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Every day at 5 p.m. at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, there was a cercavila, a parade with giants, big heads, a dragon, and dancers. On the last Saturday, another sunny one on the National Mall, visitors gathered in the Plaça Major as usual. What they didn't know was that they were in for a very special debut.

A horse poked its head from under the Imaginary Figures on Parade tent. Up until then, it was a work in progress, its face and body taking shape under the direction of artist Miquel Grima. Now it proudly wore its shield and trotted into the performance square alongside its “handlers” with a sprightly air and a deliberate turn of its head. With the first notes of a newly composed tune, the mulassa began her dance.

Seeing Smithy, as she became known, come alive, we realized this was a story that needed to be told. So the two of us, members of the Catalonia program curatorial team, arranged to continue our weekly meetings across the Atlantic and interview the principal artists who participated in the making of the mulassa: Grima, the imaginary figure maker; Jan Grau, the historian who helped Grima conduct research; Pau Fernández, the tailor who designed the mulassa’s dress; Marcel Casellas, the director of Cobla Catalana dels Sons Essencials and composer of the mulassa’s music; and Teresa Agustí, director of Esbart Ciutat Comtal who, next to Lluís Calduch Ramos, choreographed its dance steps. This is their story. 

A mulassa, or mule, is perhaps the most playful of the Catalan imaginary beasts because mules are known for their stubbornness. Therefore the mulassa is designed to give a hard time, provoke and poke fun at those around it. In addition, “the mulassa represents the people of a town, not the rich, or the elites,” Grima explained to us. Most of those we talked to could not describe the mulassa without contrasting it with the eagle, which represents royalty or the state, and the dragon, the beast slain by St. George, patron saint of Catalonia.

Mulasses have been a documented beast of the Catalan imaginary landscape since the seventeenth century. In planning to make the beast, Grima consulted with imaginary figure expert Jan Grau. They sifted through many examples of the mulassa, past and present, and even went to visit the famous Mulassa of Reus. One difference they found in modern imaginary figures is they have become more static.

“Movement was very important, once upon a time,” Grau says. When he and Grima visited the Mulassa of Reus, they specifically looked at how the neck moved and the mechanism behind it. “The idea was to recuperate in many ways the original meaning of what was a mulassa. And movement is the meaning of the mulassa.”

But beyond this historical recuperation, Grima chose the mulassa because of what it could mean within the context of a festival in Washington, D.C. An imaginary beast is built to belong, he explained. To be meaningful, it must carry on the stories of the community that commissions it. However, this task was more complex than usual, he added, as the character needed to participate in the Catalan imaginary beast tradition as well as respond to the audience at the Folklife Festival. Grima and Grau concluded that the mulassa was the most suitable beast for the event.

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• 1 / 15
  Bare bones. The essence of Smithy seems far off.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 2 / 15
  Who’s framing whom? Besides magic, glue was a key ingredient in Miquel Grima’s workshop.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 3 / 15
  A head appears! The mechanism for the mulassa’s neck was tested at every juncture.
  Photo courtesy of Department of Popular Culture and Cultural Associations, Government of Catalonia
• 4 / 15
  Smithy goes for a test ride.
  Photo courtesy of Department of Popular Culture and Cultural Associations, Government of Catalonia
• 5 / 15
  The mulassa tastes her first tree on the National Mall.
  Photo courtesy of Department of Popular Culture and Cultural Associations, Government of Catalonia
• 6 / 15
  Miquel Grima dresses the mulassa in the medieval style: with burlap sacks.
  Photo by Mike Roth, Ralph Rinzler Folklife Archives
• 7 / 15
  The mulassa was born in the Imaginary Figures on Parade tent, a bustling center of activity.
  Photo by Mike Roth, Ralph Rinzler Folklife Archives
• 8 / 15
  Txell Martín-Pardo, Tiffany Wilt, and Pau Fernández work together to separate the strands of a rope to serve as Smithy’s tail.
  Photo by Aaron Crabtree, Ralph Rinzler Folklife Archives
• 9 / 15
  Choreographers Lluís Calduch Ramos and Teresa Agustí Morales accompany their charge into the Plaça Major.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 10 / 15
  Teresa Agusti Morales loads a fireworks canister to Smithy’s mouthpiece.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 11 / 15
  Smithy poses with members of her extended family: diables, beasts, and giants. All of the festive groups had a hand in her creation.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 12 / 15
  Though already a veteran of the Festival, a final touch is needed to make her official. Mulasses generally carry the coat of arms of their city, in this case it is the emblem of the Catalonia: Tradition and Creativity from the Mediterranean program.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 13 / 15
  A chance encounter with a fura (ferret), as the Plaça Major fills with all the imaginary figures the Smithsonian Folklife Festival has to offer.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 14 / 15
  Fun-loving as she could be, the mulassa understood ceremonial protocols. Luckily for her, her creators gifted her with the mechanical abilities more often associated with historical imaginary figures so that she can bow.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel
• 15 / 15
  The mulassa was a favorite among children. This moment is treasured by imaginary maker Miquel Grima.
  Photo by Josep Maria Contel

