San Miguel de Allende’s Knockout Door Knockers

Knock, knock! Who’s there? It doesn’t matter — just keep a lookout for the Mexican town’s amazing and Instagrammable door knockers.

People go ga-ga over doors. When I was younger, I remember seeing posters of the doors of Dublin or Tuscany. And while I’m able to appreciate these elements of design, something else jumped out at me as Duke and I wandered the streets of the charming colonial town of San Miguel de Allende: nice knockers.

Door knockers, that is.

 San Miguel de Allende, or SMA, as many call it to save a few syllables, is known for its rich cultural heritage and stunning architecture — and its door knockers are no exception. These decorative pieces not only add a touch of charm to the town’s doors but also reveal the history and cultural influences of the region.

I’m obviously not the first one to note the proliferation of door knockers around town. “I love how each door knocker in San Miguel de Allende tells a story. It’s like a miniature work of art that you can appreciate every time you enter a building,” says Kevin Raub, a travel writer for Lonely Planet.

From rustic wrought-iron to ornate brass, SMA’s door knockers come in a variety of shapes and sizes, though you’ll mostly see animals (especially lions, fish and horses) and faces. 

Unlocking the Past: Exploring the Origins and Evolution of SMA’s Door Knockers

The tradition of elaborate door knockers in San Miguel de Allende has its roots in the city’s rich colonial history. During that era, many families were all about showing off their wealth. Door knockers became a popular status symbol and were often made from expensive materials like brass or wrought iron.

As the city grew and evolved, the tradition of ornate door knockers continued, but with a new focus on craftsmanship and artistry. Today, the door knockers of San Miguel de Allende are more of a reflection of the city’s artistic heritage.

So, whether you’re a fan of history or art, or just appreciate the quirky things in life, San Miguel de Allende’s door knockers are sure to catch your eye and knock your socks off. –Wally

Standards of Beauty (and Ugliness) in African Art

From scarification to the ideal male and female, discover what Westerners get wrong about how Sub-Saharan sculptures and other works of art are viewed in their own cultures. 

A ritual dance in Guinea, Africa features a Baga nimba or d’mba headdress, seen in the upper right corner, which represents the ideal fertile woman.

Westerners have collected African art for centuries. But do they really understand it? Who determines what is beautiful and what is ugly in African art? Can viewers judge art solely by the standards of beauty in their own culture?

That’s the question a recent exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago sought to answer. The collection was massive, taking up six or so rooms, filled with over 250 works of art from dozens of cultures across Sub-Saharan Africa. 

The idea is to put art in its cultural context. How did the local communities view these works of art? And how were they used? 

“For some African cultures, scarification, including on the face, is a way to enhance someone’s beauty — especially that of a woman. ”

There’s often a religious aspect to these works. “So the art is not made just to be art,” says Constantine Petridis, chair and curator of arts of Africa at the Art Institute. “It’s art that serves a purpose, serves a function and has a meaning. And that contributes in a very deep and integral way to the survival and the wellbeing of both individuals and societies.” 

Much of this art is literally thought to save lives: It guards ancestors’ remains or fends off evil spirits. 

A Mangbetu woman in 1913 wearing a halo hairstyle with ivory pins, popular in the Democratic Republic of the Congo

African Art Viewed Through an African Lens

It’s time we reevaluated standards of beauty — and understood that what’s attractive or powerful to a Western audience could be very different than that of a Sub-Saharan group. 

“The hope is also to erase prejudices and preconceived notions that have, for a very long time, prevented people from appreciating this art,” Petridis says.

Let’s take a look at some of the commonalities found throughout African art — and see that beauty is more than skin deep.

Male guardian reliquary figures with the heads of children but muscular bodies of adults. Teeth have been sealed behind the eyes to help the statues act as intermediaries with ancestors.

Masculinity is depicted with youthful, muscular bodies and large hands and feet. 

In many African cultures, the ideal male figure is tall and lean, with long limbs, an elongated neck and muscular calves. Why? These physical attributes are deemed necessary to transport heavy loads on the head and to work hard in the fields.

“A youthful appearance in general connotes fertility and also good health and the capability of doing hard work,” Petridis says. 

Large hands and feet are seen as representing the energy and endurance needed on a hunting expedition. 

A statue of the Chokwe mythological hero Chibinda Ilunga, a legendary hunter, made in Angola in 1850

These physical characteristics are often depicted in African sculpture to emphasize physical prowess — essential in a society where men are responsible for hunting, farming and other demanding activities.

A ndop portrait figure of King Mishe miShyaang maMbul, made about 1770 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The oversized head symbolizes intelligence.

Works of art depicting male beauty aren’t just for aesthetic appreciation, though; they serve a vital purpose.

“All of these attributes represent or express political and religious authority, and as such, these objects would have been placed on an altar to serve to fight physical as well as metaphysical threats,” Petridis adds. 

A depiction of Kaatyeleo, the Ancient Mother, who nurses babies with the milk of knowledge and evokes authoritative power

The feminine ideal is voluptuous — big belly, rounded hips, a large butt — and sometimes sports a long neck.

The ideal female figure has been a subject of fascination and inspiration for artists throughout history, and African art is no exception. In African sculpture, the ideal female figure is often depicted as having a curvaceous body with wide hips and full breasts. These features are seen as symbols of fertility, femininity and maternal strength.

A portrait of a queen, the wife of King Njike, from early 20th century Cameroon. It once stood in front of the royal palace.

While the exact proportions of the ideal female figure vary between African cultures, there are some common elements frequently seen across the continent. For example, in West Africa, the ideal female figure is often portrayed with a prominent belly and rounded buttocks, while in East Africa, the focus is more on the breasts and elongated neck.

The curvaceous figure of the ideal woman is seen as a reflection of her role as a caretaker and nurturer, responsible for raising healthy children and maintaining a strong family.

An ikam crest mask from Nigeria depicts the fantastical hairstyles girls had created for their initiation into womanhood. Incidentally, these “beautiful maiden” masks were worn by men.

Female figures are frequently depicted with intricate hairstyles and elaborate jewelry, which are seen as a reflection of high status and beauty.

A mwana pwo or pwo mask from Angola is more realistic than other depictions of beauty in African art. It features elements a Westerner wouldn’t consider attractive, including extensive scarification and chipped teeth.

Scarification is considered beautiful. 

This particular aspect of beauty is probably the most difficult for Westerners to grasp. (Then again, look at our obsession with tattoos.) Scarification, a form of body modification that involves creating designs or patterns on skin by cutting or branding, has been practiced for centuries.

Originally used as a post on a veranda in Nigeria, this carving is of a senior royal wife was created by a famous artist, Olówé of Ise. The scarification indicates her high status.

For some African cultures, scarification, including on the face, is a way to enhance someone’s beauty — especially that of a woman. 

Ogo Esu, god of the marketplace, the only orisha, or deity, consistently represented in human form. In Nigeria, his followers would dance with a staff like this, which has a phallic headpiece and cowrie shells associated with wealth.

Morality is synonymous with beauty.

In many African cultures, the concept of beauty is closely tied to morality and ethics. This is reflected in the use of a single word to describe both beauty and goodness. Likewise, the same word is often used to convey ugliness and immorality, highlighting the deep connection between physical appearance and moral character. 

A mbwoongntey, a cup used for palm wine in the Congo

Smooth skin is attractive.

While scarification has been a long-standing tradition in African art, the idea of smooth skin as a standard of beauty is also prevalent. In many African cultures, smooth, flawless skin is considered attractive, healthy and a sign of good hygiene. To achieve that look, some sculptures are polished to a bright shine using leaves or stones. 

But the idea of beauty extends beyond the individual. “A smooth surface is a metaphor for smooth, harmonious social relationships,” Petridis explains.

