Riccardo and a new driver, Omar, picked us up at 9 and we headed into the southern arm of the valley toward the lovely town of Ocotlan de Moreles. The town is named for a Mexican revolutionary hero; José María Morelos, who organized the struggle for independence from Spain.
We had planned our visit on Ocotlan’s market day, and the town was joyously alive. The market sprawls out from the town square and down the side streets. And all of this is only a supplement to the enormous covered market that is open every day.
We started our visit to the workshop of the internationally famous folk artist Josefina Aguilar.
There are four Aguilar sisters and each of them has developed a variant of their mother’s work in painted clay figurines. Josefina’s renown comes from the charm of her scenes of Mexican village life. Her figures have a certain rustic realism which is central to their character. If you look closely at the image below, you’ll see a woman giving birth in the lower right corner.
Careful readers of these pages know that I brought home two figures in 2019: a market woman with a basket of fruit on her head and a woman making tortillas, complete with a separate comal and grinding stone. Well they’re going to have company: I purchased a nine piece band and three men playing a giant marimba! Here are eight of the little guys waiting to be packed.
We stuck our noses into sister Guillermina’s workshop; also lovely things, often wittier and more refined, but somehow less moving.
Next stop were the murals in the town hall by native son Rodolfo Morales, considered during his lifetime to be one of Mexico’s greatest living artists.
On our last visit, we had toured his home, which had served as the headquarters for his foundation. This time, we headed straight for the town’s major church, Santo Domingo, which had been restored with funds from th Morales Foundation.
Cultural urges satisfied, we plunged into the market.
I needed a big sombrero, since I was getting burned despite the cap I was wearing. Sue scored some of the large woven baskets that she loves, and found a lovely tablecloth for a lucky recipient. At moments like these, one feels a bit of guilt: considering the hours it took to weave this handmade piece, the price was ridiculously low. The others made similar purchases, and we headed into the covered section to see the food stalls and stands. For those of you looking for the perfect gift for that Frankfurt School fan in your life, you can purchase your very own Adorno in Ocotlan!
Our friend the Frida Kahlo imitator was still going strong!
We were eager to repeat our meal at the Azcucena Zapoteca restaurant outside San Martin Tilcajete. We had intended to eat lightly, but the food was just too good. Some of the freshest, most delicious guacamole ever, followed by a tasting of four moles (negro, coloradito, Amarillo, and estofodo). Most of us followed this up with the sublime quesadillas with Oaxacan cheese and squash blossom flowers.
We paid a relatively quick visit to the workshop of Jacobo and Maria Angeles, where I had purchased my raccoon. Riccardo had suggested that Jacobo and Maria weren’t carving or painting much anymore, and they indeed had only a few pieces on display. All lovely, but the prices had doubled in three years. Most of what was on offer was student work—very nice but not close to the masters in quality.
Riccardo wanted to show us the work of a friend, Ovidio Fuentes and his wife Alicia. We had a long talk with them. They had both come up through the ranks with the Angeles. Alicia became a master painter, Olivia a master carver. A few years before they had broken off on their own. Their work was exquisite, but the best things approached the prices at the Angeles workshop.
One of the highlights here was the revelation of the nahuals for each member of the group. Sue’s lifetime Nahual is the hummingbird; mine the frog. And we each share one of the most powerful protectors in the afterlife: the snake.
It was getting late, but we made one last stop at the artisan’s collective in San Bartolo Coyotepec, the home of black clay (barro negro) pottery. The technique of forming vessels from this clay was known for centuries to the Zapotecs and Mixtecs; the result was a sturdy grayish product. In the 1950’s a local woman, Dona Rosa Real, discovered that the pottery emerged with a deep black shine if the pieces were polished before a second firing. Sue added to our homeward load with some gifts that will be revealed all in good time.
We got back to the hotel rather late, and had to scramble for two cabs to get to our restaurant for the night, Alfonsina. It came highly recommended: the chef had made all the moles for Pujol in Mexico City, and had the worked at Cosme in New York. I just hadn’t realized how far out of town it was: after battling the traffic in downtown Oaxaca, we drove south toward the airport…and past the airport…and through a couple of dark villages…and onto a street barricaded…right in front of the restaurant. This was certainly our most unusual meal. I won’t try to describe the courses, because they were all built around local ingredients whose names we couldn’t really catch. We chatted with the chef at the end, a really nice young man…and we wished him well. We had a wild ride home in two claptrap taxis: ours had lost its seatbelts and interior door handles somewhere along the way.