Vibrant Culture of Oaxaca

Living in our rural village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, my wife Amy and I are privileged to experience the vibrant culture of nearby Oaxaca in its most authentic form. Every July, we eagerly anticipate the Guelaguetza festivities, an annual festival celebrated in Oaxaca, Mexico, that showcases the rich cultural diversity of the region. Here are the key aspects of the Guelaguetza festivities:

1. Timing and Location: The festival takes place on the last two Mondays of July in Oaxaca City and surrounding areas. The main events are held at the Guelaguetza Auditorium on Cerro del Fortín, a hill overlooking the city.

2. Cultural Significance: "Guelaguetza" means "offering" or "reciprocal exchange of gifts" in Zapotec, reflecting the festival's emphasis on community sharing and mutual interdependence.

3. Historical Roots: The festival has origins dating back over 3,000 years, initially as a celebration of the Oaxacan corn goddess. It later incorporated Catholic elements after Spanish colonization.

4. Regional Representation: Delegations from Oaxaca's eight culturally diverse regions participate, showcasing their unique traditions.

5. Performances: The festival features traditional dances, music, and costumes specific to each region. Performers often distribute gifts to the audience, such as fruit, baskets, candy, or local goods.

6. Parades: Colorful parades called "calendas" are an integral part of the festivities, featuring dancers, singers, and musicians.

7. Food and Drink: The festival celebrates Oaxacan cuisine, including specialties like mole and mezcal.

8. Artisanal Crafts: A market (mercado) showcases handmade items from Oaxaca, including traditional apparel and crafts.

9. Additional Events: The celebration includes side events such as the performance of "Princess Donaji," an epic pre-Hispanic theatrical presentation.

10. Tourist Attraction: While the Guelaguetza has become a significant tourist draw, it remains deeply important for preserving and celebrating the indigenous cultures of Oaxaca.

Friday we went to watch some street festivities. Marching brass and percussion bands filled the air with lively rhythms, creating an infectious energy that reverberates through the streets. Costumed dancers marched and danced, carrying icons. The crowds are mostly Mexican natives with a good dose of tourists mixed in. 

We are both stimulated by cultural extravaganzas. I am a photographer as well as painter so try and angle for the best photos. Amy is an artist too, and quite good recording moments on her iPhone. 

The dancers are a sight to behold. Adorned in native costumes, they step and twirl with grace and precision, their movements telling stories passed down through generations. Each region of Oaxaca showcases its unique heritage through these performances, from the vibrant dresses of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec to the feathered headdresses of the Mixtec dancers. The vivid colors and intricate designs of their costumes are mesmerizing, a testament to the rich cultural tapestry of our region. Often women dance and twirl with baskets of flowers or fruit on their head. 

As the sun sets, festivities take on a magical glow. Street vendors offer an array of delicious Oaxacan treats, from tlayudas to chapulines, and we indulge in these local delicacies while soaking in the festive atmosphere. A sense of community is overwhelming, as locals and visitors alike come together to celebrate and honor Oaxaca's heritage.

Driving back to San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, we felt a deep sense of satisfaction, joy and pride. Guelaguetza is more than just a festival; it is a celebration of life, culture, and unity. It reminds us of the beauty of our traditions and the importance of coming together as a community.

Every year, this journey reaffirms our love for Oaxaca and its vibrant culture. We return home with hearts full of memories, eagerly awaiting the next Guelaguetza and the joy it will undoubtedly bring.

I will be sharing more, as the main, big parades have not begun yet. 

A Last Kiss Goodbye?

These autumn days, wonderful colors, textures and temperatures beckon to be explored and enjoyed. For decades I have gone up into the mountains above Santa Fe to see the aspen trees during their ten days or so of shimmering golden vesture. This year I felt a tinge of bittersweetness as I drove upward with my art supplies and camera early in the morning on the winding ski road. Soon, Amy and I will be living in Oaxaca, Mexico. Might this be a last kiss goodbye to the place I have called home for over 40 years?

I carried my camera and hiked along a popular trail. Already folks were out enjoying nature. I passed a couple tents and came to a mountain stream, then chose to follow it up the slope. Now I was alone. The trees stood tall all around and the ferns were bursting with color. A small trail meandered nearby, but I chose to stay by the stream, stopping often to photograph the fallen leaves, mossy rocks and the gay stream with the play of light and shadow. My foot slipped into rushing water but I was so absorbed with dazzling nature I only laughed and kept climbing. 

