Living on the outskirts of Oaxaca de Juárez, each year as Día de Muerto approaches, I can feel the city’s pulse quicken with the thrill of preparations. My wife and I make frequent drives into town, passing fields alive with bright marigolds and deep crimson cockscomb, their colors vivid against the landscape. With years of practice, the farmers cultivate with uncanny precision so that the blooms arrive perfectly for the ceremonies. People buy armfuls to tote home and decorate. Then again, every grave will be laden with flowers.
In Oaxaca, the transformation is everywhere. Calaveras—skulls of all shapes and sizes—are popping up, and intricate ofrendas, altars, are built with care, honoring loved ones with candles, flowers, food, and photos. I feel my own excitement grow, knowing the city will soon be buzzing with festivals and gatherings.
As a photographer and artist, this season is irresistible. Usually we go to town about 3 days a week. But soon I will go every day and spend evenings as well, amidst the raucous and jubilant celebrating. There’s something breathtaking in every corner: faces painted in skeletal designs, roving musicians and bands, intricate papel picado dancing in the breeze, altars adorned with memories. At its peak, in the evening, the closed streets are wall to wall with festive people, mostly in costume.
Día de Muertos is not just a time of remembrance but a time of vivid, visual storytelling.
From my ongoing “Vanitas” series, these two skeletons seem to capture moments of life—and death—in a quiet yet playful way. Painted in my studio here in Oaxaca, Mexico, they embrace the essence of Día de Muertos, where the veil between life and death thins, and we celebrate both.
The skeleton eating the watermelon was one of the earliest pieces in the series. I call him "Watermelon Man", or El Hombre Sandía. For a couple of years, it hung by our kitchen, a familiar presence that my wife and I grew fond of. It radiated a rustic charm, with the cowboy hat and simple meal evoking a nostalgic, carefree joy. When it sold to a collector, it left an unexpected void, and I felt the need to create a counterpart—this time, a more feminine figure.
The second painting, "La Catrina", completed just in time for Día de Muertos, shows a skeleton enjoying a steaming cup of tea, her large, elegant hat adorned with flowers. The timing was serendipitous, as it coincided with the beginning of the season; October 27 - November 4 each year.
La Catrina is an iconic symbol of Mexican identity and is often seen in decorations, art, and festivities related to Día de los Muertos, reminding people that death comes for everyone, regardless of social status.
These paintings, like the holiday, blend humor, nostalgia, respect, and a touch of reverence, reminding us of the fleeting yet beautiful nature of life.
Vanitas artworks serve as memento mori, reminding viewers that life is short and that they should reflect on the spiritual or moral dimensions of existence rather than becoming absorbed in temporary, worldly concerns. Vanitas paintings often have an introspective, philosophical tone but can also blend in subtle irony or dark humor, acknowledging the tension between life’s pleasures and the inevitability of death.
Life in our small village near Oaxaca has its rhythms, and our two dogs, MaliNalli and Avion, are very much a part of that. MaliNalli, our sleek xoloitzquintle, is ever the graceful companion, while Avion, our sweet rescue from the streets, still carries a bit of his past with him. It took a long time for Avion to settle in—over a year of patience and reassurance before he began to trust us. Even now, he can be suspicious, but he’s protective of us and his buddy MaliNalli.
A few days ago, we noticed something off with Avion. He seemed to be in pain, limping and showing signs of abrasions on his underside. It looked like he might have gotten into a scuffle. By the next morning, his pain had worsened, and we knew we had to do something. We called the village veterinarian for the first time.
In the afternoon, a fine old gentleman, Dr. Mario Ruiz, arrived on his motorcycle, making his rounds. He was calm, professional, and kind. After examining Avion, he confirmed that the wounds were likely from a fight and that infection had set in. With a steady hand, he administered two injections and applied a healing powder to Avion’s belly. The cost for his services was incredibly reasonable—600 pesos (around 31 USD). He promised to return the next day, Sunday, for another injection, instructing us to give Avion a bath before his arrival.
