For the introduction see https://creativehandsofmexicodotorg.wordpress.com/2017/12/18/writing-a-book/
Most people in English-speaking countries are familiar with paper maché, mostly from elementary school arts and crafts projects. Their experience almost never extends beyond this and, therefore, do not consider the material or technique to have artistic or cultural value.
This is not true in Mexico. In this country, the craft is called cartonería, from the word “cartón” which means cardboard or heavy paper. According to Celaya master craftsman and author, Carlos Derramadero Vega, cartonería can be distinguished by its history of coming to Mexico from Spain, where it developed slightly differently than in France. It can also be distinguished by its texture, which is harder and more resistant than most paper maché, leading to the alternate name of cartón piedra (literally stone cardboard). One other traditionally distinguishing feature is the use of molds, where the paper is layered over or inside (depending on the kind of mold) to make all or part of the final piece. However, Derramadero and others admit that the term cartonería is now used almost indistinctly for works using all kinds of paper and paste, with or without molds, with the only marker now that the final piece is hard, smooth and resistant to most minor knocks. Although not by definition necessary, most cartonería artisans (called cartoneros) prefer heavier paper, especially for the basic shape, as the desired hardness can be achieved with fewer layers.
The term “cartonería” will be used in this book to respect Mexican cultural tradition, distinguishing it as a folk art form. The best pieces show no seams or wrinkles from the layered strips of paper and can even appear to be lacquered wood. The use of molds made of plaster, wood, and other materials, created specifically for cartonería projects, is still an important part of the trade in some areas. Even with the use of molds, no two pieces are exactly the same, mostly because of the use of hand painting and other decorative techniques. Every artisan has his or her own techniques, which vary mainly in how the paper is handled.
Cartonería objects range in height from only a few centimeters to life-sized (1-2 meters) and monumental pieces which can be up to 12 meters tall, requiring the support of wicker, wood, metal or wire frames. Cheaper works to be sold for festivals and to the general public are often made with a base of recycled paper, with decorative elements, such as crepe paper, being new. The popularity of the craft has been driven in part by its use of waste paper, which was (and still is) easily and cheaply available, with stiff paper obtainable from the packaging of certain construction materials, such as cement, along with the ubiquitous newspapers. However, those created for their artistic value and/or for collectors will usually be made entirely or almost entirely with new materials.
The most traditional means of decorating a cartoneria piece is by painting, and for a number of cartoneros and experts, this is the only acceptable method. Until the mid-20th century, paints were made by the cartoneros themselves, with families such as the Linares of Mexico City and the Derramaderos in Celaya retaining knowledge of how to make these paints. Today, the use of commercial paints, including cheap acrylics is uncontroversial, but this is not the case with the use of other elements such as plastics, sequins, feathers, even other recycled materials. As most cartonería items are meant for festivals, the colors used are not realistic, but often gaudy, and often have wild designs as well. The reason for this is that the decorations are meant to attract attention. The quality of the painting on cartoneria, at least until the latter 20th century, was generally poor, simply because they were meant to be used only for a brief time and often destroyed; therefore, customers were more concerned about price than appearance. This has changed for most of what is now produced as the two main markets are now community festivals and collectors (both more demanding and with more money). Both molding and painting have improved, but fine detailed painting will add the most value to a piece.
The process of making of cartonería pieces is a long one, generally due to the drying and curing procedures employed. It is even longer if the pieces are to be made completely by hand and/or are of large sizes. Those who make monumental pieces can spend months working on a single creation. These processes take even longer in the rainy season due to the high levels of humidity common at that time of year. For these reasons, most family workshops and cooperatives have a low output. During certain seasons or when there is a large order, many of these workshops have to outsource work to other cartoneros, or even to general laborers. In Celaya, many of the general laborers are elderly women, who work on helmets or other small, specific parts. It is also the reason why the vast majority of cartoneros work in other occupations and/or work with the medium for reasons other than economic ones.
