El Zanate de las Américas - The Great-tailed Grackle

El Zanate de las Américas - The Great-tailed Grackle

by Blanca Stacey Villalobos

A black iridescent flutter across the deep blue sky of the Southwest, Quiscalus mexicanus is a yearlong resident of the Coachella Valley whose range extends from Central America north towards the Great Plains of the US. Unlike their relative the Hooded Oriole (Icterus cucullatus), who neatly blends in with our flowering palo verdes & creosote bushes, Great-tailed Grackles may contrast with their surroundings which are often backyards, parks, farmland and your local gas station.

Great-tailed Grackles are part of the Icteridae family, or New World blackbirds, who are predominantly black in plumage yet will sometimes boast bright yellow or orange tones. The species display sexual dimorphism in that adult males are deep black in color with a range of blue & purple tones in their plumage while adult females are dark brown above and pale brown below. Both sexes are slender in shape and display stark yellow eyes, long legs and a long tail in the form of a ‘v’. These birds forage on the ground for food, looking for seeds such as corn and milko and insects. The females are half the size of males and require less nourishment; therefore, they tend to outlive their male counterparts creating communities with higher numbers of females. If one would like to have these birds in their locale, there would need to be open land with a source of water nearby and plenty of insects to forage along with seed.

In the winter, Great-tailed Grackles can be found roosting high up in trees, often in swarms of families creating a dramatic display of flocks wherever they are found. If the coverage of birds doesn’t impact you, their calls might. Zanates have been described as having pleasant voices, as shared by Aztec rulers in the Florentine Codex, to dramatic, brash & loud by urban community members in the Coachella Valley. The varied calls of these blackbirds may range from loud ‘clacks’ in response to predators & passersby, ‘chatter’ while nesting, to rapid chants of ‘ki-ki-ki' to name a few. When the males are ready to mate, they will crane their heads back and fluff out their feathers to attract a female, oftentimes in tandem with other males or on their own while surrounding a female. The display is quite mesmerizing, as their plumage shimmers in the back and forth fluffing of their feathers.

In an article by Alexander F. Christensen, the Great-tailed Grackle is chronicled to have been introduced to el Valle de México, what is now considered Mexico City, from the lowlands off the coast. The Aztec ruler Ahuitzotl was documented to have had the birds brought inland from areas like Veracruz, to which the birds soon colonized due to the availability of agriculture and sources of water. When the colonizers changed the land through the removal of the basins ‘chinampas’, which were agricultural wetlands, the birds left but soon returned and expanded once more thanks to urban development. The Spanish common name for the Great-tailed Grackle is zanate, which stems from the nahuatl word tzanatl for ‘blackbird’. However, the bird is also known by two additional names: teozanatl & huetizanatl; the former describes the blackbird as ‘divine’ while the latter can roughly translate to ‘large grackle or blackbird’.

*This species profile was first written in 2022 while living and working in the Mojave and Colorado deserts of Southern California. The photo above was taken in 2017 while visiting my Mexican home, before it was sold in 2023.

Bibliography
Dunn, J. L., Alderfer, J. K., & National Geographic Society (U.S.) (Eds.). (2011). National Geographic field

guide to the birds of North America (6th ed). National Geographic Society.
Great-tailed Grackle Overview, All About Birds, Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (n.d.). Retrieved April 28,

2022, from https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Great-tailed_Grackle/overview

Haemig, P. (2014). Aztec introduction of the great-tailed grackle in ancient Mesoamerica: Formal defense of the Sahaguntine historical account. NeoBiota, 22, 59–75. https://doi.org/10.3897/neobiota.22.6791

Teco, 2023

by B Stacey Villalobos

Chiquatli - nahuatl for barn owl

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Tecolote - nahuatl for all other owls

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Tecolotlán - nahuatl for place or land of owls

My parents were raised on lands whose names honor bird relatives in nahuatl. Tecolotlán is my mother’s birth place, a small pueblo just southwest of the capital of mariachi music in the state of Jalisco. In December of 2016 I decided to visit my madre’s hometown for the first time, so my friend Carlos drove me to Tecolotlán from his home in Tlaquepaque as a gesture of our friendship and shared interest in travel. As we approached the main street from the highway, we were greeted by vendors selling ‘tacos de balde,’ something that Tecolotlán is quite famous for and that I highly recommend if you find yourself in the land of owls in search of a simple and affordable treat. After indulging in a handful of tacos, we turned immediately onto the street where my mother had grown up on, directly in front of el Templo de la Virgencita. We parked and wandered the plaza, asking elders and shopkeepers if they knew anything about my family’s history. We followed a path inland until we found the remains of an old hacienda. Walking along an unmarked road, we ventured towards the sound of running water, pausing to witness the initial stages of decomposition from a recently dead cow. Just beyond the creek, we found the rest of the herd and the most beautiful organ pipe cacti dotted the landscape. Although we returned twice more after the first visit, the only tecolotes I saw on that trip were paintings of the town’s emblem across walls and an abandoned food cart that sold ‘teco-tacos’. 

