FERNANDO LAPOSSE GHOSTS OF OUR TOWNS
True Colors: Fernando Laposse’s Avocado Portraits
by Glenn AdamsonDoña Lucy sits among the corn. A hundred-odd ears of it, red and purple and yellow and gold, all the colors of the plant that nature allows, but most of us seldom see. The corn spills bountifully around Doña Lucy; it lies on the ground, is piled up in a basket at her right elbow, and at her other side, stands in a bound bundle, still in its husks. A single stalk rises behind her like a planted flag, staking a claim on the land – her people’s land, worked for generations beyond counting.
This is one of three monumental portraits that grace Fernando Laposse’s new exhibition at Friedman Benda, Ghosts of Our Towns. The title might encourage us to read the image of Doña Lucy, and her fellow villagers Don Emiliano and Saul, as if they were visitors from another time, spirits of the past. But look again: these people are palpably present, and possessed of an arresting immediacy. As with everything else Fernando Laposse makes – the cabinets and seating with their abundant pelts of agave fiber, the Totomoxtle tables with their luminous maize marquetry – the portraits incarnate a contemporaneity that has a more than ordinary staying power.
Partly, this has to do with the sheer character of these individuals, which he has managed to capture beautifully. All three live in Tonahuixtla, the rural community where Laposse has been working for years, developing his celebrated Totomoxtle project; they are among his many partners in this enterprise, which is equal parts ethics, aesthetics, and ecology. Doña Lucy, he explains, is an indigenous botanist, “the one that hand picks all the seeds we will plant every season,” and also the first woman ever to lead the village’s council of elders. Don Emiliano is a local builder, who helped to reconstruct the workshop where Totomoxtle is made. Saul’s story is one of departure and return: Laposse remembers playing with him as a child, when he would visit Tonahuixtla with his family. Saul left for the USA when he was seventeen, becoming an agricultural worker in California – one of many economic migrants to leave in the wake of the passage of NAFTA, which devastated rural Mexico’s economy. After twelve years away, he returned to be with his family, and now balances farming with his role as a manager in the town workshop. “In my opinion,” Laposse says, “Saul represents one of the best success stories of the project, which is to create a situation where returning migrants can see a future in Tonahuixtla.”
These personal narratives cannot fully be conveyed in an image, but Laposse’s portraits do conjure the world in which they have unfolded. It is a world that he has helped to shape. To an extent highly unusual in contemporary design – a field in which well-meant but superficially symbolic gestures are, unfortunately, commonplace – he has conceived his work as a means of developing the prosperity of rural communities. This takes time. Laposse often talks about the temporal disparity of the present moment. On the one hand, there is the breathless pace of the international marketplace, with its lead times of months, weeks, or – in this era of just-in-time manufacturing and on-demand delivery – even days or hours. On the other, there are the deeper rhythms those of agriculture, which furnishes humanity with its actual sustenance, and matures only over years, or decades. This expansive conception of growth over time has characterized all of Laposse’s projects, which unfold over many stages: learning about the situations facing the communities where he works, and gaining their trust; understanding the biological and economic value chain, its weak links and how they might be strengthened; the actual design phase, taking into account this complex intersection of factors; and finally, the exploration of materiality – the what, how, where and who of making. This last aspect of his practice has deepened over time, taking equal priority alongside his critical intentions.
Thus, while the Conflict Avocados project is Laposse’s newest body of work, it has already been in development for years, with significant support from the National Gallery of Victoria – only the latest instance of the institution’s extraordinary support of the contemporary design avant garde. His interest in the resource has many dimensions – ranging across biology, history, and material culture – but at its core it is political, a means of raising the visibility of an ongoing conflict over land use in Mexico, which has remained firmly off the radar of consumers who unwittingly contribute to it. This is a complicated story (well told by Laposse in a recent talk for The World Around, available online), but in brief, what you need to know is that despite the avocado’s reputation as a healthy option, whether in your salad or in your beauty products, the actual industry that produces the fruit is a destructive monoculture. It is typical of how we grow food in the industrial era, efficiently feeding an evergrowing global population, but wrecking communities in the process, and imposing unsustainable homogeneity
across the land.
