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The title of these essays (Turtle's Webb: My View From Here ) comes from something that did not manifest when I wrote about my work...
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Jamal Mims Sun Gallery Goldsmiths Jamal Mims died in August of 2001. Of the many things we share August is our birt... -
One of my favorite documentaries is called A Man Named Pearl . It is about an artist of trees. At one point viewers learn that he is not t... -
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Someone left this message on my phone, and when I listened to it, I fell through a doorway of twenty-one years. The person wanted to know ... -
January 1, 2013... Why do some folk celebrate New Years with such passion.... Well for some the Fourth of July really was not a reaso...
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La bouffe . Ya'll la bouffe . I used to be fat. So now when I eat, I pay attention to the calorie count of what I am putting into my ... -
Happy New Year and to begin...a touch of history. For most of my childhood and adolescence I spent this night in church...I remember hat...
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Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Turtle's Webb News Letter-November 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Cuff links, Artistic anxiety and...
See, I thought she had blown me off.
Starting in July, I start thinking about the two big shows I do-ARTS ON FOOT and The DownTown Holiday Market. In July I start working on production items and putting the finished pieces into plastic boxes. I start playing with ideas for new designs. In July I start putting my nose to the grindstone, my inner eye on the holiday season quickly approaching. In July I start worrying about paying the bills over the winter, having enough money to buy raw materials, improving my display, improving my mailing list, promoting my work, the weather for the holiday season, the weather for the holiday season, the weather for...
ARTS ON FOOT was a week away. This was after the earthquake...and the hurricane. But then the skies opened up. And as the Gospel song goes "didn't it rain, oh my Lord". While I now own a house, I still live in the basement. Yeah, I got some puddles. I moved some stuff in the workshop off the floor. Best news: the sump pump worked and worked. I thought hey, this is over. Then on Friday September 9, 2011- I came into DC to flop at a friend's house before the big weekend. The cherry on top: Washington DC was issued a "terror alert" a credible source said- yah yah yah.
For many artists, last weekend was the beginning of the fall selling season with ARTS ON FOOT, and various other regional shows and festivals happening all at the same time. To say that the American economy is not doing well would be a kind understatement. For us artists, these last two years have been economically...entertaining. If we had not, we learned to do with what we have. We are lucky because being creative with next to nothing is what we do.
I had done my thing, that is to say, I had handed out cards for the show, posted info on Facebook, Twitter, the show's fan page, sent out a newsletter and posted and reposted it to here and gone. When I do this, I hear this song in my head from childhood: "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine." But in the face of one of the worst economic downturns in American history (and, lest we forget, a "terror alert"), my hopes were not high.
This is the rule in the art show biz- Saturday is the day that one makes money. If it don't happen on Saturday...well, just forget it.
I learned to ice skate at forty years old. At this time, my mom was ill and getting worse, I was raising hell at... and other things were also not working. On the rink one day, I met and got to talking with a nice lady-- maybe in her late sixties or early seventies, but still ice skating; she listened to me when I was my own dark cloud. One day she told me, "happiness is a choice". Her words have stayed with me.
However, Saturday night I was writing a letter in my head... it was about cancelling something. Then Sunday came.
Sunday was hotter...and I did not make a sale until almost two o'clock. Then I made another; then another. Then a woman came up, looked at my work. I was feeling a sale coming on...! She asked if I accepted credit cards; I said yes. If we pretend that I am humble, hum....aah, gosh, it just ain't working. She got her shop on at Turtle's Webb--two pairs of earrings from the glass cases and two necklaces. Yippee! I tried not to do the money dance while she was still in my booth. Then in rapid session long term customers from the market who had read the newsletter came out to see the new fall collection and purchase a piece or two, and customers from The DownTown Holiday Market who live downtown came to preview and contemplate items for the gift giving season. Members of my Spanish club and other old and new clients came by just because they knew I was downtown and they wanted to say hey and be supportive.
So, it's after four o'clock; the page has turned on the show for me, and I ain't mad at nobody. Are we in an economic downturn? Hell, yes! Does it hurt--claro que si! Am I surviving and not contemplating what we artists call "a day job"? (we artists generally say this phrase as if something smells really bad.) Yes I am, thank you very much. At about 4:30, the show closes at 6:00, I look down at my fancy phone and I see the little green light blinking--I have mail.
Two weeks earlier, at the Market, I had been asked to make some cuff links. This client...I thought she was serious. She e-mailed me that same evening, confirming that she wanted the cuff links, and I invoiced her via PayPal. A week went by; the invoice wasn't paid. I learned early on to get a deposit or payment in full for custom work. I invoiced her again: nada. But the show was coming up, and I was thinking that the links would be a good addition to my line, so I went ahead and made a couple of pairs, just to see what response I might get. I had sold a pair of the links on Saturday, so I was happy with my investment of time and materials.
I thought she had blown me off.
This is the email I opened at the show at 4:30.
"Hi Sonda - I came by Eastern Market this weekend to pay for my cufflinks, but couldn't find you:-(
My PayPal account is affiliated with an old email address, and I have been unable to speak with a paypal representative to fix it.
Can I send you my credit card info or will you be at the Market next weekend?
Thanks for your guidance.
I'm excited to see the cufflinks!!"
Linda
I emailed her back. Did she come to ARTS ON FOOT? Did she get the cuff links?
It is only occurring to me now to wonder how she got to the show so fast. Did she take the metro, plane, jet skis, bus, or car? I saw her flying by my booth on foot as I was starting to pack. She was looking for me. Yes, she brought the cuff links, and this lovely bracelet too.
The show was over. I had broken down my stand, packed my car and was again on the couch flopping at my friends house contemplating dinner. The little green light on my fancy phone was again blinking--I had mail. This was the message.
Hi Sonda
- I'm so glad I found you today. I'm heading out for dinner wearing the beautiful bracelet, and I love the cufflinks.
Would you mind bringing the other pair you made for me to the Market next weekend? I definitely want to buy them for my friend.
Thanks. Linda
And I thought she had blown me off.