One distinctive element of cartonería in Mexico is the use of molds for smaller pieces meant to be produced serially, such as masks, toys and some festival items. Initially these were only made of wood and clay, but later those made of plaster and cement have come into use. The most traditional cartoneros make their own molds, which require sculpting skills. Most of these are convex, meaning that the paper that touches the mold will become the interior of the piece. These are easier to use, but also mean that the outer surface cannot be finely detailed by the mold itself. For each use, the mold is prepared with some kind of lubricant. This was originally rancid animal fat, but today it can be motor oil, vegetable oil, or vaseline. The paper strips covered with flour-and-water paste are carefully laid over the mold, and when this part is finished, paper and mold are left to dry.
The vast majority of those made without molds use a reed/wicker or wire frame, which is called an alma (soul). This is particularly true of large pieces up to a meter or so. For monumental-sized projects, soldering of metal frames may be required. Laying the strips onto such a frame to get a smooth “skin” (hiding the frame) is tricky, with some cartoneros experimenting with overlaying frames with plastic strips, especially from old PET bottles, and/or masking tape. However, this is somewhat controversial as pure paper-and-paste-work is seen as the most authentic technique to use; not to mention that there can be problems with cracking and separating over time. This can be problematic with pieces meant to be a part of a collection.
Paper was not always the inexpensive commodity it is now, especially not when sheets of paper were made by hand. In the past, paper was not simply thrown away after its primary use was completed. The reuse of old paper with some kind of paste or glue to make new objects is very old, with origins in the Orient. The idea migrated west to Europe and then from there to the Americas by the 18th century. Originally, it was a kind of industrial material. Old paper was mashed, mixed with chalk, glue or sometimes sand to make a substance much harder than what is usually made today. It was hard enough that with heavy varnishing ancient Chinese soldiers made helmets from it.
In more recent centuries, one of its attractions has been as a substitute for more expensive materials, such as wood or plaster; for example, it was used to make ornate lacquered furniture in the Victorian era. In the 19th century, this material was also popular for the making of dolls’ heads in Europe.
Paper maché began to fall out of favor in the late 19th century, as the technology was no longer new, and the idea of paper furniture began to be seen as unsophisticated. By the mid–20th century, paper maché became more of a simple craft practiced by women than an industrial material. The advent of even cheaper plastics has led to the disappearance of commercial paper maché products in most parts of the world.
By the latter 20th century, it had been almost entirely relegated to elementary school arts-and-crafts projects in Europe and the Americas. One exception to its diminished role is that it is still valued in theater production for making large props, such as trees and rocks, as they have a realistic look and are relatively light. However, the technique has not been completely abandoned as an artistic and decorative medium in the United States. Dan Reeder is a paper maché artist in the Pacific Northwest, known as “Dan the monster man” for making dragons and other fantastic creatures from paper maché and cloth. He has uploaded a number of YouTube videos which have gone viral and has a website called Gourmet Paper Maché. As a craft, people such as Martha Stewart has presented it on television and online as a means of making holiday-related and other decorations. However, this has not elevated the status of the material as a whole in this country.
The story is quite different in Mexico. Paper crafts were common in the pre–Hispanic era, mostly in relation to religious ceremonies, but the making of three-dimensional objects from paper and some kind of glue is a European introduction. One very early example is an image of Saint Anne in the collection of the Franz Mayer Museum in Mexico City, dating from the 16th century. The interior of the body is modeled from recycled paper, including documents written in Nahuatl. The head, hands and backs of the legs are carved from wood. Paper images of this kind were principally made to be lightweight for carrying in processions. Instead of page, animal glue held the layers in place. As it was a religious image, steps had been taken to conceal the paper to imitate a purely wood piece.
Modern cartonería was introduced to Mexico by the Spanish Catholic clergy in the 17th century, at first encouraged for the making of religious objects. By the mid–18th century, it had become an indispensable part of festivals, both religious and secular, especially for the making of Judas Iscariot effigies, small bull figures and other popular themes, often made as mediums for fireworks, with the piece destined to end up in ashes. Another use for the medium was the making of cheap imitations of certain products, especially dolls and other toys. Because they were not intended for long–term use, the pieces were generally not finely made.
With the exception of piñatas, the making of cartonería has mostly been concentrated in the central highlands of the country, especially in the Mexico City metropolitan area and Guanajuato. The craft has been dominated by mestizos (those of mixed European and indigenous heritage) as these areas have low indigenous populations. The low cost of materials has made it popular with the lower socioeconomic classes up to the present day.
