presents

¡que Viva México!

• Written by Silvia Mazzocco
• Illustrated by Lalo Huesca

How many times have I dreamed of this country, picturing in my head the richness of its colours and symbols, its expressive power, trying to recreate it in my drawings!

Mexico is powerful, revolutionary, inspiring. It hits you straight in the heart.

Resounding of the past, overflowing with the present. Traditions and national pride are alive, pulsating. Popular culture permeates everything. And all around, everything becomes extraordinarily modern. I am here, for real, in the flesh. Among noisy sirens, bright colours, barking dogs. I can’t really make it out: is it past or is it present? Can someone pinch me please? I want to make sure I’m still among the living… Yes, because only a few hours are left before

Well, no. You’re wrong if you were thinking that it’s Halloween or some sort of All Souls’ Day. Here they celebrate life and death with music, dances and bright decorations. The life of the departed loved ones, who come back to guide the living with their wisdom and experience. It’s a beautiful celebration, and in Mexico celebrations are more so than anywhere else in the world.

I walk through the streets, enraptured. Colourful skulls are everywhere! They wear dazzling costumes, great dames’ gowns, wide-brimmed hats. An explosion of colour and the joy of living: in the piazzas, in the homes, in the streets, everything is an “ofrenda,” the altar that welcomes the spirits to the realm of the living, laden with offerings to the deceased: pictures, candles, flowers, food, water to quench their thirst after the long journey.

My imagination is overtaken by events. Suddenly, I feel something grazing my shoulder. Was it a gust of wind? Or someone bumping into me? A calavera smiles at me. He says his name is José. “Come, I’ll tell you my story, which is the story of Mexico as well.”

I can’t believe my eyes, it’s José Guadalupe Posada, one of the greatest artists and illustrators in Mexican history.

I’ve always admired him: his artworks are full of traditional culture, his skulls have become the symbol of Día de Muertos and give voices to his people. He’s back for them, he says.

For us. To remind everyone that we need to preserve traditions and what we are, in order to revolutionise history and be as contemporary as we can. There’s no future without the past. He drew tons of skeletons, and now he’s here with me, a skeleton among skeletons. I’ve got a thousand questions to ask him, many things I want to know. But I’ll let him be my guide. “Come,” he says with a slightly mocking tone, “I’ll introduce you to Catrina, an elegant lady who’s returned from the dead to join the celebrations.” And there she comes, slowly strutting, waving her hips, a very elegant lady – or should I say a very elegant skeleton – wearing a large hat and a sophisticated French-inspired gown.

It’s Catrina, the icon of Mexican folklore par excellence, the great lady of death. It was he who drew her, he who created her, thus giving... ehm, life to one of the strongest symbols of modern imagery.

He tells me that at the beginning, they would call her “Calavera Garbancera.”

He goes on to explain that the “garbaceras” were “those women who would pretend they were European by dressing like upper-class ladies from Paris and denying their own culture. Oh yes, by drawing this character I wanted to mock Mexican people, as they would be ashamed of their origins and disguise themselves with the clothes of the European aristocracy.”

Walking away, Catrina gently whispers to me: “Recuerda, todos somos calaveras,” which means “We are all skeletons.” Well, deep down we’re all the same, one of the most sarcastic sentences of her creator.

As we go away and continue walking along our path, among the altars I notice one that’s particularly full of gifts: in addition to the usual pictures and agave plants, there’s a small wood barrel and a live rooster, hopping around. Classical music comes from the altar. Pleased, José observes my intrigued look and says:

“Don’t you know Cirilo? Cirilo Oropeza? With his tequila, he distilled the soul of Mexico. He’s the spirit of Mexico, one who realised his dreams.”

Right at that moment, an old man comes along. Or should I say the skeleton of an old man, with completely white hair and a very relaxed spirit. “Nice to meet you,” he smiles at me

As soon as he starts speaking, enthusiasm invades him. “I love these tequilas as much as my children and I care about them like they belonged to my family. They were born in the highlands of Jalisco. You know,” he adds, “when it comes to tequila, the land makes a difference: sun exposure, the climate and the quality of the water all contribute to the taste. Then, to help their fermentation, I’ve grown my tequilas with the help of some music.”

“Espolòn is not a random name. It means ‘spur’ and denotes the cartilage that you see on a rooster’s claws. It’s a symbol of strength and courage, qualities that the Mexican people had to demonstrate to gain their own independence. Ramón is our icon and our guiding spirit. Ramón leads the charge. He’s not afraid.”

I am captivated by his story: in these calaveras there’s so much pride and so much passion. So much enthusiasm. With this encounter, I’ve learned something really important: more than anything else, the calaveras remind us that we should be living. I leave my imagination and go back to reality. But before my departure, though, I’d like to taste the spirit of this Mexico.

I sit down at a table and ask for a glass of tequila, still thinking about my journey through art and spirits. On the label of the bottle, there are the skeletons again. No, I’m no longer among the spirits: with some awe and a pinch of happiness, I discover that the original Espolòn labels are inspired by Mexican art and each of them captures a different moment in the history of Mexico. But, above all, they pay tribute to José Guadalupe.

Here is the spirit of Mexico. It’s here, it’s alive. It’s past and present. It’s modern and real. It overwhelms you, explodes within you. It becomes an inspiration.

One thing is for sure: when I go back home, my spirit won’t be the same.