Witnessing,
Sonda
Starting in July, I start thinking about the two big shows I do-ARTS ON FOOT and The DownTown Holiday Market. In July I start working on production items and putting the finished pieces into plastic boxes. I start playing with ideas for new designs. In July I start putting my nose to the grindstone, my inner eye on the holiday season quickly approaching. In July I start worrying about paying the bills over the winter, having enough money to buy raw materials, improving my display, improving my mailing list, promoting my work, the weather for the holiday season, the weather for the holiday season, the weather for...
ARTS ON FOOT was a week away. This was after the earthquake...and the hurricane. But then the skies opened up. And as the Gospel song goes "didn't it rain, oh my Lord". While I now own a house, I still live in the basement. Yeah, I got some puddles. I moved some stuff in the workshop off the floor. Best news: the sump pump worked and worked. I thought hey, this is over. Then on Friday September 9, 2011- I came into DC to flop at a friend's house before the big weekend. The cherry on top: Washington DC was issued a "terror alert" a credible source said- yah yah yah.
For many artists, last weekend was the beginning of the fall selling season with ARTS ON FOOT, and various other regional shows and festivals happening all at the same time. To say that the American economy is not doing well would be a kind understatement. For us artists, these last two years have been economically...entertaining. If we had not, we learned to do with what we have. We are lucky because being creative with next to nothing is what we do.
I had done my thing, that is to say, I had handed out cards for the show, posted info on Facebook, Twitter, the show's fan page, sent out a newsletter and posted and reposted it to here and gone. When I do this, I hear this song in my head from childhood: "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine." But in the face of one of the worst economic downturns in American history (and, lest we forget, a "terror alert"), my hopes were not high.
This is the rule in the art show biz- Saturday is the day that one makes money. If it don't happen on Saturday...well, just forget it.
I learned to ice skate at forty years old. At this time, my mom was ill and getting worse, I was raising hell at... and other things were also not working. On the rink one day, I met and got to talking with a nice lady-- maybe in her late sixties or early seventies, but still ice skating; she listened to me when I was my own dark cloud. One day she told me, "happiness is a choice". Her words have stayed with me.
However, Saturday night I was writing a letter in my head... it was about cancelling something. Then Sunday came.
Sunday was hotter...and I did not make a sale until almost two o'clock. Then I made another; then another. Then a woman came up, looked at my work. I was feeling a sale coming on...! She asked if I accepted credit cards; I said yes. If we pretend that I am humble, hum....aah, gosh, it just ain't working. She got her shop on at Turtle's Webb--two pairs of earrings from the glass cases and two necklaces. Yippee! I tried not to do the money dance while she was still in my booth. Then in rapid session long term customers from the market who had read the newsletter came out to see the new fall collection and purchase a piece or two, and customers from The DownTown Holiday Market who live downtown came to preview and contemplate items for the gift giving season. Members of my Spanish club and other old and new clients came by just because they knew I was downtown and they wanted to say hey and be supportive.
So, it's after four o'clock; the page has turned on the show for me, and I ain't mad at nobody. Are we in an economic downturn? Hell, yes! Does it hurt--claro que si! Am I surviving and not contemplating what we artists call "a day job"? (we artists generally say this phrase as if something smells really bad.) Yes I am, thank you very much. At about 4:30, the show closes at 6:00, I look down at my fancy phone and I see the little green light blinking--I have mail.
Two weeks earlier, at the Market, I had been asked to make some cuff links. This client...I thought she was serious. She e-mailed me that same evening, confirming that she wanted the cuff links, and I invoiced her via PayPal. A week went by; the invoice wasn't paid. I learned early on to get a deposit or payment in full for custom work. I invoiced her again: nada. But the show was coming up, and I was thinking that the links would be a good addition to my line, so I went ahead and made a couple of pairs, just to see what response I might get. I had sold a pair of the links on Saturday, so I was happy with my investment of time and materials.
I thought she had blown me off.
This is the email I opened at the show at 4:30.
"Hi Sonda - I came by Eastern Market this weekend to pay for my cufflinks, but couldn't find you:-(
My PayPal account is affiliated with an old email address, and I have been unable to speak with a paypal representative to fix it.
Can I send you my credit card info or will you be at the Market next weekend?
Thanks for your guidance.
I'm excited to see the cufflinks!!"
Linda
I emailed her back. Did she come to ARTS ON FOOT? Did she get the cuff links?
 |
| Linda at... |
It is only occurring to me now to wonder how she got to the show so fast. Did she take the metro, plane, jet skis, bus, or car? I saw her flying by my booth on foot as I was starting to pack. She was looking for me. Yes, she brought the cuff links, and this lovely bracelet too.
The show was over. I had broken down my stand, packed my car and was again on the couch flopping at my friends house contemplating dinner. The little green light on my fancy phone was again blinking--I had mail. This was the message.
Hi Sonda
- I'm so glad I found you today. I'm heading out for dinner wearing the beautiful bracelet, and I love the cufflinks.
Would you mind bringing the other pair you made for me to the Market next weekend? I definitely want to buy them for my friend.
Thanks. Linda
And I thought she had blown me off.
Witnessing,
Sonda
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Turtle's Webb LOOK! at... ARTS ON FOOT
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Turtle's Webb Newsletter 
Turtle's Webb | 2806 Silverhill ave. | Baltimore | MD | 21207 |
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The danger of a Single Story: Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market
The title of these essays (Turtle's Webb: My View From Here) comes from something that did not manifest when I wrote about my working life as a professional artist at Eastern Market. But the concept of stepping back and looking at things from varied perspectives was part of me then, and it has stayed with me. For those of you who have followed the writing I did on
"Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market"
http://www.turtleswebbraisinghellateasternmarket.blogspot.com
I will start this project with a type of manifesto. Chimamanda Adichie expresses my thoughts better than I ever could.
"Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market"
http://www.turtleswebbraisinghellateasternmarket.blogspot.com
I will start this project with a type of manifesto. Chimamanda Adichie expresses my thoughts better than I ever could.
At one time I was going to be a person that professed history. I studied the history of Africa, the United States of America, and Europe for six years. But in the end I came to believe it was a waste of life to argue with those who fundamentally believed in their own cultural superiority and were unable to view me and mine as equally human.