Click on the photo above to view full slideshow

“The mulassa represents the people,” Grima says. It’s culture of, by, and for the people, just like the Festival’s mission.

“Besides, we wanted to promote dialogue,” Grau adds, explaining that the mulassa represents the people, and the power of the people is speech.

Another reason the mulassa seemed the perfect choice was the short time allotted for its construction. Grima had only ten days to complete his mission, but he had help. His open workshop in the Imaginary Figures tent meant that many members of the Catalonia delegation left their fingerprints on the mulassa, some by proximity and some because of their expertise.

One afternoon, next to Grima’s stand, tailor Pau Fernández worked in concentration, oblivious to the surrounding music and conversations. The fingertips of his left hand went white from applying pressure to the ends of a rope on a wooden piece, and in his right hand was a needle. It took him a minute or two to acknowledge a question about what he was doing. He replied with a grin from ear to ear. “I’m making the mulassa’s tail.” He had gone around the Festival grounds hunting for materials to make the tail, and in the Street Decorations tent he found “thick frayed rope with blond highlights.”  

In contrast with the Folklife Festival, which is planned years in advance, Grima points out that the mulassa is “an improvised figure, created sort of randomly for carnival, with leftover materials.” However, even within the structured framework of the Festival, there was room for improvisation. “We made our decisions based on availability. Whatever we had is what we used. That was that,” Fernández says, cheerfully recalling his rope hunt.

During the last two days of the Festival, the mulassa debuted its ritual performance, complete with her own original tune.

“I composed the music in one night,” says Marcel Casellas, director and bass player of the Cobla Catalana dels Sons Essencials. “I wish I had had more time to toy with it, but I wrote it alone in the hotel bedroom in one night.”

Teresa Agustí from the Esbart Ciutat Comtal dance ensemble felt something was missing from the mulassa’s first performance.

“Does it have dance steps?” she asked Casellas. “It didn’t. So we offered.”

By virtue of improvisation, the Smithsonian acquired a whole ritual instead of a mere ritual object, with contributions from a tailor, a composer, and a choreographer. It seemed that Grau’s wish to restore the more dynamic nature of the beast was materializing.

However, improvisation doesn’t mean doing just anything thoughtlessly, rather knowing what fits. To understand the beast and its character, Grima conducted thorough research. “These types of beasts were often created on the spot for a celebration,” he discovered. “They were short-lived.” Thus, to construct a mulassa quickly didn’t make him a careless builder, but one working within his tradition. “I was building in a rush, as my goal was to have it ready so it could dance the last day.”

The rest drew from their cultural bedrock to make fitting inferences. Casellas explained that the music for the mulassa is in two parts because, before she dances, she must interact with the audience. There is symbolism behind her dress as well.

“The mulassa is a jolly creature,” Fernández says. “It is festive, without a corset because it is not bound by its place in the same way as more regal beasts.” He says the burlap dress and the bells captured the lighthearted nature of the beast.

“You have to think about the character of the beast,” Agustí claimed, describing her choreography process. “The audience wants to see a dance that makes sense given the character of the beast.”

Each member of the team gleaned from their individual experiences. All, however, share a familiar frame from which to scaffold a meaningful mulassa’s ritual performance.

Each day of the Festival, the form of the mulassa became a little clearer, but for each of the collaborators, “the birth of the beast,” as Casellas put it, happened in a particular moment. “It is like Geppetto and Pinocchio,” Fernández says. “When does an inanimate object gain life? For me it was the moment when it had eyes.” In contrast, for Grima, the moment was very much connected with the beast’s ability to move. “Movement is very important to me when I build a figure,” he says. “If it works, then it can have life when it dances.”

