Y Mis Huesos se Sienten Viejos, 2019-2020
I learned to be ashamed of my brown skin. Television taught me that I belonged to a culture that could only be portrayed by drunk men in sombreros. I made distance, repressed my history and promoted the fraction of European blood my last name holds.
A fascination with textiles led me to my history, investigating the work of my grandfather and the culture I come from. I learn that the craft of my grandfather was in ways a colonial project, that even in the central mountains of Mexico colonialism made a lasting mark.
I work my fingers through threads stretched on the loom, hoping that my grandfathers hands will become my own. That his knowledge will awaken inside of me through the blood that we share. I wonder if it's a fruitless pursuit to search for togetherness with a man I barely know; a man I couldn’t understand.
Working with woollen yarn I sit,
working line by line, thread by thread
over under
over under
Imagine the length, the distance that this could cover.