I am interested in the Tarahumara peoples of Mexico because they offer one of the last remaining views of uninterrupted, indigenous lifestyles in North America. The rough terrain and steep canyon walls of northwestern Mexico’s Sierra Mountains have both isolated and protected the Tarahumara from post Spanish-contact civilization.
For the past 8 years I have organized a series of expeditions to travel with the guide, Santiago, by mule and on foot into remote areas of the Sierras to photograph the most traditional of these people. Traveling in early spring, I chose to document one of the most important pagan rituals still visible in modern times, Semana Santa, or Holy Week. By using the Catholic observance of the week preceding Easter Sunday as a frame, the Tarahumara retain the spirit and practice of an important pre-Columbian, pagan ritual. Their purpose is to call forth the energies of the earth. It is a time of rejuvenation and regeneration for man, land and the community at large in anticipation of spring planting.
As the men are costumed and their bodies painted for this "rite of spring," both the dancers and the whirling, hypnotic dance they perform seem strange and enigmatic to western observers. To unmask the culture for myself and the viewer, I continued beyond the ritual, to make a series of portraits of individuals and their families as I found them going about their daily lives.
Traditionally, the Tarahumara live in caves or in small stone houses on remote rancherias. They are subsistence farmers and herdsmen. From birth the people spend most of their lives out-of-doors; their mode of transportation is walking or running. Set in the rugged, natural beauty of the Sierras, the portraits serve as anchors and are woven into the fabric of the Semana Santa pageant.
Because I believe the silver gelatin print appropriately invokes a sense of timelessness, I chose to produce this body of work in the classic medium of black and white photography. The lack of color information asks the viewer to participate, to read the image, examine the information and then imagine.
The structure of the portrait allows for collaboration between my self and the subject. When I ask permission to make a portrait, the person will always do something to get ready. That moment, seen by the camera, is a fleeting bit of self revelation and magic.
My camera is not a recording device; it is a container, a medicine box. Drawn to study and observe these people, I use my camera to gather in my healing. The Tarahumara are an important window to the past, not only to the pre-conquest cultures of the Americas, but as a vital and living link to indigenous people of all cultures. Once we were all Tarahumara --self-sustaining and free.
