Claudia says she owes everything to her grandmother Mauricia—even her very life. And when she says it, she means it, for she knows Mauricia saved her by taking her in the moment she was born. That is why her heart overflows with gratitude, and why she speaks of her life in a gentle, measured tone—almost like a caress, like when she weaves chiquichiqui, tackling large, even enormous pieces, as if each gesture measured the love she longs to pass on to her grandmother, wherever she may be. She recalls growing up in Caño Carbón, and how, at the age of six Mauricia taught her everything about the conuco and the cycles of planting, and later, how the weaving lessons began, working with chiquichiqui and moriche fibers.

She also remembers a story her grandmother once told her, one so old that, back then, dogs could talk to one another and share their grievances. They complained that humans never gave them even a scrap of food, not even a drop of water. They waited for kindness, for change—but it never came. So, the dogs decided to close their mouths forever, to never again beg from the selfish humans, depriving them of their voices and feelings. Claudia smiles when she tells it, repeating the tale to anyone willing to listen, always sighing at the thought of Mauricia’s kindness.

Her grandmother also introduced her to the petroglyphs that appeared almost supernaturally on the stones along the Inírida River and showed her how to draw Iñapirrikuli, the god of the Curripako—formless and pure spirit. He now appears in Claudia’s baskets as a symbol. We see, then, how profoundly this woman shaped the path of an artisan who pays tribute to her with every stitch.

Such is the power of memory and affection. Though Claudia lived with Mauricia until she was 18—when her grandmother passed away—she still feels her presence as the guiding spirit she always was. Perhaps it was also Mauricia who taught her generosity and peace of soul, for many years later Claudia would be reunited with her mother, Mariluz, and together they built an artisanal partnership that endured hardship and joy alike. Mariluz weaves in vibrant colors—because she found them—while Claudia leans into black, as if seeking answers and solace deep in the earth.

Claudia named her workshop Pimi, after the hummingbirds that inspire her. She loves them because they fly fast, impossible to catch, and she sees herself in that metaphor: she too escaped death, and her life has been a quest for nourishment in flowers, a constant search for beauty to counterbalance adversity. Perhaps that is the reason for her experimental spirit, so fearless in her craft, because she has had to imagine her own life. She tries, she tests, until she achieves. And she soars. She soars high—just as her grandmother once told her she would always find her. It is no coincidence that she has crafted a toucan, a hummingbird, and a parrot after studying them in a museum, nor that she creates them in miniature, as if they were precious treasures.

Everything in Claudia has meaning. Everything is weaving, vessel, stitch, and path. A path she now builds for her sun—her daughter Antonella, the light of her life—whom she hopes will also hear, as she once did, the songs of her grandmother moving through the clouds.