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It takes me a moment to translate the content i’ve been creating, yep. Please enjoy what’s available in english so far. Articles and interviews with artists, creatrix and entrepreneurs.

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A conversation with Almunis Alejandra Ortiz

by Crista Castellanos
written by Crista Castellanos

Have you ever wondered what your medicine is? What you came here to give and to share? The music of Almunis Alejandra Ortiz has been for many people I know, myself included, a great travel companion, particularly when I felt I had lost my way. A few days after her arrival in Barichara, which marks her return to Colombia after 17 years, I had the opportunity to sit down and talk with her.

Her sonorous fertility and lyrics invite us to ask ourselves about the root, about what nourishes and sustains us. That deep exploration, to which she herself was called when studying at the Berklee College of Music, led her to create Lulacruza, a group with which she closed a chapter in 2017, and through which she woveher connection to Latin American sounds together with a spiritual path of intense experiences. Today, through Minük, her new musical project with partner Markandeya, Almunis invites us to raise our eyes to the sky and ask ourselves about the medicine of the stars.
And amongst the stars, which are burning suns, Mirando el Fuego is born, their most recent collaboration with El Búho, a song that in my opinion embodies much of the essence of our time: the awakening of the feminine spirit that compassionately embraces the masculine, and understands that the masculine spirit also goes through the pain of reinventing itself and being born through childbirth itself. This global healing reminds us that the deeper and healthier our root is, the more we can expand and access the messages of the celestial spheres. Recognizing ourselves as channels of consciousness is the path to manifesting our own medicine.
If a woman is healed, all men are healed; if a man is healed, all women are healed. The journey of forgiving the father instead of killing him, from a symbolic perspective, demands courage. The value of not blaming the other and not seeing them as separate from me. This uncomfortable and liberating process of demolishing our own structures, questions in whose hands or in what we have placed our own healing. It is an awakening of collective consciousness that shakes even those ancestral and patriarchal traditions, which have often been healing without recognizing their own illness. It is urgent that we heal our altars, and, with love and without mercy, overthrow the “false gods” that have been wont to guide our lives.
I wonder if Almunis, like those of us who have found a cure in her music, also went through her own dark night of the soul in recent years. From her home in the mountains of her father’s land, the initial exploration and initiation of sound as a healing tool evolves towards an even more unifying perspective: that of service. Through Sonido Sana and its Embodied Voice workshops, she creates encounters for those who want to awaken their own voice as an instrument of reconnection with the purpose of life. A way of teaching singing that is not limited to vocal technique or the quest for applause. Paraphrasing Almunis: We do not express ourselves (writing, dancing, drawing, cooking, weaving…) to be loved, we express ourselves because we are love.
We teach what we most need to learn. What would you do to remember who you are and what you have come for? What would you teach while healing, and what would you heal by teaching? What would be your tool, your instrument? Or simply, as Mary Oliver, another woman indisputably connected with her creative mission, once wrote:

Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what do you intend to do with your one wild and precious life?***

From left to right: Markandeya, Minük and Almunis Alejandra, in their home. Barichara, Colombia.

*** The summer day, a poem by Mary Oliver, click.

Images and text by Crista Castellanos.

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The Narratives We Tell

by Crista Castellanos
written by Crista Castellanos

A short interview with Usifu Jalloh, story teller from Sierra Leona.