In 2009, the City of Washington took over from/disenfranchised/stole from the founders of Market 5 Gallery...everything, including the Saturday Arts and Crafts Festival and the Sunday Flea Market at Eastern Market.
While this was happening, I had an enlightening conversation with the city's choice for interim manager, Mr. Barry Margeson. He stood in the plaza that John Harrod had built and informed me that he knew more folks involved in Eastern Market after his then-three-months of "management" than I did from my eighteen-year tenure as an exhibitor. It was thus no surprise that within the year his reign began, police officers were being called on a regular basis on the exhibitor community. In my case, not only were police officers called to remove me from my space three times, but a member of his then-management team yelled and cursed at me, witnessed by a Sergeant of the force who had been ordered to remove me. I did not move, and this member of the City Managements 'team' was subsequently removed from employment at Eastern Market.
Then came the ribbon cutting ceremony for the new monument--Eastern Market, the building. The city officials et. al. did not mention, note, appreciate or acknowledge the existence of the Market's largest group, the economic power house that is the exhibitor community at Eastern Market. We were Ralph Ellison's "invisible men". I noted for years that when Ward Six City Council member Tommy Wells deigned to come out to the market on the weekends, he spoke to, acknowledged, and look in the eye only two men. He failed to understand that he was seen by the invisible people and his measure was being taken. Later, in 2010, Mr. Wells assembled a group to advise him on rewriting the law that governs the overall functioning of the Eastern Market complex, including exhibitor operations. Mr. Wells "group" is composed solely of folk who match Mr. Wells when he gazes in the mirror. He apparently did not deem "others" qualified enough to be included in advising him on a law that will directly affect, one of the most (if not the most) diverse groups of exhibitors in the world. No exhibitor, nor person with any historical knowledge of the exhibitor community was ever consulted by Mr. Wells as an equal part of his 'group'.
I did not want to waste my life arguing with folk who were perhaps, after a millennium of world domination and destruction, psychologically, genetically, emotionally, or spiritually unable to see me and mine as human. I thought it was a waste of life. What I am aware of in both Mr. Margeson's and Councilperson Wells' arrogance is that an inability to acknowledge the "others" humanity, is what made it easy, and still makes it easy today, to put people in the hulls of boats, to sell, mutilate and breed them.
Failing to see a community can negate its existence; it allows people to demean, belittle, ridicule and ultimately destroy it. It is no wonder that a Pope once posed the question, regarding folk in the "new world", 'do they have a soul?' He did not see them when he looked into the mirror. It was impossible for him to posit their depth of scientific, economic, and or political knowledge. Those indigenous folk were not and would never be apart of his concept of 'community.' So the Spaniards laid waste to what they could not see or value. The English, Portuguese, Spanish and...mastered race-based slavery, worked millions to death for profit, and built and destroyed worlds and souls. The arrogance,oblivious ignorance and the dismissive mentality of Margeson, and Wells proves that this ugliness is still amongst us today.
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Ward 6 Councilperson Tommy Wells
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Interim Manager of Eastern Market
DC Department of Real Estate ServicesBarry Margeson |
However, destruction starts from within, and the best tools are always fear, self-doubt, jealousy and moral cowardice. If the "others" are weak or disorganized or, worse, really believe in their own inferiority, destruction is assured. If the "others" fail to value themselves from within their own hearts, minds and souls, again destruction is assured. If the "other" fails to organize with common goals, to speak and act on those goals in one voice, then... A conundrum of the human condition-Chinua Achebe's -"Things Fall Apart".
So I had forty-plus years of living under my belt, six years of "higher education", a strict old-fashioned southern Christian upbringing and...the reality of that inauguration day: "the word made flesh", the role of my family in history. I had the faith and beliefs instilled in me by a tough woman, who heard and taught me that "the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice." In July of 2009, "Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market" published its first essay, "In Front of the Monument: Eastern Market". In two years I created more than fifty essays. In them, I took, as my staff and my shield, love. As they say around my way, "God don't like ugly."
And today, as I begin this new project (My View From Here) my essays on the exhibitor community at the historic Market 5 Gallery's Arts and Crafts Festival and The Flea Market at Eastern Market are being read in the U.S., Tunisia, El Salvador and Vietnam. I check the stats on these essays regularly; the world is reading them. You know the folk around my way are so right: God is good.
_____________________________________________________________________________Turtle's Webb Raising Hell at Eastern Market was...
my grain in the sandstorm of the single story.
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My View from Here: A First Person Narrative
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| Turtle's Webb |
In 1998, I started traveling and now I realize I have always been on this journey. When I read about Art Smith, the world renowned Modernist Art Jeweler, I remember having that Alex Haley I found you feeling. Popular and independent media can leave one with my plumage feeling and seeming odd, 'unique' , different or just plan old invisible. Where are you from... Dedonde estas tu...Vous etes de ou... I tire of 'certain questions, looks, inferences, stares',- when I speak in general or about art, concepts, languages, travel, life etc.
I am often asked--with scepticism, disbelief, raised eyebrows, shock, or all four--how did YOU do this or that, why are YOU here, how do YOU know that or this fact, where are YOU from... At the market I wrote it out as part of my artistic statement. Now folk read it and turn to look past me, trying to find who this Sonda person is... (At these looks of astonishment, I have been know to bare teeth, fang and claw)
I wish these questions only came from one source or one group, but because of the omnipresence of the single story, they have almost become universal. Years ago I proposed to some friends that we start writing travel essays, because collectively we had been to and lived on almost every continent and spoke many languages. I argued that our observations of the world and travel etc would turn most travel books on their heads. My View from Here: a first person narrative, is a nod to my teenage years and will be filled with travel, art, literature (and trash novels), music, film and the angst of a mid-career craft artist making a living at shows, online and at markets, with a touch of Spanish and a dash or two of French. As the spiritual says, "This is my story, this is my song."
Sonda
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Les bonnes bouffes au Mexique ou Las Comidas alla eran ... Part I
La bouffe. Ya'll la bouffe.
