PABLO QUEREA
WE ARE VOLCANOES
"An explosion marks both a beginning and an end; within it, time withers while reality blooms in the present. It generates expectations and, at the same time, bequeaths us nostalgia. Identity is reinforced and changes, both for humans and the land. The Paricutín volcano displaced my grandparents from their land; this tragic event is recounted by my grandmother in poems and has inspired me to create this series and consolidate my identity as Purépecha. It also gave rise to a new reality for the population that had to be displaced, which is called by those of us born there as: 'the town that refused to die,' flourishing from the ashes expelled by the volcano."
For the P'urhépecha community, the measurement of time through the sun is presented as an essential practice. The cosmic order governs many daily activities, or at least serves as a reference for order and harmony for the community. It constitutes more than just a temporal framework, in line with the concept of "Sési Irékua" or "knowing-good living."
In ancient times, one of the main characteristics of a calzonci was his ability to procure wood destined for the gods. This aspect is not surprising, considering that Curicaveri, the principal deity, manifests as fire, an expression of the sun personified through "tatá jurhiata," the driving force of solar movement. Thus, it becomes understandable that wood, as the main sustenance for this solar deity, is symbolically and mimetically interpreted as a representation of divinity in the earthly realm. I see smoke as a vehicle towards the sacred. This combustion is the expression of that fulfilled task towards Curicaveri. Therefore, I dare to interpret smoke, the consequence of the ritual with fire and wood, as an important symbolic element. The "parandi" (payment to the gods with wood, food for the gods) was the main tributary exercise (IIH-UMSNH, 2019, p. 33).
Pablo Querea
the principle ink / paper
16x11.5 in
2024 $ 250
1943 ink / paper
15.5x11.5 in
2024
$ 250
the end ink / paper
17.5x16 in 2024 $ 350
February 20th ink / paper
26 cm 2024 $ 250
fuego ink / paper
19x29.5 in
2024
$ 650
we are volcano ink / paper
15.5x11.5 in
2024
$100/each
curicaveri ink / paper
19x29.5 in
2024 $ 650
History
and Poetry
The Weeping
The pain that my people, my folk carry in their souls, in our journey, we will never forget. But to return, to remember the past is to live. On February 20th, 1943, the Paricutin volcano erupted. To me, it seems like yesterday. Before the eruption, tremors began. The people, my town of San Juan Viejo Parangaricutiro. My town alarmed, through the streets, they commented on the punishment that awaited us. The tremors increased, their intensity becoming stronger and stronger.
Days passed, neighboring towns came in pilgrimages to the altar of the Miraculous Holy Christ. That he perform the miracle of removing the tremors that were becoming more intense and dangerous.
The people, my elders gathered in the churchyard next to the stone cross, that's where they prophesied, here, a volcano will be born.
It was horrendous, my people, my town had no peace, everyone ran from one side to another with tears of weeping, anguish reflected on their faces.
Thus, they asked themselves, now where will we go, which path to take, tired of suffering so much. Thus, they would lose their homes, their lands were temporary but very productive.
Corn was for the whole year, it was the last corn since 1943 was the last harvest, who would have thought it would be the last corn.
The date arrived, February 20, 1943, the day was wonderful, the sun shone in all its splendor, it was as if it was bidding farewell. Our town was a wealth of beautiful Purepecha cultural traditions, San Juan de las Colchas, San Juan Viejo Parangaricutiro, your history is my history, I carry it in my heart. Suddenly a thunderous, chilling thunder was heard, it shook everything, all the people came out of their houses to see what was happening in the street. A cloud of black wind froze my town and enveloped it in panic, the news was that the Paricutin volcano had already erupted, from the town, the smoke was faint as if they were burning garbage, on the hillside, it looked so weak and defenseless until the black cloud of sand began to grow and also the Paricutin volcano.
The tremors increased, their intensity was terrifying, chilling, the ash sand of the Paricutin volcano was burying my town. It also kept us prisoners of hunger, of cold, we never saw Father Sun again, the rain of sand covered everything. The volcano in a few months was already a monster, all the people, the children of San Juan Viejo under the rain of sand suffering the calamities, the fury, the horrible infernal punishment of despair and pain that the Paricutin volcano gave us. hunger, cold, abandonment, with fury sowing terror, misery since the Paricutin volcano was born, most of the people of San Juan Viejo had already abandoned our town taking different paths.
