Embroidery is one of the more widespread handcrafts. A woman in Tzintzuntzan stitches away while waiting for a customer to buy one of the dozen finished pieces she has hung on the wall beside her.

Her facial expression is dour. I'll spare you the frame where she glares at me as I'm shooting. It would ruin your breakfast.

Her work fails to rise to the level of art, nor is her workmanship fine. She's just cranking out souvenirs for tourists, like this scene of "the Fishermen of Tzintzuntzan."

Four of her pieces contain the same image, hacked out in big, loopy stitches.

Most mercados have at least one vendor selling supplies for embroiderers. This one set up for business on the square in Erongarícuaro.

It offers cloth imprinted with templates. Some embroiderers just like to do the sewing; their forté may not be design. Fair enough. Just because you're Purépechan doesn't mean you have a knack for sketching patterns.

The designs on offer are generic; stuff you can find anywhere in Mexico, including the familiar image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. None of them relate to the culture of Michoacán.

So the patterns are sold to those who embroider for their own pleasure; not to those who are creating work for sale to travelers or decorators.

The point I'm getting to in this post is illustrated in the pattern shown below.

These figures have nothing whatever to do with Mexico. Looks like a scene out of Cinderella. Disney's Cinderella. The vacuous faces with their treacly expressions I would find offensive anywhere I saw them. But to find them in Erongarícuaro is to view an act of cultural rape. Is there no escaping this crap?

The only (minor) satisfaction is that nowhere on the pattern is there any copyright notice.

After looking at these, I have a new appreciation for The Fishermen of Tzintzuntzan.