The Folk Tree

Joel Garcia
Master Papier-Maché Artist

by Amanda Parsons,
anthropologist, writer and
educational consultant to
museums. Amanda spent ten
years as writer-photographer
for National Geographic Magazine.

The brightly colored, fancifully imaginative papier-mache art of Mexico City brings out the child in us all. In spite of ourselves, smiles light up our faces as we ogle the laughing skeletons (who teach that in the end our lives on earth are just ephemeral journeys) or the "alebrijes" (the dragon-like creatures of our nightmares who are not nearly so frightening in daylight and painted in acrylic).

I had the great privilege of accompanying master papier-mache artist Joel Garcia on a visit to the children of Los Angeles' Wonderland Avenue Elementary School. Taking a day's break from Rocky Behr's Folk Tree, where he had been demonstrating and taking sales orders, Joel was as much a hero to the 600 (!!) excited kids as any Hollywood star.

From the age of eleven, Joel lived and apprenticed with his brother-in-law, Miguel Linares. He studied under Linares family scion, Pedro Linares, whose innovations elevated papier-mache from a street craft to an internationally valued art form.

Joel's creations are a revelation. He has refined his technique until his pieces have the lustre and detail of fine porcelain, but maintain a whimsy and character all their own. While respecting the traditional, he's creating new art forms: a skeleton chair with a devil perched on the throne, experiments with combinations of animal and mythical characters...

His hands never stop. Every piece, he says is a new vision for him. For the children, watching him at work and questioning him about his life was a brush with creative genius. Yet he is warm, generous, and encouraging.

He freely gave the six to eleven year olds all the secrets of his craft. They would put him out of a job, he teased, if they kept working at it.

He showed the eager pupils how to shape creatures with hardware store wire, how to form and use plaster molds for some skulls, how to give depth to their creations with newspaper and masking tape. He gave a recipe for the required paste by boiling flour and water. He kneaded the gooey concoction into small torn pieces of brown paper to smooth out the form of the papier-mache. He gently reinforce a dragon wing to give it strength. And he showed with his smiles, the satisfaction he takes in his works--and in theirs.

"Do you know," the children asked, "what you are going to make when you start?" "No," he replied, "each piece comes from my hands as I am making it."

"How long does it take you to make a piece?", they wondered. "At least a week," he said, "but because I have to count on drying time for paste and paint, I usually work on three or four pieces at a time."

"Do you ever make pieces with others, like on an assembly line?", they wanted to know. "Never," he answered, "except that my wife sometimes paints in the foundation colors."

"Does it make you sad when the Judas figures you make for Easter Saturday celebrations are blown up and disappear?," they queried. "No," he answered, "those are my favorites to make because so many people see them and participate in the ceremonies in the streets. A thousand people, or more, are there. It is how I started out--making these figures when I was a child. Then I went to live with the Linares in 1967 and learned to make pieces to keep and sell."

On the way back to Pasadena, the artist became a tourist as we stopped in Hollywood at the Chinese Mann Theater. There, artists of a different kind, had placed their hands or feet in cement and signed their names on the sidewalk. Symbols of theatrical accomplishments, these tableaux recognize some productions as ephemeral as the exploded Judas figures of Easter week in Mexico City, but as fondly remembered.

"Where," Joel wanted to know, "is Pedro Enfante?" We couldn't find his mark. Perhaps his memory will emerge in another form--from the hands of an extraordinary papier-mache artist who signs his work with a simple "Joel".