The Cloud People. Photo: Parker Asmann
The streets are narrow, steep. In every direction the Sierra Madre mountain range stretches for miles and miles. Down in the valley is where the city sits, where commerce booms and the wealth is centralized. Today we’re traveling east along highway 190 towards Teotitlán del Valle. As we emerge from the city’s grip, tiny villages dot the foothills of the mountains, now the Sierra Juárez mountains. Dust clouds our vision as we rumble down a dirt road. In the distance a small co-op appears where one culture and way of life has preserved itself for generations and generations.
Also known as ‘The Cloud People,’ the Zapotecs predominantly resided in the southern highlands of southern Mesoamerica, specifically in the Valley of Oaxaca. The now historic archaeological site of Monte Albán was the community’s first capital before being moved to Mitla, further to the east. The Zapotecs showed high levels of sophistication in architecture, the arts and engineering from their beginning in 500 BCE until the civilization’s collapse around 900 CE. Today the tradition of weaving is something that still very much breathes along the foothills of the Sierra Juárez mountains.
It’s the dry season in the valley, the plots of land that surround the co-op are tints of yellow and beige, the soil looks parched. Cactus farms occupy the same plots of land, though their green leaves contrast the stale dryness beneath their roots. The co-op forms a U shape around a rocky path that fills the space in the middle. Along the perimeter wood structures rise up into the skies with work stations on the ground level. In the back they are preparing the wool to start making the yarn.
Every product used in the different steps of the weaving process is native to the region. Sheep typically roam the mountains just to the north, but it’s the dry season and they’ve moved to find food and water. The Zapotecs sheer the wool from these sheep to start the transformation process into yarn. With a sharp handheld tool, the weavers begin the carding process of the wool to remove the leftover debris and prepare it for spinning. Typically, the wool has a naturally brown or beige tint to it before the weavers utilize other resources to dye the yarn different colors.
Cochineal are small, scarlet colored insects that live on the cactus, feeding on plant moisture and nutrients. The insects’ presence is visible in a faint, grey silhouette that appears on the leaves of the cactus. To begin the dying process the Zapotec weavers brush off these insects and dry them out to harden them. Afterwards, the insects are crushed down with a mortar and pestle into a powdery material that has a naturally dark tint of red to it from the insect. To control the shades of red, the weavers can add water, lemon juice and limestone, or a combination of the three, to produce different shades for their weaving projects. These methods have been etched in stone for thousands of years.
In Teotitlán del Valle the people are weavers. That’s what their ancestors have done and that’s what continues to be passed down from generation to generation. From the age of six or seven, boys and girls are taught the intricate process of weaving from the very first step to the last. Hiding behind who appeared to be his mother, a boy, maybe eleven-years-old, stood timidly as we observed a beautifully woven blanket of vibrant blues and reds laid out on the floor. It was his first completed one.
For the other colors, the blues and yellows and oranges, the Zapotecs again turn to the resources that are naturally growing around them to guide their craft. Pomegranates, cactus fruit, alfalfa, pecan bark, assorted berries and other resources are all utilized to manipulate the color of the dye. Like with the cochineal, adding water, lemon juice and limestone, or a combination of the three, allows the weavers to create many different shades of the colors. Now prepared with their tools, the weavers are ready to weave.
Three thousand Zapotecs reside spread out along the feet of the Sierra Juárez mountains that stretch east and pull north away from highway 190. Among them, more than 90% are traditional weavers who have been practicing the craft since they were young boys and girls. This specific co-op is comprised of around 20 families who work together to weave and provide resources for their community. Circling around to take in the surrounding scenery, the closest town is nearly twenty miles away. Back to the west, into the Oaxaca Valley where the city turns like a well oiled machine. The closest option to finding someone to purchase these woven masterpieces.
Masterpieces. Photo: Parker Asmann
Occupied by an older woman meticulously working, a large, wooden, two-pedal loom sits off in the distance in a spacious part of the co-op unrestricted by any doors or enclosures, only a small roof. Very similar to the loom the Spanish introduced hundreds of years ago, the machine needs to be threaded before the weaving can begin. Depending on the size, this process can take up to three days before every slot is properly aligned and tightened to the same tension. Once ready, the weaving begins.
Many of the designs that are incorporated into these weavings are traditional symbols. Arguably one of the most remarkable facts about the weaving process is that these weavers do not use any type of guide, they know the designs and all of their intricacies by heart. Depending on the size of the weaving, each piece of work varies in how long the process will take. Something smaller can take up to a week to finish while other larger pieces can take months and months to be completed.
Twenty miles to the nearest town. But the clientele in the Oaxaca Valley don’t always come out to purchase the weavings of the Zapotecs lodged in the foothills. So now it’s D.F., almost 300 miles to the northwest from the Sierra Juárez mountain range where these villages sit. The dry season is tough for most in the region, but especially for those outside of the city’s grip, those tucked into the mountains, the Zapotecs, the weavers.
We slowly tumble back down the dirt road, highway 190 pulses with life as the dust begins to disintegrate in our line of vision. He looks left, he looks right, we pass over the highway as if it were a portal into another world. El Rey de Matatlán, we get out to learn the inner workings of this mezcal distillery. They shower us with samples; creamed mezcal, blanco, aged eight and eighteen years, with the worm, without. I sit back down in the van, a pit in my stomach. Torn by the dichotomy of the two completely different worlds separated by a thin two-lane highway, I write. I did not buy anything from the Zapotec weavers.
Teotitlán del Valle. Photo Parker Asmann
∴
Parker Asmann is a 2015 graduate of DePaul University with degrees in Journalism and Spanish, along with a minor in Latin American and Latino Studies. He is currently residing in Chicago while focusing on issues of social justice and human rights. He is a member of El BeiSMans Editorial Board.