I used to be fat. So now when I eat, I pay attention to the calorie count of what I am putting into my body. I also power walk, swim, ice skate and bike to keep me fitting in my hoochie clothes. In the winter ,those ski pants I paid a fortune for are a size 8.
One would think that exercise could be a challenge when traveling. Not so, when the countries in question are Ireland, England (I powered into The Tower of London--by accident, naturally, or at least that is my story and I am sticking to it) and, of course, France.
The last time I was in Ireland, in 2004, I did a "bit of hill walking" climbing the Wicklow Way ( a mountain range) and was marched into the ground (I was in my thirties then) by a seventy-year-old who explained as he flew past me that he was part goat. The aged awaited me a the bottom of the 'hill' with smiles, dentures gleaming, and old-folk patience. Then we went to the pub; I love a good hot whisky.
Or, I lived in France off and on for almost two years, and brought two bikes, while I was there. I once (by accident, what else) rode into someone's front yard; it was a charming chateau, but for whatever reason, the owners were not pleased to see me. I call this "real tourism"--you know, the good stuff not recommended in the guide books. However, in France, let's face it, they put something in the food; one cannot get fat (though it may have something to do with the French sorta starving visitors to death.) They don't eat between meals, so keeping in shape was not so difficult. Every now and again I had to cut back on the chocolate and pastries that I ate only on the weekend et les jours ferie.
Meanwhile, those of us on this side of the Rio Grande have all heard rumors about Mexican food....and those rumors are all true. La comida alla esta rico. J'ai mange comment un cochon. Comia como un cerdo embarrasada. I got my eat on. I was based in Guadalajara in an area called el jardin de arboles. Encanta mucho esta colonia. I arranged with the language school to be hosted by a local family...and WOW is all I can say. My highest compliment when I stay with folks is to say, "I got that Ona and Fatai treatment." Ona and Fatai are friends from back in the day, and I flopped at their house every weekend for three years when I came into DC to show and sell my work at a local art, crafts, flea and farmers market. They spoiled me and I loved it. And this family, the Chavez family, gave me 'the Ona and Fatai" treatment. Do you know, there is really not a word in Spanish that means to overindulge someone? One can not be too spoiled in Latin culture? My kind of folk. The house consisted of Ms. Chavez, her daughter Ana, brother Julian, and myself.
Their home was spacious, with four bedrooms and three baths. The floors were made of marble tiles. They had an inside fountain and a lovely small back garden.
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inside mi casa en Mexico  Back garden with lime, fig trees and bird of Paradise plant But let's get right down to it. This is Ti-Ti or Ms. Chavez. She is la alma de la casa, la jefa and this sista can burn.  First she tested me to see if I was una gringa ou, una estadosuninese, ou una Mexicana pero yo soy de alla yo soy tapatia! At first she offered me a homemade salsa of chopped tomatoes with a little salt. I was like, "where is the heat?" I made her understand that I loved mi comida enchililosa. _____________________________________________________________________________________ I should preface these pictures by adding that my traveling experiences have always been nontraditional. I neither can afford nor want to stay in a hotel when I voyage. I travel to learn; I have studied languages, art, metalsmithing, shown my work and volunteered, and I never consider myself a tourist. There are these old books that speak of the power of breaking bread with other folks-strangers. These books (some call them holy texts) make it clear that this is a sacred undertaking. I agree. I have been welcomed at many tables, often with folk who had cooked for me as an honored guest even though I was unable to express my gratitude for their gift in their mother tongue. |
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So let's talk dirty, Mexican style. For the breaking of the fast I chowed down on fresh mango, watermelon, and papaya...as the starter. Desayuno in Mexico comes in at least two courses. Then maybe chilaquiles o huevos rancheros o torilla, salsa and frijoles, o... Breakfast was rib sticking. It was not a piece of bread and coffee a la Francais. Yo fui llenita cada dia. I never really got the word for lunch; since it was served at three pm I was usually to hungry to ask. I was and am a fan of enchiladas, tacos, ceviche, and anything with avocado in it. But there are those dishes that stand out. Don't tell the children, but mi gente in Mexico make a dish with chocolate as the main ingredient. Let's get nasty.
Pollo con Mole
ingredientes:
1. Pollo en piezas
1/2 cebolla
1 taza de pasta de mole
1 jitomate
3 cucharadas de aceite de oliva
un pizca de sal
Procedimiento:
En una cacerola ponga 4 tazas de agua, el pollo, cebolla y sal por una hora, cuado este listo pongalo, aparte, saque la cebolla, conserve el caldo en la misma cacerola.
Licue el jitomate y frialo en cucharadas de aceite.
Agregue al caldo, el mole y el jitomate dejelo cocinar por 20 minutos a fuego lento, agregue el pollo sin el pellejo y dejelo cocinar otros 15 minutos a fuego lento.
por bebe: Modelo ou Victoria
One does not need a dessert as you are eating chicken with a chocolate sauce. This a a picture of my plate at the table.
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| Pollo con mole y frijoles en la casa de Alicia Chavez |
Drinking in the Chavez house was all about water or Agua de... something. Jamaica water, Tamarindo water, Fraises water...oatmeal water? nope, they do make it with oatmeal--not my favorite, but surprisingly mild tasting), you name it. Whatever the secret ingredient, they crushed it, mixed it with sugar and water, and drank it. My favorite, bar none, was agua de Tamarindo. What is a tamarindo, you ask? well...it is a seed thingie, that tastes sorta sour and sweet at the same time sorta like a... well, no. There is no equivalent that I know of in the States. Check it out.
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| Agua de Tamarindo |
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Tamarindo seed/pods   |
These are just a few of the meals I had a la casa de Senora Chavez. However en las callas (in the streets) is where the real action is for getting your eat on, Mexican style. You may know that the authorities of guide books, and administrators at school, suggest that perhaps, if one is from the States, one may not have the stomach for la comida de la calle in Mexico. But, really, who listens to these folk anyway? I got my eat on again and again and again. In Tlaquepaque (crafts and arts expensive tourist trap pueblo for Americans) I found this delicious, inexpensive roasted chicken and potato dish and even took a picture before I had eaten it all. (*Please note--Tlaquepaque has excellent arts and crafts, and I went several times, but it really is a tourist trap for Americans.)
