Project description
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Roots of the same tree 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 participantsRoots & branches Raquel Yánezlittle sister, sisters, resting under the shade of its branches, supported by a trunk that has been erected that in storms and tempests has remained we come today and with these hands, which we inherit from them We water the roots that have sustained our tree With these hands, which we inherit from them we strive to keep it alive, the same one they sowed, the tree from which we sprouted our mothers and our grandmothers, roots intertwined with the depths of the earth we are its branches, we are its fruits they are in us and we are in them |
My Mother Marybel VasquezWords for the woman who taught me how to bloom
Such a beautiful rose so beautiful
You have captivated people only with your presence
A rose that has survived every weather You have felt the rays of the sun and the warmth of your song You have known the cold and darkness of a new land a resilient rose You have survived so much violence Violence that has colored your petals with a deep red shade A rose covered in thorns You've had to be so strong just to survive Growing thorns to protect yourself from the danger that surrounded you A rose full of love and tenderness You have planted your 6 little seeds in the ground From there bloomed 6 different flowers Each flower needs different care. A flower that transmitted all the necessary nutrients So that one day her own garden would bloom Thank you for forgiving the damage that has been done to you with my own thorns We're still healing our wounds we are still growing I was born from the roots of your womb You fed me with the tenderness of your breast You watered me with your own tears You protected me with all your being You gave everything you had to make your flowers bloom thanks mommy Thank you for loving me as I am You are the flower of my life. |
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. |
Encounters 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.
We met for just a few moments, feeling the rays of your sun on my skin warming me.
Growing up so far away from you and not remembering you was a very strong pain. Why is my skin so brown? My hair, my eyes? Because they are not clear like those of the children around me?
I never understood the emptiness I always felt. Feeling like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, almost complete.
“Eres mexicana, you’re Mexican” my dad told me, while he would flex his muscles to show me just how strong we are. But I never felt strong.
Growing up I was learning, making new friends. Friends who resembled me. They taught me about Mexican music, they taught me to dance. Laughing together as I attempted to dance banda or corridos. I began to feel more present inside of me.
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.
One of my first nights it rained, as if you were crying with happiness that I finally returned to you.
I saw you, I felt you, and I cried too.
You taught me in those days all the strength of the roots that I carry inside.
With all your beautiful colors; your music, your art, and your people told me I will always be part of you and you part of me.
We met for just a few moments, feeling the rays of your sun on my skin warming me.
Growing up so far away from you and not remembering you was a very strong pain. Why is my skin so brown? My hair, my eyes? Because they are not clear like those of the children around me?
I never understood the emptiness I always felt. Feeling like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, almost complete.
“Eres mexicana, you’re Mexican” my dad told me, while he would flex his muscles to show me just how strong we are. But I never felt strong.
Growing up I was learning, making new friends. Friends who resembled me. They taught me about Mexican music, they taught me to dance. Laughing together as I attempted to dance banda or corridos. I began to feel more present inside of me.
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.
One of my first nights it rained, as if you were crying with happiness that I finally returned to you.
I saw you, I felt you, and I cried too.
You taught me in those days all the strength of the roots that I carry inside.
With all your beautiful colors; your music, your art, and your people told me I will always be part of you and you part of me.
An open letter to the daughters of IMMIGRANTS
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 claims 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 accents and traditions. This country is hell bent on straightening every curl 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 beans. That they won’t know what it feels like to burn your tongue with caldo de res but still keep swallowing because it just hits right on a hot summer's day. They won't know what it's like to scream Bidi bidi bom bom.
I write so you know that my grandmother Toñis was reiki and my grandmother Maria was a cook. He declared their names so that they would not vanish with the dawn.
Guadalupe, Eulalia, Pantaleona, Bacilia, Luisa, Margarita, Zeferina, Magdalena.
Our ancestors knew which herbs 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 ancestors gave us.
As I take my first steps in the life to come, I look forward to being greeted with hugs and kisses from these women. For them I am here. They are not imaginary, not just names on record. Are real. They lived for me to be here. My existence is evidence that centuries of women have done their best to get ahead. We are goddesses in the making.
We are navigators of our own journey. We have the power to seek the knowledge that has been lost and retain the traditions of our people.
We come from living trees. We cannot let our centuries of wisdom and knowledge be washed away in Taylor swift songs and chai lattes. 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 that living tree. Our tree cannot be broken because it lives
We must look forward from the strength that stands behind us and press on.
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 claims 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 accents and traditions. This country is hell bent on straightening every curl 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 beans. That they won’t know what it feels like to burn your tongue with caldo de res but still keep swallowing because it just hits right on a hot summer's day. They won't know what it's like to scream Bidi bidi bom bom.
I write so you know that my grandmother Toñis was reiki and my grandmother Maria was a cook. He declared their names so that they would not vanish with the dawn.
Guadalupe, Eulalia, Pantaleona, Bacilia, Luisa, Margarita, Zeferina, Magdalena.
Our ancestors knew which herbs 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 ancestors gave us.
As I take my first steps in the life to come, I look forward to being greeted with hugs and kisses from these women. For them I am here. They are not imaginary, not just names on record. Are real. They lived for me to be here. My existence is evidence that centuries of women have done their best to get ahead. We are goddesses in the making.
We are navigators of our own journey. We have the power to seek the knowledge that has been lost and retain the traditions of our people.
We come from living trees. We cannot let our centuries of wisdom and knowledge be washed away in Taylor swift songs and chai lattes. 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 that living tree. Our tree cannot be broken because it lives
We must look forward from the strength that stands behind us and press on.
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