In 1996 Englishman Graham Johnson came to Ocotlan de Morelos from Mexico City to open a woolen mill. The mill was designed to streamline the production process for making yarn and weaving cloth from local churro sheep wool* without sacrificing quality.
Graham was a tinkerer. He loved machinery, especially the old carding and spinning machines that were being replaced by computerization. He bought these up, shipped them to Oaxaca from the United States and the United Kingdom, and refurbished them. Often, he would find or make the parts to keep them going. Many were 30 and 40 years old already.
Over time the mill diversified and made luxuriously soft merino bed blankets and throws, fancy yak hair mecate horse reins, cinch chord for saddle belts, colorful wool tassels to decorate saddles, horse blankets and rugs for home decor.
They kept a supply of all types of wool to work with and blend, continuing to experiment to produce soft and durable products. In addition to merino, the mill cleaned and spun cashmere, mohair, Lincoln and other breeds. They still do.
Then, Graham died suddenly from a heart attack in 2009, and there was a question about who would keep the business going.
I remember when I first met Graham on one of my early visits to Oaxaca. It was probably 2005 or 2006. The mill was running at full capacity and you could hear the hum of machinery as you walked down the open corridor separating the rooms where the work was done. It was impressive then what these old machines and talented local employees could do.
Now, when I revisited with my friend Scott Roth, who has been working with weavers, wool, dyes, and the hand-loomed rug weaving process for over 40 years, I could see the changes. Scott brought with him replacement parts for some of the machines. Machines that were working ten years ago now need repair. Old belts, bearings, wires, cogs and wheels break, wear out.
For the past two years, Graham’s 37-year old daughter Rebecca has stepped in and is learning the operation. The mill is 25 years old and Rebecca is determined to keep her father’s dream alive.
At her side are Rosalba (Rosie) Martinez Garcia, who has been there for 18 years and knows just about everything about the mill. Helping are Angel Laer Ambocio Perez (above) and Alejandro Maldonado Santiago. They know a thing or two, too, although their tenure is much shorter.
Rebecca loves textiles. She loves yarn. She wants to supply all types of yarns for knitting and weaving and other fiber arts. There are beautiful rugs and blankets stacked on shelves that were made before her father passed that are for sale.
Spare parts for anything is essential here in Mexico. Equipment can be old. It can still be good, functional, valued. If one has the necessary parts to keep it going. Graham wasn’t the only tinkerer here. People save, cobble together, recycle, repurpose. Things get jimmied together and continue to work. People here learn how to be resourceful with what they have. It’s something I’ve learned being here.
As Scott and Rebecca worked out numbers to complete their transaction, I wandered the mill, remembering Graham. A cat ran across the corridor to hide. A young tree struggled to grow up from the crack in the concrete. A rusted yarn holder cast shadows on the adobe wall. I loved being there, another part of the textile heaven that is Oaxaca.
Where to Find It: Lanera de Ocotlan, 119 Benito Juarez, Ocotlan de Morelos, Oaxaca, Tel: 951-294-7062. Email: Rebecca Johnson at becky_madonna@hotmail.com for an appointment to visit. Directions: Continue straight past the Zocalo and the Mercado Morelos two blocks. The wool mill door will be on your left. It is unmarked.
Footnote: *Local wool is shorn from churro sheep which were brought to Mexico by the Spaniards with the conquest in 1521. The sheep are raised in the high mountains above Ocotlan in San Baltazar Chichicapam. The mountain range separates the Tlacolula and Ocotlan valleys. The altitude there produces a soft, dense fleece. There are still some, like Yolande Perez Vasquez, who use hand carders and the drop spindle to produce the best yarn, but this is a costly, labor-intensive process that yields a premium yarn that is very dye absorbent. Few weavers are able to pay the price.
Whirlwind Day Two Shopping in Oaxaca — If it’s Friday, it must be Ocotlan
Sheri picked us up in her white van at the pre-determined 9 a.m. hour, early by Oaxaca standards, though the streets were already abuzz with honking vehicles. Our first stop was the ATM (exchange rate 13.12 pesos to the dollar) to stock up again for the day long adventure down the Ocotlan highway. We passed the airport and headed south along the valley highway that leads to some incredible crafts villages, stopping for gas at Pemex the state-owned oil company. The earlier the better along this road because the Ocotlan market attracts people from throughout the region whose motivations are to shop for the sheer pleasure of it or for survival needs of buying and selling everything from oilcloth table coverings, hammocks, woven baskets, pipes and gaskets, kitchen utensils, leather belts, children’s plastic shoes and everything else under the sun, including live turkeys raised for market, feet bound in twine so as not to escape. The van boasted New Mexico license plates, a good fit for around these parts, although vehicles are brought down from every state in north America to be bought, sold and traded.