The use of cartonería for religious objects has since faded, being favored now for popular celebrations that are often related to religious holidays, but not part of religious ritual. One notable exception to this is found within the Cora indigenous population of the Jesús María, El Nayar and Santa Teresa communities in the state of Nayarit, who create cartonería masks to depict the Pharisees during Holy Week. When their role in the festivities is finished on Holy Saturday has finished, the masks are ceremoniously placed in a river to dissolve, as an act of purification.
Although Celaya, Guanajuato was named the “cradle” of Mexican cartonería by the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, it is not absolutely certain where the craft was first established. However, by the 19th century, Celaya had become a major producer of cartonería, in particular, of toys and masks. This came about from using cartonería to make cheaper imitations of European products, the first and most popular of these being dolls, followed by masks, heads for hobby horses, soldiers’ helmets and swords, rattles, and toy animals. Masks commonly depicted clowns, devils, goats, witches, old people, sultans, monkeys and beautiful women. This activity became concentrated among certain families in the Tierras Negras, El Zapote and San Juan neighborhoods, where there was an established population of artisans, with potters making the first cartonería molds. Eventually the making and sale of toys extended beyond these holidays, becoming a major industry as it allowed poorer children to have something to play with. This industry began to decline with the introduction of commercial plastic equivalents in the mid-20th century, collapsing in the 1990s, with the deaths of many of the old masters. For many Celaya families, the marked the end of the tradition, so much so that they did not even keep the old toy molds; instead, they were thrown out, broken or used as filler in construction. What is left of cartonería production is almost entirely limited to the Santiaguito and Tierras Negras neighborhoods. In the 1950s, there were over thirty family workshops in Santiaguito and Tierras Negras. Today, that is down to about a dozen in total.
With the exception of piñatas, central Mexico remains the center of most cartonería production, with the Mexico City metropolitan area becoming the largest and most varied producer of this craft. In fact, cartonería is one of few handcraft traditions to survive in the Mexico City area, which offers other, better-paying, options for work. It can still be found for sale in traditional markets and on the street, with the La Merced, Jamaica and Sonora markets its most important sales venues. Celaya and other communities in eastern Guanajuato are in second place. It should be noted that cartonería is concentrated in urban areas rather than in rural ones. In addition to Mexico City and Celaya, significant production can be found in San Miguel Allende, the city of Puebla, the city of Oaxaca, Pátzcuaro, Cuernavaca, and the major cities of the State of Mexico. This overall link with urban Mexico means that cartonería has followed a somewhat different track than better-known handcrafts, such as pottery, which are generally linked to the country’s rural and indigenous populations.
Like other handcraft traditions, cartonería has thrived mostly where there is an abundance of raw materials. Granted, paper can be found just about anywhere in Mexico, but cartonería requires a large amount of readily available paper. Until recently, cartonería objects were always made with a base of waste rather than new paper, and only urban areas can produce an abundance of this. Originally, much of this arrived in Mexico as part of expensive imports from Spain, and, instead of it being thrown away, other uses were found for it. While most professional cartoneros, such as the Linares family, now use new paper bought in bulk for most of their creations, the use of waste paper has not been completely eliminated. New techniques for assembly and decoration use other waste products also produced in abundance in urban areas, notably PET plastic, although this is somewhat controversial. Masking tape is favored by a number of younger artisans to hold the basic form together (either a frame or crumpled newspaper), which may or may not be removed as the layers of paper and paste are added. The use of natural materials such as straw and wood is rare in cartonería, with the exceptions of reeds in few areas in Mexico City and Morelos state where these grow in abundance. The reason for this is that today’s cartonería is an urban folk art, created in an urban environment, and intended for an urban market.
In the mid–20th century, there was a shift from the making of cartonería items purely for local festivals to making pieces for collectors and others with a cultural interest in the craft, following a trend found in most branches of Mexican handcrafts and folk art. This has resulted in changes in the designs and materials used. In fact, much of its survival since the mid–20th century has been due to innovation, especially the integration of more modern imagery. Regarding these changes, one cannot overstate the role of the Linares family in Mexico City. Five generations have been documented as making cartonería starting from the 19th century, but the fame of the family began in the 1950s, with the work of Pedro Linares. Pedro’s father and grandfather made traditional throwaway items related to the Mexican festival calendar, limiting cartonería to a seasonal occupation for the family. However, Pedro’s work inventing colorful monsters and lively skeletons has not only made it a year-round occupation, but has also brought the family international fame.
