I found a rosary, broken and discarded hanging from a stone cross that used to grace my Abuela’s home. I pondered the reason why the rosary was hung there. Was it in the 40′s when she married my grandfather? Was it in the 50′s when she lost her daughter (who was a toddler)? Was it in the 80′s when she lost her son? Was it for the birth of her firstborn?
It hung there, rusted and rare. I had never seen a rosary like it before. It was as though it was protecting a familial secret I was not privy to. It’s blue oval crystals intrigued me, taunted me, and I can even say forced me to recreate it.
Each crystal brought me closer to her memory, closer to creating an heirloom. Creating something my daughter could pass on to her own children, each rung holding a part of my cultura. Each one holding a piece of me clinging to the vast brush and mesquite trees. Each one holding onto the love we have as a familia.
I spent a few hours creating this piece. I tried to get some nicer pictures of it but for a while I suppose the piece wasn’t ready to be photographed.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to show such an intimate piece of myself hidden in the gold crystals and along the linked chains. Like raices (roots) connecting me to her, to my hometown, to the land I grew up on. It held me to myself. I stare at it sometimes, wondering where I go from here.
Paths are uncertain but sometimes all we need to do is hang onto the rungs as we make our way to the top.
Sometimes, we hang in suspension.
Sometimes, we make our way in circles.
Sometimes, we just need something to lean on.