From Piñata to Postage Stamp, US Celebrates Centuries-Old Hispanic Tradition

Arica Reed, owner of Big Daddy Pinatas, assembles a piñata at her home, Friday, Sept. 8, 2023, in Mesa, Ariz. (AP)
Arica Reed, owner of Big Daddy Pinatas, assembles a piñata at her home, Friday, Sept. 8, 2023, in Mesa, Ariz. (AP)
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From Piñata to Postage Stamp, US Celebrates Centuries-Old Hispanic Tradition

Arica Reed, owner of Big Daddy Pinatas, assembles a piñata at her home, Friday, Sept. 8, 2023, in Mesa, Ariz. (AP)
Arica Reed, owner of Big Daddy Pinatas, assembles a piñata at her home, Friday, Sept. 8, 2023, in Mesa, Ariz. (AP)

The US Postal Service on Friday rolled out its latest special edition postage stamps, paying homage to a tradition with global roots that has evolved over centuries to become a universal symbol of celebration.

The release of four new stamps featuring colorful piñatas coincides with a monthlong recognition of Hispanic heritage in the US and the start of an annual festival in New Mexico where the handmade party favorites are cracked open hourly and children can learn the art of pasting together their own creations.

Piñatas are synonymous with parties, although their history is layered and can be traced to 16th century trade routes between Latin America and Asia and the efforts of Spanish missionaries to convert Indigenous communities to Christianity. It was through dance, music and the arts — including the making of piñatas — that biblical stories were spread throughout the New World.

Piñatas became a key part of celebrating Las Posadas — the festivities held each December in Mexico and other Latin American countries to mark the birth of Christ. The religious origins are evident in the classic piñata designs of the seven-point star and the burro, or donkey, said Cesáreo Moreno, chief curator at the National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago.

“Those early missionaries really were creative in the ways in which they wanted to teach the biblical stories to the Indigenous people,” Moreno said. “Nativity scenes, piñatas, posadas — all those things really worked well. They worked so well that they became a part of the popular culture of Mexico.”

And they still are part of the Mexican and larger Hispanic communities, whether it's in Chicago, San Antonio or Los Angeles, he said.

“Culture has no borders. Wherever community gathers, they have their culture with them. They bring it with them and so the piñata is no different,” he said.

Piñatas imported from Mexico line parts of Olympic Boulevard in Los Angeles. In Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico, people have turned their kitchen tables and garages into makeshift piñata factories, turning out custom shapes for birthday parties and special events.

Inside Casa de Piñatas in Albuquerque, giant characters hang from the ceiling and crowd the walls. For more than half his life, shop owner Francisco Rodríguez has been bringing to life super heroes, dinosaurs, sea creatures and other animals with strips of old newspaper and a simple paste of flour and water.

Some customers come from El Paso, Texas, and others from as far away as Michigan.

Rodríguez stared out the window, watching traffic zip by as he waited for his work to dry. With residue still on his apron and the fans blowing, he contemplated the future of the industry, hoping the next generation will take an interest in the craft.

He said many older piñata artists have retired or closed up their shops and he’s concerned the materials needed — like newspapers — will be harder to get as more things go digital.

It's likely piñatas will keep evolving as they have over the centuries. No longer are they made from clay ollas — used for hauling water or storing food — that would make a loud pop when cracked. Gone are the shards that would litter the ground as children scrambled for the tangerines, pieces of sugar cane and candy that poured out.

The stamps were inspired by the childhood memories of graphic designer Victor Meléndez, who grew up in Mexico City and remembers spending days with cousins and other relatives making piñatas to celebrate Las Posadas. His mother also would make piñatas for birthdays.

“That’s a dear, dear memory of just fun and happiness,” he told The Associated Press as he took a break from painting a mural in Seattle. “And I wanted to show a little bit of that and pay homage to some of those traditions.”

Meléndez's artwork also is influenced by the colors of homes in Mexico — bright pinks and deep blues, yellows and oranges.