There is a chapter dedicated to the family later on in this book, but the point to be made here is that Pedro used cartonería techniques to create new forms which can be linked to the various cultural and social changes that were taking place in Mexico City, as it began its chaotic sprawl over the Valley of Mexico, swallowing former farmland such as that which the Linares had worked for generations dating back to the colonial period. This sprawl put the formerly rural Linares family in contact with urban artists and intellectuals, in particular the work of José Guadalupe Posada, whose work became very important to the social changes of the 1920s and 1930s Mexico. Pedro’s innovations remain the base of what most cartoneros, even the younger generations, do today.
But this innovation seems to have limits. Modern cartonería can and has adapted some images from 21st century life and mass media, along with foreign influences from the United States and Japan. However, it pales in comparison to the innovations from Pedro Linares’ time, with most current artisans sticking to what he created and to forms even older than that. With the exception of piñatas and, to some extent, skeletal figures engaged in modern activities and Judas figures mocking or paying homage to public figures, cartonería pieces do not integrate modern influences on a large scale. The main reason is that today artisans sell to collectors, who generally want objects inspired by tradition, or to public institutions for traditional festivals and celebrations. Another issue is copyright, especially for images from mass media. As will be discussed in the chapter on the craft’s future, the main innovations today are related to size and mobility of pieces.
The trajectory of modern cartonería also shows its urban tendency. Most family workshops of any size and reputation date from before the mid–20th century. These are still run traditionally with the tasks often divided among members, under the direction of a master craftsman. Children learn the craft very young, starting as apprentices to craftsmen and master craftsmen. However, these families and their workshops are disappearing, and outside of them, such an apprenticeship system is rare. Most younger cartoneros learn the craft through classes, and occasionally through friends. One reason is that the traditional families do not take on apprentices outside their own children, but perhaps more importantly because urban youth tend to absorb their culture’s knowledge and traditions through media and institutions. This is particularly true in the Mexico City metropolitan area and in areas where the craft has been (re) introduced. In areas where such classes are available, the craft is stable and even growing; in areas where this is lacking, it is on the decline.
Cartonería does not have the same status as a collectable that other types of Mexican handcrafts do. One reason is their relative lack of durability. Only exceptionally well-made pieces can last for decades or more and even those require careful storage and handling. The Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo has the largest collection of cartonería from the mid–20th century, which consists of 38 Judas figures, 72 skulls, 7 dolls and 12 figures, toys, alebrijes, etc. However, most of the pieces that can be seen in museums are of much more recent origin. With the exception of the work done by the Linares family and a few other artisans, major foreign collectors of Mexican folk art have not shown much interest in cartonería, especially if the work has been done by someone who does not have a link to the craft through family or community ties, which are so important in most of Mexico’s other craft traditions. Ironically, while the Linares works command higher prices because of family ties, those ties are to an innovator, to someone who kept the technique alive by transforming it from a simple repetitive craft form to one that creates unique works of folk art.
Those who defined the modern craft in the 20th century
The decline of cartoneria in Guanajuato was countered by its growth in the Mexico City metropolitan area, principally due to contact between cartoneros and the Mexican art world. It is not possible to write a book on cartoneria without discussing the work of Pedro Linares. His work extended cartoneria beyond its traditional boundaries and popularizing it outside of its traditional markets. His work still remains as a reference point for the craft in Mexico City and beyond.
Pedro Linares was born 1906 in Mexico City. He became the third generation of his family to make cartoneria objects, learning from his father, José Dolores Linares and grandfather, Celso Linares. Like for most cartoneros, this as a part-time occupation, as its production was exclusively tied to Mexico’s festival calendar. For five months out of the year, the family did no cartonería work, instead fixing shoes, working on masonry and selling items in markets to survive.
