Edgardo Kerlegand—Learning to draw
By Edward Swift, June 8, 2007

When visitors enter the Barro Gallery in Fábrica la Aurora, they often say, “Edgardo Kerlegand draws beautifully.” It’s true, he does draw beautifully, but this was not always the case. In school Kerlegand excelled in all subjects except art.

He was particularly good at mathematics, but drawing was a talent that eluded him, a skill he had no hope of learning. In search of this talent he traveled the world for many years before he found a way of seeing and meditating that allowed him to capture an image on paper.

Today he teaches popular workshops in Zen drawing and many of his students say his class changed their lives and way of working.

Edgardo Kerlegand was born in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas to a family as complex and fascinating as Mexican history itself. His paternal great-grandmother, who spoke only Tzeltal, was Mayan and those characteristics are prominent in his face. The Kerlegand side originated in France, moved to Louisiana, and finally settled in Mexico early in the 19th century. One great-grandfather fought in the Battle of Puebla and was governor of Tabasco and Campeche. One of his uncles was a socialist who closed churches and turned them into schools. 

When Edgardo Kerlegand was a child his parents moved to Mexico City to escape “the traditional, closed and racist community” in Chiapas and to find better opportunities for themselves and their children. “Our friends were writers, painters, philosophers, socialists and one or two anarchists. These people and their ideas were a second education for my parents. They were barely 20 years old when they arrived in Mexico City. They were carrying a little bag of clothes, my sisters and me. Nothing else.” 

One of their neighbors was Marion Laudy, was Dutch author of The World is my Fatherland. She had witnessed racism during the war in Europe, in the United States and Mexico. She instilled in him a sense of respect for all people and he remembers her with great admiration and gratitude. “She represented a contact with the outside world which was for us something unknown. She made me promise that I would never hate anyone for the color of their skin or their beliefs. She taught me English and philosophy. She put Kant and Nietzche in my hands. She taught us to be proud of our heritage. Her lover was a notorious painter, Frederick Frank. She always said that he was the only man she loved because he was an artist. He gave her all his paintings and she gave them to me.”

Another family friend of great influence was sculptor Salvador Magaña, a passionate, quiet artist, who had a love of nature and ecology. “Because my parents admired him so much, I began thinking more about art. Two of my uncles and one of my aunts painted, so art was already in my family. The environment of politics, philosophy, painters, and sculptors sent me to art school at age 12.”

When he was about 16 years old, he took the door off his parents’ room stretched canvas over it and painted his first painting. Instead of anger he was rewarded with a kiss. Even with their approval, he knew something was missing—he still had not learned to draw. He could not capture the images that pulled at his heart. In frustration he dropped out of art school, and at the age of 17 he entered the university as an economics student. Somewhere in his third year he visited a friend’s art school and that changed his career path. This school had structure and taught theory. “I had a feeling,” he recalls, “that I belonged in that school.”


In spite of the disapproval of some professors, he had his father’s support “It is your life. At this moment I have the possibilities to support you economically, but the day will come when I will not. You must understand this.” 

After art school, restlessness set in and he decided to travel. A facility for languages led to an art school in Perugia, Italy. During his stay in Europe, he visited Yugoslavia and fell in love with the country. The Balkan war was raging but he stayed and learned Croatian well enough to teach it. “I was living in one of the worst places during the worst of times,” he remembers, “and yet all the people had hope. They had great expectations.” Every day the war continued. There were constant attacks, killings, disappearances, and yet the people continued to go about their daily lives. Everyday he taught his classes as if there would be a tomorrow, but in reality there was no hope of tomorrow, and yet, everyone he encountered continued to live in anticipation of a bright future. This experience taught him a lot about life and survival.

He continued his odyssey and eventually journeyed to the Isle of Athos a place of monasteries and ancient books. He lived with the Greek Orthodox monks, learned about Byzantine painting, and “the importance of looking for the light inside ourselves in order to discover the best of who we are.”


On that island where time had stopped centuries before his arrival, he felt surrounded by an ancient silence and wisdom forgotten by most of the world. For the first time in his life he had time; time to take stock of his life, to think about where he had been and to understand his experiences.

He began to look at things differently, more closely. It was on the Isle of Athos that he started to draw “not by drawing but by thinking.” He taught himself to meditate on an object for hours and to translate the image into the language of lines, textures, colors, dots. It didn’t happen overnight, and it may have never happened for many years had he not discovered this island of contemplation. In his drawing workshop he tries to recreate that “Athos experience” for his students. He believes that in the right atmosphere and frame of mind, drawing can be learned. He says that anybody can do it. All you need is time and the chance to observe and turn your thoughts inward. It wasn’t until he looked inside himself that he found his talent. “And then,” he says, “I began to draw.”

Edward Swift is a novelist and visual artist. He manages Galería Edward Swift in Fábrica la Aurora.