Jessica Veikune’s brow knits together in concentration as she uses a needle to scoop small beads and pieces of seashells onto a delicate thread in a repeating pattern. Veikune is one of many Indigenous dancers hard at work in preparation for the first annual Cali Native Night and 24th annual Mexica New Year Ceremony.

She points the needle down and repeats the pattern. Shell, shell, blue, gold, brown, white, brown, gold, blue. Veikune, a member of the Muwekma Ohlone tribe, will dance in a ceremony for the first time on Friday. 

“I wouldn’t say it’s been hard to learn,” she says of the dances, “we’re just focusing on learning the spiritual aspects of it right now. I just feel really blessed, really thankful.” 

Thanks in particular go to the members of the Miwok tribe, including Toni Espinoza, who have joined them to help revive their dances, as Ohlone rituals were forbidden during colonization and the Mission era.

“I love teaching. It’s an honor for us as well,” Espinoza says. She stresses that while there are traditional elements to follow, there is no right or wrong way for a person to dance or to connect with their culture. 

Aquihua Perez has danced with the Calpulli Tonalehqueh Aztec dance group for the last dozen years. This year, they host the largest Mexica New Year ceremony in California and possibly in all of the U.S. 

More than 1,000 people are expected to gather at Emma Prusch Farm Park to see hundreds of Mexica performers attired in colorful plumage and regalia dance to the intense percussion of large standing drums, like rare birds responding to the earth’s heartbeat. 

“It’s liberating, it’s freedom,” Perez says. “We feel the power of our ancestors, we feel the power of that energy that we call upon as we open our ceremony.”

The Mexica are an indigenous Mexican group who ruled the Aztec empire in the lush valley of central Mexico until Spanish colonization. Cuauhtémoc, the last leader of the Mexica people, counseled them to hide aspects of their culture from Spanish conquistadores for protection, and prophesied that they would one day thrive again.

“For us to actually understand that we are connecting to what Cuauhtémoc was talking about hundreds of years ago is amazing, and that’s why it’s so powerful,” Perez says.

Gerardo Ixteyo Loera is a member of the Calpulli Tonalehqueh leadership council who has participated in San Jose’s Mexica New Year ceremony since it started 24 years ago. He says the ceremony brings young people of Mexica heritage closer to their culture. 

The ceremony’s greatest power, Loera says, lies in “the coming together of our Mexica community in historic East San Jose.” Accompanied by natives from many other Indigenous tribes, Calpulli Tonalehqueh “put down a prayer on behalf of those we come from, for those that have yet to come.”

Indigenous groups will come together for three days to string together generations who have gone ahead, who still touch the earth, or who wait to be born. The gathering is open to the public and free to attend; however, as a sacred rite, the organizers have asked that alcohol and drugs be left at home, even by those observing the cleansing rituals of the celebration.  

Julie Dominguez is both Muwekma Ohlone and Mexica. She and her son Isaiah will both dance in this year’s ceremony. Her brother Joseph Torres was instrumental in reviving the Muwekma Ohlone dances, and her brother Johnny will dance with the tribe this weekend. His toddler son, whose name means “thunder” in Chochenyo, will watch from the audience.

Julie sews feathers from wild turkeys and ocean birds into a headdress beside her cousin, Jessica Veikune, who is still working on her beaded adornments. Shell, shell, blue, gold, brown, white, brown, gold, blue. The two share memories of their great-grandmother Dolores, who grew up in Mission San Jose. Forbidden to practice her culture, she received secret lessons in Chochenyo from her aunts.

“I feel like they knew that we could bring it back,” Dominguez says.  

Mexica New Year
Fri-Sun, Various Times, Free
Emma Prusch Farm Park, San Jose

For painter Céline Lyaudet, ideas and objects hold a basilisk-like power: gaze too long, and the viewer becomes petrified.

The French artist is speaking in particular to the title of her piece Meduse Médusée, which appears in her debut solo exhibition Map to the Path, ending this weekend at Anno Domini. Referring to the snake-haired woman of Greek mythology whose stare turns others to stone, the painting features a woman with animal-like limbs beneath a giant eye. The woman is almost a centaur, though not quite. While the subject is far from a literal depiction of Medusa, the spirit of the myth is present in the painting in what Lyaudet calls “gesture,” or the sense of movement living in a painting.

“For me, the gesture of painting—it’s like magic. I’m thinking of prehistoric cave painting, for example. When you draw a horse, you’re bringing the spirit of the horse to you,” Lyaudet says. The painter cites the late Hilma af Klint as one of her influences, a pioneer of abstract art known for channeling her spiritual beliefs into mystical, geometric works.

