Capula

Capula: when clay learned to dress death

In some towns, clay is recognized first for its usefulness: a cooking pot, a casserole, a vessel for water and food. Capula, a community within the municipality of Morelia, belongs to that story. Long before catrinas filled shop windows and craft fairs, its potters had developed forms, decorations and techniques passed down through family workshops. To look at a catrina without also noticing a cooking pot is to tell only the most visible part of their story.

Mexico’s Cultural Information System documents burnished and glazed pottery and the techniques and material challenges of the craft. Among them is the gradual shift toward lead-free glazes. Behind each finished piece lie the preparation of clay, drying, decoration and firing; behind those steps is knowledge gathered over generations.

From household pottery to a smiling figure

Today the catrina is an emblem of Capula, but its commercial success must not be projected centuries into the past. Local pottery has a far longer history than the arrival of the elegantly dressed skeletal figure. Cultural sources and potters’ testimonies place the development of clay catrinas in the final decades of the twentieth century and mention the work of artist Juan Torres. Sources differ on the exact year of introduction, so assigning one date without reconciling specialist evidence would be misleading.

Modelled in clay, the figure acquired its own life within Capula’s workshops. Dresses, hats and expressions unite skill, humour and an understanding of death that is not simply macabre. Not every object is a catrina, however. Decorative techniques such as punteado and capulineado also define Capula ceramics; they inspired the visual identity of the 2023 Morelia International Film Festival.

Learning does not happen only in showcases

In a testimony published by Quadratín in March 2025, a Capula artisan recalled beginning to work with clay as a child, making toys and small figures before attempting more complex pieces. His account cannot stand for every household, but it shows that a craft is often inherited through ordinary family life, not just schools and contests.

That is why the fair matters beyond the photograph of a monumental catrina. When someone buys directly from a workshop, the craftsperson is not merely a supplier of seasonal decoration: their knowledge receives a name and economic recognition. The fair is also a livelihood. This should be acknowledged without confusing a craft market with a family’s funerary ceremony.

A dated fair, an enduring craft

According to organizers’ accounts and subsequent official communications, Capula’s Catrina Fair began in 2011. For the 2026 edition, the Michoacán government announced dates October 18 to November 3, with approximately 260 craftspeople and exhibitions. Those are facts about one edition, not a permanent annual timetable. Visitors in another year must consult a new announcement.

Capula belongs to a cultural circuit associated with the Day of the Dead season, but it does not lie on the shore of Lake Pátzcuaro. Its fair should not be marketed as a Purépecha cemetery vigil. A visit opens a different door: objects through which a community converses with death, labour and its own economy.

The dignity of handmade work

Photographing a finished figure is easy. Seeing the years of learning behind a posture, a fold in the dress or a dotted line on the clay is harder. Capula’s richness lies in the continuity of pottery and its capacity to adopt new forms without ceasing to be a craft.

A catrina may smile. Clay, in contrast, speaks with the patience of the hands that work it. Both belong to Capula’s contemporary story, though they did not begin at the same time.

Editorial note: Historical craft practices and the dated 2026 fair programme are distinct. No new interviews or current community access checks were conducted.