Wall Hangings From Oaxaca
By BETTY FREUDENHEIM; BETTY FREUDENHEIM is a weaver and co-author of ''Interlacing: The Elemental Fabric.'' (Kodansha/Harper & Row).
Published: January 10, 1988
THE cacti, dwarf trees and small farm plots that dot the vast plateau of the Mexican state of Oaxaca create subtle harmonies of green and ocher right up to the jagged gray profile of the Sierra Madre. As the Pan American Highway traces an unswerving black line across this alto plano, or high plane, a blue signpost overhead indicates, by a pattern of white lines symbolizing interwoven threads, the turnoff for Teotitlan del Valle. The name means ''God-place of the Valley,'' but it is locally known as the town of 5,000 weavers.
For centuries in Teotitlan and throughout the region, lessons in weaving and spinning have been a part of childhood. In the nearby village of Santo Tomas, women and children make belts and small purses; their shuttles form intricate patterns on simple backstrap looms, consisting of warp threads tied to trees at one end and, at the other, around the waist of the weaver. In Oaxaca, weavers produce brightly colored tablecloths and bedspreads on broad wooden looms. The shawls with knotted fringes, called rebozos, that are woven in Mitla do double duty throughout the country as head pads on which women balance loads of all kinds, as when they take vegetables to market. Teotitlan's reputation once rested on its traditional woolen serapes, handwoven by men; today the men weave rugs for tourists and export while the women do the spinning.
Teotitlan's main street, Avenida Juarez, will awaken any driver who has been mesmerized by the monotony of the asphalt highway. The rock-studded dirt roadbed twists like a dry riverbed as it ascends the hillside. Behind high adobe walls with large wooden gates are the weavers' homes.
A first stop at Hidalgo, a covered outdoor weaving market (open from 10 to 5 daily), provides an overview of the work produced by local artisans. Dozens of rugs hang from the bare wooden beams; others are stacked on tables or folded on the floor. The interplay of brilliantly colored yarns creates a fiesta-like atmosphere.
It is appropriate that these rugs are displayed as wall hangings rather than walked upon. As in Renaissance tapestries, their woven designs are often re-creations of famous works of art. In some there is a strong influence of the artistic heritage of the region. Tourists who have visited the nearby 2,000-year-old ruins of the palace at Mitla will recognize the dramatic stone facade's geometric motifs worked in red and black yarns. Other weavers have re-created the codices or carvings of the Yucatan, which serve as illustrated histories of pre-Hispanic Mexico.
Artisans striving for a more popular appeal have borrowed from masterpieces of modern art. Copies of Matisse's blue paper cutouts are ubiquitous, although the figures differ slightly with each translation into yarn. Versions of the Spanish artist Joan Miro's paintings in primary hues hang nearby. There are also variations on M. C. Escher's rows of fish profiles that metamorphose into stylized birds and then back to rows of fish. Rugs with multicolored stripes may have been inspired by the American minimalist painter Kenneth Noland - or he by them.
ONE basic characteristic distinguishes these weavings from European tapestries. In traditional, European-style work, the back of the tapestry is covered with rivulets of loose thread ends, left hanging after each yarn change. The serape convention prevails: every new thread is woven into the cloth. As a result, one side is the mirror image of the other, so the weaving can be reversed.
Prices vary according to size and the complexity of the design. Simple 3- by 5-foot rugs may cost less than $20. A more intricate pattern of the same size, requiring 15 or more days of work, might cost $100. Immense, room-size works of art that occupy a weaver for two to three months will probably cost more than $1,000. Prices for small rugs, especially those sold at the weekly markets of villages around Teotitlan, are negotiable. Roberta French, the United States consul in Oaxaca, who is also a weaver, advises shoppers not to worry about making an offer that is too low. ''You never pay too little,'' she said. ''They know what the bottom price is.''
For those who want to see the work in progress, a knock at almost any gate in town should gain admission to weavers' homes. From the central courtyard - the hub of activity in every home - open doorways provide partial views of looms, spinning wheels, dye pots and cooking. The sounds of chickens, radio music and chatting voices are hushed as the visitor enters, but the rhythmic counterpoint of the looms continues in the background.
In the court, several generations of women, grouped together, card fleeces to untangle the fibers or spin yarn on large wheels. One area is set apart for dyeing. Here, an immense pot may be bubbling over a wood fire as scarlet, indigo and saffron skeins hang drying on the overhead lines.
Isaac Vasquez, who is a master weaver and dyer, uses the formulas of his ancestors to make natural dyes from plants. In the showroom of his home, at Avenida Juarez 44, he has set up a display with an array of flowers, roots and bark next to samples of the yarns colored with the dyes they produce. There is also a container filled with tiny gray cochineal insects, which produce a bright scarlet dye when boiled. This insect, known to have been cultivated for dyeing by the Zapotec Indians before the 13th century, created a sensation in Spain when it was brought back by the conquistadors. Lately, cochineal insects have become so scarce that they have to be imported from Brazil. Although many local weavers will tell you that they too use natural dyes, most have in fact resorted to packaged aniline products that are easier to prepare.