Lyaudet began painting two years ago in her hometown of Nantes, with a background as a theater set designer contributing a diverse array of creative fuel. Crossing paths with many musicians in her line of work led the artist to further explore the close relationship she’d always felt between color and sound. Eventually, she learned the involuntary sensory connection that informed this relationship had a name: synesthesia.

“I had felt like that since I was a child, but I didn’t have a word for it until I started painting on music. When I spoke with friends who were musicians they totally understood, because so many were composing in colors. [For me], it’s this very special state like meditation…I am in the color, I am in the music.”

At times, the sounds evoked by certain colors and visuals can be overwhelming, but Lyaudet credits her experience with synesthesia as a force for the intuitive nature of her creative process. Along with the eclectic, psychedelic-tinged playlist she curated to accompany Map to the Path, Lyaudet’s sunset palette and lyrically titled pieces weave their own dream world.

Lyaudet names some recurring characters of her realm: “tree-woman,” “animalistic little demon-spirits.” Wolves, often associated with danger and witchcraft in European folklore, emerge in various forms. In “Moon and the Werewolf,” the moon is an ectoplasmic feminine figure with white tendrils stretching from her body around the slender wolf-man, encircling him with light.

The strange, numinous creatures evoke the mythology-inspired archetypes of early psychoanalyst Carl Jung, particularly the concept of “anima/animus”: the shadow of feminine and masculine energy harbored in each person.

Lyaudet’s spirit- and animal-women came to her toward the beginning of her painting career, which she characterizes as a difficult time of searching for inner unity and rediscovering her sense of female identity. Bringing the figures to life on canvas allowed her to express not only the many different sides of femininity, but also “the animal inside, the male part, vegetal and spiritual, and to find the balance between all those sides.”

Many of these earlier works are small in size, and so Lyaudet painted a wall of the gallery dark blue for grounding and contrast against the pieces’ white space. A branch or sea-vegetable-like outline of pale dashes connects each painting, uniting them like a sort of family tree.

“The hanging [of paintings] is like a living organism,” she says, furthering the sense of cross-sensory connection in the pieces. “I wanted something really organic.”

Anchoring the show is a bright, fiery-colored mural, the painter’s first work of this scale. She made no sketches for the piece, wanting spontaneity to capture “the spirit of the exhibition.” In the center of the painting, Lyaudet incorporated her own handprint, flanked by a spirit flexing graceful fingers to the left and another wolf figure looming on the right.

“It was sort of my way to say ‘that’s me,’ not a literal self-portrait but to allow myself to put me on this wall, to not hide behind my work anymore. An affirmation of myself and my artistic identity.”

Map to the Path
Thu-Sat, 12pm, Free
Anno Domini, San Jose

San Jose’s own Bollywood bluesman, Aki Kumar, has long cut a distinct figure in the South Bay. Blending American blues with Hindi lyrics and elements of Indian bhangra, Kumar creates a cocktail like no other before. On 2021 single “Zindagi” (“Life,” in Hindi), Kumar and crew throw Jamaican roots reggae into the mix for a truly global sound with few comparisons. Following the deep-indigo blues of 2020 single “Self-Made Man,” “Zindagi” marks an exciting new direction for the group. Poor House Bistro celebrates Kumar’s birthday this weekend with a special appearance from the soulful singer.

Aki Kumar
Sat, 6pm, Free
Poor House Bistro, San Jose

It’s hard to believe, but it’s been 15 months since San Jose’s premier burlesque troupe, the Circus of Sin, called San Jose’s premier dive, the Caravan Lounge, home. This weekend’s dramatic return reunites the troupe’s belly-dancers, drag artists, burlesque performers and assorted ne’er-do-wells with the beloved downtown watering hole they have so often covered in glitter, sweat and bodily joie de vivre. Hosted by Underground Wrestling Alliance impresario Some Guy, the Circus promises a delightfully decadent time complete with adult carnival games. Those who listen closely enough can already hear the sound of PBRs cracking in the distance.

Circus of Sin
Fri, 10pm, Free
The Caravan, San Jose

Cellist Abel Selaocoe bends parameters of tradition and style as gracefully as his bow bends the strings of its instrument. The South African musician has performed as a chamber musician and as a soloist across the UK, played as part of a virtual celebration of Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s 90th birthday alongside classical legend Yo-Yo Ma and most recently released a three-part BBC radio show called Cello Retold. Peppering his performances with vocals, improvisations and body percussion, Selaocoe delivers his electrifying blend of classical, jazz, folk, traditional African music and more to the Stanford campus.

