Tsikuri: Our Struggles Are Interconnected
(Ongoing)
“Threads were among the earliest transmitters of meaning.” - Anni Albers, 1965
Ojo de Dios, also known as Tsikuri, is a sacred ritual object of protection and connectivity. Some believe the Huichol/Wixárica word means “the power to see and understand things unknown”. Traditionally, it is a series of rhomboids woven in coloured yarns on a wooden cross. Found across Latin America, they reflect a confidence in all-seeing Providence, similar to all-seeing eye symbols and tokens found in many other religions and regions around the World. The cross of the Ojo “is that of the legendary four directions: Earth, Fire, Water, and Air. It is not in any way the cross of Christ. [Huichol] art is directed to the gods of nature” (Harvey, 1973). Inspired by the peyote, Ojos are an ancient cultural symbol of esoteric protection and creation. They are used in settings, from prayer sites to childbirth and ancestral lineage traditions.
A photograph of crafting materials for making Ojo de Dios , Nayarit, 2024
The first Ojo I made in Nayarit, 2024
An image of an indigenous Mexican man holding a Tsikuri
“According to their mythology, Tamatzi Tauyumari, one of the gods who created the world, saw the layers of the sky, the earth, and the subterranean mysteries with one eye. The tzicurri , in the Wixárika worldview , is an emblem of the connection with creation, with the ability to perceive and decipher the enigmas of the universe.” - Casa De Mexico
My bedroom wall, featuring a post card of a Frida Kahlo painting, a photo of a tree on my family’s land, a traditional peruvian tapestry, and an Ojo I created with wooden beads and crystals.
The Huichol are the indigenous people of my family’s region in Zacatecas, Mexico. I fell in love with their craftsmanship from an early age, and in 2024, I learnt how to make my first Ojo.
When I came back to the UK, I began to craft them in bed during periods of ill health and isolation. I have since felt called to create Ojos in the colours of the Palestinian Flag, which shares the colours of the Sudanese flag, and other Arabic countries too, which continue to suffer from historical racial, religious and colonialist oppression. As I built more, I began to integrate other symbols of identity and realised I could tie them together to create a tapestry or web of connection. As I weave, I draw inspiration from our shared experiences of oppression and struggle, regardless of physical proximity or identity characteristics.
This work is evolving as I begin to explore the subjective nature of colour and numerology. I am interested in expanding this body of work to incorporate sacred geometry, which further underscores the interconnectivity of all things, both material and immaterial.
