El rincon de Mamá

The members of the Indian population of Guatemala have clung to their customs and costumes. Even today, the brightly coloured clothes, hand woven, and proudly worn are an eyeful in more than one way. They are first of all, a statement of their philosophy, of their beliefs. The proof that they were surviving despite the cultural pressure of living in a different world.

These colourful costumes vary from region to region, from town to town. Apart from the general colour and fashion of the region, each town has specific patterns. Like the knitting patterns of the Irish fishermen’s sweaters, or the pattern and colours of the Scottish tartans; the patterns, designs and drawings of the textiles in Guatemala clearly identified the family, clan and neighbourhood of the wearer.

The women, especially, have clung to their clothes. Personally woven within the tradition of their town, the textiles included their family history.

This endeavour of registering the private history, the personal story, of the weaver-wearer seems to match what we know of other textiles throughout the world. Even the patchwork quilts, the perfect example of recycling using fabrics no longer adequate for their original purpose, to piece together a quilt… and in so doing, include in it the history of the fabrics used: this was a dress I wore when I was 15; this is part of a shirt I made for my first child; this was a skirt I bought on my first trip to Chicago… and so on.

The textiles in Guatemala, according to the textile museum Ixchel, tell of times of plenty and of want, happiness and sorrow, births and deaths. The personal story of the owner (the wearer), told by the weaver (the owner).

True to form, Guatemalans took this display of art and handicrafts quite for granted. It is so difficult to appreciate the extraordinary in what is “normal and commonplace”. Foreigners were the first to declare their astonishment at the beauty of these textiles parading the streets on the way to the market places under laden baskets of fruits and vegetables.

One of the first to take Guatemalan textiles seriously, some 60 years ago, was an American who built up a collection of these hand-woven costumes. In an interview, when asked how he had achieved such a great collection, he explained quite simply that it had been easy once understood that:
1)he had to speak at least a spattering of some of the most widespread Indian languages, if he was to convey the interest he felt for the textiles.
2)opportunities came at their own time and one had to be prepared to take advantage of them;
3)he could literally buy the clothes off the back of the wearer by offering a good price, and alteranative clothing so the seller could continue with his life, in other clothes.

His sincere interest and admiration for the textiles, his willingness to pay the price asked and not indulge in bargaining, and his respect for the people of Guatemala, quickly earned him a reputation for dealing fairly.

In an interview he once explained how it was difficult to persuade a woman to part with her dress, because she could not understand why, when the family history woven into it meant nothing to him, the textile could interest him.

This seemingly universal interest in recording family or personal history in what we wear and use is patent in our collections that are the chronicles of our life. That is why it is so astounding that today we buy ready-made collections, defeating the feature of chronicle of our life. Are we so orphaned of history, of self confidence and identity, that we rush out to buy our history and memory?

Breathless would probably be a good description of our way of life. We seem to be forever chasing after…. what? Might we be chasing after the roots we have fought to leave behind? Do we really know where we are going, or, ignoring it we are trying to go everywhere at once? But can we go everywhere? Can we get anywhere going everywhere?

In an effort to save time (to be invested elsewhere), today we have ready-made everything. Even ready-made collections of thimbles (silver and ceramic), ladies’ hand painted fans, fountain pens, dolls (toys and fashion manikins), watches, cigarette lighters, teddy bears…

What impresses me is the impatience that makes us buy ready-made collections. The showcase to be placed on the living room coffee-table book as a conversation piece. Fine, but that defeats the spirit of a collection.

I admire the people who are collectors, who make collections. I just hoard things I like or that are significant for me. Sadly, I lack the orderly and systematic mind needed to classify and order all my bits and pieces into a collection. My bits and pieces are not even for scrapbooking, they are shreds of memories attached to sea shells, river stones or theatre programs.

Are you a collector at heart?Would you like to have a collection of watches? You can buy the watches, one a week, and finish the project with the “collector’s box”; or you can buy it all pay for it on the installment plan. Everything ready to be displayed… but certainly not a collection.

Now, why should anyone want a collection of watches? Because he likes watches, because he has bought them, one by one, or received them as gifts. Each one would be meaningful in its own way. Each one unique. One given when he graduated from college, one a wedding gift, another bought on a trip, a fourth bought to commemorate the birth of a child… and so on.

We could say the same of any other collection – ashtrays with the names of the places visited during holidays, teaspoons absconded from restaurants or airplanes, dolls dressed in the typical costumes of the place. In any case, each piece of a collection is meaningful. Each is part of a cherished story that can be told following the pieces of the collection, one by one.

I really doubt anyone sets out to own a “collection” of watches, pens, teddy-bears. It is more probable that one finds he has gathered a number of the things he likes and then, decides to “fill in the blanks” and make it into a collection.