On the flip side, crusty, rough surfaces are seen as ugly.

A group of dancers from Guinea wearing Bamana Komo helmets with elements from the hyena, a nighttime scavenger.

Ugliness is tied to nature, the wilderness and animals, whereas beauty is connected to humans, the village and community. 

Nature spirits are thought to cause misfortune, illness and even death. Some sculptures were designed to be so strikingly beautiful they would lure in spirits, and the figure would take possession of them, avoiding the trouble they would have otherwise caused. 

“The sculpture becomes an abode, a home for the spirit, and it will receive offerings in order to keep it happy, and therefore remedy the problem in question,” Petridis explains.

This Baule monkey figure from the Côte d’Ivoire features a baboon-headed man representing a bush spirit and untamed wildness.

There’s a duality common throughout Africa: culture vs. nature, community vs. the wilderness. As such, idealized beauty is always presumed to be of human origin, associated with the realm of the village and society. 

At the other end of the spectrum, ugliness correlates with the wild and untamed realm of the jungle outside the boundaries of the village. The works that are deliberately created to be ugly reflect the widely shared belief that coarse and asymmetrical animal-like forms correspond with bad character, malignant magic and death. 

This dichotomy reflects the central role of community and social harmony in African cultures — and the threats that come from the untamed, uncontrolled and unpredictable aspects of nature.

This ngolo mask from the DRC features antelope horns to convey courage, while its protruding eyes signal aggression in the hopes of discouraging outsiders from approaching a boys’ training camp.

“Artists who intend to instill fear through their objects may represent ugliness by mimicking or referencing animals, especially powerful and fearsome ones,” Petridis says. “Additional features will be incorporated into fantastic compositions that comprise elements sourced literally from the natural world — actual animal parts: hides, horns, teeth, fur.”

Ugliness in African art has a power of its own. “They turn it into a dark, dangerous object, an object that inspires fear and terror and therefore also power and authority,” he continues. 

Antelope horns sit atop a nkisi figure from the DRC that depicts a blacksmith from folklore. It held great power and was created to protect an entire village.

Some art has elements of both beauty and ugliness and is meant to astonish. 

Petridis refers to this as “awesome art,” what Westerners might call the sublime. They are meant to both fascinate and terrify.

Nails are driven into a nkisi nkondi, like this one from the DRC, to atone for transgressions. If someone breaks an oath made to the figurine, it’s said to come to life to mete out justice.

“In a literal sense, it refers to objects that are meant to be awe-inspiring. They will literally stop you in your tracks,” he says. “And these objects are considered to be both beautiful and ugly, both terrorizing and attractive at once.”

A large d’mba shoulder mask used during ceremonies features scarification and pendulous breasts — aspects of the feminine ideal among the Baga people of Guinea.

Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beholder

When judging African art, see where there are overlaps or differences from your own preconceived notions, Petridis suggests. Always keep in mind that African art should always be viewed through the language and vocabulary of the culture it comes from.

“Beauty is essential and important and critical in the arts of Africa as well,” he concludes. “But it’s not necessarily the beauty that you as an outsider would see in it.” 

To avoid imposing your own tastes and preferences on art objects, you have to be open to learn and read about the culture in which they function, and what meanings and purposes they convey. And that new understanding is a thing of beauty. –Wally

Oaxaca Day Trip to Tlacochahuaya and Teotitlán del Valle

First stop: the Iglesia de San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya, with its heavenly rustic painted interior. Then on to Teotitlán del Valle for lunch at Tlamanalli and gorgeous candles from Casa Viviana.

This amazing church in San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya, with its rustic paintings, is en route to the natural wonder of Hierve el Agua.

To say that there’s a vast amount of things to do and see in Oaxaca is an understatement. So when Wally and I agreed to take a day trip to Hierve el Agua, a natural mineral spring where water collects in clifftop pools, I insisted that we make a few stops along the way. 

Driving is the best way to get around outside of town, and our friend Kevin, an expat living in Oaxaca de Juárez, kindly agreed to rent a car. 

While driving in Oaxaca, you might have to stop to let herds of cattle pass by.

You also might see stray dogs in flagrante delicto.

We set out early and met him and his friend David at Alamo Rent a Car, which was a short walk from Casa Antonieta, where we were staying in Centro. 

After a few minutes of waiting in line and filling out paperwork, we were ready to begin our adventure. It helped having a friend familiar with renting a vehicle in Oaxaca. 

The lowdown: It cost us $75 for the day, including insurance. 

Alamo Rent a Car
Mariano Matamoros 203 A
Ruta Independencia
Centro 68000 
Oaxaca de Juárez

You can’t miss the church — it dominates the small village of San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya.

Iglesia de San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya: A Rustic Church Painted With Symbolism 

Our first stop, about a half hour southeast from Centro Oaxaca, was the 16th century Iglesia de San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya, aka the Templo de Tlacochahuaya, the centerpiece of the village of the same name. Try pronouncing it as “Tella-kocha-huh-why-uh” — a name that basically means “In the Swamp.” This is because the town is located in a valley surrounded by mountains, which makes it prone to flooding. 

The pueblo was founded by a Zapotec warrior by the name of Cochicahuala, which translates to “He Who Fights by Night.”

A sculpture of Jesus on a donkey, representing how he entered Jerusalem, sits in the back corner of the iglesia and is used during a Palm Sunday procession.

We parked the car and walked along the outer wall surrounding the church. I could hear the rhythmic beat and swirling melody of an unseen drummer and woodwind player, which to me sounded a bit like music from a Renaissance Faire. This set the mood for our visit — it was like stepping back in time to an older, slower-paced pre-modern world.   

The church’s main façade is made up of twin bell towers, pilasters (low-relief columns that project slightly from the surface), a split pediment and niches with sculptures of various saints. An image of Saint Jerónimo, or Saint Jerome, the church’s patron, is depicted above the central doorway, with God’s trumpet directed to his ear. 

All of the walls inside the Templo Tlacochahuaya are covered with red, blue and tan painted designs.

This fresco portrait depicts Saint Mark seated atop a winged lion (which is actually a symbol of Venice, Italy).

San Jerónimo’s heavenly hand-painted interiors are a mix of Baroque and indigenous pre-Hispanic imagery. These include plants and flowers that arc overhead like garden arbors. Tones of blue were achieved using indigo extracted from the leaves of the plant and pink blush tones from cochineal, an insect that feeds on nopal cactus and produces the color carmine red.

We had driven all the way here — we weren’t going to let a Do Not Enter sign prevent us from popping in.

Offerings of flowers fill one smaller altar inside the chruch.

The main altarpiece is a stunning example of Plateresque style, which comes from the Latin word platearius, which means “silversmith.” A gilded golden masterpiece, the retablo includes a painting depicting the moment when Christ’s body was removed from the cross to be taken away for burial, and is attributed to Juan de Arrué, one of the most renowned religious artists of Mexico’s colonial era. 

Wooden carvings, oil paintings, gilded frames and simplistic paintings create lovely vignettes.

A statue of the Virgin Mary with the Sacred Heart

We had only been inside for a short time before we were chased out by one of the church’s caretakers. The man spoke to us rapidly in Spanish that was too difficult for me to understand. Kevin mentioned that he thought the man may have been asking for a donation. In hindsight, it probably was due to the fact that there was a No Pasar sign posted at the entrance, which I had missed but Wally had pointedly ignored as we entered. 

Iglesia de San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya
Calle Unión 17
San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya

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The Mendoza sisters cook indigenous Zapotec cuisine at their restaurant, Tlamanalli.

