By Yudi Kravzov
Everything was well put together at one of the tables at El Vergel. Oscar, Susan, Norman, Felipe, my mother, and I, on a rainy afternoon, speaking over each other’s words and laughing relentlessly—I can’t even remember about what.
We talked about the healing power of art, about creative life solutions. Of the conscience on nature and ecological conservation. About ancient cultural traditions, artistic activities, and improvements in social interaction. Of recovering from trauma under the guidance of a therapist. Of the importance of reverence to the land, deep cultural appreciation, and how to generate self-esteem to improve our quality of life.
“…Besides, the kite is a symbol of freedom, fun, and energy. It’s a toy appreciated all over the world…”
“Let’s make a proposal. A workshop. Create Kites. Paint your own…”
“Exactly. The kite can be the product that generates resources to structure EMPEZARTE projects and more…”
“Create a space where children, seized by the enjoyment of the artist, can get to know Toledo while they do their kite…”
“… and talk about the richness of Mexican culture…”
“… identify, even define, why not, the symbology used by master Toledo…”
“Plus,” Oscar said, “the proposal with these kites includes waste material.”
“And the kits to make kites can be exhibited and sold in various venues in San Miguel.”
“Count on the Irma Appel Gallery,” my mother jumped in spontaneously, filled with a special pride that put a smile on all our faces. She continued confidently, giving ideas. Listening to all of us, not wanting to miss anything, when suddenly, the message from my aunt Rosa arrived with a painful: “my sister has just passed away.” Everything stopped.
When I returned to the world, my mother, a few meters away, asked me with a sign language, “What happened?” I told her not to worry. Quickly, she reintegrated, and I, with a hand on my heart, felt like a rock.
I calmly broke the news to my mother the next morning. Between sighs, I kept bringing up the night before to mix the joy of bubbling creativity when the irreparable loss of my aunt withered her too much.
As I write these lines, I imagine my aunt watching me create a space in the world where seven kites from Toledo fly over a room full of children’s books. At one end of the table: the arts and crafts section, where boys and girls assemble kites under a large photo of Maestro Francisco Toledo with his work, his life, and his art.
“Mom, I just thought of something else.” I go downstairs quickly to tell her and find her sitting in the dining room, with a sad expression on her face, with her right hand on her heart, playing with a spoon with her left.