Yesterday I saw a young woman buying herself a charm bracelet. She was choosing the charms all at once, a ready-made collection that looked well but was meaningless. It made me think of the charm bracelets we built up, charm by charm, when I was young. Each charm had a meaning, each had a reason to be on the bracelet, and the bracelet itself told the story of our lives. Today the bracelet may be more beautiful, better designed and make a better ensemble, but it is just for show. It means nothing. What is even sadder is that the woman buying the charm bracelet had no idea of what it was… she was merely buying something now in fashion, orphaned of all meaning and feeling.

Seeking to fill in our lives and to “live” all our roles, we don masks and pretend our ready-made collections are “ours”, and meaningful in our lives. But we know that meaning comes from inside and can be attached o something, but not the other way around.

Hope has fallen into disrepute, unless it is used in an banal, off-hand manner: I hope it will be sunny. Hope, with a capital “H” has become politically incorrect due to its affinity with religious concepts which are now definitely frowned upon by progressists and the like.

Yet, hope is the driving force of life. Even in the lay world of today, there is no life without hope. Hope is expectation. Hope is confidence in the future; the reason to begin a project, trusting the possibility of achievement. It is, so to speak, that which makes life livable. The spring that makes our life-clock tick.

Recently statistics of suicides in Spain have been published. It happens that suicide is actually the first cause of non-natural death. More people die because they commit suicide than from traffic accidents. What is really especially disquieting is that this happens in Spain, where there supposedly is one of the lowest suicide rates in Europe.

We have known for many years that northern European countries have high suicide rates, and high rates of alcoholism and drug addiction, which are slower and more socially acceptable manners of suicide. The ex-Soviet Union countries also show the same high rates of self-destructive tendencies. There are much lower suicide rates in poorer countries such as India, Philippines o Columbia.

Is it a coincidence that these high suicide rates are found in countries that have the “cradle to grave” social protection? Is it a coincidence that where people need not strive to make eat every day, or to have a house, or health care, is where people decide more often to commit suicide?

Is it that when people find themselves without the need to exert themselves, to strive, to plan, to work, they find themselves orphaned? When people do not need to hope or project their expectations, when their present and future do not depend on their actions; when there is no need for hope, they are hopeless, and that is not compatible with life.

We humans adapt poorly to comfort and plenty. Take away the need of hope, the need of looking forward to the future, the need of striving, people die inside. Their souls shrivel and their lives lose shape, form and finality. That is why they give up and commit suicide.

People want to be free. They want to be free of constraints, of beliefs, of traditions. People want to be independent and not have to rely on anyone, or to be answerable to anyone. Ask around: you will find independence, self-reliance and freedom as the top aspirations among young people … young nowadays goes right up to age 50!

And yet, these same people sign up in droves for mass events, be them week-end concert at the beach or in the city or sports events. People do not want to rely on anyone, yet they complain loudly when the train does not arrive on time and declare themselves deceived by airline schedules. People chafe at the restraints imposed by local festivities (crowds, noise) and fly off to participate as spectators of a feast in some far-away place.

I have heard the same people complain of how sidewalks dwindle with the terrace tables catering to tourists and passers-by in their city and speak glowingly of sidewalk cafés climbing up Paris streets or lining Roman ones. Of course, the difference is that in the first case, they were walking down the street on errands, and in the second, patrons of the sidewalk cafés enjoying a leisurely afternoon. They are not truly for or against sidewalk cafes. They just want them when they are convenient.

We want laws to protect us, to guarantee that our food is grown, handled and packaged correctly, that the weight is what the package reads, that the soft-drink contains what it says it. We want rules to live by, and when something, anything, does not turn out as we thought it would, our first thought seems to be: “there ought to be a law!”. And then, practically in the same sentence say they consider rules and regulations repressive, coercive and in general damaging to self esteem and self confidence.

Maybe there ought to be a law against voluntarily not thinking and voluntary amnesias. Maybe there ought to be a law against being forever an adolescent, unwilling to grow up into the world of responsibility and freedom, complaining about what “father state” doles out, without even thinking it is a dole, and not a “right”… and one paid for by other fellow citizens to boot.

My pet grievance with the welfare state (however much I do appreciate the social benefits of health care, unemployment insurance and retirement – all of which come out of our pay before the paycheck ever reaches our hands) is that it keeps the citizens perpetually under age. Protected, yes, but controlled because there is no protection possible without control. Protection from cradle to grave keeps people from flexing their muscles, from exerting their minds, from stretching their will and with it their possibilities of being useful to themselves and to society.

People adapt better to need than to plenty. Authors seem to agree that living in the lap of comfort, with food to spare and time to burn does little for our physical health. Our body needs more exercise, less food and less comfort. I think our minds work along the same way. Think of how well honed minds worked their way around difficulties, censorships, red tapes and financial need. And now, it seems all we can think of doing is asking form juicier subsidies.

We want freedom, but not responsibility. We want safety, but not control. We want contradictory things that are impossible to have at the same time. We want to have our cake and eat it too… just as children often do.

Isn’t it time we started growing up?