Welcome students and colleagues, friends and family, if you have made it this far, I encourage you to stay a bit longer and read about some of my work. The writings reflect many of the thoughts that I carry with me throughout the course of a day, evening, and often times, the dreams that take hold of me while I sleep. The verses represent the inner voice in me that speaks of the past, the present, and the future. Writing is my ultimate form of expression that allows me to reflect, inspire, get well, and grow. The energy that feeds my work, I pull from themes that correspond to Mesoamerica, my ancestral place of birth, and the area I study. References to symbols of the past, deities, and natural phenomenon, dominate certain pieces, and blend with current verses of life, love, and death. I have never taken a writing class... the only "style" that exhibits my work is the one that I create from my imagination, heart, and dreams.
I’m an avid builder and horticulturalist, and so I spend a lot of my time building things and growing different types of herbs and plant food. I do not identify as an artist nor do I make art for aesthetic purposes; my work solely materializes a ritual-ceremonial or utilitarian function. The craft of working with wood I learned from my father, by watching him design and build homes throughout much of my adolescent youth. I also learned how to work with stone by watching my uncles construct brick and rock landscapes, in the wealthy neighborhoods were they labored during much of the 1980s, when construction was booming. My paternal grandpa Juan was also a craftsman, hence why all his sons became builders of some sort, and so building has always been an integral part of my family’s trade history. I learned about plant cultivation from my abuelita Mercedes on my paternal side and my abuelito Severo on my maternal side. Much of the landscaping strategies that I learned from my grandparents came with them from Mexico when they migrated to Alta California, in the early 1960s, along with my parents. A lot of the building and planting strategies that my family has implored have been in use for over 3,000 years. It is my purpose to revitalize and sustain these ancestral practices through ceremony, household building, and plant cultivation.
My fascination with building and growing food is not only familial, but also physical-skeletal (see my Physical Anthropology 101 blog), and because so, I have an admiration for the morphology of the human hand. The hand is unlike any part of the body, and because we use our hands every day, we literally take them for granted, sometimes failing to notice their full potential use. Our hands are our first weapons of choice in an attack, yet they are the first part of the body that we extend when helping or consoling someone. With our hands, we build shelter, writer letters, prepare food, and unknowingly, make love. Our hand-digit coordination is unique because it is precise, well adapted for creating, and for using and making tools. Hand-digit use coordination has been a part of our human evolutionary past since we inhabited arboreal environments, way before we developed bipedalism. When combined with tool use, the creative use of the hands has the capability of decolonizing our minds and bodies.
My inquiry into the relationship between hand-bone morphology usage and social behavior remains in the early stages. Nonetheless, some preliminary findings I modeled in a recent paper where I discuss the role of the hands, and early human tool making, in the creation of spatial wellness. The paper is published in Vol. 3 No. 4 of the International Journal of Development and Sustainability.
Incluso, con el tiempo aprendí ciertas prácticas
físicas que asistieron con el conocimiento
de mundos extranjeros y otras formas de pensar.
Mas que nada, los temas sobre la muerte y
el reino subterráneo me fascinaban. Fue mi pasa
tiempo escribir de esta súper-naturaleza. A
lo largo estas pasiones informarían un acto que
marcaría la llega de un Sol muy esperado.
From the work Skulls, Witches, & Toads
No tengas miedo morir.
No te va pasar nada.
Nos iremos juntos de aquí.
Al reino subterráneo.
Donde no existe el dolor, ni
la memoria del ayer.
Al llegar al interior
seremos juntos otra vez, por
toda la eternidad…
No te va pasar nada.
From the work Skulls, Witches, & Toads
Someone gathered my bones and sprinkled blood on them
Now I’m put back together again
From the work Skulls, Witches, & Toads
We can’t make each other happy.
But we can be each others guardian protector.
There’s no saying no to that…
From the work Skulls, Witches, & Toads
Memories died, and
versus turned into sick lullabies…
Writing took control of me.
Resentment killed me, and I turned
into an evil guy…
From the work Skulls, Witches, & Toads
Star Command come in Star command…
Star Command come in Star command…
Can you read me?
Where in the hell are you!
Jupiter do we have a visual?
I repeat do we have a visual DAMMIT!
We have nothing here sir, none at all – over.
WHAT IN GODS NAME DO YOU SEE?
Chaos and devastation sir… Dry river beds
and withered roses.
And the remains of some animals.
All is dead – over.
A screenplay maybe? Hmmm....
Chicano and Chicana studies, the history of Mexico, I could muster. It came by default and I loved teaching it. But Anthropology presented a challenge, it was hard... Even after formal training, schooling, and exposure, various topics remained incomprehensible and certain scholarly circles proved difficult to tap into. Pressing further meant not only the re-dedication of a familiar work ethic, but the development and implementation of a unique and all encompassing plan, recognizing everyone person involved…
Tuesday, August 9, 2011 6:48am
The grasp of your hand feels like heaven and earth.
And now you shall never be alone.
The verses I write are my wings.
And they take me to where I want to go.
To the depth of an ocean, or to the
far end of the universe.