It’s probably no surprise to many of you that my favorite place on the planet to visit is Oaxaca. I return over and over again. Fortunately for me, the last couple of years, I’ve been able to run retreats there twice a year, giving me a bi-annual dose of its magic.
Oaxaca City, nestled in southern Mexico, is surrounded by ancient ruins and the architecture of Spanish colonialism. As beautiful as the city itself is (and it undoubtedly is), there is more to it that makes this place such a magical enigma.
My first trip to Oaxaca was in 1992. Fresh out of college and uncertain about what to do with my art degree, I decided to travel and see the world, but I had to consider my budget. Mexico seemed like a reasonable place to start, so I bought a ticket to Guadalajara and planned to work my way to the Pacific Coast. An art professor of mine, Don Bunse, encouraged me to go to Oaxaca instead. He had just returned from an art exchange, where Oaxacan printmakers visited Montana and vice versa. Don described it as a place where everything had a bit of magic. Every corner seemed to offer something unexpected and wonderful. He was so smitten with it that he aimed to move there, but unfortunately, Don passed away before he could make that a reality.
Taking his advice, I boarded a plane alone and traveled to Oaxaca. Upon arrival, I was overwhelmed. Don was 100 percent correct—Oaxaca is a sensory feast for the artist’s soul. The colors, textures, and vibrant energy of the markets breathe art, and every corner holds a new discovery. In many places, there seems to be a distinction between art and “the real world,” but not in Oaxaca. Art and the everyday are intertwined.
I remember coming through Oaxacan airport security with a suitcase full of art supplies and being stopped by a gruff man who asked about the tubes of paint. Nervously, I used one of the few Spanish words I knew at the time: “artisto.” He put his hand to his heart and started to swoon, saying a few things I didn’t understand, then exclaimed: “bueno.” Never in all my years of traveling has this ever happened to me anywhere else.
Oaxaca is a strange place where the past and present collide and co-mingle. The architecture and religious traditions from the Spanish conquests coexist with indigenous traditions of carving, weaving, and sculpting. Contemporary artists from Oaxaca seem to embrace this past, creating a continual ebb and flow of the ancient and the new, refreshing the arts in the area.
Perhaps what I love most about Oaxaca are the festivals: Day of the Dead, Guelaguetza, Carnival, and many others fill the calendar. Even on a seemingly uneventful day, there’s a reasonable chance of encountering a parade or fireworks.
Oaxaca does something to me. Each trip, I feel reborn, as if I’ve drunk from a Fountain of Youth—not one that defies age, but one that keeps my creativity youthful. And thus, time after time, I drink from its magical metaphoric waters.