Growing up my mom would pack my three squealing sisters and I into a lime green station wagon and drive us down dusty backroads to little towns all over central Mexico. Men with weathered hands pounded silver in Taxco, Metepec women in white embroidered blouses turned clay into mermaids and in Texcoco they blew glass into big round balls that reminded me of planets.
I loved seeing those artisans trust their intuition and make naive art so beautiful. Not everything had to be planned. They played and had fun. So when Santiago told me he wanted to make a birdhouse I knew it would be a great opportunity to spend time together. I wanted my son to experience that same joy-the joy of making stuff.