Casellas recalls the moment Grima told him the mulassa was ready to dance. For him, that was when the collaboration really started.

“The music gives the beast a chance to move is a specific way,” he says. “The moment when I thought it ready to move is when I felt impelled to write.”

Similarly, Agustí prized the mulassa’s ability to move. But for her, its debut in the Plaça Major was its true birth. “When I saw it go toward the plaça, that was it. That moment, it was alive. It moved its head—I know it is made of papier-mâché, but it was truly a magical moment.”

The mulassa, the paradigmatic short-lived beast born in the temporary community of the 2018 Folklife Festival, now resides in the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

“The mulassa is not mine,” Grima claims. “It isn’t mine in the sense that I can’t really sign my name on it. So many people helped me. It is by and for the community, a piece well done.”

It belongs to all the Festival participants and visitors, whether they quickly passed by one day or checked on its progress daily. “This mulassa was an experience,” Agustí concludes.

Now, “whether or not the beast will really dance beyond the Festival is difficult to say,” Casellas says. “I sort of doubt there is anyone in D.C. who knows how to move it. But I still think that it is important to go around and leave traces. Yes, I think that leaving traces matters.”

Smithy, the Mulassa of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, permeated the grounds with her charming joy, merriment, cheer, and mischievous levity. Perhaps outside of the context of Catalonia, she may not dance again. But, to her makers, the most important thing is that all of the pieces are in place for her to come to life again—that there is a living part of Catalonia forever left behind in Washington, D.C.

Meritxell Martín-Pardo is a research associate for the 2018 Folklife Festival’s Catalonia program. She studied philosophy at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona and earned her PhD in religious studies at the University of Virginia.

Cristina Díaz-Carrera is a curator at the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage; most recently, she co-curated the Catalonia program at the Festival. Her current projects include looking at the role of women in Afro-Pacific marimba music and curating a program for the 2019 Folklife Festival’s social power of music theme.

La creació de la mulassa de l’Smithsonian

Cada dia, a les 5 de la tarda, a l’Smithsonian Folklife Festival, hi havia una cercavila, amb gegants, capgrossos, un drac i dansaires. L’últim dissabte, un altre dissabte assolellat al National Mall, els visitants s’havien congregat, com sempre, a la Plaça Major. No sabien que assistirien a un debut d’allò més especial.

A la carpa del seguici festiu, una mula treia el cap entre les figures del bestiari. Fins aleshores, havia estat un projecte. Sota la direcció de l’artista Miquel Grima, s’havia donat forma a la cara i el cos de la bèstia. Ara lluïa amb orgull el seu escut i avançava trotant, amb els seus portadors, cap a l’àrea de l’actuació, amb un port airós i inclinant deliberadament el cap. En sentir-se les primeres notes de la melodia composta per a l’ocasió, la mulassa va començar el seu ball.

Veure com la Smithy, com se la va batejar, havia cobrat vida ens va fer pensar que aquesta història s’havia d’explicar. Així, doncs, totes dues, integrants de l’equip comissarial del programa de Catalunya, vam decidir prosseguir les nostres reunions setmanals a banda i banda de l’Atlàntic i entrevistar els principals artistes que havien participat en la creació de la mulassa: Grima, el creador d’imatgeria festiva; Jan Grau, l’historiador que va ajudar Grima a fer la recerca; Pau Fernández, el sastre que va dissenyar el vestit de la mulassa; Marcel Casellas, director de la Cobla Catalana dels Sons Essencials i compositor de la música per al ball de la mulassa, i Teresa Agustí, directora de l’Esbart Ciutat Comtal, que, juntament amb Lluís Calduch Ramos, va idear els passos de ball de la coreografia. Aquesta és la seva història.

La mulassa és, potser, la figura més divertida del bestiari festiu català. Les mules són conegudes per la seva tossuderia, i així, la mulassa és una bèstia concebuda per fer la guitza a tots els que l’envolten, per provocar-los, per riure-se’n. A més, tal com ens va explicar Grima, «la mulassa representa les classes populars d’una vila, no pas els rics ni les elits». La majoria de les persones amb qui vam parlar no podien descriure la mulassa sense contraposar-la a l’àliga, que representa els reis o la noblesa, i el drac, la bèstia a la qual va donar mort sant Jordi, patró de Catalunya.