A Taste of Zapotec Tradition at Tlamanalli 

After visiting the church, we got back into the car. As we headed out of town, we saw two dogs having sex. We weren’t sure what kind of omen that was. At any rate, we were headed to our next stop, Teotitlán del Valle, 20 minutes away, and a short detour to the northeast. The artistic enclave is known for its high-quality woven goods — and candles (but more on that later). 

Duke, Kevin and Wally sit on the staircase in the center of Tlamanalli.

First up: a delicious lunch at Tlamanalli. The restaurant came highly recommended by our primary care physician, Ross Slotten, who shares our passion for travel. The restaurant has been serving patrons for over three decades. 

Using ancient culinary techniques and recipes that have been passed down through generations, Tlamanalli is co-owned and run by Maestra Abigail Mendoza Ruiz and her sisters, Marcelina, Rufina, Rosario and Adelina. The menu pays homage to indigenous Zapotec cuisine, a legacy that Mendoza Ruiz is recognized for internationally. The space, which is low-key and humble, feels like a large home, a deeply personal space that honors their familial bond. 

The menu is limited and written on a small chalkboard. Wally and I each ordered the quesadillas de calabaza (pumpkin quesadillas) and washed it down with a cold beer. 

The menu is written on a chalkboard —and note that you can only pay in cash.

Tlamanalli makes a great stop for lunch (and shopping) en route to Hierve el Agua.

A prominent feature of the establishment is its large open kitchen, which was designed by Mendoza Ruiz. The restaurant is off to one side of the central staircase, and the other side is a shop selling a wide variety of handmade items. We can never say no to artisan-made goods and ended up purchasing a plate with a mermaid sporting perky raised-relief breasts, a candle holder in the shape of an axolotl and a small winged ceramic devil ensnared by a serpent. 

The adorable Abigail Mendoza Ruiz, whipping up dishes with her sisters in the restaurant’s open kitchen.

The restaurant is spacious and offers ample seating. However, we weren’t visiting during peak season, and due to the popularity of the spot, you might want to plan ahead and make reservations. 

Open: 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. 

Reservations recommended 

Tlamanalli
39 Avenida Juárez
Teotitlán del Valle

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Gorgeous handmade candles at Casa Viviana

Waxing Poetic About a Master Candlemaker: Casa Viviana 

The real reason I wanted to visit Teotitlán was to meet the master candlemaker at Casa Viviana. 

The legendary artisan and her family live on a quiet unpaved road. The only indication that we were at the right spot was a sign hanging outside an unassuming door leading into the living quarters, workshop and store.

But when we arrived, the front door was locked. We knocked loudly — I really didn’t want to go away disappointed — and eventually the door opened and we were led into the central courtyard. 

Turns out we had interrupted a family celebration. But Doña Viviana Alávez, the matriarch of the family, graciously welcomed us into her shop. 

Viviana herself came out to help us, briefly leaving a family party. We love the local tradition of connecting two long braids with ribbons.

Viviana is recognized as one of the grand masters of Oaxacan folk art. Her family has been making handmade beeswax candles for over 300 years. These remarkable works of art are mostly used for traditional celebrations, including baptisms, engagements, weddings and funerals. 

Many of Viviana’s candles are bought for special occasions.

When we visited, Viviana didn’t have any big tapers left — the elaborate 4-foot-tall constructions I had seen in images and videos online. (Perhaps it was for the best — I’m not sure how we would have gotten one home.) 

She did, however, have a variety of small intricate flower candles. The candles are known as velas tradicionales de concha, for the delicate shell-like shapes of their ornamentation and are made from wax that is cut, shaped and dyed with natural colorants like cochineal (red), indigo (blue) and pericón (yellow), which are added to the beeswax. 

After some deliberation, we purchased a few of the small traditional velas to give as gifts as well as one shaped like a lily and one shaped like a cactus that came in a small ceramic pot for ourselves. The candles came to about $7.50 each — a small price to pay for these works of art. 

The maestra herself: Viviana holds two of her works.

We passed a loom with nopal cactus paddles above it (those white bits are actually cochineal bugs used to make red dye).

Open: 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. (but maybe call ahead)

Casa Viviana 
Absalo s/n
Teotitlán del Valle 

With our purchases safely packaged by Doña Viviana, we said our goodbyes and returned to the car. It was time for us to continue our trip to the popular tourist destination of Hierve el Agua. –Duke

Monkey Business: What’s a Chango Mezcalero?

These cheeky monkeys are used to market and store mezcal. We investigate their origins and where to buy changos mezcaleros. 

What’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys?! A chango filled with mezcal!

Monkeys. They’re cute but erratic — just how I imagine myself when I’ve had too much to drink. So it’s no surprise that these primates have come to symbolize drunkenness in Mexico. You could say that monkeys are the spirit animal of mezcal.

Some changos were given as souvenir gifts, as you can see from the hand-painted one above.

What is a chango mezcalero?

These monkey-shaped clay receptacles are really just a clever marketing scheme used to sell mezcal. They hold a liter or so of the potent potable Oaxaca is known for. Most changos are brightly painted and depict monkeys in goofy positions — covering an eye, clutching bananas, holding a snake, playing the guitar. Some were marked, “Recuerdo de Oaxaca (Souvenir of Oaxaca)” or had the name of a couple to be given as a wedding present. 

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LEARN how mezcal is made

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Juventino Nieto (far right) with Rosa Real and their son Valente stand among their pottery creations. Don Juventino might have been the one to create the first chango mezcalero.

Who created the first chango mezcalero?

It’s surprisingly difficult to find out much about these whimsical folk art containers, and there’s a controversy about who invented them. One family from a village outside of Oaxaca insists it was their forebear, Marcelo Simón Galán, who came up with the idea, while another family says it was their ancestor, Juventino Nieto, who did so. Both men are dead, so they can’t even duke it out among themselves. 

(Incidentally, Nieto was married to the late Rosa Real, who’s credited with devising the black pottery technique that Oaxaca is now famous for.)

There are claims that other artisans from other parts of Mexico came up with changos as well. I’ll be a monkey’s uncle — we may never know who actually invented these primate pitchers. 

These ceramic containers are created using a mold like this one.

When were changos first made?

Some say changos mezcaleros date back to the mid-1800s. But a mold used to create changos by Nieto in the village of San Bartolo Coyotepec has the date 1938 written on it. 

These fun monkey-shaped containers were used to market mezcal. With the liquor’s newfound popularity, perhaps changos will make a comeback!

Are changos mezcaleros still made?

Yes. There are at least three workshops in the pueblo of Santiago Matatlán that have produced changos mezcaleros for decades. Makes sense: Matatlán is home to the highest number of family-run mezcal distilleries, or palenques. 

Where can you buy changos?

There’s always the internet, of course, with sites like eBay offering vintage changos mezcaleros. But despite there being a good chance the mezcal containers originated in Oaxaca, we couldn’t find any there. It wasn’t until we visited San Miguel de Allende that we came across a couple stores that sold them: Origenes Antigüedades Populares across from the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramírez “El Nigromante” and Casa Michoacana, a folk art emporium on Calzada de la Aurora. 

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Duke and I were so excited to see changos for sale, we of course had to bring one home with us. We got this cheeky monkey for just under 2,000 pesos, or about $100. Not sure if we’ll ever fill him with mezcal, though. –Wally

Woodcarvers of Oaxaca Carve Out Their Niche

Manuel Jiménez is credited with starting the alebrije tradition in Oaxaca, but we’re smitten with the playful creations of Martín Melchor Ángeles.

Don Manuel Jiménez is credited with bringing the alebrije tradition to Oaxaca, and shifting the medium from papier-mâché to wood.

On our fifth day in Oaxaca, Wally and I were picked up outside Casa Antonieta, the hotel we were staying at, by folk art expert extraordinaire Linda Hanna. Having done our research, we knew that Oaxaca was famous for its brightly painted collectible wooden figures and that Linda was the perfect guide to explore the region. We were on the road by 9:30 a.m. and en route to San Antonio Arrazola, a small pueblo where the tradition began. 