Pedro taught his three sons, Enrique, Felipe and Miguel. Much of their production was Judas figures, making as many as 300 a week to sell on the streets before Holy Saturday. When Pedro’s sons were small, he could afford to buy them clothes once a year, when all the Judas figures were sold.
The pivotal moment in Pedro’s career came in the early 1950s. In 1951, a friend of theirs took a group of Pedro’s Judas figures, with which he had begun to innovate from the general devil image, to the Angel of Independence statue in Mexico City. This location is important because it was outside the Linares’ usual sales venues near the family home. The statue area, now called Zona Rosa, was an upper class neighborhood with artists and intellectuals. The unusual Judas figures caught the attention of anthropologist Eduardo Pareyon, who became the Linares’ first patron, and more importantly introduced Pedro’s work to artists such as Diego Rivera. This not only led to the making of Judases for this famous painter, but also an annual commission for decorations at the formal ball of the Academy of San Carlos.
In Mexico City before the mid 20th century, the sale of Judases was the most lucrative of all cartonería products. In 1957, their sale was essentially banned after a warehouse containing explosives caught fire, killing a number of people and injuring many more. As the use of fireworks was essential to the Judases’ role in Holy Week, with the ban rendering the cartonería figure useless. This had the effect to putting most cartonería makers out of business.
Fortunately for the Linares family, Pedro’s experimentation led to a new branch of cartonería, alebrijes, pieces made not for a holiday but rather aesthetics. These strange creatures not only save their business, but allowed it to grow enough to become the family’s central occupation.
Pedro Linares used to insist that the concept of alebrijes was completely from his imagination. An oft-retold story has Pedro coming down with a illness and high fever that caused him to hallucinate being in a strange place with colorful but ugly creatures which were a mixture of two or more animals such as a donkey with butterfly wings and a lion with an eagle’s head. Susan N. Masuoka in En Calavera: The Papier-Mache Art of the Linares Family (1991) traces the evolution of alebrijes from humanoid Judas figures with animals heads and wings to the creatures known today, amalgams of various animals decorated in bright colors and great detail. However, Masuoka and this author concede that the fever-dream story is an essential part of the alebrije’s place in Mexico folk art.
The other Linares innovation was the production of skeletal figures in animated positions. These was not completely new, but the focus on imitating the living allowed the figures be in demand outside the traditional season of Day of the Dead. Skeletal figures are produced year round, but still are in the most demand for Day of the Dead. They have lent themselves to large scale commissions usually to commemorate an event or promote a theme.
The Linares’ first large scale commission, the creation of almost 70 large-sized skeletal figures for the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City, was part of cultural activities directed by Dolores Olmedo. In 1986, the family was commissioned to create “Earthquake Scene” only a year after the 1985 disaster that left thousands dead. The scene had the expected figures of rescue workers and rubble, but raised some eyebrows with realistic depictions of victims, women carrying buckets of water (plumbing in many areas was out for months afterwards) and even a looter with a television set. There have been a number of major commissions and exhibitions by the family, mostly while Pedro was still alive. The Museum of Mankind exhibit consisted of skeletal figures by Felipe and Leonardo called The Atomic Apocalypse: Will Death Die? in which several scenes are featured focusing on the various crises faced by the modern world.
By the time Pedro died in January of 1992, the family had achieved international recognition, with Pedro’s sons as well-established artisans in their own right. However, the three sons of Pedro, Enrique, Felipe and Miguel, have gone their own ways, with their own workshops. Enrique moved to his wife’s family’s ranch in southern Hidalgo in 1979, taking with him molds made by his father. While he and his family continued to made cartonería items, the move meant that this branch of the family has left the sphere of international recognition. Felipe and Miguel both have family workshops in Mexico City and maintain the family’s influence, but these workshops no longer work together. Felipe’s workshops, which is base for the work of sons Leonardo and David, as well as David’s sons, is in the old family homestead. Within this workshop, Pedro’s system work division remains. Each artisan cultivates clients and patrons, but when there are approaching deadlines and/or major commissions, family members pitch in under the direction of the artisan who obtained the work and are paid by percentage of work done.
