As a little girl, I inherited my aunt's folklorico dresses. I remember wearing them to cultural events that my parents dragged me to, feeling the stiff black netting of my skirts floating around me, the smooth silk threads running through the fabric in shades of hot pink and turquoise. I remember the dragging weight of one of my sequined dresses, each tiny sparkle sewn on by my mother, creating a massive display of the green, white and red colors of Mexico. The dress was dripping in sequins, no fabric visible beneath it's heavy layer. I held it up with both hands, not to look like the regal Mexican girl the dresses are made for, but to keep it from slipping off of my tiny hips.
Fast forward to my wedding day, and I'm again holding up my sparkles--this time in a stiff, heavily beaded lengha of red and gold hand-embroidered organza. It is the Indian version of my childhood princess fantasies, and I realize that these textures and colors seem to follow me throughout my life. In as many ways as I've fought against certain constraints of the cultures that make up my life, I am still grounded in it. It is my life, and my crafts have evolved into a reflection of that. And while not everything I craft is in any particular ethnic style (I still love my pastels, trellises, vintage 50s calicos and Victorian stuff), I know there must be more of us out there, weaving together the strands of our grandmothers' lives with our own.
Fast forward to my wedding day, and I'm again holding up my sparkles--this time in a stiff, heavily beaded lengha of red and gold hand-embroidered organza. It is the Indian version of my childhood princess fantasies, and I realize that these textures and colors seem to follow me throughout my life. In as many ways as I've fought against certain constraints of the cultures that make up my life, I am still grounded in it. It is my life, and my crafts have evolved into a reflection of that. And while not everything I craft is in any particular ethnic style (I still love my pastels, trellises, vintage 50s calicos and Victorian stuff), I know there must be more of us out there, weaving together the strands of our grandmothers' lives with our own.
In short, I am an American Mexican girl married to an American India(n) guy. Our life is a whirlwind of cultures, one weekend listening to mariachi music in a cousin's backyard, the next weekend visiting a Hindu temple in our best Indian clothes. It's our norm, and we've managed to create quite a household, with kids who know no different. Kind of like a crazy quilt.
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