If we understand that our lives, that we live from the time we wake up in the morning till the time we go to bed at night. That our lives are either telling a story, watching a story, listening a story or reading a story or doing a story. That’s what our lives is really all about. When you can be very aware of what your story is, your narrative, what it is, that’s when you are ready to change what you don’t like in your narrative. I’m Usifu Jalloh, otherwise some people call me The cowfoot prince, I’m a storyteller, I see myself as an architect  of social change and cultural awakening.
Before I came to Colombia I told one of my best friends that I was coming to Colombia, the first thing he says: “Be careful so that they don’t kidnap you. But here I am in Colombia in the beautiful Botanical Garden, birds chirping in the air, the weathers is beautiful, with very beautiful people, it’s nice, Which narrative do we believe? You see?My country Sierra Leone went through a war narrative over 10 years and the stories told all over the world. And then we realise that we don’t like that narrative. So, we had peace.
The press tells a story, and here we go again, the press tells a story of what they want us to… or what they want to hypnotise us with. But I choose as a storyteller to tell the full story, to tell the round, complete story. Why? Because I am whole, I am complete, I am a circle, and I believe every human being is a circle, is complete. So, therefore, we have to think very carefully and be very conscious about what narratives we tell.
The key to the emotion is rhythm, is music. The key to opening the mind is emotion. Our whole body is rhythm, your heart is beating rhythmically, when your heart misses a beat you know it! I listen to the drum, as the drummer listens to the songs and the drummer watches the dances, everything is closely knit together. Every dance we do tells a story, every drumming we do tells a story, so dancing is just the physical expression of an oral narrative or let me go even further, a spiritual narrative. And dancing is just one wonderful way so we can visualise it.
Jack and the beanstalk, is a very interesting story. Who is Jack who is the giant? And this is a world wide famous story. Jack and the beanstalk When that story is told from the European point of view, the giant is the villain. But let us tell the story from the giant’s point of view. Who went in and stole the giant’s golden nuggets and so on? Who? Who went up there and stole?
So when we look at the narratives that has been told to us by the neocolonialism. We got to check that Colombia’s narrative, Argentina’s narrative, Peru’s narrative, Sierra Leona’s narrative and on and on and on, so we can really understand what are those narratives are, what are those stories, who’s point of view are we looking at?
We think many times that we are so educated. And we go into communities and we don’t respect their culture, we don´t respect their narratives, because we think we are educated. And then we go in there and then we do things and disrupt the rythm of that community, and we walk away thinking it won’t affect us, no, the shit will follow. You’re a corporate organisation you come to Colombia you build a dam and you deprive the people from their fish from their natural resources, it will come back to bite you. So whether you sell weapons to other countries to fight their wars, guess what, it will come back to bite you it will follow you and will stink behind you. It will come back to bite you.
What’s earth if it’s not the plant? What’s earth if it’s not the ant? What’s earth if it’s not you? You cannot say the leaves are beautiful and then you say the root is ugly. Those leaves, those beautiful leaves are born from that root that is under  that ground. And those leaves will go nowhere if that root is not fertilised, is not fed, respected. When we talk about native Americans, how many years have they lived with nature? Thousands of years. We understand one thing: we are custodians of the earth. I strongly believe that the success of any man or woman. The success of every nation is entirely dependent on the narrative that they believe. Entirely depends on that narrative. What are you being? What are you believing?
So I love to tell stories that can challenge people to think about their own narratives. What’s your own narrative?

“The Narratives We Tell” is a short video documentary based on an audio interview with the African storyteller Usifu Jalloh, during his visit to Colombia (2015). Produced by Milo Cabieles (Nimba Danzas Africanas) and Crista Castellanos. “The Narratives We Tell” offers a glimpse at the current transition Colombia faces, from the long armed conflict to the gradual construction of a history of peace. We are the stories we tell and we have to the power to change those that confine us.

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Quinua y Amaranto, a vegetarian restaurant.

by Crista Castellanos
written by Crista Castellanos

 

Quinua y Amaranto, a vegetarian restaurant in the La Candelaria neighbourhood of Bogotá, offers much more than just good products and good food. A chat with Magdalena Barón, who has managed this project for more than eight years, generates ideas, words, and questions. The tranquility and thoughtfulness with which she speaks are refreshing. Her short pauses reflect a women who has built, over time and life experience, a connection between herself and what she believes, what she does, offers, and consumes. Remembering her while I write, I have the feeling of having spoken with someone who wants to be consistent in what she thinks and feels in her heart.
Without really knowing her, I’m just writing personal impressions here, and probably risk boring readers who like objective writing. But faced with the need for proof or justifications, all I can say is that the coherence she communicates is reflected in the work she does with the other women in Quinua y Amaranto every day. Work which is seen, smelt, and tasted at lunchtime, in a single menu consisting of a soup, main dish, juice, and dessert: a vegetarian corrientazo (basic meal) which has nothing basic or common about it. Flavours, smells and colours, juices, salads, sweets and cereals which, despite being from our continent, are largely unknown to us. Fruits, seeds and roots which we don’t use at home, which we don’t grow, whose smell we don’t know, and whose colour and shape we can’t even imagine. Our high-speed cooking limits us, and curiosity about ourselves falls asleep.
As well as telling us about quinoa and amaranth, the star products of the restaurant, Magdalena also talked about guatila, a food which is scorned as the “poor-person’s potato,” in the same way in which chicha was also looked down on for its supposed power to stupefy. She told us about mamay and arazá, amongst many more fruits and products which are a whole story in themselves, seeds of other items.
Beyond letting people know about a fruit or cereal known, this shop invites us to re-view everything that we are. It invites us to re-discover and value the forgotten as a key act in consuming, buying, cooking, and eating. It’s not simply about a vegetarian restaurant, it’s a place with a caring approach to work and commerce which questions our consumption habits. In a world where progress is synonymous with untiring machinery, speed, economic growth, and purchasing power, finding people that know and trust small-scale producers, offer a good quality product, without hurry, and small-scale, is always a nice surprise. Magdalena doesn’t sacrifice quality for quantity. For her, the success or progress of a business is not measured in franchises or in large-scale production, rather in constant evolution which doesn’t override principles, philosophy or the way in which life itself is lived and dreamed.
In Quinua y Amaranto, the variety is not in a menu full of different dishes, but rather in the particularity of the ingredients which are used and the way in which they are prepared. Vegetables, empanadas, condiments, biscuits, cereals, fruits, infusions, artisanal cheeses, products as far as possible organic. The importance of knowing the value of what’s on offer and that every project, whether it’s commercial or not, has a direction and clear guidelines so as not to sacrifice, in the name of progress, what they believe.
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Colombian Crafts