Here are some images of good eats in ... Tonala. Tonala is like the Flea Market at Eastern Market, on crazy. without "the good guys that wear hats" as management. Imagine that one or two of the more "street wise" vendors had taken over and strung up red lights, disco balls, and shoe sofas mixed with the worst imports; wonderful spicy fresh food; no side walks/walkways; and all the artists and craft artists stuck in a back corner. Now make it a hundred times as large as the school yard, with dirt and cobble stone streets where the asphalt is. Are you getting the picture? No? Well, then...
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| The Flea Market at Tonala |
The Flea Market at...
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STREET EATS
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| Fresh coconuts |
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Those green things are sauteed jalapeno peppers...goody! |
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Peeling a coconut, old school  It should be noted that many dishes in Mexico are...fried!  But there are salad-like dishes as well if one looks for them. Yummy! _______________________________________________________________________________________ I grew up with a traditional southern American diet as my background culinary experience. I used to like picked pigs feet with greens and corn bread. In Baltimore, where I have spent the balance of my life, my mother took us to folk festivals. Hence, I have eaten somebody's mamma's cooking from Greece to Lithuania, with side trips to the Caribbean, West African peanut stews, Filipino pineapple and roast pig. And don't get me started on a good hot borscht. But Mexico had something new for la Sondita. Yeah, I ate 'em. Tasted just like...  Yes: crickets or maybe grasshoppers. Hell, I say pass the chili, lime and salt and grab the cat. These are specialties of Oaxaca called "Chapulines". Chocolate is also a speciality of Oaxaca. I chomped down on these crunchy treats while waiting for the bus in Tlaquepaque. But what is food without something to wash it down with? In Ireland, for me with pub grub comes a hot whisky, or, for the folk, Guinness. In France avec poulet roti un petit vin blanc. In Germany French fries with mayonnaise and larger. But in Mexico did you know that Tequila was a.... Witnessing Joy, Sonda |
Friday, June 3, 2011
Las Mariposas de Michoacan: Por Heather y su hija Sophia
One of my favorite documentaries is called A Man Named Pearl. It is about an artist of trees. At one point viewers learn that he is not trained or schooled in the magic that he creates. He is in conversation with form, shape, trees, shrubs, texture and structure. He has found his center, his gift and his calling. He is in conversation with the divine. Indeed, he does not question how he can do what he does, he simply does his thing. Sort of like nature. Sort of like us.
I am now a member of an elite club. The price of admission is high. I hope you never join. Unfortunately, most of us live long enough to do so. I am a member of the dead momma club. I was accepted on Nov. 16, 2009, some time during the early morning. There is this thing that happens; one minute you are dealing with the sick, stubborn, difficult rock of your world. The next, folk are talking to you about 'the body'. What to do with it, when to view it, where it is... I was just numb.
In my time as a pro-artist I have had two studio assistants. One is named Sylva; she did and does magic with food. She is a touch of a jack of many artistic forms. She sews, cooks, and makes stuff. But in general her favorite language is food--American nouvelle cuisine. Heather use to 'do hair'; now she 'does jewelry' on the western coast. She moved across the country and met and married Gene, and they have two children Sophia and Dominic.
Heather became a member of the dead momma club, I believe, sometime in 2008. There is this understanding between us, and no 'thoughtful' horrible questions. Death is full of details. So, not long after my mother died, Heather and her family came back east to deal with some more of the details of her mother's life--the house, the will, the paperwork of informing the world that mom is gone, the family dramas and, the worst, what to do with all her stuff. While on this trip of 'dealing with stuff', Heather gifted me with a visit during our times of grief . Because of the kids, we decided to meet up at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History.
At that time I was so numb I saw rainbow halo's around the street lights, the way you do after a no-sleep night at the clubs followed by a 8:00am lecture and ... It was great being around her family. The mammoth in the Natural History Museum just does the trick for kids and adults alike.
This was my first time meeting the children. I had heard tales and, via e-mail and Face book, had seen many funny pictures of them, so I felt like I knew them. However, they were very shy of me. Sophia, the oldest, sort of peeped at me for the first hour, taking her lead from her mother. After awhile Heather and I led the way to our favorite exhibit, the gem collection. We both lamented the use of our favorite stones as display items., telling each other how we could really make better use of the pieces in jewelry of our own designs. We shared a deep sigh over the poor Hope Diamond not being worn by one of us. Really, I look so good in sky blue.
Our moods were lifting. I can not say if this exhibition was enjoyed as much by Gene and Dominic, but Sophia was starting to focus. At some point we went to the insect zoo. To say that the children were in their element is an understatement. They loved it. I remember watching Sophia get her mother--my friend, the diva, the I-hate-bugs queen of high heeled shoes, gettin' hair 'did', and full face make-up--to pet what I believe was a hissing cockroach from Madagascar. Her daughter looked on with glee as Heather allowed the thing to crawl on her arm. I thought, now that is momma love.
At some point in the insect section Sophia was so overjoyed, that she grabbed my hand to show me something. She smiled up at me. It was so nice. I felt good. Her warmth, excitement and trust just open something up in me. I remember thinking, I am not dead inside.
We were in luck: the Natural History Museum was also having a special living exhibition on butterflies. Heather, Sophia and I went in (Dominic was too young ,so Gene waited outside with the stroller.) The Smithsonian 'put theirfoot in it'. Wow! there were all types of butterflies flying about. This exhibition had excellent information on habitat, coloration, shapes, foods, locations in the world and more. We were enraptured. Butterflies landed on us and we had to stand still so that the museum staff could pull them off of us without damaging their wings. We walked slowly, trying to take it all in. I remember one miniature encased section on butterflies in their chrysalis phase of life; one type of chrysalis was magnificent, like a jewel--that is to say, a celadon opaque with golden notches all around it. It was so hard to believe it was real...and then I saw it breathe. The exhibition was excellent. They had the flora, fauna and food of the butterflies. One could see which types of butterflies ate which kinds of food or liked alighting on which types of plants. Sophia could not get enough. She oohed, ah'd, looked, pointed and asked tons of questions.