Over 95% of the avocados sold today are derived from a single tree, grown in 1932 by a Californian horticulturist called Rudolph Hass. Many of these identical avocados are grown in Michoacan, historically a biodiverse region of Mexico, now dominated by this one profitable cash crop. This extractive propagation has led to rampant deforestation, including in one of the key habitats for migratory monarch butterflies, whose populations have been steadily decreasing as a result, and also in human habitations, where a centuries-old sustainable farming ecosystem has been wiped out. Protestors against the avocado cartels have been subjected to violent suppression, and the director of the monarch butterfly sanctuary, Homero Gomez, was tragically murdered in 2020.
It was against this tragic backdrop that Laposse first began learning about avocados, and thinking about how to integrate them into his work. His initial instinct was to collaborate with people in Cheran, a village in Michoacan that heroically stood up in the face of illegal logging in 2011. (Aerial views tell the story with brutal efficiency: today, Cheran remains lush and green, while to all sides are dusty brown fields, blasted by over-farming and erosion.) But he saw that asking the people there to grow avocados, even in this context, would be inappropriate: “I realized that it was extremely offensive to try and make them work with the fruit, for them it means death and a symbolic return to how things were there before the revolt.” Instead, his source is a guacamole vendor who plies his trade near Laposse’s studio in Mexico City.
Though Laposse initially experimented with avocado marquetry, along the lines of Totomoxtle, he ultimately realized that using it for dye would be a better option. The waste peels and pits could be used to create a gorgeous palette of pinks and peaches and deeper purplish browns, supplemented by yellows made from marigolds raised in Tonahuixtla. Resting Place, a low-slung daybed features a patchwork of these colors; the nuanced tonalities wrap around the object’s rounded, boat-like contours like a hand-drawn map. The avocado colors are also used to great effect in his pictorial works, which are collaged from pieces of dyed cotton. Among them is his most ambitious work to date, a 40-meter-long tapestry telling the story of Cheran, which will debut this December in the National Gallery of Victoria’s 2023 Triennial, along with a documentary film produced with support from the museum, and other works from the Conflict Avocados project, all of which will be retained in the NGV collection. One model in Laposse’s mind for this masterwork was the so-called Bayeux Tapestry (actually an embroidery), which depicts the Norman conquest of England – an analogy that emphasizes the high stakes of this battle over competing visions for the land and its inhabitation.
When I first spoke to Laposse about his interest in avocados, back in February 2021, he spoke frankly of his anger with the situation in Michoacan: the violence being perpetrated there; the heedless damage to the natural world; the results of an insistent “demand for a product on the other side of the world, without taking into account conditions where it has been harvested.” But if anger is all he had put into these works, they would do little to communicate the reality of the situation. Instead, he has offered something much more affecting: a deeply respectful regard, of the sort too often denied to people like Doña Lucy, Don Emiliano and Saul. The works are careful, straightforward acts of looking; importantly, they also show these impressive people looking right back at us, on equal terms. The pictures thus constitute an alternative “medium of exchange,” as it were, one based on mutual respect and recognition, rather than profit. In this respect, they also put a human face on the fundamentally holistic dynamics of his practice: he manages to address complex social issues while still arriving at charismatic objects, which will accumulate further meanings as they travel the world.
It’s an extremely profound thing that Laposse has done here: he simply witnesses these people, and the places they inhabit, as they truly are, in all their strength, all their richness. There’s no getting around the economic forces that impinge on rural Mexico, which are forbidding in their complexity. Their corrosive effects admit of no easy solution; and to fight for an alternative pathway, as happened in Cheran, requires extraordinary courage and commitment. But understanding the necessity of change? That’s easy. Just open your eyes, and see.