In our quiet corner of the world, it’s reassuring to know we have such care close by, and we’re grateful for the tenderness shown to our beloved Avion. This morning we bathed him. I had to drag him into the bathroom. With tail between his legs, he whimpered and was rigid with fear, but when the warm water ran over him he relaxed. We were able to get him washed.
He’s recovering now, resting a bit more. Hopefully, slowly regaining his strength.
Small moments like these remind us of the community we’ve built here—both human and animal—and how we all look after one another in this shared life.
Five years ago, my wife Amy and I made a big life change—we moved to a village in southern Mexico on the outskirts of Oaxaca. We are both artists and made our studio in our home, called Dos Venados, or Two Deer. We wanted to integrate ourselves into our community in a meaningful way, especially with our immediate neighbors, and that’s when the idea of offering art lessons to local children was born.
Early group picture, 2022
Every Sunday, we gather with about eight neighborhood children for a couple of hours of creativity. We provide all the materials—paints, brushes, canvases, sculpture objects—and even refreshments. What started as a fun way to spend time with the kids has blossomed into something much more meaningful. We initially thought the interest might wane as the children grew older, but to our delight, they continue to come back each week, excited for the next project.
Ebeth, then and now.
Watching them grow, not just as budding artists but as individuals, has been a rewarding experience.
The joy of these Sunday gatherings has made this one of the most fulfilling parts of our life here. We see that our efforts are appreciated. Bonding has occurred. Sometimes a child arrives at our gate with fresh made warm tortillas as a gift. It’s a beautiful reminder that sometimes, the simplest gestures can build the strongest connections.
Visiting Abastos Market in Oaxaca, Mexico is a grand adventure⏤an immersive experience in the heart of local culture. As one of the largest and busiest markets in the region, it bursts with vibrant colors, scents, and sounds. Mostly sheltered, taking up about four city blocks, the air is filled with the rich aromas of freshly ground chilies, spices, grilled meats, fish, flowers and herbs. Stalls overflow with everything from handwoven textiles and pottery to exotic fruits and traditional Oaxacan foods like mole, tlayudas, and chapulines (grasshoppers). All types of hardware, household items, clothing, shoes and hats, are sold. The energy is palpable, as vendors call out their offerings, and shoppers negotiate prices. It’s a bustling hub of life, offering a true taste of Oaxacan tradition.
Woman selling fried chapulines, or grasshoppers
Amy especially is entranced, stopping often to inspect goods. I stroll through, taking pictures and enjoying the bustling atmosphere. We like to stop along the way for a cool chocolate shake made by a specialty chocolate shop called Mayordomo. Here is a six minute video of the market experience, with music:
Big Mexican markets are sensorial delights of sight, sound, textures, smells . . . . the total package. Our little village, San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, outside Oaxaca city, has its own Tuesday market, where vendors sell fruits and vegetables, homemade foods, flowers, garden plants and other items. Each week I buy fresh cut flowers, fruits and vegetables.
Our home always is adorned with beautiful flowers.
Yesterday, Amy was particularly keen on going to the annual blessing of the animals (Bendición de los Animales) at Nuestra Señora de La Merced, a humble church in Oaxaca Centro district. The day is the Catholic feast day of San Ramón Nonato, canonized by Pope Alexander VII in 1657.
We departed from our village under stormy skies to make the 45 minute drive and arrive by 4 PM. At first there were but few people with animals, but steadily more arrived. People carrying cats, variety of dogs in costumes, fish in aquariums, birds . . . all kinds of creatures along with doting owners. The animals behaved, though sometimes excitedly tugging at leashes.
A priest arrived to the church entrance for the ceremony. He stood beside a huge, old wooden carving of a saint that stood on a platform with myriad blooming lilies beneath.
A wonderful litany was spoken (in Spanish so I did not understand most of it). At times the crowd with their animals chimed along in a group recitation. At conclusion the priest and helpers walked around and sprinkled holy water in blessing.
With her little fish
Amy and I gleefully engaged and took photos amidst the friendly and unique gathering.
This pigeon has been with the woman three years, since hatching from an egg. In a priest outfit.
