As I watched,while local villagers danced to the music of a live band, a young woman adjusted her hair over an aqua blue rebozo, and spoke to a friend draped in a vivid purple piece over a yellow blouse and pink skirt. Meanwhile, a young girl pulled a small boy along while carrying a load of belongings in the cobalt-blue shawl over her back.

Rebozos have long been a part of the indigenous cultures of  Mexico. They paint México with an extensive palette of colours, striking a majestic pose in the country’s streets, plazas, and marketplaces, seducing the attention of visitors from throughout the world with a carnival of tints and hues. Many historians date the rebozo to pre-Columbian times; today, Mexican artisans still use backstrap looms to weave their pieces, maintaining a living connection with centuries of ancestors, while factories produce machine-made rebozos for sale at a much lower cost. Ceremonial rebozos are adorned--some with a hem of playful feathers or glistening white diamond-shaped tassels of articela (a sort of manmade silk) wrapped around splashes of flaming orange.

According to the indigenous cultures of Mexico traditions, “The rebozo is a symbol of a woman’s pride and dignity,” says Cecilia Bautista Caballero, 68, one of the premier rebozo makers in Ahuiran, Michoacán. “For others, it’s just an object of luxury. Now many people use the rebozo only for fashion.” For many other women, the shawls have a diverse list of practical uses. At the guitar festival in Paracho, a young woman carried her two-year-old daughter in a rebozo while waiting for a friend. The child appeared quite comfortable with the arrangement; sound asleep against her mother’s back, her legs dangling out the sides. At a July festival in San José de Gracía, women used their rebozos to protect themselves from the rain as they continued dancing throughout the afternoon.

“The familiar black and blue-striped rebozo is equal to blue denim,” said Jennifer Rose, an expat living in Morelia. “I was in a workshop where they made clothing from rebozo material. It’s the equivalent of making dresses or T-shirts out of denim,” said Rose, who has lived in México for many years. “Sometimes they’ll use a rebozo to wrap up things, kind of a knapsack, an early fanny pack. You could probably use one as a fan belt for your car. I saw one used as a baby crib tied between two objects. You see them tied around Cocuchas (hand-formed pots) as a decoration. I’ve seen people use them as tablecloths or table runners.”

On the second floor of the Casa de las Artesanias in Morelia, María Esperanza Valencia Mora gives demonstrations of her craft. Evidence of her imaginative and industrious nature filled the small room: fragile silvery shawls, delicate cherry red pieces, and fine pink covers (perfect for dressing up but you don’t want to carry babies in them) hung on one side of the room, while thick white cotton rebozos and sturdy black and blue pieces (good for carrying loads) adorned the other. She began tying tassels for the hem of a rebozo; within minutes, the repasejo formed a playful web of aqua, violet, viridian green, and pale yellow zigzagging along the bottom edge of the shawl.

Another morning, the 53-year-old artisan unrolled her telar de cintura (backstrap loom), to reveal a fine cream-colored rebozo. She inserted her hands into the shed (web of long threads) from both sides and meticulously counted threads, then used the batten to press down the weft, creating the intricate x and oval designs that would make this a luxurious piece. “My mother taught me,” said the Michoacán native. “It’s passed from my ancestors. I have my own myth. If I am talking, my hands do it very easily. My hands know, my hands will make the magic.”