Abel Selaocoe
Sun, 2:30pm, $32+
Bing Concert Hall, Stanford

Common wisdom says we each only live one life, but author V.E. Schwab happily lives two. As the dual-initialed V.E., Schwab pens probing works of adult fantasy like 2013’s Vicious, a dark take on the superhero genre. Simultaneously, as Victoria Schwab, Schwab writes for children and young adult readers in books like the Cassidy Blake series, about the supernaturally talented daughter of ghost hunters. This Wednesday, Kepler’s hosts Schwab (V.E.) for an online reading from Gallant, her newest, an inventive gothic horror about the very edge of the shadows: that crucial point where they inevitably meet light.

V.E. Schwab
Wed, 5pm, Free
Online Event
Photo Courtesy of: Gage Skidmore, CC BY SA-2.0

Exhibit Z in NorCal’s oft overlooked contributions to the hip hop world: Solesides Records. In the early ‘90s, the label and collective helped to first define and then spread the sound of alternative hip hop, bringing the world such luminaries as DJ Shadow and Blackalicious’ Gift of Gab, both of whom changed the rap game forever. Lyrics Born may not quite have the same household name recognition, but Bay Area heads know that gold often stays underground; ever since the breakthrough Later That Day…, the Berkeley-based MC has brought big funk and a cool lyrical flow that nails a unique NorCal sound.

Lyrics Born
Fri, 7pm, $34.15
Guild Theatre, Menlo Park

In a society where marriage was closely tied to money and social status, the sensible Elinor and sensitive Marianne Dashwood champion two distinctively different perspectives on love, womanhood and marriage. Under the masterful direction of Robert Kelley, this musical based on Jane Austen’s all-time classic abounds with the author’s signature emotional depths and hilarious sidekicks. With beautiful melodies by Tony-nominated Paul Gordon, the Dashwood sisters’ love stories come to the Bay on a gentle breeze from the rolling green hills of Regency England.

Sense & Sensibility
Opens Wed, Various Times, $25+
Lucie Stern Theatre, Palo Alto

Rays of South Bay winter sunshine illuminated Backesto Park this past weekend as activists and members of the community gathered to celebrate the last weekend of Black History Month. With singing, dancing, food and art, the event was a clear demonstration of what Kiana Simmons calls “Black joy.”

Simmons and the San Jose-based racial justice nonprofit she co-founded, HERO Tent, host such events regularly. Dubbed “Art in the Park,” they are family-friendly events showcasing business owners, artists and musicians of color along with plenty of sidewalk chalk for the children.

Central to this event, as opposed to those in the past, was the presence of a mural of six faces being painted and serving as backdrop to the performers.

Volunteers with HERO Tent worked together to decide the message portrayed and the people depicted in the mural. Esha Shah, a HERO Tent volunteer, took their ideas and designed the layout.

“We decided we wanted to [depict] Black women and Black women only, and we particularly picked [members of] the Black Panther Party,” Shah says. “It’s inspiring and calling back to the work that these women did.”

“It’s an ode to Black Women organizers,” says Simmons.

The six women depicted are Angela Davis, Afeni Shakur, Assata Shakur, Elaine Brown, Fredrika Newton and Kathleen Cleaver. Along with the mural, HERO Tent also produced a pamphlet—or “zine,” as inspired by the Black Panther Party—detailing the legacies of each of these women, many of whom were arrested at one point during their activism. Notably, Assata Shakur was involved in a 1973 shoot out with New Jersey state troopers in which a fellow activist and an officer were both killed. Shakur denied brandishing a weapon, but she was convicted of murder. In 1979, she fled to Cuba, where she was granted asylum and remains a fugitive to this day.

Shah, a young Indian raised in San Jose, felt connected to the Black Panthers after learning about how they inspired the Dalit Panthers, a similar organization founded in 1972 to combat caste discrimation in India. “That’s a central component to organizing,” she says. “Making people feel like they have a community when everyone else is telling them that they don’t.”

Part of the problem, she says, is America’s narrative of competition.

“Historically, communities of color have been pitted against each other and we’ve participated in those structures willingly,” she continued. “It’s important to hear each other’s struggles and be able to understand our own struggles through them and engage in solidarity rather than competition.”

That vision was truly realized as HERO Tent invited anyone in attendance to participate in the creation of the mural. People of many walks of life stood side by side, doing so throughout the day on Sunday.

A “community-based” mural was important to Simmons, who says she believes in making all HERO Tent events and activities accessible.

“I wanted everyone to leave their mark on it so that they are a part of it,” she says. “A lot of youth participated and it was really nice to see that. They even scribbled a little bit,” she recounts, laughing. “But, we’re going to keep it in!”