When we came out, Heather and I remarked on how much better we felt. How much more alive we were. We saw a bit more of the museum, ate a late lunch and went our separate ways to once again deal with the details of our mother's lives.
I went through the motions of the holiday season. I sold stuff, saw folk, and smiled. Dealt with details. I raised hell at Eastern Market. I did not stop and take a breath until...I did.
I took the winter of 2011 off, and I went to Mexico. I am blessed and cursed with a powerfully strong personality, will and character. So when I set my mind to something, I do it. I speak Spanish and I wanted to improve it, visit a friend, and maybe just maybe go to a place in Mexico that I had read about and viewed a documentary on. At first I did not know where it was: would it be close to my school? Would it be too remote, too expensive, too dangerous, too, too.. to really go?
But everything fell into place. I contacted the wrong school and they gave me the right price. I came at the right time of year. My classmate came from the other end of the world, but had adventurous and kind spirits. My Spanish teacher had been to this place before, and she also ran a hostel and was more than generous with calling and making reservation in rapid-fire Spanish and searching out economical prices. So, yeah, I did it. I went to La Reserva Mariposa Monararca in the eastern region of Michoacan, Mexico.
It was a six hour bus ride through the night from Guadalajara to La Reserva de la Biosfera las Mariposas in Michoacan. Tanya, my classmate--a primary school teacher on sabbatical from Australia-- found the tour. She was with a group of soon-to-be teachers of English to children in Mexico. I usually travel solo, but was quite unsure of my Spanish; later I was glad I had gone with her and her friends. We traveled though the night, on a bus more like the Peter Pan line than Greyhound (i.e. cleaner and quieter.) By the morning, we were not in or near the second largest city in Mexico. We were yonder, and going deeper. I think at one point the driver got lost. La Reserva is not easy to find.
In many smaller pueblos or rural areas in Mexico, when you arrive at your destination, and even during the trip at various stops folk are selling large cups full of fresh pineapple, mango, and watermelon which they serve with chili, lime and salt, or fresh roasted corn on the cob, or aguas de tamarido, pina, or... At La Reserva the folks were selling hand made hats and walking sticks. We had traveled six hours and now it was time to climb and climb and climb. I was fighting a losing battle with a cold, so I moved very slowly. The entrance we took, 'El Rosario', to La Reserva was considered by my "Lonely Planet" guide book to be the touristy entrance (the reserve has more than four entrances spread out over quite a large area). Here are some images.
I loved the stalls of food and craft items that lined the walk. We walked up a steep incline 12km to reach the reserve. The mountain range for the reserva rises over three thousand meters. This little walk had even the gusto folk pausing to take a breath. Then I reached the pasture, and I was thinking ,OK I am finally here and "I saw not a butterfly to first" I was like what the... ? The guides at the entrance to the reserve had suggested maybe visitors should rent horses, but my attitude was horseback equals riding on a big dog and it might bite. However, at the pasture folk were getting off the horses with still more of a" un poco mas lejos para alli" I ain't saying that my Mexican brothers and sisters have a difference notion of distance but, uh, well, they ain't exactly...German...about precision.
_______________________________________________________________________________
* A few facts
The migratory habits of the monarch butterfly in this region of the world were not discovered until the 20th century. "The wings of the monarch butterfly feature an easily recognizable orange and black pattern, with a wingspan of ...3.34 inches to 4.92 inches. Female monarchs have darker veins on their wings, and the males have a spot in the center of each hind wing from which pheromones are released. The caterpillars likewise have bright stripes." New World Encyclopedia Most butterflies have relatively short life spans, about nine weeks, and this varies with species. However, the butterflies that make the 'great migration' to Mexico from Canada and the Great Lakes region and the East Coast of the United States have been given a much longer life span. They fly almost 4500km to reach La Reserva, starting in the autumn to overwinter and breed ('hit it, get busy, do the nasty' etc) in the forests of Michoacan. I have read that at times they do the reproductive dance in flight upside down. The JOY OF SEX don't have nothin' on nature. The trees in this forest are mostly pine and oyenal (fir) tree. "It takes from three to five generations of butterflies ( living one to eight months each) to complete the entire round-trip journey from Canada to Mexico and back, says the Lonely Planet guidebook. One of the great mysteries of these insects is how are they able to navigate from Canada to Mexico?
Monarch Butterfly
Scientific classification
Kingdom: Animalia
Phylum: Arthropoda
Class: Insecta
Order: Lepidoptera
Superfamily: Papilionidea
Family: Nymphalidae
Subfamily: Danainae
Tribe: Danaini
Genus: Danaus
Species: Danaus plexippus
What is the job of the butterfly in the ecosystem of the world? Why, to eat and be eaten. As they eat nectar from flower to flower they also collect and transfer pollen from plant to plant. One can think of this as 'safe sex'. And butterflies son unos de los platos preferridos de las ranas, los murcielagos, los aves, las serpientes, las lagartijas y algunos monos.
___________________________________________________________________________________
So, we finally get to the spot. It is 9:30am and, well, we wait and wait. I am wheezing because of my not- chest-cold. The air is thin and fresh. I start looking for butterflies. I see a few dead ones on the ground. The guides are standing in the middle of the road near a roped off area. I am wondering, what am I doing here, where are all the butterflies, what are we waiting for? And then, and then ...the sun hits their wings.
For the the dead momma club las Mariposas Monarca
I won't say they blocked out the sky, but they filled the air. I am left with images that words cannot express. I met a women visiting with her husband, from. I don't remember where in Mexico We both witnessed this natural phenomenon as a testament to our faith and belief in the divine, god, a presence or force in the universe that has created designs, patterns and cycles in nature, and humankind. I was in my bliss. I remember thinking of Heather, Sophia and the exhibition we had gone to over a year ago in Washington, DC. I took photos, I walked off the path a little into the forest. I started back and sat in that meadow now aflutter with wings in golden orange. I lost time. I meandered down the path taking it all in.
