Sawdust carpets (alfombras) line the streets of Guatemala each year during Holy Week, the last week in Lent that precedes Easter. Artists construct wooden stencils with intricate designs that get filled in with colored sawdust, flower petals, fruit, bread, and other natural goods. The entire process can take months. In Antigua, Guatemala, a mile-long gallery of alfombras is traditionally created to greet religious ceremonial processions that walk over it, quickly reducing the work to dusty memories.
I was in Antigua a few years ago, and I visited this spectacular street art with my friend, Daniela. We got into a discussion about ephemeral art. How can people put so much passion, time, and effort into a creative expression that lasts for such a short time? We mention ice sculpture, Ikebana (the Japanese ritual of flower arrangement), and dance. I remember how painful it was to try to absorb Martha Graham’s words when, as a young dancer, I heard her say, “When the dance ends, it ceases to exist.”
Daniela spotted her friend, Juan. He and his wife and children were kneeling on their hands and knees, carefully placing flower petals on colorful birds on the periphery of their carpet. Juan greeted us, and we spoke briefly. He explained that, in Mayan culture, birds are considered harbingers of good fortune. Then, he told us alfombras are a community project. “Everyone gathers at the crack of dawn on the Thursday before Good Friday to fill in their family’s wooden stencil.” I asked him how he felt about producing a work of art whose inevitable destiny was to be destroyed. He seemed surprised by my question. “It doesn’t get destroyed.” he objected. “It’s a spiritual experience. It stays inside us and keeps going.” He said his parents handed the tradition down from their parents, and he and his wife will hand it down to their children. “It stays inside and keeps going,” he repeated. Then, he excused himself, saying they had to finish by 4 AM when the religious procession would begin.
“It stays inside us and keeps going?” Juan’s perspective opened me up to seeing endings differently. In my life, the dancer became a martial artist who became a yoga practitioner who became a writer. I brought dance with me to karate, and karate with me to yoga. They are all inside me now, as I choreograph words into stories about my life.
Martha Graham taught me that nothing is permanent. Juan taught me that nothing is temporary. Ándale! G&S
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