Hair of the Dog, 2023
Agave fibers, brass, plywood
76.75 x 45.25 x 34.25 inches
195 x 115 x 87 cm
Edition of 8
Furry Mirror, 2023
Agave fibers and plywood
78.75 x 78.75 x 11.75 inches
200 x 200 x 30 cm
Edition of 8
Pink Furry Armchair, 2022
Dyed agave fibers, upholstered linen, plywood
27.25 x 47 x 39.5 inches
69 x 119 x 100 cm
Edition of 8
Don Emiliano, 2023
Cotton dyed with avocado and marigold flower
94.5 x 74.75 inches
240 x 190 cm
Unique
Doña Lucy, 2023
Cotton dyed with avocado and marigold flower
94.5 x 74.75 inches
240 x 190 cm
Unique
Saul, 2023
Cotton dyed with avocado and marigold flower
94.5 x 74.75 inches
240 x 190 cm
Unique
Corn Kumiko, 2023
Corn husk marquetry, solid beech, brass hardware
35.5 x 60.25 x 20 inches
90 x 153 x 51 cm
Edition of 8
Resting Place, 2023
Upholstered plywood, avocado dyed cotton and plated upholstery tacks
20.5 x 86.5 x 37.5 inches
52 x 220 x 95 cm
Edition of 8
Inspired by commission for National Gallery of Victoria’s 2023 Triennial
Totomoxtle Snake Coffee Table, 2021
Heirloom corn husk marquetry on maple, eco-resin
16.25 x 85.5 x 45.25 inches
41 x 217 x 115 cm
Edition of 3
Totomoxtle Snake Dining Table, 2021
Heirloom corn husk marquetry on maple, eco-resin
29.5 x 85.5 x 45.25 inches
75 x 217 x 115 cm
Edition of 3
Cultivating Change: The Tonahuixtla Experiment
by Mario BallesterosNestled in the rugged, semi-arid Mixteca region in Puebla, Mexico, Santo Domingo Tonahuixtla is a tiny and remote village of 700 inhabitants. In Náhuatl, Tonahuixtla means “place of burning thorns,” an evocative name for this secluded but hardy community, where the bond between life and land has been cultivated across generations. For centuries, the town has been growing corn as its main source of sustenance. In the past few decades, though, Tonahuixtla, like many other rural places in Mexico, has been battered by poverty, erosion and desertification, generational struggles, forced migration, and the looming threat of climate crisis.
This is the unlikely context for the work of Fernando Laposse. Unlikely because he has spent most of his life skipping back and forth between Mexico City and Europe, and the better part of his formative years in the buzzy classrooms of Central Saint Martins, and then working in some of the most exacting design studios of London, a city he called home for over a decade and where he began experimenting with natural materials and fibers. However, an intimate family connection to Tonahuixtla had been established during his childhood, when his parents sent Fernando and his sister to spend summers in the village under the watchful care of Delfino Martínez Gil, a prominent town figure who also happened to be employed by Laposse’s father.
The seed of this experience was sown so deep in Fernando that, even though it had been buried in his past, it sprouted decades later, with an intensity that was hard to ignore. By rekindling his connection to Tonahuixtla, Fernando Laposse shaped his voice and his calling as a designer: a path leading toward the regeneration of a community. Through intricate, deep-seated connections—both social and emotional—established in those early years, Laposse unearthed a sense of purpose that would bridge his past to a future vision: a plan for systemic transformation. Corn would be at the heart of the undertaking.
It all began with totomoxtle, the unassuming dried husks that Fernando chose to work with in the First Food Residency program fostered by the British Council in Oaxaca, at the Centro de las Artes de San Agustín, which he attended in 2014. The program focused on creative approaches to climate change and food sustainability. In Oaxaca, Laposse found a hotbed of political activism and cultural debate centered on the defense of native corn varieties against the encroachment of transgenic crops. He sought to contribute to this vital conversation by enhancing the commercial potential of heirloom varieties, employing the transformative power of design.
The idea was simple: to breathe new life into totomoxtle, a byproduct often relegated to waste or livestock feed, and transform it into a sustainable and emotionally evocative material for crafting unique design objects. The remarkable spectrum of natural colors found in the leaves, ranging from vibrant purples and deep reds to creamy whites, carried a unique aesthetic opportunity. Fernando incorporated this diverse palette into a marquetry-style surface that would be suitable for application to walls and large-scale furniture, yet intricate enough for smaller objects like lamps and flower vases. In the process of elevating the humble husk, Fernando also created an additional source of income and therefore a compelling incentive to return to cultivating native Mexican varieties, even though they were less efficient in terms of yield compared to hybrids and GMO varieties. After producing a few formal experiments with the corn leaf veneer, he wanted to scale the project, and immediately thought of Tonahuixtla as the perfect testing ground.
When Laposse returned to the town after a ten-year-long absence, he found a dramatically different place from the one he remembered and cherished. The place felt desolate. Ancestral milpas —small plots where corn, beans, squash, and other crops once thrived—lay abandoned and forlorn. The adverse impacts of intensive agro-industrial practices, coupled with climate change, had taken a toll on the land and driven many of the town’s people to look for opportunities elsewhere. The dire circumstances in Tonahuixtla marked a profound shift for Laposse and his Totomoxtle project, prompting a shift from an individual creative exploration to a comprehensive, long-term community initiative. For him, it was more than a design project; it was a matter of creating a lifeline for a town in need of opportunities.