We circumvented the hubbub, stopping first at the three Aguilar sisters whose shops you might miss if you didn’t pay attention. They are on the right side of the road heading into Ocotlan, about three blocks before arriving at the zocalo, market central. This is true folk art at its best. Josefina sits with legs tucked under her on a padded blanket in the courtyard of her home and sales area forming figures out of soft clay that will later be fired in a kiln that may not reach more than eight hundred degrees. Grandchildren dart around playing with kittens. Sons and daughters participate in the clay forming and painting. Tourists from all corners of the earth stream in and out. This is a famous stopping place for collecting Oaxaca art, yet the prices of the pieces match the humble working and living space: smaller figures range in price from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty pesos. That translates from about twelve to twenty dollars each. Collectors and dealers buy, pack and resell these figures in the U.S. for triple or quadruple the cost.
Next door, sister Irene sculpts hot women of the night and paints their hair yellow, applying blue glitter to create a dress, bosom prominent, one arm on hip, the other akimbo sporting a cigarette, a snake boa wrapped to cover cleavage (just barely). Imagination flies. A muerta, not yet painted, bares her skeletal teeth and she flaunts a haughty lilt of the head topped with a wide-brimmed hat to shade her from the strong sun. How will I get these home? I ask myself as I consider a purchase. Oh, don’t think about it, I answer silently. Go for it anyway, and I do, and because of my magic packing suitcase, everything arrives undamaged. My prize possession from Guillermina is a skeletal crone whose flowing dress is painted black. The hem is adorned with cream colored skulls, a red spider crawls along the folds of her skirt, a black shawl frames the sinister face. Dia de los Muertos is characterized by underworld forms.
Forgive me if I repeat myself. The impressions of Oaxaca are continuous revelations in memory. As we head back out of town, we make a left turn almost immediately onto the side road leading to San Antonino, where I want to relocate Don Jose Garcia, the blind potter. We go down a ways, turn right, make an immediate left at the next street and look for the clay animals that hang over the door to the courtyard that signals we have arrived. A dog barks. The door is ajar. We ring the bell and step inside to be welcomed by the family. Life-size clay figures cluster around the patio, are tucked haphazardly into corners, are laying on their sides — humans, animals, children. We are greeted by Don Jose and his wife who guide us into the workshop packed with more sculpture, wall to wall, like the clay soldiers of Xian, men, women, and children stand or kneel side by side, almost alive, waiting to be adopted and taken home.
These pieces are glorious, primitive, raw clay, unglazed. Some are rough. Some are polished. Each with a unique expression that conveys individuality and personality, a special quality that Don Jose has breathed life into as he forms the clay, braids the hair, fashions the nose, tilts the neck, arches the brow or mustache. These are heavy pieces, primitive. To ship them would require a crate and an investment of hundreds of dollars. We admire and take our leave.
Hungry, our next stop is at Azucena where Jacobo Angeles operates a fine restaurant that caters to tourists and tour buses, Elderhostel, and other forms of non-adventure travel. This is good for San Martin Tilcajete business, since Jacobo represents many of the finest carvers in the village. On this day, there is a special exhibition of regional folk art on the grounds of the restaurant and gallery, a perfect opportunity to pick up another carving, to eat and drink well, and to make a necessary bathroom stop.
We backtrack to Santo Tomas Jalieza to visit Abigail Mendoza and her family at Nicolas Bravo #1. On backstrap looms, they weave fine cloth with intricate figures that are fashioned into handbags, belts, wrist bands, table runners, and placemats. Abigail does the finish work for the rugs woven by Arnulfo Mendoza and Tito Mendoza. This is among the finest quality backstrap loom weaving you will find anywhere in the Oaxaca valley.
By now, it is five o’clock in the afternoon and the light is beginning to wane. We travel along the highway back to Oaxaca with a trunk full of goodies, ready for a fresh mango margarita and guacamole at La Olla. Descanse.
Like this:
Comments Off on Whirlwind Day Two Shopping in Oaxaca — If it’s Friday, it must be Ocotlan
Posted in Cultural Commentary, Travel & Tourism
Tagged Abigail Mendoza, backstrap loom, Jacobo Angeles, Ocotlan, San Martin Tilcajete, Santo Tomas Jalieza