In the Morelos region of Mexico, where artist Gabriela Marván grew up, local towns are often known for a range of traditional arts and crafts. She loved being able to travel to different communities to learn about pottery, weaving, or cartonería—a style of papier-mâché.
Marván moved to southeast Wisconsin in 2019. The pandemic was right around the corner, and when businesses closed and stay-at-home orders were issued, it dramatically altered her approach to connecting with others and sharing her work.
She focused on cartonería in particular, making piñatas and small sculptures, but she ran into trouble finding a gallery or shop that would help her to sell work. In conversations with fellow artisans, she learned she wasn’t the only one facing that challenge.
Marván drew on her experience in graphic design to build a website as a way to highlight the work she and her friends were making. With that, the Mexican Folk Art Collective was born.
More than two dozen artists from around the U.S. and Mexico currently participate, sharing work ranging from three-dimensional pieces made from corn husk, paper, and clay to textiles, photography, woodworking, performing arts, and more. Through workshops, meetups, and international exchanges, the collective’s purpose is to share traditional art forms and introduce the makers, techniques, and materials to new audiences, starting in Wisconsin.
A Unique Día de Muertos
The collective’s biggest annual event is Día de Muertos, which continues the Mexican tradition of bringing people together to commemorate deceased loved ones through art, food, and performances. In collaboration with Driftless Curiosity and Keewaydin Farms, where the festival is held, the 4th annual event last October honored those working in the food system.
The one-day gathering celebrated farmers, field laborers, chefs, activists, and anyone around the world “who spent their life in service to the beautiful work of feeding people.” An archway constructed of more than 5,000 marigolds ushered visitors toward a community altar—an ofrenda—onto which they placed dozens of photographs, objects, or favorite foods of those who have passed away.
While celebrations traditionally take place in late October and early November, this earlier Midwest iteration happens before the first frost, when the marigolds—or cempasúchiles, a flower native to Mexico—are in full bloom.
“The uniqueness of this event is that it is held outdoors, in the place where the marigolds are grown,” says a statement from Driftless Curiosity. The organization draws on its mission to deepen connections between people and the land by helping to represent Mexican and Mexican-American rural populations for a festival most often celebrated in bigger cities.
Marván shares that the overriding goal of the collective is to foster connections between folk artists in both Mexico and the U.S., empowering one another across broad geographies by sharing their processes and inspiration.
She says, “We deeply believe that by working together, we can show a sample of our cultural diversity and demonstrate that the future is better working in collective.”