Project description
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Ramas del mismo árbol is a 4 part workshop series. This project was made to bring healing through individual experiences to the Mexican-American community. A group of six Latina women who currently reside in Utah took part in the workshop. The group members discussed questions like, What does your relationship to your ancestors look like? What can healing look like if we knew our ancestors were part of our personal healing process?
These workshops culminated in the women hosting a picnic with important women to them. They were able to eat, rejoice in sharing their culture, and share poems that they had written inspired by discussions held during the workshops.
These workshops culminated in the women hosting a picnic with important women to them. They were able to eat, rejoice in sharing their culture, and share poems that they had written inspired by discussions held during the workshops.
Workshop 1What do we want to accomplish?
symbolically bring healing through our individual experiences to the Latine community living in the US. |
Workshop 2Family History, Ancestry, Genealogy
What are new ways that we can start thinking of family history? |
Workshop 3Poetry & Storytelling
What Kind of tools and power can we create through words? |
Workshop 4Merienda on the Mountain
a picnic held to celebrate our cultures and share poems written inspired by conversations had in previous workshops. |
quotes from workshop
Original poems written by participantsRaíces y ramas Raquel Yánez
hermanita, hermanas, descansando bajo la sombra de sus ramas, sostenidas por un tronco que se ha erguido que en tormentas y tempestades se ha mantenido venimos hoy y con estas manos, que de ellas heredamos regamos las raíces que a nuestro árbol han sostenido con estas manos, que de ellas heredamos nos esforzamos por mantenerlo vivo, el mismo que ellas sembraron, el árbol del que nosotras retoñamos nuestras madres y nuestras abuelas, raíces entrelazadas con lo profundo de la tierra somos sus ramas, somos sus frutos ellas son en nosotras y nosotras somos en ellas |
Madre mia Marybel Vasquez
Palabras para la mujer que me enseño como florecer Una rosa tan bella tan hermosa Has captivado la gente solamente con tu presencia Una rosa que ha sobrevivido cada clima Has sentido los rayos del sol y la calentura de tu canción Has conocido el frío y la oscuridad de nueva tierra Una rosa resiliente Has sobrevivido tanta violencia Violencia que ha colorado tus pétalos con una sombra roja intensa Una rosa cubierta en espinas Has tenido que ser tan fuerte simplemente para sobrevivir Creciendo espinas para protegerte del peligro que te rodeaba Una rosa llena de amor y ternura Has sembrado tus 6 semillitas en la tierra De ahí floreció 6 diferentes flores Cada flor necesitando cuidado diferente Una flor que transmitió todos los nutrientes necesarios Para que un dia floreciera su propio jardín Gracias por perdonar el daño que te han hecho Con mis propias espinas Todavía estamos sanando nuestras heridas Todavía seguimos creciendo Nací de las raíces de tu matriz Me alimentaste con la ternura de tu pecho Me regaste con tus propias lágrimas Me protegiste con todo tu ser Diste todo lo que tenías para que florecieran tus flores Gracias mami Gracias por quererme tal como soy Eres la flor de mi vida. |
MY DREAMS by Ale ramosIn my dreams I love her, The empty space she awakes to, In my dreams she breathes, In my dreams she runs Daughter of light and earth Blessed with golden skin and dressed in light. In my dreams I see her Tender child colored by earth and sun, She is beautiful. She is divine. She is me. |
Desencuentros Emily YánezA room full of laughter A room full of cry A “Hello” A”Goodbye” It once was the present Now it’s the past We all came from different directions But became united at the same destination |
A mi Mexico Maria Fernanda Morales
I am a part of you, I was born with roots coming out of me ready to be planted and to grow with you.
Nos conocimos por solo unos momentos, sintiendo los rayos de tu sol en mi piel calentando me
Crecer tan lejos de ti y no acordarme de ti fue un dolor muy fuerte. ¿Por qué es mi piel tan morena? Mi pelo, mis ojos? Porque no son claros como los de los niños a mi alrededor?
I never understood the emptiness I always felt. Feeling like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, almost complete.
“Eres mexicana, you’re Mexican” me decía mi papá, while he would flex his muscles to show me just how strong we are. Pero nunca me sentía fuerte.
Creciendo fui aprendiendo, making new friends. Friends who resembled me. Me enseñaron de la música mexicana, they taught me to dance. Laughing together as I attempted to dance banda or corridos. Empezaba a sentirte más presente por dentro de mi.
I began to feel the warmth of your sun rays again flowing within me every time I would start to feel cold. Running within me like fuel, warming me up from the inside out.
To finally be reunited with you was like finding all the missing pieces to my jigsaw puzzle.
Unas de mis primeras noches llovió, como si estabas llorando de felicidad que por fin regresé a ti.
Te vi, te sentí, y yo también lloré.
Me enseñasteis en esos días todas las fuerzas de las raíces que llevo por dentro.
With all the your beautiful colors; tu música, tu arte, y tu gente me dijisteis siempre seré parte de ti y tu parte de mi.
Nos conocimos por solo unos momentos, sintiendo los rayos de tu sol en mi piel calentando me
Crecer tan lejos de ti y no acordarme de ti fue un dolor muy fuerte. ¿Por qué es mi piel tan morena? Mi pelo, mis ojos? Porque no son claros como los de los niños a mi alrededor?