I was thirty minutes late returning to the bus and if not for Tanya (my guardian angel from Australia) I would have been left at La Reserva. Patterns in nature, chance, luck? She held the bus up, she told them to wait for me. I was sitting in a pasture of butterflies in my bliss.
_____________________________________________________________________________
I wrote very few people when I was away in Mexico, mostly just the dead momma club members and a few others. When I returned stateside, I ask these folks about the images that I had sent them. Most did not receive the images from Michoacan. Heather had done a backyard nature project with her daughter who loved butterflies. I asked Heather if I could tell our story of the museum and about details ... I asked Heather for pictures of that day. I asked Heather to ask her daughter some questions about butterflies. Here are Sophia's responses..
The following are images of Sophia's project her backyard taken by her mom, Heather
There is a transcendence that happens when you live your dreams. It is a bizarre touch of magic. It keeps me warm in the winter as I stand outside in entertaining weather at the art markets I work. I remember I swam in the North Sea, studied metalsmithing in Ireland, went to the 2005 Cannes Film Festival, spent three summers in the South of France, sat in a pasture on the side of a mountain in late February and witnessed the unexplainable in flight. I laugh inside when I am asked how can you stand out here all day in this cold?, because I am so warm inside.
Witnessing Joy,
Sonda
I am now a member of an elite club. The price of admission is high. I hope you never join. Unfortunately, most of us live long enough to do so. I am a member of the dead momma club. I was accepted on Nov. 16, 2009, some time during the early morning. There is this thing that happens; one minute you are dealing with the sick, stubborn, difficult rock of your world. The next, folk are talking to you about 'the body'. What to do with it, when to view it, where it is... I was just numb.
In my time as a pro-artist I have had two studio assistants. One is named Sylva; she did and does magic with food. She is a touch of a jack of many artistic forms. She sews, cooks, and makes stuff. But in general her favorite language is food--American nouvelle cuisine. Heather use to 'do hair'; now she 'does jewelry' on the western coast. She moved across the country and met and married Gene, and they have two children Sophia and Dominic.
Heather became a member of the dead momma club, I believe, sometime in 2008. There is this understanding between us, and no 'thoughtful' horrible questions. Death is full of details. So, not long after my mother died, Heather and her family came back east to deal with some more of the details of her mother's life--the house, the will, the paperwork of informing the world that mom is gone, the family dramas and, the worst, what to do with all her stuff. While on this trip of 'dealing with stuff', Heather gifted me with a visit during our times of grief . Because of the kids, we decided to meet up at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History.
At that time I was so numb I saw rainbow halo's around the street lights, the way you do after a no-sleep night at the clubs followed by a 8:00am lecture and ... It was great being around her family. The mammoth in the Natural History Museum just does the trick for kids and adults alike.
This was my first time meeting the children. I had heard tales and, via e-mail and Face book, had seen many funny pictures of them, so I felt like I knew them. However, they were very shy of me. Sophia, the oldest, sort of peeped at me for the first hour, taking her lead from her mother. After awhile Heather and I led the way to our favorite exhibit, the gem collection. We both lamented the use of our favorite stones as display items., telling each other how we could really make better use of the pieces in jewelry of our own designs. We shared a deep sigh over the poor Hope Diamond not being worn by one of us. Really, I look so good in sky blue.
 |
| Sophia, Heather, Dominic and Gene |
Our moods were lifting. I can not say if this exhibition was enjoyed as much by Gene and Dominic, but Sophia was starting to focus. At some point we went to the insect zoo. To say that the children were in their element is an understatement. They loved it. I remember watching Sophia get her mother--my friend, the diva, the I-hate-bugs queen of high heeled shoes, gettin' hair 'did', and full face make-up--to pet what I believe was a hissing cockroach from Madagascar. Her daughter looked on with glee as Heather allowed the thing to crawl on her arm. I thought, now that is momma love.
 |
| Momma Love |
At some point in the insect section Sophia was so overjoyed, that she grabbed my hand to show me something. She smiled up at me. It was so nice. I felt good. Her warmth, excitement and trust just open something up in me. I remember thinking, I am not dead inside.
We were in luck: the Natural History Museum was also having a special living exhibition on butterflies. Heather, Sophia and I went in (Dominic was too young ,so Gene waited outside with the stroller.) The Smithsonian 'put theirfoot in it'. Wow! there were all types of butterflies flying about. This exhibition had excellent information on habitat, coloration, shapes, foods, locations in the world and more. We were enraptured. Butterflies landed on us and we had to stand still so that the museum staff could pull them off of us without damaging their wings. We walked slowly, trying to take it all in. I remember one miniature encased section on butterflies in their chrysalis phase of life; one type of chrysalis was magnificent, like a jewel--that is to say, a celadon opaque with golden notches all around it. It was so hard to believe it was real...and then I saw it breathe. The exhibition was excellent. They had the flora, fauna and food of the butterflies. One could see which types of butterflies ate which kinds of food or liked alighting on which types of plants. Sophia could not get enough. She oohed, ah'd, looked, pointed and asked tons of questions.
When we came out, Heather and I remarked on how much better we felt. How much more alive we were. We saw a bit more of the museum, ate a late lunch and went our separate ways to once again deal with the details of our mother's lives.
I went through the motions of the holiday season. I sold stuff, saw folk, and smiled. Dealt with details. I raised hell at Eastern Market. I did not stop and take a breath until...I did.
I took the winter of 2011 off, and I went to Mexico. I am blessed and cursed with a powerfully strong personality, will and character. So when I set my mind to something, I do it. I speak Spanish and I wanted to improve it, visit a friend, and maybe just maybe go to a place in Mexico that I had read about and viewed a documentary on. At first I did not know where it was: would it be close to my school? Would it be too remote, too expensive, too dangerous, too, too.. to really go?