The lonely abandoned houses were falling, the tremors, the boundaries of the fence had been erased, buried, by the ash, sand of the Paricutin volcano. Nothing remained, there was no life everything was a desert only a few challenging living in danger. The hard infernal punishment, always challenging the cursed rain of sand that never stopped falling, the ash of the Paricutin volcano had buried my town that never ended, never, never worse every day. And we who lived with the Paricutin volcano that eternal time are part of the history that comes to life in whoever narrates the history of the Paricutin volcano, the children their food half sand and tortilla that when chewing it, their teeth grated with sand was a crying of misfortune we felt lost abandoned in misery and pain under the rain of sand ashes of terror hunger cold of the Paricutin volcano. What immense desert of sand buried my town dying burying it what sadness desolation we its children imprisoned without hope no one remembered what irresistible abandonment pain. It was the punishment without remedy the hopes were dead in the heart it had already been a year and more of life for the Paricutin volcano. Ah how much irresistible damage San Juan Viejo suffered cursed rain of sand the ashes that buried my town San Juan Viejo that horrible punishment took great distances in Michoacan and we suffering under the cursed rain of sand,
what horrible punishment, the rain of sand did not stop falling neither by day nor by night oh infernal fury from beyond, the horrible tremors contemplated the punishment, an eternal suffering in our solitude of horrifying tremors without end.
How few of us remained in our town a desert in ruins and we who did not want to leave in loneliness and forgetfulness to our town that was dying and we with the fire buried in sand was dead land by the Paricutin volcano the rain of sand that buried my town that never stopped falling until burying everything you were ruins, tears, weeping there was nothing left our town was a desert of sand with sinister wind, rain of mud, sand it was dead land, by the Paricutin volcano. Those of us who remained there how much despair and pain we are witnesses of the infernal punishment of the Paricutin volcano my people carry it in their hearts. Paricutin volcano living suffering the Via Crucis mysteries of terror pain despair oh! what abandonment, what loneliness sheltered my town, what remained of it, what sinister winds of sand that did not stop falling, there was nothing left of it, they had already buried my town, it was dead land, so also our hopes, so also our hearts,. Neither town nor people reflected carrying in their hearts the pain and weeping of our beloved people now what punishment will complete our misery lord what else awaits us from the Paricutin volcano silence approached that afternoon. The silence of that day disappeared the afternoon approached with sinister winds horrifying infernal earth movements clouds that covered the sky it was chilling the roar of the volcano with infernal thunders that froze with horror and terror.
Clouds that covered the sky were chilling the roar of the volcano with infernal thunders that froze with terror that with each roar threw fire, lava, burning stones, panic enveloped all of us who suffered froze our hearts there this was the weeping the suffering without solution. It was the living eruption of the Paricutin volcano
That afternoon everything was contemplated, everything would turn into a real terror that was not expected that night, it was a gloomy afternoon, of abandonment and loneliness the night approached. All the people who remained were alarmed when they went out and saw the lava coming down from the hill on the left side advancing rapidly to swallow up all kinds of trees, everything in its path, it devoured everything, consumed everything and we from below the hill observed that great tragedy that we were living. So the whole night passed, the lava had already entered through the left side to our town, devouring everything in its path, it entered the church through the front destroying everything, erasing everything, leaving nothing. so the whole night passed, with thunder, rocks of burning lava, falling to our sides to our refuge, a small wooden room. my mother, my little siblings kneeling praying the magnificent prayer a thousand times we repeated the prayer all night, trembling with horror, with panic what anguish! but the rain of fire did not stop, thunder everywhere, the rocks kept burning as they fell, we spent the most horrible night, all covered in ash from the fire lava of the volcano, oh how many times we implored the Miraculous Christ his
tprotection his refuge protection the chilling night was terror. When the new day came, we were covered in ashes, in sand, from the sinister tremors of fire from the previous night, the Paricutin volcano also got tired of roaring and throwing burning stones, suddenly they stopped falling. Outside, a shout was heard, it saidwho lives here! Who lives here! My mother replied - my children and I! A soldier with an embrace took us out of that place. then we contemplated the horror! surrounded by lava our little wooden room, but by the grace of God not a single burning stone fell on the roof, nothing happened to us, because we invoked all night the Miraculous Christ of our town.
From the military truck, we contemplate you for the last time! oh my town of San Juan de las Colchas, of the 1000 wonders and sad ending, carrying our faces bathed in ash and sand, tears of desolation, only carrying our hands so empty taking different paths aimlessly only carrying pain in our hearts. Goodbye my town All your children of San Juan de las Colchas say goodbye to you Thank you for all the love you gave us.
Carlota Toral Morales
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