The crag cal/ed El Indio provides tbe

backdrop to the vil/age o{ Mata Ortiz.

Photo: Richard O'Connor.

Introduction

N T H E HI GH I'LA I NS OF NORTHERN CHI H UAHUA, Mexico, a

crumbli ng village lies ar the base of a notc hed peak called
El indio. The village, much longer rhan ir is widc, stretches between the Palan-
gan as, a brancb of the Casas Grandes River, and the abandoned Chihuahua Al
Pacifico Railroad. The plaster peels from low rectangular buildings across from
tbe old railroad sration. Adobe bricks show through, disfiguring tbe painted
advertising of former stores and cabarets. Lirtle trace is left of the huge hunber
mili that once made the village a boom rown. The railroad repair yard tbat
serviced the rolling stock for a vasr nerwork of northern Chihuabuan trains is
also gone. Cattle gr aze beyond the single line of rracks, somerimes wandering
acr oss into the dusty streets of the village. A first glance suggests a place with
a past but no future.
H owever, a second look reveals signs of something else. A few of the
houses ha ve new plaster covering rhe old adobe. WaiJs ha ve been repaired and
additions made. A new house sta nds along the back street next to the river. T he
interior of this house has plasterboa rd walls, acoustical ceilings, and a kitchen
tha t looks like it was ordered from a Sears catalog. The you ng man who lives
here with his wife and childre n makes a living creating th in-walled bowls and
jars, decorating them with delica tely paintcd red and black designs.
Matuo Quezada is a second-generation poner who has never had any
other occupation. H e a nd his wo rk a re examples of a ceramic art mo vement
tha t blust forth in recent yea rs in the ha lf-forgotten vi llage of Mata O rtiz on
the remote plains of what the Mexicans cal! El Norte.
Matuo was a tiny baby when his uncle, Juan Quezada, began to make
pottery. Since his own childhood, Ju an had been experimenting with day and
colors. His only teachers were rhe prehistoric pottery shards he found on the
ground while gathering firewood. He stuffed these beautifully paint ed little
pieces in bis pockets and wondered ::1bour the ancient people who made them.
l.f these long-vanished artists could make such beauti fui objects, there must be
clay somewhere nearby in rhe mounrains, plains, or arroyos. Eventually, he
found it in all those places. He brought the clay home, mixed it with water, and
tried to make little pots. But he failed. He rried again and failed. The bottoms
were not right; the clay cracked; the painr would not stick; and there was no