by Crista Castellanos
written by Crista Castellanos
The person you see in the photo is Astro. To tell the story of her life, you have to name regions at the extremes and frontiers of Colombian geography. A visitor from towns eight days away from Bogotá, she has got to know plants, resins, fibres, fruits, seeds and all kinds of materials that are used every day in indigenous communities. Objects, forms, and uses that lose validity. Creations which disappear with the arrival of new utilities, the majority from the plastics industry.
This is how the sieve the grandmothers used to use to strain juice or sift flour was replaced by a strainer. If you are lucky enough to have one of those grandmothers who holds on to everything, you might still find close to you artisanal materials and instruments that open the door to the past, to a memory which is also yours. So, you ask yourself things that enrich your world and your vocabulary: What is this object called? What’s it for? What’s it made of? Who made it and where?
Maybe this is the great power of craftwork: to generate questions. Hand-made objects which come into our lives and invite us to ask ourselves about their creators. Tikuna woodworkers, Piaroa weavers, Sikuani potters. Colombians like us. Close neighbours of a nature which is generous in materials which we know but rarely name: Chiquichiqui or Piassava fiber palm, Moriche palm, piragua reed, the woody grass yaré, and even the Bloodwood tree. So objects talk. Their presence questions sharp observers, attracts awakened senses and, beyond pure decoration, affirm that the unknown is not that far away; sometimes it is hidden, forgotten, in family cupboards and drawers.
Astro’s eyes have looked across landscapes that many of us have only seen in photos. Her hands have touched fibres, resins, and materials which one day not long from now will be watched over by the museum’s famous “do not touch” signs. A professional in textiles, and temporary member of organizations such as the Fundación Etnollano, the Fundación Zio-A’i, the Mayor’s Office of Inírida and Artesanías de Colombia; she has woven through her professional experience connections and friendships with artisans from regions like the Amazon and the Orinoco. Today, she developes her a own project, sharing knowledge and unique objects through Amahia, in Tibasosa, Boyaca.
The objects which you see on this page are a small sample of her travels and meetings. Pimpinas, stoves, baskets, bags which cut through her personal history and which arrive in Bogotá full of stories. Traditions and beliefs which make the invisible visible, and name out of silence that which most of us omit. Stories which get lost or which get left behind like maternal surnames. In Astro’s case – a singular case – this surname clarifies her spirit and reinforces her special nickname: Fagua, which in Muisca means star, guide between possible paths.
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Clorofila, an eco-friendly shop in Bogotá

by Crista Castellanos
written by Crista Castellanos

I came across Clorofila whilst looking for somewhere to buy organic food in Bogotá. A discreet place, alongside the shadows and reflections of the trees in Parkway. With its groceries made up of clean vegetables grown in a farm 45 minutes from Bogotá, this shop was born of a kermesse in the El Nogal neighbourhood several years ago. Its creators are Liliana Morales, who has always been interested in healthy cooking, and Leopoldo Serrano, whose family has worked the land for many years.
Leopoldo and Liliana speak about what they are doing with sincerity and freshness. Whilst defending eco-friendly and clean products, they are also honest when they say that people can eat whatever they want. In a country like ours, the interesting thing is that there is a bit of everything, for everyone, whether vegetarian or not, eco-friendly or not, and without having to revert to great philosophies, quests, or spiritual rigmaroles that direct everything we say, use, and consume.
Since talking about freedom and food sovereignty is complex, I’ll restrict myself to the idea that my right to consume is inseparable from my responsibility to know, or at least question, the impact that what I consume has. It’s a simple exercise; asking myself if I really need a new pair of shoes, not forgetting my shopping bag, deciding to leave the car at home and walk. Freedom implies deciding and recognising your own responsibility. “Decide what you like, organic or not, but be informed in your decisions,” I believe that few traders talk to you this way, without wanting to convince you of anything.
This Christmas, I thought the other day, it would be good to give presents that have a low environmental impact. Presents that are completely or largely recycled and recyclable. In Clorofila you can look further into what you buy, and include the producer’s information as part of the present; after all, objects have their own history, and that’s what makes them valuable. Thinking about this as I was walking amongst the shop’s coloured objects, I remembered an anecdote that I’m not sure if I read, imagined or was told: someone in a supermarket, with a lettuce in their hand, asks, “Excuse me, where does this lettuce come from?” to which the shop’s employee responds: “from a lorry.” How short the story of products in large chains can be.
So, it’s worth asking yourself where and who we are buying from. Do they implement fair trade? Do they offer honesty? Are they suppliers who, when they plant their fruits and vegetables, seek to produce wellbeing as well as money? Neighbourhood traders who deal face-to-face with their consumers tend to sell in their shops what they eat at home, and display on their shelves what they serve on their table, and give to their children. Without humbling speeches, without believing themselves the example we should all be following, this is what I found, without adornment, in Clorofila.
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