It's late Saturday afternoon in Tonalá, and I'm on a quest. I need to find some little miracles.
I don't know when or where I first saw milagros, but I knew I had to have them to use in my art somehow, someday. The milagros I was seeking are small metal objects used in prayers of appeal and prayers of thanks throughout Catholic Latin America, although they date back to five centuries before Christianity in Spain. I was captivated by them the instant I first saw them.
I had trod the long blocks of Tonalá since early that morning, looking, shopping, buying. I'd been to see Enrique Tin Lamp Guy and finalized the purchase of my goodies, which he was wrapping for delivery to the hotel.
I had asked him and his daughter where I could find my little miracles, figuring that their work with metal and their experience of Tonalá would give them insider knowledge.
Surprisingly, they had no idea; but later in the day as I was passing their corner shop, another daughter who had heard of my request stopped me and told me to go to the Parroquia, the big church, that there were shops nearby that sold religious items and would have milagros. She directed me to walk three blocks this way and two blocks that way and I'd surely find the shops.
I thanked her and set off to complete the final item on my list. My pledge to keep going until I got there and not look into any more workshops lasted half a block, when something caught my eye in a small gallery on my right. I don't know what it was, but despite my singleminded intention, I found myself walking through the open door.
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At the rear of the shop, a man and a woman are in the middle of an embrace. It's too late now to turn around, so I smile at them as they break apart, and they smile back, embarrassed. They are a handsome pair, somewhere in their thirties, I think. The man welcomes me and encourages me to look around. I see immediately that the objects in this gallery are unlike any I've seen so far. Fat-faced masks from Guerrero in polished wood, unpainted. Odd, interesting paintings on the wall. Pieces of untypical sculpture. I am drawn to a piece on the wall, a candleholder that has been used, wax dripping.
"What is this?" I ask. The man tells me it is one of his pieces, as are many, maybe most, of the others in the shop. I decide I am in love with the candleholder. He gives me a price. I tell him I'll buy it if he signs it. He grins and, as he takes it off the wall, I turn and notice some wooden crosses covered with...guess what? Little milagros. "Yikes!" I comment. "Where did you get those?" And I tell him of my quest.
Abraham, for that's his name, waves me over to their big desk. "Sit," he suggests. I do. He goes into the back room and comes out with a box, which he proceeds to dump onto the desk. ¡Qué milagro! Milagros galore!
There must be a thousand or more, all handmade, he explains, by a friend of his who uses a combination of metals to make his own pewter. These little castings have a silky luster, and are nearly soft enough to bend.
Across from me sits Rosalba. Rosalba. What a fabulous name. I'd never heard it before and made her write it down. Abraham informs me that "alba" means dawn, daybreak. Even better! As Rosalba and I begin pawing through the pile of milagros, Abraham proposes we all have a beer, and walks across the street to the abarrotes to buy some.
So Rosalba and I begin to get to know each other, our hands in the milagros, showing each other our best finds.
Lips. Eyes. Leaves and roses. A moon! A sombrero. There are other body parts -- arms, legs, hands, hearts, breasts. There are houses and cars, fishes and dogs, ears of corn. Each of these can represent an offering, a special request, a thank you. Arthritis in your knee? Leave a leg milagro on the altar or pinned to a statue of your favorite saint with influence. Need a new house, a car that runs, a better crop, more eggs from your chicken? A milagro exists for nearly every instance and can be made to order if you have a special case.
Many of the milagros are of the Virgin, revered and powerful mother figure, agent of intercession, granter of miracles. There are angels, sacred hearts, chalices and praying figures, too.
Besides their association with prayer, milagros can have a talismanic purpose, can be worn or carried for protection or to bring about a change of fortune. Ancient practices dovetail so neatly with Roman Catholicism.
Abraham and Rosalba and I visited for nearly an hour and a half. While she and I selected the two hundred milagros I bought from him, he dusted and signed the candleholder for me, which now is perfectly at home on the casa terrace.
I paid for it and for the milagros and was preparing to leave when Abraham said, "Wait. Come in here, I want to show you something," and led me into the back room.
Turns out I brought one more amazing piece home from their gallery, a collaboration between the two of them, made to order for some fellow who hasn't been back since January. "Take it," they told me. "We have time to make another."
Abraham painted Frida's portrait; Rosalba did the papier maché and all the rest. They both signed it for me. It doesn't have a name, but I'm calling it "One More Self-Portrait".
Come by Casa Luz de Luna sometime and I'll show it to you.
Here's wishing you a whole bunch of little miracles.
xo
C
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