We went away satisfied, once again thankful to be blessed living in such a vibrant and artistic corner of the world as Oaxaca. We determined that next year we would bring our two dogs.
Every time I drive into Oaxaca, I’m struck by the ever-changing tapestry of graffiti art that adorns the city’s walls. Each visit is like unwrapping a new surprise, with vibrant colors and bold designs bringing life to unexpected corners and walls along streets and sidewalks.
The beauty of Oaxaca’s graffiti lies not just in its artistry, but in its fleeting nature. What was once a plain wall can become a vivid canvas, only to be transformed again by a new artist with a fresh perspective. As an artist, I find myself drawn to these urban murals, eager to see what’s new, what messages are being shared, and how the city’s soul is being captured in paint and stencils.
Oaxacan street art serves as a powerful form of expression for marginalized communities, blending artistic traditions with contemporary social commentary. It transforms the urban landscape into a canvas for resistance, cultural pride, and public dialogue on pressing issues facing the region.
Oaxacan street art often addresses:
- Indigenous culture and identity
- Social and political issues
- Protests against inequality, corruption, and violence
- Environmental activism
- Memorials for tragedies like earthquakes and missing persons
Artists employ various techniques, including:
- Murals and large-scale paintings
- Woodblock prints on biodegradable rice paper
- Stencils and spray paint
- Poster art and wheat pasting
It’s a visual feast that never gets old, each visit offering a new layer of creativity to explore. When Amy and I go to town, I am always dazzled by some new work adorning a wall. When one piece disintegrates or gets destroyed, another goes up. The graffiti in Oaxaca is more than just art; it’s a living, breathing expression of the city’s vibrant culture.
Last weekend, my wife Amy and I had the honor of attending a quinceañera for Frida, the daughter and granddaughter of our friends and close neighbors here in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca. We were thrilled to be invited as the event photographers, capturing beautiful moments of this special day.
A quinceañera is a traditional Latin American celebration marking a girl's 15th birthday, symbolizing her transition from childhood to womanhood. The celebration was held in a grand event hall, in an adjacent municipality on the outskirts of Oaxaca. Upon arrival, we were touched to find that our friends had reserved a table of honor for us, seating us alongside them. This gesture made us feel incredibly welcome and deeply appreciated.
The evening was a vibrant tapestry of music, dance, oratory, and heartfelt tributes to Frida. From the lively tunes played by the band to the choreographed dances by Frida and her court, every moment was filled with joy and celebration. One of the highlights was the "calenda," a traditional parade that entered the hall and added a unique and festive touch to the evening.
Especially, the dancing of Frida and her entourage of young friends was very touching. Such respect and camaraderie, gave a touching poignancy to the evening.
As the night progressed, we ate our fill and our hearts were brimming with the warmth and friendship of the community. We felt a profound sense of belonging, embraced by the kindness and generosity of our friends and neighbors. It was a night we will cherish forever, a testament to the strong bonds we’ve formed in our beloved village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca.
Congratulations to Frida on her marvelous quinceañera . . . and to her wonderful family.
The Guelaguetza festival in Oaxaca, Mexico, is an exhilarating experience and a fantastic photographic opportunity. This major annual event showcases the rich cultural diversity of Oaxaca's eight regions through traditional music, dance, food, and artisanal crafts. The festivities span about two weeks at the end of July, featuring numerous activities. My wife Amy and I particularly enjoy the massive “calenda,” or parade, that winds through the streets of Oaxaca Centro.
Unfortunately, we missed the first of the two big parades last weekend. As we prepared to drive from our village into town yesterday, clouds began to gather, and a light sprinkle of rain fell. This being our wet season, I wondered if the parade would be drenched.
Despite the weather, we decided to go. The parade was scheduled to start at 5 PM, so we left around 4, planning to arrive at our viewing spot fifteen minutes before the swirling dancers, brass and percussion bands, puppets, and other participants would pass by. It continued to drizzle as we drove, and approaching the Centro district, we got stuck in a traffic jam, barely inching forward. Meanwhile, the parade had already begun. Amy suggested we turn back, thinking it might be a wasted effort. However, we had come this far, so we decided to stay in the slow-moving lines of cars, our windshield wipers slowly slapping time. I resolved to head to where the parade would finish since we would miss the start. The route spans about a mile.
