For thousands of years, the colour red thrived in pre-hispanic Mexico, a dye derived from a small insect, cochineal, used for clothing, cosmetics, cooking and craft. I have just returned from cochineal’s ancestral home, where it is still cultivated today, having visited a small, traditional cochineal farm while in Oaxaca.
Like many wonderful things in the world, cochineal’s history is marred by colonialism and exploitation, a natural resource whose value was, for centuries, more profitable than gold.
Shrouded in a Mayan mythology of gods and clouds, cochineal feed off nopal cacti. Once believed to be a seed, the cochineal insect takes it’s western name from it’s resemblance to a wood louse; in Spanish cochinilla. They live for 3 months, and in that time are fed and nourished by the cacti’s juice, then ethically cultivated at the end of their lifecycle, only once they have been transplanted to lay eggs for a new generation of cochineal. Only females produce the reddish pink dye, a carminic acid, producing intense and lasting colour, the apex of its production under the Aztecs, who used it namely as a medicinal cure, to colour tamales, illustrate maps, and adorn statues and houses. Aztec women were even known to have painted their teeth – and maybe their bodies – with it too.
Before the Spanish colonised Mexico, the colour red was elusive to Europe, and upon seeing cochineals results on invading the country, they quickly set about ruthless efforts to exploit cochineal, exporting in bulk to Seville. Demand soared, and cochineal red became a sign of ultimate power and wealth; Spain had to try hard to hide its origin to preserve their monopoly.
But it wasn’t long before other colonisers became captivated by cochineal. On naval trading routes, cochineal pirates were rife, including Sir Walter Raleigh, (Queen Elizabeth I’s favourite) who captured three Spanish ships carrying twenty-seven tons of cochineal. Britain used the dye widely for the wool cloth of army uniforms, and the royalty and nobility of many European countries took cochineal up in droves, including Louis XIV, who ordered the upholstery of the chairs and the royal bed curtains at Versailles to be dyed with cochineal. Over time, artists also started to gain access to cochineal to introduce bright red tones into their work and palette, from Velázquez and Rubens, to Van Gogh and Rembrandt. As this struggle for cochineal waged on, it inspired a ‘race’ to develop the first synthetic dyes, which sadly now continue to cause inexplicable damage to our environment.
Synthetic dyes led to cochineal’s use to fade. At Slow and Sow, we love the versatility of cochineal. It is the only non vegan dye we use, and I have never been able to be sure of the ethics of its production, so it was really beneficial to see how cochineal is cultivated at its source in real life, to see how they carefully care for and protect these insects for sustainable production in small quantities. The cochineal themselves die once they give birth, and cochineal farmers only start the process of drying them for dye purposes once this has taken place, which put my mind more at rest.
In Oaxaca, these dyes are used heavily in local crafts, notably by weavers and candle makers, who primarily use local, indigenous natural dyes in their work. This was so inspiring and promising to see, and I was lucky enough to bring some cochineal home for mum and I to use in our work, which we will share soon. For us cochineal creates different tones depending on dye quantity, from light and dark pinks on silk and cotton to vibrant reds on silk and wool.