Pedro’s work remains the base of the family’s production and style. They use the apprenticeship system established by him to maintain this style, but there has been some evolution, especially with some more modern themes, such as skateboard riders and basketball players. Perhaps the largest change initiated by Pedro’s sons, according to Leonardo, is making the figures, especially the skeletons, more fluid and artistic. However Leonardo credits the apprenticeship system, which begin with having children simply play with the paste and newspaper, with giving him a solid basis in the history of the craft, and a sense of its place in Mexican culture, something he tried to pass along in the classes, workshops and talks he gives to museums, universities and other institutions. Their status gives them an exception to Mexico City’s laws on the burning of Judas figures, and each year the family burns about twenty or so, with national and international news coverage.
It is important to note that cartonería remains mostly the purview of men in the family. Female members help and in younger generations, their role has increased in Miguel’s family. But the public faces are still of Pedro’s sons and three of his grandsons, Leonardo, David and Ricardo. Their works can be found in the permanent collections of the Modern Art Museum in Tokyo, the Pompidou Center in Paris, the Fowler Museum in Los Angeles, the British Museum, the Royal Museum of Modern Art in Glasgow, the Museum of Mankind in London. In Mexico, they can be found in the Dolores Olmedo Museum and the Studio Museum of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. The work of the Linares family has been documented in books, newspapers, videos and photographs, and more recently in Wikipedia.
While a number of museums and galleries do sell authentic Linares’ work, many more sell imitations, especially of alebrijes. While Pedro’s role as originator of alebrijes is not disputed, whether or not there is a trademark on the name is. Leonardo has received a court order awarding ownership of the name, which he has successfully used in several lawsuits against television and movie production studios. However, most Mexican museums and institutions which teach classes on making alebrijes state that the name is not trademarkable or that the claim to the name was filed too late. The name has become widely used with an mostly unrelated woodcarving craft in Oaxaca, and more recently, the Museo de Arte Popular has been promoting a kind of lighted puppet figure called an “illuminated alebrije.”
Carmen Caballero Sevilla
Although a contemporary of Pedro Linares, Carmen Caballero Sevilla is not well known today, but during her time, she was an important producer of Judas figures. Like Linares, she was a humble artisan, whose work came to the attention of Mexico’s artistic elite.
Caballero was born in Celaya, Guanajuato, the daughter of a lieutenant colonel in the Mexican Revolution. He died when she was only five, and she worked with her mother selling fruit.
When she was 18, a cartonero by the name of Gregorio Piedrasanta taught her the basics of the craft, but she went on to develop her own style, by dramatically simplifying the forms. Caballero eventually moved to Mexico City, where she made a living selling fruit and making seasonal cartonería items in the Abelardo Rodriguez market. Carmen was exceptionally poor. According to art critic Raquel Tibol, she was mistreated by her spouse, but, despite this sad existence, her Judas figures had a element of happiness to them.
It was in the market that none other than Diego Rivera discovered her work in 1955, buying a Judas 2.5 meters high, with a frame of over 150 strips of cane, the first of what would be many. Rivera invited her to his studio in San Angel, becoming her patron, and she his “official Judas maker” until the artist’s death. Here she created Judas and skeletal figures (including one called “Diego at Death”), all one-of-a-kind pieces. Depictions include those of charros, bicyclists, lovers, workers in overalls, Cantinflas and goats. All these pieces were kept by the artist, covering ceilings and walls, as well as taking space on floors and shelves. By the time Caballero died at the age of 58, she left behind one of the largest collections of cartonería objects in the world at the time. Although she likely made thousands of Judas figures, only dozens survive. She never signed her work, as this was not custom for artisans.
Rivera appreciated Carmen’s use of color and compared her work with that of Picasso. The shapes of her pieces are simplified, with the angles created by the frame not only not hidden, they were actually emphasized. Her work appears in several paintings by the artist, including El estudio del pintor and El niño Efrén José Antonio del Pozo a los 12 años (1955). The fame from this work brought in new admirers such as English sculptor Henry Moore, and Mexican photographer Nacho Lopez documented various pieces. A number of her works can still be seen at the House Studio Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo in the San Angel neighborhood of Mexico City, as well as in the Frida Kahlo (Blue) House and the Anahuacalli Museum, both in Coyoacan, Mexico City. In 2009, the National Museum of Popular Culture held an exhibition of her work under the name of “Carmen Caballero, maker of Judases” which included photographs by Nacho Lopez.