The unusual amount of traffic puzzled us until we realized it must be due to the festival. To our dismay, the police had blocked off some streets as we arrived. Nevertheless, I managed to navigate us to the area where the parade would end. The streets were extremely crowded, making parking a challenge. Eventually, I turned up a little cobblestone street. By this time, dusk was approaching, and the sky was overcast. As I drove slowly forward, I hit an unseen hole. Crunch! The car lurched with a terrible noise. This was worse than the usual for the often rough streets and sidewalks. We parked about twenty feet further along. I was upset, Amy was disheartened, and it was still sprinkling. But we needed to find the parade.
We walked about five blocks, sometimes sharing our one umbrella. The rain wasn't heavy, so I accepted getting slightly wet. A huge crowd had gathered at the corner where the parade would soon arrive and make a turn. We could get no closer than about four people back, blocked by a solid mass of humanity. Both sides of the festive streets were filled with families, some children perched atop their father's shoulders. Plenty of umbrellas were open and held aloft.
When the parade arrived, the atmosphere exploded with jubilation. Fireworks burst overhead, bands played energetically, dancers swirled in native costumes, and women with long black braids danced gracefully. Revelers shouted, "¡Viva Oaxaca!" Candy was thrown into the crowd. From behind people, I could barely see, and Amy even less, but the excitement and spectacle were palpable. Looking behind us, an old woman, much shorter than Amy looked helplessly. And there were more people behind her. We stayed for about twenty minutes before deciding to leave.
One of our favorite restaurants was nearby, so we ended up there for dinner before heading home. Thankfully, our car seemed to have weathered the hit. In the end, we felt peculiarly satisfied and agreed that next year, we would arrive much earlier.
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.
My heart ached for the land in Oaxaca as we said our goodbyes to return to the USA for a month. The dry season seemed to be hanging on forever. I have a deep relationship with the plants and earth around our home. They seemed alive only by a miracle. I should have faith by now in the ancient cycles.
When we returned a few days ago, I saw everything turned green, and the neighbor plowed his corn field. Little green corn shoots are coming up. The rains are here for our wet season.
The trip to Santa Fe started a little rocky. When we went to the airport, protestors had closed the road into and out of the area, essentially shutting down operations. We had to go back home and try again the next day. After considerable doubtfulness, we embarked on the same flight we were supposed to take the previous day. Our neighbor Mayolo graciously was our driver.
For ten days Amy visited Minneapolis where her sister, two sons and her grandchildren live. Here in Mexico, she sometimes is sad that she is so far away from them. I saw my beloved daughter, Sarah, twice: for a hike in the mountains in Santa Fe, and visiting her in Albuquerque where she lives and works.
Home in Santa Fe I built 28 years ago. My ex-wife still lives there.
We accomplished a main objective of our trip⏤to downsize our storage unit and somehow condense our already concentrated possessions to a smaller, less expensive holding unit. We wish we could keep historical and highly sentimental belongings and keep our loved books in a second home. But real estate prices in Santa Fe were one of the reasons we left in the first place. If anything, they are more inflated now.
Santa Fe Cathedral in the heart of the city.
Our trip home went smoothly. The route is Santa Fe to Dallas, a few hour layover, and directly on to Oaxaca. Just before boarding in Dallas, I heard somebody call Amy’s name over the loudspeaker. She did not hear it. I told her, yes, you are being called. I hoped the full flight was not an issue . . . but we were being bumped up to 1st class. And that is how we returned.
View from our roof, after a recent rain.
Mayolo, Marta and their granddaughter Frida picked us up in our car and brought us home. Our house sitter had taken excellent care of our property and two dogs. I had expected a rush of gladness and excitement when our Xolo dog Malli greeted us. But she actually barked and ran away afraid. Within minutes all was well and tails wagged furiously and with plenty of kisses.