Occasionally I fell out of breath—the elevation is over 10,000 feet. But magnetized by beauty and the pure mountain experience, I felt jubilant. A few times, I spotted a landmark up ahead and said, ”that is where I will stop and turn around.” But the forest beckoned me onward. After awhile, I thought of my paints and canvas and went back. On the way, I found a site I thought would be pleasing for a painting composition.

Gathering my art supplies, I set up and began painting. After twenty minutes, while intently working, I felt something run up my back pant leg. Surprised, I turned to see a chipmunk scurry off. This little creature was a sign from spirit and I spoke to him. After a couple minutes it happened again, and when I looked, two chipmunks stood watching me. They stayed around and when a young man and his father hiked past, the boy stopped and pointed out that a chipmunk stood nearby. I said, “Yes, I know.” 

The painting finished, I felt satisfied and drove the winding road back into town.

After posting the result online, the little aspen painting sold immediately—while still wet with paint.

Ciao Venezia

The fog I hoped for never arrived during my month in Venice. I kissed the city goodbye—with light so brilliant it seemed the canals were alive, covered with glistening jewels.

Cristiana stopped by to bid farewell. We embraced, took a last deep look into each others eyes and she went off to work while I headed through the passageways with my luggage.

I walked slowly. Passageways are intimate, only three people wide. An excited, bubbling boy brushed by with his mother. He seemed about nine years old and brimming with enthusiasm. It’s good, I thought.

Suddenly I wanted to hold the last moments and looked intensely around. Campo stones, crumbling brick walls, windows with green shutters, the trembling canal waters underneath foot bridges in all directions—pressed to my soul for safe keeping.

For some reason I felt healthier, stronger than when I arrived. The luggage was not so burdensome and my spirit felt light.

At the Grand Canal I waited to catch the boat to the airport. Everything was at peak brilliance in early afternoon light. I felt remorse having to leave. My camera was packed and I wanted it. Wow, I thought, look at the sun glowing from the buildings. Reflections on water danced and leapt like light from iridescent scales of fish.


I finished four paintings and shipped them back the United States. The last five days found me with my camera walking endlessly through the sestieri, hunting for reflections, for gondolas in canals passing beneath bridges or bobbing alongside the lagoon. I went numerous times to Piazza San Marco and reveled in its dimension and supreme workmanship, photographing with throngs of people becoming a blur of motion.

Up until the last day I added to a series of pictures of tourists taking “selfie” photographs. Just on Rialto Bridge I figure about 3000 a day are made.

Ciao Venezia.

Pictures Contain Stories

Poets sometimes shuffle evocative photographs in front of their eyes to stimulate associations and gain new ideas for poems. Pictures contain stories, but it is up to the viewer to supply the text.
I have over thirty thousand photos in my files, so imagine how many poems could be written. Here are a few to talk about:

This photo was taken while I sat in a car on a street in Agra, India, home to the famous Taj Majal. I was waiting for someone and my window was down. A woman spied me and approached, pushing a young girl ahead. They could see I was “western” and supposed that I had money to give them. The child stood in front like a soldier, just as the mother expected her to be, and wore a pitiful expression of fear, despair and blight. The woman reached out her hand and on her face was a mixture of pain and hardness, with a wild look in her eyes, ready to devour—even as she devoured the life of the child.

I have spent endless hours roaming streets with my camera, not knowing what I am looking for, keeping my eyes wide open for an unexpected moment to surprise me. While in Florence, Italy one afternoon, I happened by this black woman leaning on a railing. Behind her was a huge poster of a white woman, some kind of artist. I looked into the woman’s face and saw she had scarification typical of parts of Africa. I enjoy those beauty emblems, and we gazed at each other before I snapped her picture. She is obviously content with herself, and bemused that I would stop to photograph her—and in that moment, she is the real star of the show.

The last picture was taken in the mountains outside of Chiang Mai, Thailand, where I stopped in a village along the way to a sojourn in the jungle to ride an elephant. As I was walking on a narrow trail, I passed a little girl, holding her puppy. The sight was beautiful, and immediately I sought the best view for a picture that had to be taken fast. I dropped to my knees so as to be at eye level with the child. She obliged by standing still and gazing at me with her arms wrapped around the dangling puppy.



Go to my website, Graphixshoot, see more artistic photography.