These wood carvings are the newest of the local crafts yet draw on generations of skill. Even the capital’s fútbol (soccer) team, Los Alebrijes, is named after the locally produced wood carvings, which are an important source of income for their indigenous makers. According to Linda, prior to the 1940s, the region produced utilitarian items such as wooden spoons and molinillos, a utensil used to froth drinking chocolate. 

Alebrijes are believed to have been modern offshoots of nahuals, human-headed animal amulets worn by the Zapotec.

The origin story that Linda has heard often and which she believes to be the most credible involves a Zapotec tradition: Every baby was given a small nahual or nagual (pronounced “na-wal”) amulet to wear around their neck from the day they were born. These tokens took the form of animals from the 20-month Mesoamerican zodiac and were protective talismans symbolic of an individual’s alter ego that accompanied them throughout life.  

Don Manuel is no longer living, but his family carries on the woodcarving legacy.

Don Manuel Jiménez: The Alebrije Story Begins

“Manuel Jiménez was a peasant farmer who would be out there in the fields,” Linda told us. “And I think these people are, you know, born with a machete nearby. So carving is almost inherent in their DNA, and he was probably out there whittling away. He didn’t want to be limited by the size of the creatures, so he started making them bigger. At some point he had a bunch of them and would come into town, sit on some street corner, trying to sell them, probably not too effectively — until an American saw his work and was very impressed.”

Alebrijes take many forms but are mostly animals nowadays. Jiménez liked to do human faces, inspired by an ancient Zapotec tradition.

If you’re into alebrijes even half as much as Wally and Duke, consider having Linda Hanna take you on a tour of woodcarving artisan workshop homes.

We call Jiménez and his cohorts woodcarvers — but a lot of their craft involves painting. Alebrijes are known for their surprising mix of colors and patterns.

Jiménez, with the assistance of the foreigner, took these objects and presented them to the offices of the Tourist Council in Mexico City. The closest thing they could compare them to were the fantastical creatures Pedro Linares had been making out of papier-mâché, so they decided to also call these surreal, vibrantly colored wooden adaptations “alebrijes,” too. 

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What’s an Alebrije? Learn more about our favorite Mexican artisan tradition.

Click here

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About 45 minutes later, we were welcomed to Arrazola by a giant acid green praying mantis sculpture and a sign commemorating the town as la Cuña de los Alebrijes, the Cradle of Alebrijes. A short time after, we arrived at our destination, the museum workshop of the Jiménez family. Known locally as Don Manuel, the patriarch died in 2005 and is often credited as the father of Oaxacan alebrijes.

A fun sculpture of a giant praying mantis in Arrazola, the Cuña, or Cradle, of Alebrijes

As we parked and got out of Linda’s car, we noticed a man outside the studio enclosure with a converted bicycle grinding a metallic object against a spinning rust-colored disc. When we asked Linda what he was doing, she replied that he was a knife sharpener and it looked like he was working on a pair of scissors.

The charming courtyard at the Jiménez home, workshop and store

In the courtyard, a group of small, weathered and anatomically correct diablitos (little devils) playing guitars hung along a roughly textured stucco wall. 

Inside the workshop are framed photographs, newspaper articles and nahuales. One with a man’s face and mustache was sitting upright like a dog, another, ears back, crouched, appearing ready to pounce. A brightly colored figurine of Dante, the dog from the Pixar movie Coco stood atop a well-worn table.

The taller (pronounced “tie-yair”), or workshop, is operated by Don Manuel’s sons, Angélico and Isaías, and contains a small museum with glass display cases of their father’s work. They still sign Manuel’s name to their work — supposedly to honor his legacy. 

The patriarch specialized in nativity scenes, animals and nahuales. There’s even a children’s book, Dream Carver, that tells the story of a young woodcarver who breaks with a generations-old artistic tradition, inspired by the life of Don Manuel. 

A display case of some of Don Manuel’s works and the children’s book based on his life

There’s a shop/museum connected to the workshop.

“When these started selling, Jiménez tried to keep it a secret — which is impossible in a little village,” Linda said. “They know everything about you, good and bad.”

It wasn’t long before campesinos (farmers) in the nearby pueblos of San Martín Tilcajete and La Unión Tejalapan caught on and decided to carve and sell their products to tourists and collectors from North America and beyond. A new artisan tradition was born. 

When you see this mural, you’ll know you’re about to enter Don Manuel’s complex.

El Tallador de Sueños Museo-Taller
Álvaro Obregón #1
San Antonio Arrazola
Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, 71233
Oaxaca
México

While we were in Arrazola, we stopped into Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos, a massive store filled with colorful carvings.

Shopping Break 

In addition to Don Manuel’s workshop and museum, Arrazola has a concentration of shops on Calle Emiliano Zapata. Wally and I stopped by Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos, a massive establishment with a vast selection of alebrijes. Linda had mentioned that a few artists use syringes to apply dots of acrylic paint to the surface of their creations. Sure enough, I noticed a woman working on a piece who was using a syringe to embellish a small wood carving.

Taller de Alebrijes Autóctonos
Emiliano Zapata #2-B
San Antonio Arrazola
Santa Cruz Xoxocotlán, 71233
Oaxaca
México

Martín Melchor Ángeles, our favorite alebrije artisan

The Story Continues: Martín Melchor’s Magical Menagerie 

The moment I first saw the work of Martín Melchor Ángeles on the Instagram feed of Mexico City-based freelance journalist Michael Snyder, I knew I’d found someone special. 

Our next stop was the taller of Martín Melchor Ángeles. A dusty, rose-colored wall sported a hand-painted sign with one of Martín’s signature dalmatians wearing a red shirt and blue pants riding a bicycle. 

Martín’s distinct whimsical handcarved animals include a menagerie of creatures: giraffes operating mototaxis, dogs on bikes, alligators in libraries, cows on stilts and more. His wife, Hermelinda, makes handsewn costumes for the figures on stilts. 

These are the alebrijes on stilts that Duke and Wally bought at Melchor’s workshop.

The stilt walkers were included as part of a collaborative exhibit, Transcommuniality, by multidisciplinary artist Laura Anderson Barbata, which made an appearance at the Museo Textil de Oaxaca in 2018. The traveling exhibit includes interpretations of stilt walkers’ costumes found around the globe, from the moko jumbies of Trinidad and Tobago to the Zancudos de Zaachila in Oaxaca.

In fact, while walking through Oaxaca Centro a couple days earlier, Wally and I happened upon a parade with these performers. We marveled at how they danced around, tied onto wooden stilts. They’re known as Zancudos, which comes from zanco, meaning “stilt” but also evokes “mosquito” — a reference to the insects’ long legs. The male performers, some dressed in masculine garb, some wearing dresses, are impressive to watch.

Part of the fun of a folk art tour is seeing the handicrafts at various stages of production.

At Martín’s shop, it was difficult to decide between the pieces. But ultimately, we decided upon a bull dressed as a tiliche in colorful scraps of cloth. This character makes an annual appearance at Guelaguetza, a celebration of indigenous culture held in Oaxaca de Juárez, along with an alligator in fanciful Tehuana dress wearing a lemon yellow huipil tunic paired with a long bougainvillea pink skirt.

If for some reason you don’t want to make a trip to Martín’s studio (and want to pay a lot more for his work), we found a couple of his pieces in town along Avenida de la Independencia at Andares. But not only is it cool to meet these artisans and see their workshops, you’ll find the prices much cheaper than those at the stores.

The sign at Martín’s home and workshop shows his playful style, often with animals on bikes or in mototaxis.