This marks the third consecutive year the US Postal Service has issued a collection of stamps dedicated to Hispanic culture. Previous collections highlighted mariachi music and Day of the Dead.

Designing the stamps was certainly a dream project for Meléndez, who is known for his murals and design work for Starbucks. He's been a longtime fan of stamp work, having collected what he described as a ton of little bits of paper just because he likes the art.

Meléndez hopes the new stamps will ignite conversations and encourage people to learn about other cultures. They might discover they have more in common, he said.

“In the end, I feel that there must be a connection and there must be some sort of mutual understanding,” he said. “That eventually leads to better relations and more people being happy without fighting.”



Morocco's Women Rug Weavers Battle to Save Age-old Craft

Women in southern Morocco have kept on the tradition of weaving carpets despite its meagre earnings - AFP
Women in southern Morocco have kept on the tradition of weaving carpets despite its meagre earnings - AFP
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Morocco's Women Rug Weavers Battle to Save Age-old Craft

Women in southern Morocco have kept on the tradition of weaving carpets despite its meagre earnings - AFP
Women in southern Morocco have kept on the tradition of weaving carpets despite its meagre earnings - AFP

In southern Morocco, women are the guardians of the age-old craft of carpet weaving, an intricate art form that often leaves them with meagre earnings.

Women like Ijja Benchri, who creates carpets on a wooden weaving loom outside her small home in the village of Taznakht, follows traditions going back many generations.

"I started when I was 11 or 12, imitating the women I saw weaving," said Benchri, 60.

Known for their bold geometric patterns and vibrant colors, the handwoven rugs are a fixture in local markets and a favorite among tourists.

In 2022, traditional carpets accounted for nearly 22 percent of the kingdom's artisan exports, according to government data, AFP reported.

The mountain villages around Taznakht are famous for their Ait Ouaouzguite carpets, named after a native Amazigh tribe, one among a grouping of several communities indigenous to North Africa long referred to as Berbers.

The carpets are woven by the women on small traditional looms, either at home or in specialised workshops.

They are then categorized into various styles, depending on their region of origin and their designs.

Some of Morocco's finest rugs are crafted from high-quality sheep wool in Jbel Sirwa just south of the Atlas Mountains, and dyed using natural pigments from plants like henna, pomegranate peels, or indigo.

Though industrial dyes have replaced natural ones for most weavers because they are cheaper and can be produced more quickly.

"This tradition has been handed down for centuries, from mothers to daughters," said Safia Imnoutres, who leads a local women's weaving cooperative.

She was one of the women showcasing their creations at a recent festival in Taznakht dedicated to safeguarding the heritage.

- 'Comes from within' -

Creating a single carpet can take two to four weeks depending on its size, said Benchri, speaking in Tamazight, the community's language recognized as an official language alongside Arabic in Morocco.

"I choose the colors as I go, according to my feelings," she added.

Imnoutres also described the process as "instinctive", guided by emotion rather than a predetermined design.

"Weaving is an expression of the women's feelings, when they are joyful, when they are melancholic," she added. "It's an art that comes from within."

But beyond its artistic value, weaving is a vital source of income.

Every Thursday, many travel to a weekly market to sell their rugs, often to middlemen who set the prices.

On average, a large rug sells for just 250 Moroccan dirhams (around $24), with its final price later raking astronomical profits.

In cities like Marrakech, some 250 kilometres (160 miles) north of Taznakht, they are sold in bazaars for up to ten times the original price.

Other rugs are listed at up to $6,000 on online platforms.

"We earn very little," said Benchri. "The intermediaries decide the price, and we have no choice but to accept it because this is our livelihood."

These diminishing returns, she added, have contributed to making the craft less attractive for younger women and jeopardising the handcraft tradition.

Additionally, the influx of cheaper, machine-made rugs has deepened competition.

To address these challenges, a new exhibition space in Taznakht allows some weavers to sell their work directly to buyers, cutting out middlemen.

The center also tries to open new avenues for these women to sell their products independently through courses in digital marketing.

"If this heritage isn't made financially viable, we risk losing it," Imnoutres warned.