It’s almost noon, and I wait seated on a mound of stones arranged next to the small roof of the Riqchari Chaska Association – “awakened star” in Quechua – the communal meeting space for the women of the association, and now, temporarily, my meeting place with them. It’s located in Anccoto, one of the lower sectors of the Mullak´as Misminay community, situated in Maras, Cusco, at an altitude of about 3,500 meters above sea level.
Some women have already arrived, and they begin to distribute the chicha they have prepared themselves. At the same time, Georgina, Yovana, Joaquina, and Norma pluck the chilca and molle leaves, the local plants they have selected for today’s dyeing session. A baby sheep approaches Georgina and begins to nibble on the chilca she holds in her hands. Meanwhile, María Pilar, Antonia, and Teresa light the stoves with the firewood they have brought. The communal pots are already filled with water ready to be heated. From a distance, Jessica can be seen coming without hurry, carrying her lliclla (traditional garment used in the Andean regions of South America, as clothing worn for warmth, carrying loads, covering oneself, or as a blanket for resting) full of molle branches and firewood. Upon arrival, she greets all her fellow companions, spreads her colorful blanket on the ground, starts plucking, and joins the conversation in Quechua, the mother tongue in this community.
Around us, several boys and girls run and play, occasionally approaching to curiously observe. They are the children of the younger women of the association, who accompany them in every task. A radiant and powerful sun can be felt; this is my second encounter with the women of Riqchari Chaska, an association created just over a year ago, which gathers 25 artisan women from the community.
As we finish the preparations for dyeing, we talk about life at the foot of the Apus and what it means to live facing the imposing Andean Mountain range. We also discuss the uncertainty felt in the community regarding their crops, as the long-awaited rains that will secure a good harvest have not yet arrived. From a distance, the Apu Chicón with its snow-capped peaks remains nestled in the landscape that embraces us, a witness to the relationship that slowly unfolds day by day.
Life here feels immense and also calm. Photo 3: Damiana, Santusa, and Julia waiting for the dyes to be ready. Behind them is the little roof. The cold afternoon wind begins to blow despite the strong sun that feels close and exhausting. In the pots, the water boils and the plants begin to release their dyes. We decide to move to the little roof to seek some shade and continue our conversation while drinking chicha. From corner to corner, rows of botanicals found in the area hang: capulí, mark´u, molle, retama, chilk´a, eucalyptus, mullas´ka, among others, medicinal and dye plants used by the community. There is also a variety of crafts and textiles displayed on the wooden tables that stretch from post to post. Weavings made by these women, creations that synthesize ancestral textile knowledge with more modern weaving techniques.
While we wait for the 40 minutes it takes for the plants to release all their dye, I take in the immensity of this entire region. The interplay of shapes and colors that the fields create in the plains, the powerful embrace of the Urubamba Mountain range where the Apu Chicón and the Apu Verónica stand out, the road to Moray which is only a few steps away. On the other side, the community school, the adobe houses of the Anccoto sector, and the Apus further back: the Wañinmarka, the Marhuay, the Ccujtin, the Pumaqkhasa, the Yanaorcco.
I feel fortunate to be under this little roof, where the Riqchari Chaska gather to make decisions, organize, work on their weavings, dye, cook, and chat. I am amazed by the generational diversity and sisterhood that exists between the wiser, older women and the younger, apprentice women, the openness and helpfulness towards everyone. There are very close, special, and familial bonds, forged from generation to generation. I can also perceive these bonds with the land, the plants they work with daily, the water that sustains life: its presence and absence in each season and in the connections with the Apus and the stories that have been co-created among these mountainous bodies that support life and the community.
Damiana’s call brings me back to the present moment of this gathering, and with her sweet yet strong voice, she informs us that the dye is ready. María Pilar and Jessica take care of straining it through the sieve, while others prepare the troughs where we will conduct tests with the mordants. Expectant and very curious, we observe the reactions generated by the green colpa, the white colpa, and the alum in contact with the dye, and the resulting shades. Minutes later, we form a circle of women crowded and excited around the pots as we immerse the skeins of sheep and alpaca wool at a passionate pace, while someone stirs with a wooden spoon ensuring that all the skeins are submerged in the intense yellow of the chilca with alum.
Time passes amidst stories about the Apus, and I am fascinated by how each one has its own version. They coincide and differ in details, and they laugh when they recognize any contradiction. We begin to build trust, and I am glad to be in this circle of stories and anecdotes. They also ask me about the place I come from, and I tell them that I live in Bogotá, and that there are also protective hills and mountains there.
I arrived at Mil Centro wanting to understand these connections that the women of Riqchari Chaska have established with their surroundings, with the mountainous bodies, and with the water, and how these relationships take shape and become visible in textile practice. From the first encounters with them, I understood that it is in everyday work where connections and affections have ancestrally been forged. Living on the hills, drinking chicha and offering it to the Apus and Pachamama, walking on mountains to reach the chakras, carrying other small “mountains” on their backs wrapped in llicllas that always accompany them. Connections that take shape in the care practices implied by textiles: from shepherding sheep, gathering dye plants, using mud which is the same mountain to dye memories that will later be spun and woven, to the communal gathering of these women, coming together to dye around the fire and weave bonds between them. Precisely, this was one of their intentions in creating the association, to have a space and set times to meet and work together, to chat and dye.
Maintaining these practices and enriching them with other knowledge allows us to continue forging bonds and affections among women and between them and their environment. For two months, I also took part in this collective practice, where we gathered to connect, feel, and bring stories, practices, and knowledge to the present in an exchange that led us to representations of mountains, rivers, lakes, plants, and animals that are depicted in the llicllas and chumpis (traditional belt used in Andean communities). From this, the idea of reinterpreting them with new dyeing techniques emerged, allowing us to rethink connections in the present.
We found in drawing a practice that allowed us to explore the symbols and their patterns, modify them, reinterpret them, and give them meaning in the present. From there, the stories about these representations returned to the personal and collective memory, like memories of mothers and grandmothers creating these iconographies on backstrap looms.
For several weeks, we dedicated ourselves to exploring the orqos (hills), mayus (rivers), and waka ñawi (bull’s eyes) through the technique of drawing with protein milk on tocuyo. A process where the proteins from tarwi or cow’s milk adhere to and penetrate the fibers of the fabrics, which will then allow the dyeing to be stronger and more intense where the protein is present, similar to developing an image. With brushes and stencils, we recreated our versions of local iconography, first through intuitive exercises to represent the mountains in front of us and then moving on to more structured patterns following the logic of the iconographies of the llicllas that each one carries.
The tangible outcome of this practice and our meetings resulted into utilitarian pieces in cotton dyed with local botanicals from the community of Mullakas Misminay, which were incorporated into the commercial channel of Mater in Mil, a platform where the results of collaborative projects and artistic research are showcased, enabling the sale of products developed with neighboring communities near the center.
Discovering how to embrace life in this environment and experiencing the ongoing growth and beauty within this interconnected community amidst the mountains has been the most profound gift and lesson during my residency. Being surrounded by the apus fills my soul with radiant joy.
I am grateful for the generosity of these women, of the apus that support us, of the entire team of Mil and especially that of Mater. I appreciate Malena’s trust to carry out this residency and also the trust, support, and ideas that I always received from Verónica.
