María Sosa, Sexto presagio funesto, Silvia, 2019

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“El sexto prodigio y señal fue que muchas veces y muchas noches, se oía una voz de mujer que a grandes voces lloraba y decía, anegándose con mucho llanto y grandes sollozos y suspiros: ¡Oh hijos míos! del todo nos vamos ya a perder... e otras veces decía: Oh hijos míos ¿a dónde os podré llevar y esconder...?”

Este texto, uno de los presagios funestos de 1519 que precedieron la Conquista de América, fue recogido entre 1540 y 1585 por Fray Bernardino de Sahagún en lo que hoy se conoce como el Códice Florentino. Escrito en español, nahuatl y latín por el franciscano y estudiantes indígenas trilingües formados por él, el presagio en que las madres perderían todo, incluso a sus hijos, se extendería desde la Conquista, hasta nuestros días.

Como otros artistas de su generación, María Sosa regresa a la historia colonial para buscar en el pasado las claves de la violencia que vive hoy, encontrando en las teorías post coloniales y en nuevas actitudes orgullosamente combativas en ciertas comunidades (como Cherán) una fuente de resistencia ante el doloroso desperdicio de vida del que sufre México cotidianamente.

Como si fuera una reencarnación, Sosa crea un totem de extrañas características humanas: aunque está hecho de caña de maíz –el origen de la vida en las cosmogonías precolombinas–, tiene ojos, pies y manos que recuerdan precisamente a los gestos recogidos por los tlacuilos en las ilustraciones del Códice Florentino. Los mismos ojos nos observan hoy, pero el cuerpo no es uno, sino que está constituido por cañas marcadas con el nombre y año de desaparición de muchos: 2008, 2010, 2014, 2016...

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“The sixth dire omen was that many times and many nights, a woman's voice was heard crying out loud, saying, drowning with much crying and great sobs and sighs: Oh my children! we are completely going to lose ... and other times she said: Oh my children, where can I take you and hide you...? ”

This text, one of the dire omens of 1519 that preceded the Conquest of America, was collected between 1540 and 1585 by Fray Bernardino de Sahagún in what is now known as the Florentine Codex. Written in Spanish, Nahuatl and Latin by the Franciscan and trilingual indigenous students formed by him, the omen in which mothers would lose everything, including their children, would extend from the Conquest to our present day.

Like other artists of her generation, María Sosa returns to colonial history to look in the past for the keys to the violence she is experiencing today, finding in post-colonial theories and in proudly combative new attitudes in certain communities (such as Cherán) a source of resistance to the painful waste of life that Mexico suffers on a daily basis.

As if it were a reincarnation, Sosa creates a totem with strange human characteristics that helps her deal with her recurrent mourning: although it is made of corn cane -the origin of life in pre-Columbian cosmogony- it has eyes, feet and hands that are reminiscent of the gestures collected by the Tlacuilos in the illustrations of the Florentine Codex. Those same eyes are watching us today, but the body is not one, but is made up of reeds marked with the name and year of disappearance of many: 2008, 2010, 2014, 2016 ...

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“An important part of my daily consumption is the radio news… according to the reports, by the end of 2018 there were more than 35 thousand missing persons, number that continued and continues to increase.

As a form of personal catharsis, in the face of this reality that I hear every day, I began to make the series of omens. Specifically Silvia and Minerva are born of a lot of pain and an affectionate and intimate attempt to cure it.

Both sculptures have the name of several missing people written on their body. The title of each piece, its own name, is the name of two significant mothers for me who belong to groups of tracking mothers. Silvia is named in honor of Silvia Ortiz, mother of Silvia Stephanie Sánchez Viesca Ortiz 'Fanny' disappeared in 2004, who has organized extensively with more mothers and fathers to track their daughters and sons. Silvia is coordinator of the V.I.D.A Group, Victims for their Rights in Action. Minerva honors Minerva Bello Guerrero, mother of Everardo Rodríguez Bello, student of the Ayotzinapa students case. Minerva died on February 4, 2018 without having known her son's whereabouts, without having stopped looking for him. The body of both pieces is made up of corn cane, the heads and feet were made with the technique of corn cane paste, which is a Purépecha pre-Hispanic technique from the state of Michoacán where I was born, the technique survived colonial times because It was initially adopted by the Augustinian monks to build Catholic devotional figures for processions due to the material’s extreme lightness. Then they forbid its use because the indigenous people started hiding sacred objects of the pre-Hispanic religions within the new catholic idols, which the Augustinians didn’t appreciate. The reason for making the pieces with corn cane, in the specific case of Silvia and Minerva is because corn in the original cosmogony of Mexico is fundamental. For example, for the Purépecha cosmogony it is the primary material of humanity, which was created from corn balls engendered with the sacrificial blood of the god Kuricaveri.”

María Sosa