Martín Melchor Ángeles
Andrés Portillo #2
San Martín Tilcajete
Oaxaca
México

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Wally and I wished that we had allotted extra time in Oaxaca to coordinate a second day trip with Linda. Her involvement with and passion for the region’s indigenous artisans deepened our understanding and appreciation of the process. Having her as both driver and guide took the stress of transportation out of the equation. Plus, her familiarity with and ability to contact the creators prior to us visiting their workshops ensured that they had pieces for us to see and purchase.

If you’re interested in Mexican folk art, Linda can introduce you to local artesanos and take you to see their workshops. Send her an email at folkartfantasy@gmail.com. —Duke

What Are Alebrijes?

From the fever dream of Pedro Linares to the ultra-popular Oaxacan woodcarvings started by Manuel Jiménez, these fantastical folk art animals are sure to delight.

A winged dog alebrije on the workbench at the family home of Manuel Jiménez, who popularized the small, brightly painted, whimsical woodcarvings known as alebrijes.

I can clearly remember the first time I was introduced to Oaxacan woodcarving. It was the early ’90s and I was working for the Nature Company. We received a shipment of whimsical wooden frogs. I purchased a brightly painted one with an upturned head, saucer-like eyes, a cartoonish grin and exaggerated outstretched limbs more like a cat’s than an amphibians. Little did I know I was on my way to becoming a collector of this art form. 

“Pedro Linares fell ill and had a fever dream where strange zoomorphic creatures materialized in a dark forest chanting the word, “Alebrije… alebrije… alebrije.” ”

When Wally and I decided to venture beyond CDMX and visit Oaxaca, Mexico, I knew it’d be a dream come true for us. We are drawn to cultural destinations with vibrant histories — and this one included colorful carvings of arte popular: animals, devils, mythical beasts and skeletons.

Pro tip: I always pack bubble wrap and tape in our suitcase in anticipation of what we will inevitably buy. 

Three alebrijes from Duke and Wally’s collection

Object Lesson: Woodcarving’s Origins in Mexico 

To get a sense of history, like many things having to do with Mexico, we must look to the Spanish conquistadors who conquered the Aztec Empire. Indigenous craftspeople shifted, in large part, to creating Catholic objects of saints, angels, crosses and ornate altarpieces for colonial churches. Native Mexicans still made masks for ritual dances and festivals, and Dominican friars used them as visual aids to theatrically act out parables from the Bible as a means to sway the natives to convert to Christianity.

A lion mask from a Mexican woodcarver

Fast-forward to the construction of the Pan-American Highway in the 1940s, which enabled tourists to travel to rural pueblos and led to the increased production of art objects as souvenirs. Although Oaxacan woodcarvings, known as alebrijes (pronounced ah-lay-bree-hays), in their current form have been around for less than 50 years, they have become one of the most popular. 

Not all alebrijes are of fantastical beasts — but they do have unexpected colors and patterns.

This art form can be traced back to a single man, Manuel Jiménez, a native of the small village of San Antonio Arrazola. Today the legendary late artist’s compound contains a museum and workshop. His alebrijes are incredible objects that are a cultural jumble of real and imaginary indigenous folklore. It was a natural evolution that other families from Arrazola, as well as those from San Martín Tilcajete and La Unión Tejalapam in particular, applied their ingenuity to create and sell pieces as a source of income.

The first step in creating an alebrije involves a machete like this in the Jiménez family workshop outside of Oaxaca.

Bough Down: How Alebrijes Are Made

These folk art sculptures are considered a young tradition when compared to pre-Hispanic handicrafts such as weaving and pottery. The most popular choice for carving is copal, a softwood that’s easy to work with. Woodcarving involves using non-mechanical tools like machetes, chisels and knives. The exact positioning of the figure is determined by the shape of the piece of wood. Initial cuts are often made with a machete to form a rough idea of what the artist has imagined, while smaller knives and chisels are used to define the final form. 

After the object is carved, it’s sanded smooth and left to dry. Those that are carved from a large solid piece of wood can take months to dry. Details like wings, tails and ears are crafted in separate pieces from the main figure, which make them easier to travel with. 

Most alebrijes are carved of copal wood. These are drying on a roof at the home and studio of our favorite artisan, Martín Melchor.

The process is a family affair. Generally, it is the men who carve and women who paint. Some are embellished with bold, contrasting acrylic paints and ixtle fiber from the leaves of the maguey plant. They are a source of family pride, and most homes have a small area where finished works are displayed. 

It’s believed that alebrijes trace their roots back to the Zapotec tradition of tonas or nahuals, animal spirit guides, which often had human faces, complete with mustaches.

Motifs change, driven by the market’s appetite for novelty and the creativity and imagination of the individual who makes them. Most Oaxacan artisans simply call them figuras, wooden figures. It’s thought that they originally derived from tonas or nahuals, which refer to animal spirit guides from the Zapotec zodiac. But nowadays, these fantastic figures are more often than not referred to as alebrijes. 

A cute (?) devilesque papier-mâché alebrije Duke and Wally bought at a store in Chicago

Alebrijes: What’s in a Name?

The first alebrijes as well as the name itself are attributed to Mexico City-born artist Pedro Linares. In 1936 Linares fell ill and had a fever dream where strange zoomorphic creatures materialized in a dark forest chanting the word, “Alebrije… alebrije… alebrije.” 

Using his skills as a papier-mâché artist, Linares rendered the creatures from memory, mixing multiple animal body parts, such as the body of a snake, a rooster’s beak, bat wings, lizard legs and a fish’s tail. 

Alebrijes began as larger papier-mâché crazy creatures like this one at a mercado in Mexico City.

Jiménez, in turn, was influenced by the highly stylized treatment and colors he saw in the works of Linares — shifting the medium to wood and putting his own mark on the creatures. 

The economic growth created by the popularity of these colorful creatures has given many families the opportunity to have a better life in the poorest state in Mexico. Woodcarving has improved the lives of these villagers as evidenced by paved roads, better schools, streetlights and cell phones — none of which existed 20 years ago. 

Quality and prices vary widely. Choosing an alebrije is truly a matter of personal taste. It can be overwhelming, so go with your gut. And decide between a colorful chucherría, a small, simple folk object, or a larger labor-intensive fine art gallery-worthy piece. 

Many alebrijes now sport multiple intricate patterns.

When you’re in the Oaxaca area and want to visit artisans at their studios, book a tour with the delightful Linda Hanna. And when you see something you like, buy it — because you’ll probably never see anything like it again. Added bonus: The prices at a studio will be much better than at a store or even market. –Duke

The Best Folk Art Guide in Oaxaca

A Q&A with Linda Hanna, who shares the appeal of Oaxaca, Mexico, her passion for textiles and the now sadly closed Casa Linda B&B.

Linda Hanna, folk art guide extraordinaire

If you have a passion for folk art, as Duke and I do, Oaxaca has to be on your Mexico itinerary. And if you want to visit the workshops of the local artisans of this colorful state, there’s no better guide than Linda Hanna. 

I first heard about Linda in Viva Oaxaca: An Insider’s Guide to Oaxaca’s Charms, and authors Robert Adler and Jo Ann Wexler didn’t exaggerate when they describe her as an expert who knows most of the region’s artisans personally. In fact, Linda is the one who chooses the artists who will represent Oaxaca at the national Feria Maestros del Arte (Masters of Art Fair) held at the yacht club in Chapala, Jalisco each year.

“Head, heart and hand: I believe creating folk art involves these three elements.”

— Linda Hanna

Linda’s a charming guide who’s eager to cater your day trip to whatever villages best represent your passion. The pueblos around the city of Oaxaca hold a variety of talented artisans creating various products, but the three biggies are alebrijes, pottery and rugs. 

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What exactly are alebrijes?