But everything fell into place. I contacted the wrong school and they gave me the right price. I came at the right time of year. My classmate came from the other end of the world, but had adventurous and kind spirits. My Spanish teacher had been to this place before, and she also ran a hostel and was more than generous with calling and making reservation in rapid-fire Spanish and searching out economical prices. So, yeah, I did it. I went to La Reserva Mariposa Monararca in the eastern region of Michoacan, Mexico.
 |
| Tanya, my classmate from Australia |
 |
| Mi profesora horrible, Karina, teaching me the proper use of the word " Changa" |
In many smaller pueblos or rural areas in Mexico, when you arrive at your destination, and even during the trip at various stops folk are selling large cups full of fresh pineapple, mango, and watermelon which they serve with chili, lime and salt, or fresh roasted corn on the cob, or aguas de tamarido, pina, or... At La Reserva the folks were selling hand made hats and walking sticks. We had traveled six hours and now it was time to climb and climb and climb. I was fighting a losing battle with a cold, so I moved very slowly. The entrance we took, 'El Rosario', to La Reserva was considered by my "Lonely Planet" guide book to be the touristy entrance (the reserve has more than four entrances spread out over quite a large area). Here are some images.
 |
| Walking up to La Reserva-the commercial entrance |
 |
| La entrade de La Reserva |
 |
| In Sonda language, 'large dog', waiting in the pasture after the 'little climb' |
* A few facts
The migratory habits of the monarch butterfly in this region of the world were not discovered until the 20th century. "The wings of the monarch butterfly feature an easily recognizable orange and black pattern, with a wingspan of ...3.34 inches to 4.92 inches. Female monarchs have darker veins on their wings, and the males have a spot in the center of each hind wing from which pheromones are released. The caterpillars likewise have bright stripes." New World Encyclopedia Most butterflies have relatively short life spans, about nine weeks, and this varies with species. However, the butterflies that make the 'great migration' to Mexico from Canada and the Great Lakes region and the East Coast of the United States have been given a much longer life span. They fly almost 4500km to reach La Reserva, starting in the autumn to overwinter and breed ('hit it, get busy, do the nasty' etc) in the forests of Michoacan. I have read that at times they do the reproductive dance in flight upside down. The JOY OF SEX don't have nothin' on nature. The trees in this forest are mostly pine and oyenal (fir) tree. "It takes from three to five generations of butterflies ( living one to eight months each) to complete the entire round-trip journey from Canada to Mexico and back, says the Lonely Planet guidebook. One of the great mysteries of these insects is how are they able to navigate from Canada to Mexico?
Monarch Butterfly
Scientific classification
Kingdom: Animalia
Phylum: Arthropoda
Class: Insecta
Order: Lepidoptera
Superfamily: Papilionidea
Family: Nymphalidae
Subfamily: Danainae
Tribe: Danaini
Genus: Danaus
Species: Danaus plexippus
What is the job of the butterfly in the ecosystem of the world? Why, to eat and be eaten. As they eat nectar from flower to flower they also collect and transfer pollen from plant to plant. One can think of this as 'safe sex'. And butterflies son unos de los platos preferridos de las ranas, los murcielagos, los aves, las serpientes, las lagartijas y algunos monos.
___________________________________________________________________________________
So, we finally get to the spot. It is 9:30am and, well, we wait and wait. I am wheezing because of my not- chest-cold. The air is thin and fresh. I start looking for butterflies. I see a few dead ones on the ground. The guides are standing in the middle of the road near a roped off area. I am wondering, what am I doing here, where are all the butterflies, what are we waiting for? And then, and then ...the sun hits their wings.
For the the dead momma club las Mariposas Monarca
I won't say they blocked out the sky, but they filled the air. I am left with images that words cannot express. I met a women visiting with her husband, from. I don't remember where in Mexico We both witnessed this natural phenomenon as a testament to our faith and belief in the divine, god, a presence or force in the universe that has created designs, patterns and cycles in nature, and humankind. I was in my bliss. I remember thinking of Heather, Sophia and the exhibition we had gone to over a year ago in Washington, DC. I took photos, I walked off the path a little into the forest. I started back and sat in that meadow now aflutter with wings in golden orange. I lost time. I meandered down the path taking it all in.
 |
| Sights going back down the path from La Reserva |
I was thirty minutes late returning to the bus and if not for Tanya (my guardian angel from Australia) I would have been left at La Reserva. Patterns in nature, chance, luck? She held the bus up, she told them to wait for me. I was sitting in a pasture of butterflies in my bliss.
_____________________________________________________________________________
I wrote very few people when I was away in Mexico, mostly just the dead momma club members and a few others. When I returned stateside, I ask these folks about the images that I had sent them. Most did not receive the images from Michoacan. Heather had done a backyard nature project with her daughter who loved butterflies. I asked Heather if I could tell our story of the museum and about details ... I asked Heather for pictures of that day. I asked Heather to ask her daughter some questions about butterflies. Here are Sophia's responses..
Ms. Sonda,
I had fun taking care of and watching the butterflies grow and change. After they left their chrysalises we fed the butterflies orange slices and sugar water. A few days later, when it was warm enough, we let them go. I was sad and excited to see them fly away. I can't wait to grow more butterflies this spring. Love, Sophia
Mz. Sonda,
I grew the butterflies at home with my family and Ella the cat. We also grew butterflies at school but that was later.
-Love,
Sophia
This year Sophia et. al went to Disneyland and in California, so my last question was what kind of butterflies did they 'grow' and how did she like her trio to Disney?
Mz.Sonda,
We grew the Painted Lady butterflies May of last year.
I saw a lot of Princesses in Disney and I really liked Tinkerbell.
Love,
Sophia
The following are images of Sophia's project her backyard taken by her mom, Heather
 |
| Butterfly growing |
 |
| Butterflies eating |
 |
| Mz. Sophia in her bliss |
There is a transcendence that happens when you live your dreams. It is a bizarre touch of magic. It keeps me warm in the winter as I stand outside in entertaining weather at the art markets I work. I remember I swam in the North Sea, studied metalsmithing in Ireland, went to the 2005 Cannes Film Festival, spent three summers in the South of France, sat in a pasture on the side of a mountain in late February and witnessed the unexplainable in flight. I laugh inside when I am asked how can you stand out here all day in this cold?, because I am so warm inside.
Witnessing Joy,
Sonda
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