S’han documentat mulasses en el bestiari festiu català des del segle xvii. Quan planificava la creació de la bèstia, Grima va consultar l’expert en imatgeria festiva Jan Grau. Van examinar molts exemples de mulasses, antics i actuals, i fins i tot van anar a veure la famosa mulassa de Reus. Una diferència que van trobar en les figures d’imatgeria festiva modernes és que ara són més estàtiques.

«Abans, el moviment era molt important», explica Grau. Quan va anar a veure la mulassa de Reus amb Grima, es van fixar particularment en com es movia el coll i en el mecanisme que hi havia al darrere. «La idea era recuperar en molts sentits el significat original de la mulassa. I el significat de la mulassa és el moviment.»

Però més enllà d’aquesta recuperació històrica, Grima va triar la mulassa pel que podia significar en el context d’un festival a Washington. Segons explica, una figura del bestiari festiu ha de tenir un vincle amb la comunitat, hi ha de pertànyer. Per tenir significat, ha de vehicular les històries de la comunitat que l’encarrega. Aquesta tasca, però, era més complexa en aquest cas concret, ja que el personatge havia de formar part de la tradició del bestiari festiu català i alhora ser suggeridor per al públic del Folklife Festival. Per tot això, Grima i Grau van concloure que la mulassa era la bèstia més adequada per a l’esdeveniment.

«La mulassa representa el poble», diu Grima. «És cultura del poble, pel poble i per al poble, i justament aquesta és la missió del Festival.»

«A més, volíem promoure el diàleg», afegeix Grau, i explica que la mulassa encarna el poble, i el poder del poble és la paraula.

Una altra raó per la qual la mulassa semblava l’opció perfecta era el poc temps previst per construir-la. Grima disposava de tan sols deu dies per concloure l’encàrrec, però tenia ajuda. El fet que treballés en un taller obert a la carpa de la imatgeria festiva va suposar que molts membres de la delegació de Catalunya poguessin deixar la seva empremta en la mulassa, alguns per proximitat i d’altres per habilitat artística.

Una tarda, al costat de l’estand de Grima, el sastre Pau Fernández treballava concentrat, sense parar esment en la música i les converses que l’envoltaven. Tenia les puntes dels dits de la mà esquerra blanques de pressionar els extrems d’una corda sobre un tros de fusta, i a la mà dreta sostenia una agulla. Va trigar un o dos minuts a respondre a la pregunta de què feia. Finalment, va dir, amb un somriure d’orella a orella: «estic fent la cua de la mulassa». Havia recorregut tot el recinte del Festival buscant materials per fer la cua, i a la carpa de les decoracions de carrer va trobar «corda gruixuda esfilagarsada amb blens rossos».

A diferència del Folklife Festival, que es planifica amb anys d’antelació, Grima assenyala que la mulassa és «una figura improvisada, que es va construint com es pot per al carnestoltes, amb materials reaprofitats». Però fins i tot dins el marc estructurat del Festival, hi havia marge per a la improvisació. «Preníem decisions d’acord amb la disponibilitat. El que teníem era el que fèiem servir i prou», explica Fernández, recordant divertit la recerca de la corda.

Els últims dos dies del Festival, la mulassa va interpretar per primera vegada el seu ball ritual, acompanyada de la melodia original.

«Vaig compondre la música en una nit», explica Marcel Casellas, director i baixista de la Cobla Catalana dels Sons Essencials. «M’hauria agradat tenir més temps per jugar-hi, però la vaig escriure sol a l’habitació de l’hotel en una nit.»

Teresa Agustí, de l’Esbart Ciutat Comtal, trobava que en la primera actuació de la mulassa hi faltava alguna cosa.

«Té passos de ball?», va preguntar a Casellas. «I com que no en tenia, ens vam oferir a crear-los», explica.

Així va ser com, de manera improvisada, gràcies a les aportacions d’un sastre, un compositor i una coreògrafa, l’Smithsonian va adquirir tot un ritual, i no tan sols un mer objecte ritual. Semblava que el desig de Grau de recuperar el caràcter més dinàmic de la bèstia es materialitzava.