Fantastical creatures inspired by a fever dream: Learn more about our favorite Mexican folk art tradition.

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The lovely Casa Linda, outside of Oaxaca de Juárez

We spent the better part of a delightful day with Linda, visiting woodcarving workshops, and ending the tour with a visit to her home, which is filled with so many amazing pieces of locally created folk art, it could very well be a museum. She even made us lunch — a watermelon-based gazpacho with mango chunks that Duke and I can’t stop thinking about. 

Want to learn more about folk art day trips in Oaxaca? Email Linda at folkartfantasy@gmail.com.

Duke is still dreaming of the watermelon gazpacho he had at Casa Linda.

Wally’s happy place is being surrounded by lush plants and amazing folk art.

Here’s our Q&A with this fascinating expat and fellow folk art fanatic:

What first drew you to Oaxaca?

I first visited Oaxaca with my oldest daughter in 1992. She had been in Chiapas, and we came to Oaxaca for a weekend. It just so happened to overlap the last Monday in July, so the Guelegetza festival was full on. It was like being in nonstop fiesta mode and with many, many vendors offering the various folk arts of Oaxaca. 

I had been a weaver and designer of wearable art for 15 years in California, so I was completely in awe of the diversity and quality of the Oaxacan textiles. 

One of the many kitties roaming the grounds

What has kept you there?

As it turned out, my daughter decided to live in Oaxaca when she finished her BA. By then, I was teaching elementary school in Richmond, California. Whenever I had vacation time, I booked another trip to Oaxaca, and finally, in 1997, I decided I would come for a year so I could improve my Spanish and then try and find work in a different school district. So, in August of 1997, I arrived in Oaxaca — and apart from visits to the States and a few other places, have never left. 

I rented a place in town (about a seven-minute walk to the Zócalo) for about four years. At that point, I knew that I was going to stay in Oaxaca for the duration of my life. It was then I decided maybe I ought to invest in property and was eventually shown the house in San Andrés Huayapam in which I’m still living. It is about five miles northeast of old Oaxaca and also about 600 feet higher. I knew when I first saw the house that it would be perfect for my growing collection of Oaxacan folk art. 

“Mi casa es su casa,” reads the plaque at Linda’s charming home.

Tell us about your B&B. When did you open it? What inspired you to do so?

In the beginning, I didn’t have a car — only my bike, which I would ride into town and to the pool, which was another obsession at that time. 

It was a friend, Carol  Ross, who suggested that I get a car so I could help her with folk art tours. She was also the person who nudged me into opening a B&B in my home. 

The thing that made my B&B a bit different was that I would also offer full-day tours to visit the folk artists whom I had gotten to know in the years I had been in Oaxaca. 

At first I was resistant and only wanted to be a host for friends or friends of friends. However, that was a really short list. I made the decision to go on the internet in 2006 and operated Casa Linda until COVID happened. Finally, in 2021, I closed Casa Linda, but I am still doing the tours even though I no longer have the website. 

Everywhere you look at Linda’s home you’ll find great examples of local folk art.

You’re a big fan of folk art. What about it most appeals to you?

I believe my interest in folk art came by way of textiles, which was a passion and vocation I had developed in California. When I moved to Oaxaca — which is the Mexican state with the most diverse textile traditions — I knew I had settled into the place I belonged. 

However, I don’t think it’s possible to live in Oaxaca and not be impressed by its many other wonderful folk art traditions, which include ceramics, woodcarving, tin, gourds, corn husk and silver jewelry, to name a few. 

For most of my adult life I have thought that the ideal job would incorporate the three H’s — that is, head, heart and hand. I believe creating folk art or perhaps all art involves these three elements. I certainly experienced it when I was a weaver, and it seemed perfectly natural to support craftspeople in Oaxaca. 

A sirena (mermaid) takes center stage in this retablo.

What are some of your favorite types of folk art? 

As I mentioned, I was drawn first to the textile crafts. Since I had been a weaver, I was more experienced in being able to appreciate the expertise and skill of these artesanos. 

I have been often asked if I wanted to do weaving again here, but in fact I haven’t wanted to. I would much rather take visitors to meet and see the work of these remarkable craftspeople.

My interest in textiles culminated in an exhibition called Rosas y Revelaciones. This is a homage to the Virgin of Guadalupe as seen through the garments that I commissioned 85 artesanos to make from 13 different states, but mostly from Oaxaca. 

These hungry birds appropriately adorn the dining table.

How did you start getting to know the locals who create this folk art? 

The way I came to know a number of the artesanos making high-quality crafts was by going to exhibitions or into galleries and writing down the names and villages where they lived. I would then go, and if I didn’t have an actual address I might ask a colectivo driver or maybe a cantina owner if they knew this person. Then I would go to their home. Now it’s easier, as almost everyone has a cell phone, and many more craftspeople are on the internet. 

A creepy-cool mask hanging in the open-air garage

What’s the best-kept secret about Oaxaca?

I don’t know if it’s really a secret, but I think Oaxaca is a place of endless delights. I have been writing about its folk arts, but there is a whole other world of its archaeology, which continues to reassert itself in folk art. 

There are also the worlds of food and mezcal, which could entirely fill a visitor’s itinerary.

There are still 16 languages spoken in Oaxaca and those people more often identify with their indigenous group before seeing themselves as Mexicans. 

The side yard at Casa Linda

What’s something that could only happen in Oaxaca?

Is Oaxaca perfect? No — but then what place is? There are far too many blockades for reasons no one can ever seem to figure out. But it also is a place that one can live without supplementary heating or air conditioning. There are few places in the world that can boast that.

When we asked Linda what this triangular structure was, she told us it was a shrine.

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If you want to hire Linda as a folk art guide (and really there’s no one else better for the job), email her at folkartfantasy@gmail.com. –Wally

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Meet the Woodcarvers of Oaxaca

Here are the artisans who create alebrijes and other wood handicrafts, including Martín Melchor Ángeles, who carves whimsical creations that can’t help but make you smile.

Catch the Bazar Sábado While You Can

The ephemeral San Ángel market in Mexico City is worth saving a Saturday for.

Handicrafts, artworks, pottery and other goodies are on sale at the Saturday Bazaar — one day a week only.

Unlike the village of Brigadoon, which rises out of the Scottish mist once every 100 years, the no-less-enchanting Bazar Sábado in the colonia (neighborhood) of San Ángel in Mexico City bursts into life every Saturday. An artisanal market rises and fills the hilly cobblestone streets, Plaza del Carmen and surrounding shops.

Originally, the colonia, located southwest of Centro, the city center, was a weekend retreat for Spanish nobles, who built their 19th century colonial-style homes here. 

“The enchanting Bazar Sábado in San Ángel bursts into life every Saturday. The artisanal market fills the hilly cobblestone streets, plaza and surrounding shops.”

The handicraft portion of the bazaar lines the street.

Shopping in San Ángel, CDMX

A few of the shops, including Caracol Púrpura, have beautiful contemporary and traditional objects for sale but were too expensive for us. We wanted to take some pictures to write about their shop but they told us no photos when they saw us getting ready to take a few snaps. We managed to capture a few anyway — we are the Not So Innocents Abroad after all! 

A high-end shop in San Ángel

No photos allowed!

Long and lean Catrinas

Pressed tin depictions of the Virgin Mary

Colorful garlands woven from palm leaves

A fun selection of masks for sale

These adorable tiny fruits are made of marzipan.

The next shop we entered was called Paskwarho. While Wally and I looked at a display of hand-painted dishware, we met Arturo, an expat and cofounder, who relocated from Chicago. I’m assuming that my Midwestern accent and Spanglish tipped him off. He kindly said to me that even after living in the country for many years he still doesn’t understand everything that’s said to him. 

