inspiration for Overwinter
I was invited to make a piece for an exhibition called Catrina, Dia de Muertos Invitational 2021 at the Equinox Jewelry Gallery in San Antonio, Texas. Not only was it the first time I had been invited to participate in an invitational exhibition, but it was also my first time making a piece of jewelry that fit into a statement that I didn't initiate. I was excited, nervous, and inspired. I had about 2 months to put something together, and while I trusted I could make something, I did not know what that something could be. I tend to research concepts and experiment with materials for 6 months or more before knowing what a finished piece could look like. With this opportunity, I could test my creative process and see if I could scale it down. Usually, the path to a piece is winding, and I couldn't retrace my steps to tell you how I came up with a specific idea or method. I can with this one, so let me walk you through my process, from research to the finished piece!
Exploration
Sometimes I get cerebral, sometimes I let my hands lead the way. When I feel more cerebral, I read books, make mind maps, watch documentaries and read poetry. When my hands are the guide, I mess with the material until it does something extraordinary or even hints at the possibility of something unique. Sometimes it's a back and forth or in the middle. With this piece, I wanted to come at it conceptually first and with great care.
I started by reading about la Catrina. An article called, Catrina Mania! gave me a better understanding of the dynamic symbolism and visual culture of la Catrina in art, and how her portrayal has changed over time.
I also watched Dia de Los Muertos documentaries and learned about its celebration in Mexico and the states. Day of the Dead: a Celebration of Life documents some beautiful people and ofrendas (offering altars).
It gave me chills to learn how some of the communities in Mexico associate the migration of the Monarch butterflies with the arrival of souls on November 1st. I pay attention to these emotional catches that have a physical response and often let them guide me through creative decisions. In this situation, learning this reminded me of how every Monarch I see here in Texas catches my breath; embedded in this reaction are a reverent silence and a recognition of their journey ahead. Recontextualizing this experience as witnessing souls on a journey home felt powerful.
Narrowing
So now I had a more narrow subject; the migration of the Eastern North American Monarch butterfly. I checked out more books from the library and watched more documentaries. I learned about the science of how monarchs know which way to go. I learned how a single generation makes the longest leg of the trip from Canada to Mexico, where it over-winters. I read poetry about monarchs like "Zacuanpapalotls" by Brenda Cardenas. I learned how the increase of farmland and use of pesticides in the United States decreases food and the milkweed needed to lay eggs on along their journey. Illegal logging in Mexico shaves away at their overwintering spots, and climate change events threaten entire generations.
Processing
And then I took a walk to process it all. Before I hit the end of my street, a giant Monarch flew over my head and landed on a beautiful flowering bush. I stopped in my tracks (with a smile so big my face hurt later) and waited until it flew away.
The image of thousands of Monarchs resting on the long branch of an Oyamel Fir tree stuck in my head, and I started to think of Catrina's feather boa. What if, instead of feathers, it was the fluttering, dangling bodies of butterflies. If I made them from my clear single-use plastic, they would look like a hologram or a skeleton of themselves; An homage to the generations of monarchs lost to human's constant consumption. The idea of a boa ended up being too ambitious for the amount of time I had and too large for the size restriction for the exhibition. Instead, I decided to make a ring, as if Catrina herself was the tree's sturdy trunk, and from her limbs dangled a branch of butterflies.
Making
I made a rough sketch of what I wanted the finished piece to look like and tried to backward engineer it from there. I considered its size and movement. I made it a couple of times in my head before I even brought out the materials. Because imagination and actual life play by different laws of physics, I had to make adjustments. I also breathed through imperfections that couldn't be changed without starting over.
Each dangling plastic butterfly attached one by one. Progress as the piece grew.
Reflecting
Learning about the great migration of a single monarch generation from Canada to Mexico, the overwintering in giant Oyamel Fir trees, and the milkweed fueled, multigenerational return to Canada is an epic story. It is a reminder that our country's boundaries are arbitrary to wildlife. The decline in their (and many other species) population reminds us how interconnected our earth is and how we can impact this ecosystem. Imagining Catrina with these afterlife butterflies reminds me to appreciate Monarchs while they are still here, in this life, on this journey. So to welcome them back through Texas next spring, I have planted more milkweed and other native wildflowers in my garden.
Resources
Journey North - A place to document your Monarch (or other migrating creature) sightings. They use this data to make an animated map of the migration for the season.
Monarch Watch - Tagging, Waystation, Rearing and Education of monarch conservation
Xerces Society - Research and conservation of invertebrates and their habitats.