Las camas destruyan a uno
Mejor me acomodo asentado
Perdóname hijo
Perdóname
Mejor me acomodo asentado
Perdóname hijo
Perdóname
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.
Flowers were for you
I’m so glad you invited
The memory never subsided
So happy of the news
She never forgot about you
Flowers were for you
Even though it was all over
You’ve done great
Have made everything new
Despite all the blue
You’ve always fought through
Even though it hurt
All your dreams came true
We’ll never break away
Always by her side
To have the time of your lives
Best sisters for life
To never ever hurt again
I’m so glad you invited
After all this time
The memory never subsided
So happy of the news
She never forgot about you
Flowers were for you
Even though it was all over
You’ve done great
Have made everything new
Despite all the blue
You’ve always fought through
Even though it hurt
All your dreams came true
We’ll never break away
Always by her side
To have the time of your lives
Best sisters for life
To never ever hurt again
I’m so glad you invited
After all this time
Cuarenta y cinco años
Don Severo tengo cuarenta y cinco años y leo todos los días porque siempre ahí alguien quien sabe mas que uno…
An Olmec in my pocket
Cries in my sleep
Crow on my windshield
An Olmec in my pocket
Crow on my windshield
An Olmec in my pocket
Omens or something?
I prefer Halloween
Skulls
Witches
And Toads
Pray for me Renée
I don’t want to die on Christmas Eve
I prefer Halloween
I prefer Halloween
Some about serpents
You didn’t have to leave
All of the arguments were mastered
The writing was finished
You could have waited
They just wanted to ask questions
Some about serpents
Some about science
How it ended, how it all got started
Nothing forgotten
Everything was easy
I had all the answers in my heart
We all waited for you
Since the announcement
We missed you, two tickets wasted
That was the hardest part
I'm Rain
I love this weather…
It’s nice isn’t it?
Yeah.
It’s to fall in love for…
I'll buy you a coffee…
Sure!
I’m Serpent…
I’m Rain…
Nice too meet you Rain.
Nice too meet you…
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