We bought a papier-mâché skull rattle with an articulated jaw that was handmade by one of the women who works in the shop as well as a burnt orange and white casserole baking dish hand-painted in the capulineado style, a pointillist flower pattern named after the town where they’re made. 

A large howling wolf alebrije — fantastical Mexican folk art creatures

A store devoted to Día de Muertos

Skeletons, skulls and marigolds

Artisans Galore

Outside are a multitude of tented stalls selling everything from handicrafts to jewelry to pottery and more. We purchased a couple of T-shirts and a change purse to keep our growing collection of coins.

The market can get crowded, but uttering a simple, apologetic, “Con permiso” goes a long way and will help you pass others politely. It’s like saying, “Excuse me” in English. 

A delightful mural in the building that houses part of the Bazar Sábado

The Bazar Sábado was founded in 1960 as the first of its kind before relocating to its current home in 1965 and contains hundreds of artists and an open-air interior courtyard with a restaurant. After taking our temperature and offering us hand sanitizer, we were permitted to enter. 

There’s a restaurant in the central courtyard, where women cook up meals on large griddles.

Follow the sign.

And grab a drink at the small bar.

A devilishly cool sculpture hanging in one of the rooms adjoining the courtyard

We found a stand for Cervecería Monstruo de Agua, a Mexico City-based microbrewery offering a distinctive range of beers. They were one of my favorite discoveries on this visit. I had purchased a couple of bottles of Sugoi, a blonde ale brewed with agave, ginger and lemongrass at a small beer shop in La Condesa. I mean, who can resist a brand whose mascot is an axolotl, an amphibian with a long tail, six hornlike appendages and bulging eyes and whose name translates as “water monster” in Náhuatl? Not us! We ended up buying a small round glass with the creature embossed on it. 

Whimsical animal sculptures

Molcajetes made of volcanic stone are a must for home-made guacamole.

We were delighted to discover Cerámica San Germán, a shop filled with traditional hand-painted ceramics and stoneware from the town of Tonalá. We purchased several bowls and a plate depicting the nahual, a jaguar-like cat with a smiling face. 

Also of note were the wares of Silva Dufour. I loved the colors and satin-finish glazes of their ceramic objects, which included scarab beetles and contemporary interpretations of traditional helmet masks. 

One of the artists at work

When we exited the bazaar, we brought the unfinished open bottles of Monstruo de Agua with us. An elderly local artist in the park, which is filled with painters selling their artworks, told us that it’s prohibited to drink alcohol outside. I’m not sure the police would have noticed, but we returned to the building to finish our beers. Better to err on the side of caution than to risk violating the law in another country. 

The plaza with this fountain is surrounded by artists selling paintings.

Which luchador mask would you choose?

Wally purchased a few desiccated Roses of Jericho (aka resurrection plants) from a street vendor as gifts for his coworkers, and we wandered down the hill into Happening, a store and gallery that carried cool clothes and objects from local artists and designers. While there I saw La Escalera, a bold graphic print by Boston-born, Mexico City-based artist Sophie Greenspan. Wally remarked that it reminded him of the modern architecture of Luis Barragán, which we had experienced earlier in the day on a tour with The Traveling Beetle. 

The impressive tiled cupolas of Nuestra Señora del Carmen are visible from the end of the thoroughfare — just a stone’s throw from the bustling market area. 

We’ll definitely return to San Ángel on our next trip to CDMX (we’re utterly smitten), especially for the basement crypt at the Templo y Museo del Carmen to see the mummified bodies of wealthy donors to the Carmelite order. And for a chance to view the embalmed severed hand of former Mexican President Álvaro Obregón in the basement of the WWI monument to him. Who knew such a charming neighborhood held such gruesome secrets? –Duke

 

El Bazar Sábado

Plaza San Jacinto 11
San Ángel
Álvaro Obregón
01000 Ciudad de México
CDMX
Mexico

Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela: One-Stop Shopping in CDMX

The best market in Mexico City is filled with folk art and handicrafts from all around Mexico.  

A selection of fantastical alebrijes on sale at La Ciudadela

Mexico City has no shortage of markets. There’s the Saturday art market along the adorable cobblestone streets on the hills of San Ángel. There’s La Lagunilla, the Sunday antiques market. There’s also the Mercado Sonora, with a witch market tucked into a back corner, and the vibrant, two-story Mercado Coyoacán. And market stalls pop up all over the city, including in the Plaza de la Republica at the entrance to the Monumento de la Revolución. 

Papier-mâché devils hanging around the mercado

¡Mucha lucha! A luchadore-themed shop at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela

Religious artifacts on sale at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela

But if you’re into folk art, handicrafts and arte popular, as Duke and I are, the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela is a dream come true. It’s so massive you couldn’t even hope to cover it all on one visit. We’ve been there on both visits to CDMX — and will make it a stop every time we go back. 

If I’m being perfectly honest, Duke and I have a problem. We just love traditional handicrafts so much we can’t help but bring home half a suitcase full of goodies. As you can imagine, our home is practically overflowing with these souvenirs of our world travels. 

A nun is amazed at the selection of folk art on sale at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela.

We bought a few things at this stall with clay artworks in the pre-Columbian style.

Puppets and other arte popular fill every stall at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela.

Mexican Trees of Life at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela

A typical shop at La Ciudadela

Break up your shopping — and grab a margarita — at the cantina in the market.

Tips for Shopping at Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela

When you enter, the main part of the market is to your right — but don’t miss the smaller section off to the left as well. 

The stalls offer handicrafts from various regions all over Mexico: alebrijes, brightly painted wooden fantastical creatures from Oaxaca; colorful Otomi textiles, including hand-embroidered pillow covers and tablecloths depicting animals, flowers and plants; clay sculptures that surpass those sold at the Museo Nacional de Antropología gift shop with many in the pre-Columbian style. 

There are handicrafts for sale from all over Mexico at the Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela.

At La Ciudadela, prices are set — but it doesn’t hurt to ask for a bit of a discount if you’re buying multiple items from one vendor. 

We always eat lunch at Fonda Carmelita, the cantina in the middle of the market.

There’s a cantina in the middle of the market called Fonda Carmelita, where we always stop to get a bite of traditional Mexican fare — and a couple of margaritas, por supuesto. The first time we were here, Duke went to the back to use the baño and returned to the table, reporting that our frozen margs were being whipped up in a blender by an 8-year-old boy. 

The cantina will always be a welcome resting spot for us to recharge and discuss the stalls we want to revisit after lunch. Apparently, the loud-talking German-speaking tourist at a neighboring table didn’t get the memo that smoking indoors has been banned in CDMX since 2008. He lit up a cigar after his meal, which was our cue that it was time to ask for la cuenta and get back to shopping. 

Right out front of the market, a couple of women whip up tacos with homemade blue corn tortillas.

Exploring the Neighborhood

On the sidewalk outside the market, small vendors set up. The first time we came, we stopped to buy veggie tacos — and were obsessed with watching one of the women make homemade blue corn tortillas on a large metal drum right before our eyes. 

And on our most recent visit, a quirky used record stand had popped up. 

One of the best traditions of Mexico City: open-air dancing in the parks

After a half-day of shopping, the tote bags we had brought with us stuffed full of amazing finds (some for gifts, most for us), we explored the park across the street, Parque de la Ciudadela. We’re familiar enough with CDMX traditions now not to be surprised to see couples dancing in the open air. These people are doing life right. –Wally

Our fave spot to shop in CDMX

A mural on the wall in front of the mercado

When you see this, you know you’re in for a shopping extravaganza!

Mercado de Artesanías La Ciudadela

Balderas S/N
Colonia Centro
Cuauhtémoc
06040 Cuauhtémoc
CDMX
Mexico

 

Indian Handicrafts Meet Modern Design: A Q&A With Harpreet Padam

Traditional techniques inform modern consumer products — all within the framework of the Indian aesthetic. 