Caballero bore twenty children, but only four reached adulthood. One reason why her work has not survived in the history of cartonería is that the family has died out, according to Pilar Fosado Vazquez, whose family has own Mexico City’s oldest store dedicated to folk art (Victor’s), operating since the 1940s. Carmen’s son José Miranda Caballero also made Judas figures, along with devils and skeletons, selling primarily to the Fosado family until his death in 2006. Although his son, Raymundo Miranda (who also used his grandmother’s surname of Caballero) also followed the tradition, he died tragically young only two years after his father, leaving no one to carry on.
A rather different story is that of Susana Buyo. She was not born into a cartonería making family, nor in Mexico. Buyo was born in Luján, Argentina and moved permanently to Mexico in 1978 as a young woman. She and her family settled in the upper-middle class Condesa neighborhood of Mexico City.
Some time after that, the former ceramics craftsperson became enamoured with Pedro Linares’ alebrijes. Not having the opportunity to learn from the Linares or any other cartonero, she set about teaching herself basic cartonería techniques, then moving on to creating her own unique style and mode of working.
Buyo never strayed from alebrije making, preferring to call herself an alebrijera, rather than a cartonera. Her background as a self-taught artisan leads her to stress that her work is “instinctual” rather than “academic,” unwilling to entertain ideas of what has influenced her work. This may be because she considers alebrijes to be magical creatures with a kind of psychological reality as a personal or home guardian. She stated that once she was exhibiting an alebrije and when a boy saw it, he became wide-eyes and stated “That’s what I dreamt last night!” She also may not want to stress her distinctive background from other alebrije makers.
Her work has the same basic form that the alebrijes that Pedro Linares developed over his lifetime, but they are far less “ugly” (as Linares called them), with more delicate and sophisticated lines. In fact, they have a feel of European surrealism about them. Unlike many other alebrije makers, there is attention to color combinations and the effects they have together on the piece. They are also distinct from the Linares’ work in that she has incorporated commercially-made elements in her pieces, such as glass marbles for eyes and sequins.
The height of Buyo’s career extended through 1990s into the early 2000s, with her activities taking over the entire living room of the family apartment. It was during these years that she exhibited her work in Mexico and abroad, such as National Museum of Popular Culture in Coyoacan, Mexico City (1990 and 2006), the Library of Mexico (1992), the Sor Juana Cloister University (1994) the Mexico City International Airport (1996), the Soumaya Museum (1999), the University of Bergen, Norway (2000), the Oslo Historical Museum (2001) and the La Mama Gallery in New York (2003). However, the most important of these was an exhibition at the Museum of Anthropology of Denmark in 2001, which not only bought the collection brought for display, but also invited her to give classes at the institution.
In addition, she taught hundreds of students during this time, including a few that attained their own prominence, such as Rodolfo Villena Hernandez, currently the center of cartonería activities in the state of Puebla. However, she and her work has never been fully accepted as part of Mexico’s cartonería tradition. Although she has pieces in the permanent collections of European museums such as Museum of Anthropology in Denmark, the Museum of America in Madrid and the National Ethnographic Museum of Copenhagen, neither Buyo, nor the students interviewed for this text, know of any public collections in Mexico that include her work.
Buyo recognizes that her work has been more appreciated abroad than in Mexico, invoking the saying “No one is a prophet in their own land.” (Nadie es profeta en su propia tierra.) She does not feel it is discrimination per se, but rather that her work is not completely part of Mexican culture. Former student Rodolfo Villena echos this sentiment, acknowledging that although he developed as a cartonero under her, his work is more traditional. He also states that Buyo “reinvented” the alebrije, something that most cartoneros do not feel is necessary.
In 2013, Buyo ended her work in the apartment in Mexico City, feeling that at her age, she needed to move to the quieter and safer Mazatlan. She still creates pieces and teaches classes, and in the past couple of years has staged something of a comeback in the Mazatlan area. One of her former students, Saul Ibarra, took over her Mexico City classes, but only teaches a couple of days a week.