A Journey into the Artisanal Soul of Oaxaca
María in Oaxaca: among embroidery, black clay, and colours that tell stories.
Oaxaca revealed to me a new meaning of creativity, one rooted in ancestry, patience, and love. The city itself is a living canvas: terracotta walls glowing in the sun, cochineal-dyed textiles in market stalls, Zapotec embroidery whispering ancient stories. Here, art isn’t hidden in galleries; it lives in the streets, kitchens, and hands of those who carry traditions forward.
In San Marcos Tlapazola, I met women who shape barro rojo (red clay) just as their mothers and grandmothers did. No wheel, no machines, only earth, water, and fire. Watching them mould vessels with such strength and grace, I felt their deep bond with the land, every piece carrying the raw soul of the mountains.
I also discovered that Oaxacan cuisine is an art form in itself. At dawn, I wandered through a local market, surrounded by the scents of fresh herbs, the touch of criollo corn, the vibrant reds of chilhuacle chiles. Later, in a family kitchen, I learned to make mole negro from scratch. Hours of roasting, grinding, and layering taught me that cooking here is not about recipes but rhythm, memory, and storytelling.
In the hills of Santiago Matatlán, I visited a Mezcal Palenque. Among fields of agave, I watched how piñas are roasted in earthen ovens, how smoke and time transform them into something sacred. The maestro mezcalero spoke of Mezcal as a fingerprint of the land, shaped by soil, water, and firewood. Tasting it there, I understood: it is not just a drink but distilled ancestry.
What struck me most in Oaxaca was not only the beauty of the final creations but the devotion behind them, the fire, repetition, and reverence present in every craft. Oaxaca taught me that to create with soul is to create with patience, love, and connection to the earth.