Però improvisar no és pas fer qualsevol cosa irreflexivament, sinó saber què encaixa en el projecte. Per entendre la bèstia i el seu tarannà, Grima va dur a terme una recerca rigorosa. «Vaig descobrir que aquesta mena de figures se solien crear expressament quan hi havia una celebració», explica. «Tenien una vida efímera.» Així, doncs, construir una mulassa de pressa no implicava que fos un artista poc curós, sinó un artista que treballa d’acord amb la tradició. «Vaig fer-la de pressa perquè el meu objectiu era tenir-la enllestida perquè pogués ballar l’últim dia.»

La resta d’artistes, basant-se en els seus coneixements i experiència culturals, van anar deduint coses. Casellas comenta que la música de la mulassa consta de dues parts perquè abans de ballar ha d’interactuar amb el públic. També hi ha simbolisme en el vestit.

«La mulassa és una criatura simpàtica», explica Fernández. «És festiva i no hi ha gens d’encotillament perquè no té les limitacions d’altres bèsties més majestuoses.» Fernández afegeix que el vestit d’arpillera i els picarols reflecteixen l’esperit jovial del personatge.

«Cal pensar en el seu caràcter» indica Agustí quan descriu el procés de creació de la coreografia. «El públic vol un ball que sigui coherent amb el tarannà de la bèstia.»

Cada membre de l’equip va partir de les seves experiències particulars a l’hora de fer la seva aportació. Tots, però, comparteixen un marc familiar a partir del qual es podia construir una actuació ritual de la mulassa que tingués sentit.

A mesura que avançava el Festival, la mulassa anava prenent forma, però per a cadascun dels col·laboradors, «el naixement de la bèstia», com en diu Casellas, va tenir lloc en un moment concret. «És com en Geppetto i en Pinotxo», explica Fernández. «Quan cobra vida un objecte inanimat? Per a mi va ser quan va tenir ulls.» En canvi, per a Grima, aquell moment està molt relacionat amb la capacitat de moviment de la bèstia. «Quan construeixo una figura, el moviment és molt important per a mi», diu. «Si funciona, pot tenir vida quan balla.»

Casellas recorda el moment en què Grima li va dir que la mulassa estava llesta per ballar. Per a ell va ser aquell el moment en què va començar realment la seva col·laboració.

«La música dona a la bèstia la possibilitat de moure’s d’una manera determinada», diu. «El moment en què vaig pensar que estava llesta per moure’s és quan vaig sentir l’impuls d’escriure.»

Agustí també valora molt la facultat de moure’s. Per a ella, però, el naixement de la mulassa pròpiament dit va ser en el moment del seu debut a la Plaça Major. «Va ser quan vaig veure que avançava cap a la plaça. En aquell instant era viva. Va moure el cap —sé que és de paper maixé, però va ser realment màgic.»

La mulassa, la bèstia paradigmàtica i efímera nascuda al si de la comunitat temporal del Folklife Festival del 2018, és avui a l’Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

«La mulassa no és meva», explica Grima. «No és meva en el sentit que no podria posar-hi la meva signatura, perquè vaig tenir l’ajuda de moltes persones. És una peça feta per la comunitat i per a la comunitat, una peça ben feta.»

La mulassa pertany als participants i els visitants del Festival, tant si hi van treure el cap un dia com si hi anaven assíduament. «Aquesta mulassa va ser una experiència», conclou Agustí.

«És difícil dir si la bèstia realment ballarà fora del context del festival», comenta Casellas. «No crec pas que hi hagi ningú a Washington que sàpiga fer-la ballar, però penso que igualment és important moure’s i deixar una empremta. Sí, estic convençut que deixar una empremta té molt sentit.»

La Smithy, la mulassa de l’Smithsonian Folklife Festival, va impregnar-ho tot amb la seva alegria, la seva jovialitat, el seu goig, i la seva lleugeresa trapella. Potser no tornarà a ballar fora del context de Catalunya, però per als seus creadors, el més important és que tot és al seu lloc perquè un dia torni a cobrar vida: que ha quedat una part viva de Catalunya per sempre a Washington.

Meritxell Martín-Pardo és investigadora associada per al programa de Catalunya de l’Smithsonian Folklife Festival del 2018. És llicenciada en filosofia per la Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona i doctora en estudis religiosos per la Universitat de Virgínia.