In addition to members of the community, HERO Tent also commissioned the help of three Black artists to oversee and execute the majority of the painting.

One of those artists, Ellis Stephens, was born and raised on the east side of San Jose. He was excited to work on a mural of “beautiful, powerful Black women.” Having read Assata’s memoir, he says he found her story “amazing,” her ideologies “super powerful to the Black community.”

“I’ve always wanted to put my stamp on something and be part of something that would be everlasting in the community. It means a lot to be out here,” he notes. He hopes his daughter can find inspiration in the mural, especially knowing that her father helped create it.

HERO Tent originally intended for the mural to be painted on a wall at the park, but Simmons says the approach they took, painting on sheets of plywood nailed to a frame, enables them to have a “traveling mural.”

“We want to be able to [take it] to different spaces,” she says, hoping to further the idea of community ownership over the mural. “I think it could be at churches, it could be at other parks, it could be at restaurants, at bars. It could even be at city hall once or twice. Black joy is resilient, it’s powerful, it’s revolutionary and it deserves to be shared.”

Lee Kravetz’s agent begged him not to become a novelist. With his first two books of non-fiction, his career as a reliable psychological journalist was cemented. But after reading the manuscript for Kravetz’s novel The Last Confessions of Sylvia P., his agent said he couldn’t go back to non-fiction.

In their first book, Supersurvivors, Kravetz and co-author David B. Feldman interviewed people who experienced incredible accomplishments following seemingly insurmountable traumas. In his follow-up, Strange Contagion, he examined the physiological, psychological and social factors that combined to cause five Palo Alto high school students to commit suicide over a six-month period in 2009.

This Tuesday, Kravetz joins novelist Meg Waite Clayton (The Wednesday Sisters) to discuss his first novel, The Last Confessions of Sylvia P, in an online event hosted by Menlo Park’s Kepler’s Literary Foundation.

Kravetz has a gentle hand when it comes to heavy subjects and he pairs it with some old-school optimism. Coming out of the pandemic, he sees people changing for the better. He points to catastrophe and the brevity of life as glaring reminders that what society once considered normal is no longer viable.

“There is growth within trauma. Somebody experiences something really scary in life and they don’t just bounce back, they bounce forward and end up changing their lives in really remarkable ways,” he says.

Kravetz’s path to novel writing involved journalism and psychology, and poetry had a big impact as well, but the book didn’t come from a place of bookish research. It came instead from his post-graduate work at a psychiatric hospital in Menlo Park—the very same hospital Ken Kesey worked in when he began to write One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. It was there that Kravetz rediscovered Plath’s classic The Bell Jar, a fictional account of her time in psychiatric care at McLean Hospital in Massachusetts.

In the 1950s, Plath attended poetry workshops under Robert Lowell and alongside Anne Sexton, forming a foundation of confessional poets, who catalyzed vulnerable, visceral poetry like no one before them. At 30 years old, Plath took her own life not knowing the impact her work would have on generations to come. Kravetz’s story longs to go back in time and give her hope.

The Last Confessions is a social and temporal triangulation around Sylvia Plath and her journey through depression and expression. Through the confessions of three composite characters, based on Plath’s influences at different times, it reveals a woman of the 1950s living with what we now know to be bipolar disorder, who is also a poet with a sharply focused lens on everything outside of herself.

Kravetz’s views on our collective mental health takes a page out of Plath’s poetic acknowledgment of her own mental state

“100% of us are experiencing a collective trauma right now. Everyone needs to acknowledge what they’re experiencing,” he says. “Having gone through the last two years and to walk away going, ‘Oh! We’re fine!’ is just denying the reality of the fact.”

Still, he remains optimistic, urging more open conversation on the pain brought about in these years of upheaval and isolation.

“We should have a billboard campaign across the entire country, and on every bus and on every TV show: You Need To Seek Help. Everybody Does.”

Like most of us, the pandemic has taken him to some dark places.

“To say that you haven’t or to not really talk about that, whether it’s through poetry or through art, or even through a therapist or to a friend, you’re doing yourself a huge disservice.”

But he doesn’t see any reason to give up hope.

“There’s a legitimate scientific formula for hope. As long as you have a goal (the city that you’re moving toward), the agency (the car you’re driving), and the pathway (the road you’re driving on), then you’ve got hope.”

As a novel, The Last Confessions is part ode, part dirge. Moreso, it is a fugue for the dawn of confessional poetry and therapeutic metaphor for our collective madness. Though he’s now writing fiction, Kravetz has no intention of leaving the real world out of his stories; he’s just making sure they all include a little map toward hope.

Lee Kravetz
Tue, 6pm, Free
Kepler’s Books, Online Event