around Mexico's very nearly sacred flower for its close association with the Virgin of Guadalupe. In suffering the crucifixion of her son, the Virgin is intimately familiar with the profound suffering inflicted by violence and war.

III. Colonel Sanders (2008)

Colonel Sanders (2008)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

But that's not all that was happening in Mexico. In 1994 the North American Free Trade Agreement, NAFTA, was signed. By 2008 ordinary people in both the U.S. and Mexico had been living with the treaty's negative effects for almost fifteen years.

When NAFTA opened the doors to the Mexican marketplace, U.S. mega-businesses were quick to take advantage: WalMart, Office Max, Home Depot, soft drink industry (notably, Pepsi and Coca-Cola) and the fast food chains, including KFC—Colonel Sanders' own Kentucky Fried Chicken. The unanticipated consequence for Mexico has included a dramatic rise in diabetes (sugared soft drinks) and obesity (fast food).

Colonel Sanders speaks to the threat of baby chicks destined to become KFC and dapper daisies whose very existence is threatened by the neoliberal invasion of Mexico, which more than a few Mexicans liken to the Spanish 'invasion' almost five hundred years ago.

IV. Impermanence (2008)

Impermanence (2009)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Impermanence is yet another commentary on changes brought about by NAFTA and neoliberal economics.

Flowers are an integral, ancient component of Mexican culture. It is the nature of flowers to make a display, wilt and die ... flowers are the essence of impermanence. 

The Mesoamerican tradition of flowers long predates the Aztecs. Bountiful displays of marigolds are a vital element of rituals associated with Día de los Muertos, Day of the Dead. In the state of Morelos, roses are grown and sold as part of an ancient tradition.

Depicted in the very act of cutting a stem, the scissors signal society's vulnerability to the so-called modern world; even more, the barcode suggests the intrusion of modern technology with its insistence on identifying and controlling everything as a 'product'. Taken together, they suggest an expiration date not only on a longstanding and revered tradition, but perhaps on Mexican society itself.

This piece is one of Debra's last to employ a commercial pattern, which suggests that she thought long and hard about inserting scissors and barcode. The artist's intentionality bestows on the work a sad poignancy.

V. Swans (2009)

Swans (2009)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

At first glance, Swans swimming on turbulent lake waters appears to be another study exploring the real and ideal, and perhaps it is. A realistic swan confronts a fantastic, even Disney-like pink swan.

But below the waterline is a row of three helicopters. Ominously, the first helicopters are minimally outlined; only the last is fully stitched.

Passed by the U.S. Congress in 2007, The Mérida Initiative was signed in December of 2008 by the Presidents of Mexico and the United States. Under the agreement, the U.S. provided equipment, including helicopters, and training to Mexico's military and law enforcement personnel. 

By 2009 people in Michoacán were seeing black helicopters in the sky overhead, including over Lake Zirahuen.

Was this the artist’s intimation of worse things to come ... the menace in the air ... becoming more real every day? Is the pink-red swan drawing back in alarm? Canary in the coal mine ... ?

VI. NAFTA (2011)

NAFTA (2011)
Original Drawing
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

NAFTA is the first embroidery Debra made from an original drawing. A powerful statement that holds absolutely nothing back, the work speaks directly to a difficult multi-dimensional struggle currently taking place in the Mexican courts.

We've already discussed NAFTA's negative impact on many ordinary Mexicans. We've brought up the entry of multinational businesses into Mexico. We've taken account of the negative impact of the drug trade and the subsequent militarization of huge swathes of the Mexican countryside. But we haven't yet touched on the issue of genetically modified organisms (GMOs) in Mexico.

Hundreds of years ago, corn was domesticated along the banks of the Balsas River in southern Mexico. Since then peasant farmers using traditional methods have developed varieties of corn uniquely suited to the multitude of ecosystems found in Mexico. If permission to sow and cultivate genetically modified corn is granted, contamination of native varieties is inevitable. What is even more dire: the damage is irreversible.

A large segment of the Mexican population—led by scientists, but including peasant and farmer groups, artists, human rights and other activists—are struggling to prevent authorization for widespread cultivation of genetically modified corn. A class action lawsuit is currently being heard in the courts; a ruling is expected within months, if not weeks.

VII. Cock and Copters (2011)

Cock and Copters (2011)
Original Drawing
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Cock and Copters is another of Debra's first works based on an original drawing. In my opinion, this bordado is one of her best. Proudly elegant, the Cock stands tall and defiant as he confronts an implacable line of advancing olive drab Copters. No suggestive outlines here. Each helicopter is explicitly stitched in full menace.