Harpreet Padam of Unlike Design Co. explains a detail to some of the artisans he collaborates with.

Scrolling through Instagram (one of my favorite hobbies), I was instantly impressed by the well-curated feed of Harpreet Padam (@generalaesthetic). It features images of places and objects found or designed by him. 

Recently, I saw a post featuring an article Harpreet wrote for Big Little Things, a magazine that celebrates thoughtful design and living. In the article, Harpreet describes his lifelong love for traditional Indian handicrafts and his collection of childhood objects filled with special memories and their influence on his designs. 

“A better, exclusive understanding of Indian-ness is something I really strive for through my work.”

— Harpreet Padam, co-founder, Unlike Design Co.

Harpreet is the co-founder of Unlike Design Co., and his creations include the Petal series of tea scoops that have an organic feel to them and were developed in collaboration with woodworkers from Udayagiri, Andhra Pradesh, India. His Bidriware is produced by craftspeople in Bidar, Karnataka. And I’m particularly partial to the miniature houses inspired by the vernacular architecture of Srinagar, Kashmir. 

We were thrilled to connect with Harpreet, who shared a bit about his influences, design background, favorite objects and the enduring legacy of artisans. –Duke

Tell us about your design background.

Honestly, the impulse to study design came about for me by a poster I found in an apartment that the previous tenant, a furniture designer, had left behind. It was a neat collage of industrial design works by the French architect and designer Marc Held. I still have the poster and keep in touch with Marc every now and then. 

I went on to study at the then very respected accessory design department of the National Institute of Fashion Technology in New Delhi. 

After graduating, I worked for six years as a designer, then design head at a fashion accessory firm in Bangalore. It was a wonderful team, and I got the opportunity to design jewelry, home products, store windows, brochures and even a store interior. 

 Eventually, I was drawn to packaging and graphic design for Indian fashion brands. My partner, Lavanya, and I established our studio Unlike Design Co. — first in Bangalore, and now in New Delhi. We do a mix of projects, ranging from home accessories, craft-based objects, graphics and packaging. Both of us also teach at various design schools across India. 

Harpreet looks to traditional Indian culture to create a new, non-Westernized take on contemporary design.

How would you describe your design philosophy?

I look at design as very closely related to business and culture. The experience and understanding of the client as well as the softer nuances within the lives of the user influence my thinking greatly. 

A better, exclusive understanding of Indian-ness is something I really strive for through my work. 

I am also always thinking about how the words “modern” and “contemporary” apply to India and our people. The way designers like myself have been trained and the early influences we have developed as a result of that, our understanding of these words has been shaped largely from a Western viewpoint. My mind struggles to think afresh as an Indian living and working amongst the Indian masses — I think this struggle forms an important part of my design philosophy.

What are some of your favorite objects that you’ve picked up on your travels? Why are these important to you?

 I really like this set of wire puzzles we picked up on the Ganges riverside in Varanasi. The man who sold them used to make them himself. The puzzles range from simple to sheer mind-benders. On subsequent visits, I couldn’t find the man again, and the pieces I had bought earlier became more special.

Harpreet picks up keepsakes on his travels, like these wire puzzles bought along the Ganges in Varanasi.

Then there is this block of wood which I found in a wood turner’s workshop in Kashmir. It’s some sort of a shaping tool, though the artisan was using it as a seat. According to the family, it is very old and made of a rare hardwood exclusive to Kashmir — I forget the name now. I think I enjoyed its multipurpose perception and its naturally aged look. 

Hapreet found this shaped wood block at a workshop in Kashmir.

There are so many more things, found by the roadside, in hardware stores, in people’s homes, rejects during workshops. Lavanya and I collect a lot of such things, get really attached to them, and end up filling cupboards and boxes to the brim.

Artisan Khatoon Bi uses her hands as well as her feet to carve a Petal teaspoon for the Udayagiri wooden cutlery collection.

Who are some of the artisans you work with?

At the moment, I am working with embroiderers, woodcarvers and papier-mâché makers in Kashmir. I also work with a family of Bidriware makers and a community of women cutlery carvers in South India.

A Kashmiri woodcarver’s workshop

What appeals to you about traditional handicrafts?

I enjoy the struggle of aiming to create a kind of new relevance. In the past, a lot of traditional handicrafts were seamlessly integrated into the lives of their users — through intelligent combinations of their function, appearance, significance. Artisans nowadays are a bit detached from a firsthand understanding of consumer lifestyles — sometimes even within their local environments. 

I like the attempt of acting to bridge this understanding — just nudging and guiding a bit. It’s magic to witness an artisan thinking for him- or herself about a new product. And they do it more intuitively than designers. It’s also design, I guess, helping someone with the confidence to think for themselves.

Master craftsman Abdul Rauf works with Harpreet on the Bidriware product line.

Another important thing for me is changing perceptions about traditional handicrafts, especially for young design students, who find the whole subject boring and stuffy. I think I’m able to achieve this to some extent when I teach my craft-based design course at the National Institute of Fashion Technology. 

Prototypes for Unlike’s Srinagar Houses

How have you given traditional handicrafts a modern twist, as in your Srinagar Houses miniatures?

I didn’t have to do much more than spot significant details of old Srinagar houses that stood out for me. And this happens naturally when you visit Kashmir — the older architecture stands in sharp contrast to the more universal style of building prevalent now. 

So I simply made small models of what I saw, and the artisans improved upon it with their own thoughts. Though we did attempt to paint details of windows and brickwork onto the houses, eventually we left them gray. 

The minimalism of the Srinagar Houses lends them a modern feel.

I was inspired to do this by a conversation with one of the traditional artists, who was joking when he said it’s better not to paint windows and doors since the Kashmiri people are almost always under curfew and house arrest. I think that stark grayness, coupled with strong architectural features, gives them a modern feel.

Architecture like this in Bidar helped inspired Unlike’s Bidriware.

What have been your biggest influences as an artist?

Most of all, I think it’s the opportunity of traveling and meeting varied places and people. And then I think it’s also an equilibrium of mish-mash from films, magazines, books, writings and work of designers, artists, filmmakers and the like. 

I spent my late school years studying in and around Corbusier’s Chandigarh and that did affect my view on architecture and design, in a deep way that’s hard to describe. 

I also really admire the writings of the late Italian designer Ettore Sottsass and the work of Vico Magistretti, his fellow designer of the time. 

And then Indian cinema of the 1980s and early ’90s — such films as Ek Doctor Ki Maut by Tapan Sinha, Aakrosh and Ardh Satya by Govind Nihalani, Mathilukal by Adoor Gopalakrishnan and Sadma by Balu Mahendra. I wish my work could imbibe that level of starkness in thought, the honesty and courage to address issues head on — even in commercial products and the way they are made.    

Traditional techniques are used to create the Convention vases in Unlike’s Bidriware line.

Explain some of your favorite traditional techniques, and how you’ve applied them to your work, as in your Bidriware series.

In Bidriware, I think I’m still learning more about the possibility of techniques. In my last extended interaction, I enjoyed learning about the hollow-core casting technique. Unlike many Bidriware objects, this technique does not weld two symmetrical halves to create a hollow object, which is a simple but crude way to do it. The method employs sand casting to achieve a completely hollow form, without visible joints. 

Moreover, the artisan I have been working with is extremely skilled at creating hollow molds out of solid forms — it is magic watching him employ decades of skill and dexterity in the few moments it takes to achieve this. 

I used both these specialities of the artisan for a series of flower vases called Convention.

Share something that you think would only happen in India.

Oh, our roads. The astonishing synchronicity of traffic, animals and people moving in any and all directions of their choosing. I’m not sure any other country can match that.