A personal essay in which reporter Alice Driver considers what lessons to take from a late uncle’s life.
A visit to the only shelter in Mexico for migrants who have been mutilated along the migrant trail.
In telling stories of the wood-fired kilns her father made by hand over the years, Alice Driver reminds us of the risks and rewards inherent in creative pursuits and the deep personal satisfaction that comes from the effort and sweat you put into your craft.
Alice Driver visits a migrant shelter in Juárez, Mexico where she meets migrants who appear to be in simultaneous state of movement and limbo, desperate to escape violence, poverty, and other misfortunes in their lives. Their desire for a better life often leads them to become victims of human trafficking.
When Solastalgia, my mom’s exhibition, opened in 2013, I attended the exhibit, but I don’t remember thinking about the meaning of the word: comfort, pain. It is only now that I realize that the term also describes my parents. They fear that they will lose what they love most—that the piece of land they bought thirty-eight years ago, which allowed them to chart the course of their lives, grow food, and make art, is slowly being destroyed by forces beyond their control. They are angry about this loss, and the only way they know how to express their anger and fear is through art.