Laposse’s ambition extended far beyond the present. He envisioned a future where Totomoxtle could transform Tonahuixtla for the better. The collaborative nature of the project was vital from the beginning, in order to adapt
to the communal organization and property structure of the ejido which is the base of collective decision-making processes in the village. He devised a twofold strategy: to reintroduce native corn varieties, and create new skills and jobs within the community. He brought key allies on board, including the International Maize and Wheat Improvement Center (CIMMYT), an agricultural research non-profit dedicated to improving seeds as well as the livelihoods of small-scale farmers in developing countries through sustainable practices.
By replacing hybrid seeds — which can only be grown once and need to be purchased annually — with native varieties capable of being stored and replanted without relying on chemical pesticides and fertilizers, the Totomoxtle project has granted local farmers in Tonahuixtla greater autonomy and control over their crops, as well as the chance to become more self-sufficient in food production. In the almost ten years since Fernando began collaborating with local farmers, the project has also played a significant role in elevating soil quality, gradually curbing erosion and alleviating the negative impacts of intensive agriculture. Finally, it has bolstered the town’s income by repurposing corn husks within the Totomoxtle project, all within a circular framework. The profits from the project pay for an advance given to every farmer in town that plants native seeds to prepare the land and use the milpa system. The seeds are given away for free by the community seed bank. During the harvest, the farmers that choose to use Laposse’s custom-designed dehusking machines get paid extra. After the harvest, the leaves are transformed into variations of the Totomoxtle veneer.
Many of the town’s families are involved directly or indirectly with the project, either participating as farmers or contributing to the production of craft and design objects utilizing the Totomoxtle marquetry. Recently, the initiative has expanded to establish a self-sustaining workshop and community center that is used for both town assemblies and manufacturing totomoxtle. Here, local women and men might be planning a local festivity; discussing politics or deciding what to grow on communal lands for the next harvest one day; or drying, cutting, ironing and assembling corn husks into vibrant, polychromatic patterns. Before Totomoxtle, there was no real preexisting craft tradition alive in Tonahuixtla to tap into. The choice of establishing a workshop in a community without any specialized artisans who could easily be employed as skilled labor — as is typically common with many designers in Mexico — was deliberate. Laposse’s goal was to empower and cultivate new skills, not simply to modify existing artisanal practices. Instead of acting as a simple intermediary, he built a symbiotic partnership, investing in the community and cultivating a new sense of pride.
The shared knowledge that is the base of the traditional communal organization of Tonahuixtla has profoundly influenced the project, in numerous ways. One of the most successful varieties of corn that has been reintroduced came not from the CIMMYT seed bank, but from a 90-year-old villager that had kept the seeds safely at home for years. Another recent milestone, which embodies the project’s deep collaborative nature, is the development of a new subspecies of corn with a husk that is a subtle shade of pink. This was achieved by cross-pollinating a native white corn with a red one and selecting the best qualities of both, which is what they have done for generations. This new range of colors of totomoxtle was incorporated into Laposse’s Kumiko cabinet series, in a beautiful example of how the townspeople’s tacit agricultural knowledge has become a key co-designing element.
The most powerful legacy of Laposse’s Totomoxtle experiment transcends design, seeping into the social and environmental fabric of Tonahuixtla. This journey traverses not just physical landscapes, but also cultural ones. The appropriation of the project through community involvement and guardianship highlights a shift in mentalities on both sides of the equation. A transformation of values, a restoration of self-determination, power and purpose for a community of proactive contributors. It’s a transition that resonates with Laposse’s aspirations—to place the project’s control firmly in the hands of the community, ensuring its continuity and growth.
Laposse has delivered a powerful proof of concept to the existential question of what design can actually do. When it goes beyond aesthetics or superficial and capricious markets, it actually can be a catalyst for change— a reminder that design has the power to shape identity, to redefine age-old narratives, and to restore dignity to communities marginalized by circumstance. Laposse proposes a model that trascends conventional norms of trend-driven design and advocates for long-lasting change. Totomoxtle stands as testament to design as a force that elevates not only materials, but also elevates lives.