Ven chiquatli hacia mi

Para darme paso a ti

After my initial move to Morongo Valley in 2019, I overheard the courtship of two great horned owls outside my home. They had chosen the tamarisk tree just beyond my fence to share their duets with one another. I had been indoors when I heard a sound that oddly reminded me of a goose, and since I had never come across a pair of tecolotes during mating season I was unaware of how to interpret the sound I was experiencing. Eager to capture this exchange on my voice recorder, I slipped outside with the most gentle presence I could gather, so as to not disrupt their epic courtship. Eyes strained, I was able to make out their silhouettes among the branches, partially due to their characteristic ‘ears’. Of course, once I got close enough to press record on my device their singing paused.

Vuela suave al cielo

Traime magia al sueño

Not too long ago, I had the most wonderful encounter with a chiquatli. I had been cleaning and preparing my home to receive someone I love, and had stepped out of my house on a chilly October evening to toss a bag of trash. Flashlight at the ready, I quickly realized it was pointless; the moon was out and although not quite full, they were beaming as if an auntie was grinning with pride. My eyesight isn’t the worst, so I can get by without wearing my prescription most of the time. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the night sky, while my feet followed the grooves of the land I had come to know & adore for the past four years. As I approached the beaten plastic garbage bin, which the Santa Ana winds had pushed up against my chain link fence, I was stunned to see the swift shadow of a large bird upon the desert floor. I looked up and even though my vision was fuzzy, the ghostly iridescence of the raptor’s feathers affirmed my encounter. My heart swelled, and I recalled the words a Wixárika elder once shared with me in Nayarit: los tecolotes son los mensajeros de la noche/owls are messengers of the night. The chiquatli was offering a message, and unlike some Indigenous relatives my family and I do not associate owls as omens of death or bad news. To say that their presence culminates to that of literal death is to oversimplify their message. We experience many deaths in our lifetime, on a cellular level and oftentimes through more poetic means. Death can be expressed as change, transformation, alchemy, un cierre. A symbol or metaphor for that which is ready to be let go of, returned to the land; the promise of a seed and of new beginnings. 

*Thank you for reading! Pamparios! Please support this work by honoring the integrity of my labor through proper accreditation. Do not sell, re-print or otherwise steal this work. If you’d like to share this text in other spaces whether virtual or physical, feel free to email me first before doing so at huixola@gmail.com.

** This essay/cuento was first published in the Fall edition of Desert Times, by invitation of Riah Buchanan. You can purchase a physical copy of this text by visiting https://deserttimes.bigcartel.com/

Words Attached (al final) - Foreward for the 2022 BFA Cohort at Portland State University

Thank you for your interest in my writing! The text that follows is the essay I wrote for the BFA cohort’s foreword in this year’s catalog, EPILOGUE. As this was written for a publication, my only ask is that my words or photography are not reproduced without the consent of Portland State University & myself, gracias.

“Words attached (al final)”

by Blanca S. Villalobos

Can we sit with the unknown, un poco de misterio, while also holding peace in our hearts & minds? Much of our planet is unknown to us, with only 1.2 million species identified, much of which are listed as insects. Scientists estimate that there are at least 8.7 million species of animals and plantas that exist out of sight from humans. The ocean floor is deep, vast and mirrors the expanse of outer space. The scale of my life can be felt when I lay underneath a clear night sky in the Mojave Desert of California. It is both frightening and humbling to consider my presence in comparison with the Earth’s natural systems. These are moments which often lead to thoughts of death, even if only brief. My body becomes tense and my breath hastens, acknowledging the certainty of my own mortality. What happens next is usually some form of release: a deep exhale, a warm embrace from the body lying next to mine, a nudge from the nose of my animal companion or a cathartic crying spell. Death is found in every corner of our lives, with/in and with/out and is experienced more often than we realize.

My practice as an artist has died many times, as has my relationship to it. As a child I would copy & draw my favorite fictional characters as perfectly as possible; my renditions of Dragonball Z, Sailor Scouts, Final Fantasy 7 and Digimon are tucked away in boxes for future nostalgic dives. These illustrations continued until my late teens, when I realized I struggled with drawing the human form. Afraid that I wouldn’t be considered a real artist unless I could interpret my own portrait in a technical manner, I spent the next few years in my undergrad obsessively drawing strangers, friends, family members & lovers. During a critique with Tia Factor, she was surprised to see my display of three self portraits, as we were only asked to complete one. At this stage in my practice, I was still unhappy with my skills, which was why I had spent my entire spring break redrawing my portrait on 18×24 inch sheets of paper. In response to the three ‘Blancas,’ Tia shared something along the lines of, “Even though these vary in style, and are perhaps not realistic, they feel like different aspects of you... almost as if they were sisters.” Eventually, I was able to attain a level of satisfaction when it came to the human figure. I felt accomplished, proud and aware of the privilege my eyesight and hands offered through ongoing discipline.

