(Extracted from the blog entry, Between Two Continents, posted June 13, 2015)
What Holds Us Together, series 3, no. 21. Graphite and cotton floss on paper. 2020
I took a boat from Panajachel to San Pedro La Laguna on the opposite side of Lago Atitlan. I was advised not to ride there, as the dirt road around the shore is a reputed ambush spot for guys with black masks and big guns. And a boat ride over 1000-foot-deep water surrounded by sleeping, pine-covered volcanoes? I couldn't resist that.
The town crawls up the side of a mountain with clusters of brightly painted cinderblock buildings atop one another like stacked decks of cards, and its skyline is dominated by a pale yellow filigreed concrete church that looks like a set piece from a cold war era Russian film. The street near the water is all bars and head shops, but the souvenirs disappear the higher you climb.
Before long I was in the central square, working on an embroidery from a green wooden bench, light rain cooling me down. It was an early Sunday afternoon, church was letting out, and well-dressed people milled in different directions onto the streets. Five women caught my eye, dressed in explosive-colored hand-stitched finery. I wanted desperately to talk to them, but had no idea how, without embarrassing or scaring them away. They began to photograph each other in front of the statue there (a cartoonish 4-meter Saint Pedro brandishing a gigantic rooster), and when I asked them if they wanted a group shot of all of them, they sheepishly complied.
The next 15 minutes were amazing. I showed them my embroidery and they proudly displayed theirs. Suddenly we were all taking pictures of one another, laughing and blushing like high school girls. We didn't need to know each other’s languages because we had this very universal visual one in common. That was enough.