But the viewer's eye is drawn to the Cock's shadow arched in full attack mode. In conveying the ferocious power of its determined defense of territory, the sheer energy contained in this bordado  leaves this viewer breathless.

VIII. Shadow (2012)

Shadow (2012)
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Shadow presents another duality: fish and helicopter. The blue fish swims serenely along, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings: "What the hell is water?"

Meanwhile, a fantastic helicopter hovers above, one landing wheel set to descend upon the heedless fish.

But this is no ordinary helicopter: frog-like eyes inhabit its gun turrets; its body hints at fish scales; its tail subtly mutates into a piscine form, and its open bays surreally intimate an open, even devouring, mouth.

Shadow in the sense of shadowing a person. Reality intruding in the form of the surveillance that is a core mission of helicopters flying over Michoacán's countryside, threatening its natural state from within and without.

IX. Drones (2013)

Drones (2013)
Original Drawing
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

Drones has an even more surreal quality. Drawn initially to the richly textured, cerulean blue sky with hints of puffy clouds nestled along the sky's edge, the viewer's eye quickly moves to the line of drones, which has a disturbingly insect-like profile: Is that a finely stitched grasshopper at the head of the line?

The drones following behind ... increasingly less detailed ... suggest a never-ending chain of menace ... arising seemingly out of nothingness ... but, endlessly threatening with the fecund persistence of the insects whose evolutionary history spans millions of years and crisscrosses the entire planet.

X. Avocado vs Pinecone (2014)

The best way to introduce Avocado vs Pinecone is to show the view from Debra's back porch. The cleared areas on the opposite hillside are newly established orchards, where young avocado trees have been planted.

In Michoacán, avocados are colloquially referred to as 'green gold' ... and with good reason. Mexico supplies 45% of the international avocado market. The 'Avocado Belt of the Mexican Republic' includes Michoacán and the State of Mexico, but Michoacán accounts for 92% of the country's avocado production. With yields considerably higher than those obtained in California, Michoacán leads the world in production of this fruit. The major cultivars in Mexico are Fuerte, Hass, Bacon, Reed, Criollo and Zutano.

People who can't get permits set fire to their pine forests, clear away the burned rubble and plant their orchards. Challenged by authorities, they shrug their shoulders and reply simply: "It burned down." Avocadoes require water, but water in Michoacán is just as much an increasingly scarce natural resource as it is around the world. Globalization arrives in Zirahuen. 

Pine Forests and Avocado Orchards:
Looking Across Lake Zirahuen from Debra's Back Porch
(Photo: Reed)

My first impression of Avocado vs Pinecone was that it is a gorgeous bordado. Delicately sculpted in rich blue and green hues, the avocado seems to emerge from the manta, Mexican muslin, on which it is stitched.

With its textures and colors, the pinecone seems preternaturally electric. At the exhibit, I was inexplicably struck—and moved—by the vitality of pine needles stitched along the bottom. One bent and nearly broken pine needle especially caught my eye.

Surely, I initially thought, this work is another study in Real and Ideal, but something kept nagging at me. Almost absent-mindedly, I found myself asking:

"Why did Debra choose to name this work Avocado versus Pinecone?"

Avocado vs Pinecone (2014)
Original Drawing
Photo: Florence Leyret Jeune

No sooner had I articulated the thought than the answer popped into my head: each time we visit, Debra, with visible distress, points out new avocado orchards. So profound is the subtlety that I'd assumed the bordado to be another of what I think of as an "artist's eye" piece that invites us 'to become aware of what's hiding in plain sight'. But it isn't. Not at all.

Suddenly, I realized that the broken pine needle speaks to the vulnerability, even fragility, of life not just in Mexico, but around the world as the cumulative effects of climate change, militarization and neoliberal economics (the last two inextricably, tragically linked) expand geometrically.

Can it be that these works of embroidery art bring us into the presence of a canary in the coal mine?

Still Curious?

Debra Breckeen can be reached via:

Email: dbreckeen@gmail.com

Telephone:

• Inside Mexico From cell phone: 434-562-2910
• Inside Mexico From landline: 044-434-562-2910
• Outside Mexico: 011 52 434 562 2910

Mailing Address:

Debra C. Breckeen
P.O. Box 405
Patzcuaro, Michoacan, Mexico 61600

Related Jenny's Posts

• Art and Friendship in Zirahuén, Michoacán;
• Life at the Verge;
• Jenny's Neighborhood: Making Friends Mexico City-Style.