Nine years after graduating from Portland State University, my sketchbooks remain relatively empty. The act of drawing still brings me joy but the potential to learn, share, and express knowledge through embodied happenings won me over. Performance has become my preferred medium of expression. Not only that but my ‘audience’ goes beyond the human species. The land, my ancestors and the flora & fauna of my immediate environment witness me while I sing, move, breath & rest. Feedback arrives in the form of a gentle wind across my sun kissed cheeks, or in the call of a Costa’s hummingbird. Time and time again performance & land based exercises help regulate my heart & mind when uncertainty becomes too large to hold in a world of climate change, pandemics & war. When asked what activity or exercise soothes their nervous system, the students in this catalog shared an assortment of actions. My hope for this cohort is that they make space to tend to these tiny (or not so tiny) deaths along their growth as artists.

Doodling - dancing - singing - hugging my friends - making pottery, going for a walk with my puppy - listening to water - closing my eyes - movement - stretching - breathing exercises - plant care - being in nature - drawing - playing video games - noticing shapes + colors - awareness of my surroundings - journaling - walking - cooking - weaving - making with my hands - sewing - reading - playing games

Epilogue

(noun): a section or speech at the end of a book or play that serves as a comment on or a conclusion to what has happened. Greek in its roots, epilogue can be interpreted to mean “words attached (at the end)”.

The following are oracle cards that were pulled for each student, as an invitation to reflect on the evolution of their art practice. Oracle cards do not carry the same weight as tarot, they are meant to affirm, question and/or encourage reflection into an aspect of someone’s life. The question I posed for this exercise was, “What is each student’s art practice asking them to consider?” Students are welcome to journal as part of their reflection. These cards are from Mary S. Evans’ Vessel oracle deck.

1. Danny Hanson - Grieve: It is okay if you are still grieving some aspect of your practice; perhaps there is a relationship(s) associated with your current body of work that brings feelings of grief? REmember that grief is non-linear, it's okay if you’re still ‘in it’.

2. Madeleine Beer - Change: Lean into it! Change is inevitable, the less you resist it the easier it will flow.

3. Sage Corradini - Forgive: I hope you can carve out time to forgive yourself, as much as you have done so for others through the magic that is your creativity.

4. Bobby Groff - It Gets Better: It does, over time and by showing up, it does get better.

5. Kaitlyn Lundelius - Structure: How can your practice benefit from a shift in its structure? This can look like a loose or firm structure that allows you to consider your current relationship to

   your practice.

6. Johanna Houska - Defeat: Sometimes things don’t work out, that doesn’ equate to failure.

   Trying and taking risks is brave, and your heart may require some extra love. Some aspect of your practice may pivot to something much more generative and aligned to how you want to show up in the world.

7. Hailey Hunt - Spirit: The connection you have with your practice goes beyond the physical realm; continue to nourish your muses, I think you know how.

8. Jessica Joner - Self Doubt: Gently and tenderly, try to remind your brain that you won’t fall for its tricks anymore. You are so capable, and your art practice is excited for the experiments you’ve been thinking about.

9. Tony Kane - Light: Literally, how does light manifest in your work? Figuratively, does it feel light... or is there some weight that can be shed?

10. Kylee Kubojiri - Self Care: You deserve rest, so much of it. The more you prioritize care the more your art practice will glow in response to it.

1. Nate Doogan - Romance: What’s your love language like, and how does it manifest in the body of your work? Don’t forget to treat yourself for all the work you’ve put in to build this relationship with art.

2. Keenan Mccune - Communication: Do you chat with your art? I wonder what it would say if you allow yourself to listen with your heart.

3. Renee Ollison - Childhood: The young version of yourself manifests itself throughout your current work. How does that feel? Is there any way you can hold space for young Renee in other parts of your life?

4. Luz Orellana - Make: You have so many hands that guide you in your creations! Take care of them, nourish them in ways that resonate to your preferred method of care.

5. Alisyn Smith - Begin: Don’t hesitate, just go for it! I know that feeling of flutter & excitement. It’ll settle and flow once you start.

6. Maya Sutriasa - Movement: What does movement mean to you? When we are given the opportunity to move freely, without any limitations, so many dreams can become embodied and passed down through generations of family and community.

7. Laura Swingen - Support: Don’t be afraid to ask for help, so many beings want to see you and your work shine. The help is there but can only be accessed if you speak it out loud.

8. Tenzin Tardiff - Endurance: Your work is strong, firm and soft at the same time. Just

   remember that your practice can only build so much resiliency if you allow yourself to rest

   from time to time.

9. Sims Vincent - Trust: I hope you believe in your work as much as it believes in you, trust that

   you are held & supported for the next chapter in your practice.

10. Maggie Wang - Connect: You will make so many connections through your art practice in the

    shape of friends, community, mentors and more. Try to make space for all the wonderful beings on their way to you.