I never understood the emptiness I always felt. Feeling like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, almost complete.
“Eres mexicana, you’re Mexican” me decía mi papá, while he would flex his muscles to show me just how strong we are. Pero nunca me sentía fuerte.
Creciendo fui aprendiendo, making new friends. Friends who resembled me. Me enseñaron de la música mexicana, they taught me to dance. Laughing together as I attempted to dance banda or corridos. Empezaba a sentirte más presente por dentro de mi.
I began to feel the warmth of your sun rays again flowing within me every time I would start to feel cold. Running within me like fuel, warming me up from the inside out.
To finally be reunited with you was like finding all the missing pieces to my jigsaw puzzle.
Unas de mis primeras noches llovió, como si estabas llorando de felicidad que por fin regresé a ti.
Te vi, te sentí, y yo también lloré.
Me enseñasteis en esos días todas las fuerzas de las raíces que llevo por dentro.
With all the your beautiful colors; tu música, tu arte, y tu gente me dijisteis siempre seré parte de ti y tu parte de mi.
An open letter to the hijas de inmigrantes Rocio Vasquez Cisneros
I'm writing to those of us who are terrified that we will be the ones to break the chain in
histories of mestizaje
To the daughters who are scared that we can't roll our Erres hard enough.
For the women who carry generations of ancestral history on their backs.
We are facing the whips of the "melting pot" that every day take further claim on the lands of
our identities. A country who can't decide which new lands to colonize so it turns to its
people… to us and robs us of our acentos and tradiciones. This country is hell bent on
straightening every rizo and pushing out every last drop of pigment and leaving us for dead.
We cannot let this happen.
I have a fear that my future generations won't know how to pronounce tortilla, or frijoles.
That they won't know what it feels like to burn your tongue with caldo de res or that they
won't know what it's like to scream Bidi bidi bom bom.
Escribo para que span que mi abuela Toñis era reiki y mi abuela Maria era cocinera.
Declaró sus nombres para que no se desvanezcan con la aurora.
Guadalupe, Eulalia, Pantaleona, Bacilia, Luisa, Margarita, Zeferina, Magdalena.
Al tomar mis primeros pasos en la vida venidera, espero ser recibida con los abrazos y
besos de estas mujeres. Por ellas yo estoy aqui. No son imaginarias, ni solo nombres en
registros. Son reales. Vivieron para que yo estuviera aquí. Mi existencia es evidencia que
siglos de mujeres han hecho todo lo posible para salir adelante. Somos diosas en ciernes.
Our ancestors knew which yerbas were best for healing our bodies, they were in tune with
the moon and the stars. And here we are. Lost in a world that keeps us scrolling through
images that make us hate the hips and back rolls our antepasadas gave us
We are navegantes de nuestro propio viaje. We have the power to seek the knowledge that
has been lost and retain the traditions of our people.
Venimos de árboles vivientes. We cannot let our centuries of wisdom and knowledge be
washed away. We can see our living tree in the hair that twists and tangles from our scalps.
It waves in the wind like the leaves of our living tree. Our tree cannot be broken because it
lives.
We must look forward to the strength that stands behind us and press on.
histories of mestizaje
To the daughters who are scared that we can't roll our Erres hard enough.
For the women who carry generations of ancestral history on their backs.
We are facing the whips of the "melting pot" that every day take further claim on the lands of
our identities. A country who can't decide which new lands to colonize so it turns to its
people… to us and robs us of our acentos and tradiciones. This country is hell bent on
straightening every rizo and pushing out every last drop of pigment and leaving us for dead.
We cannot let this happen.
I have a fear that my future generations won't know how to pronounce tortilla, or frijoles.
That they won't know what it feels like to burn your tongue with caldo de res or that they
won't know what it's like to scream Bidi bidi bom bom.
Escribo para que span que mi abuela Toñis era reiki y mi abuela Maria era cocinera.
Declaró sus nombres para que no se desvanezcan con la aurora.
Guadalupe, Eulalia, Pantaleona, Bacilia, Luisa, Margarita, Zeferina, Magdalena.
Al tomar mis primeros pasos en la vida venidera, espero ser recibida con los abrazos y
besos de estas mujeres. Por ellas yo estoy aqui. No son imaginarias, ni solo nombres en
registros. Son reales. Vivieron para que yo estuviera aquí. Mi existencia es evidencia que
siglos de mujeres han hecho todo lo posible para salir adelante. Somos diosas en ciernes.
Our ancestors knew which yerbas were best for healing our bodies, they were in tune with
the moon and the stars. And here we are. Lost in a world that keeps us scrolling through
images that make us hate the hips and back rolls our antepasadas gave us
We are navegantes de nuestro propio viaje. We have the power to seek the knowledge that
has been lost and retain the traditions of our people.
Venimos de árboles vivientes. We cannot let our centuries of wisdom and knowledge be
washed away. We can see our living tree in the hair that twists and tangles from our scalps.
It waves in the wind like the leaves of our living tree. Our tree cannot be broken because it
lives.
We must look forward to the strength that stands behind us and press on.
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