Home & Decoration

The surreal estate of the frogs
By Carol Wheeler, Sept 1, 2006

Is Casa de las Ranas a mirage? Well, no, but at first glance, it’s a little hard to believe the place is thoroughly grounded in our world. The first thing you see as you approach is a fence made of bedsprings and empty wine bottles, followed by a garden gate embellished with a nearly life-size Virgin of Guadalupe made from the soap plant, a native cactus.

And it only gets way more fantastic from there. Think Gaudi, think Watts Towers, think all the outsider art you’ve ever seen. None of it could top the home of Anado McLauchlin and Richard Schultz, the owners and residents and creators of this fabulous estate, both of whose bearded likenesses are permanently represented in brilliantly colored tile on the façade of Anado’s studio at their house, Casa de las Ranas, in Cieneguita, which will be on the Biblioteca Pública’s House & Garden tour Sunday, September 10.

This house is about as different from the usual decorator-inspired residence on a house tour as Bloomsbury is from Madison Avenue. Living rooms painted orange and pink may not be so unusual in San Miguel, but when a large work called “Shock and Awe (The Bush Sisters)” is hanging on the wall, that kind of punches up the color, too. (That’s just one of the eight pieces from a recent installation by Anado’s alter ego, Jimmy Ray, at the Querétaro City Museum that are on the walls here. If you missed it, here’s another chance.

Anado and Richard’s gardens are themselves unique. Visitors first thread their way through a maze of grasses bordered by swiss chard and morning glories to come out at the giant tile mosaic in the central seating area outside. (On your way, try to notice the xuichil, a 20-foot-high structure made of plant material, leaning against the wall. The Chichimecas used to carry their war dead on the xúchiles. Now, they carry them to San Miguel on certain holidays and stand them up in front of the Parroquia. This, and so much else, has been executed by Carlos Ramírez, Anado’s “co-collaborator and colleague,” who lives with his family just down the road. 

Anado’s portrait (“in the Aztec style,” he says) is in the center of the garden mosaic, surrounded by representations of various animals and icons in glowing color. And around the mosaic itself are every kind of cactus and many kinds of flowers: cosmos, begonias, Mexican marigolds, solanum and lavender, as well as tomatoes, and even, well, yes, baskets.

Yes, there’s a burgeoning forest of baskets hanging from trees, like giant blossoms. Don’t, by the way, miss the bust of Homer or the clothesline of Tibetan prayer flags.

Where do they find these things? Anado says, “someone left them here” or “they were in with the garbage,” but especially, he contends, it’s because he’s “always looking.” However, when you see the house and you begin to take in all the possessions of every kind that have accumulated in their artful way, you can’t help but feel that in fact all these objects must be looking for Anado and Richard, or else the two men couldn’t possibly have found them. After all, I look everywhere, too, at yard sales and roadside sales, at dumps and thrift shops and old-furniture stores, but so far, I haven’t found one-hundredth of the things they have. Well, I’ve found things, but not with the charm, the antiquity, the value of their finds. And then, of course, there is the sheer artistry of putting them together, placing them, arranging them—that is surely an art in itself.

Luckily, between the tour bus and the fantastic house and gardens, you get a bit of a warning, just a taste of what’s to come, as you pass what’s known around La Cieneguita as Casa Papaya. 

(It’s named after the gardener, Tránsito; his son calls him Pa, and Anado starting calling him Papaya, and now everyone does.) Casa Papaya is the most artistic garden shed I’ve ever seen (admittedly, that wouldn’t take much). Its interior is crammed with rakes and shovels and planting tools of every kind, and its exterior is a riot of Chichimecan art. Embedded in the bricks are three-dimensional figures made of old roof tejas, broken tiles, pieces of glass, buttons, amethyst from the mines as an offering, a beard made of the maguey plant, broken pots and shells.

Feast your eyes on Casa Papaya and on the surrounding gardens, but don’t take too long—there’s so much to see on the exterior surface of the house and inside. One section of the back façade of the house is covered with tiles of every description—“all seconds,” Anado says. There are tiles that look Dutch and German and Turkish and, of course, Mexican, many that you’ve probably never seen before no matter how often you go to Dolores Hidalgo, mounted on exterior walls, ceilings and columns. “A riot of color” is a phrase that comes to mind but pales beside this reality. One back wall is brilliant blue with two tiled columns of snakes from floor to ceiling, both about to pounce on a mouse in the middle. (Look left and see a fence made of mesquite trees that died on the property.)

All the tiling, Anado says, is inspired by the Austrian painter and architect Friedensreich Hundertwasser, but of course “with a Mexican twist.” For the tile work, Anado does the early design and Carlos takes it from there (“And I don’t stop him,” adds Anado).

Perhaps the most wondrous aspect of all this design and execution is the mark of the human hand everywhere. Other than the plumbing, it’s hard to find anything in this house and its surroundings that isn’t made by hand—and a skillful, artistic hand at that.

In any case, eventually you’ll have to leave the delights of the outdoors and step inside Casa de las Ranas—to perhaps greater delights. The dining room contains the first piece of furniture Anado embellished. Formerly, it was just an ordinary cabinet, but now it is painted and decorated with feathers and pictures and buttons and beads, dedicated to the Lakotas who died in the 1970s, Anado says. In the corners are life-size abuelitas (grandmother figures), one dressed in “an old turkey feather jacket” (who has ever heard of such an article of clothing?) and the other in another feather costume. On top of the Lakota cabinet (and others) is a collection of nuchus, made by Indians who live on the San Blas Islands off the coast of Panama. “They’re healing fetishes made of balsa,” Anado explains. To me, it seems a full-time job to be curator of his own house. To Anado, it’s just another opportunity to show his art. He enjoys it!

Moving into the living room, I can describe just one corner in any detail. After all, this piece has to be written in time to get into the paper in time for you to read it in time to make it to the Biblioteca for the house tour for this unique visual experience. Reading about it will never replace seeing it for yourself. So, moving into the living room—with its double-high ceiling, expansive windows, corner fireplace and golden Buddha—we spy the staircase wall, in which a half-moon nicho has been cut to display skookum dolls from the 1940s, a wooden bear from Tennessee, a weaving tool from Peru, a framed picture of Richard (Anado’s partner) as a baby, a box containing dirt from Ten-asi (the Cherokee capital) and ashes from Anado’s father’s grave and … other things. Just below are some of many large constructions, called by Anado “artifactos,” using older found objects to create scenes and evoke memories and emotions. There are angels, cristos, saints’ feet (originally from a larger sculpture), santos, hair, t
rinkets, jewels and uncounted and unnamed things arranged in an evocative way. At the end of the wall, where the stairs begin, stands a three-foot-tall, chubby, beaming San Roque—the patron saint of dogs—made of cantera and coated with flaking paint, adorned with a chain of colored baskets, just standing guard. Anado and Richard have five dogs, all very much loved and thus very charming, and five cats, likewise loved.

Feast your eyes on the objects filling the room. You’ll see bright pottery tableaux from Ocumicho, sugar sculptures from Pátzcuaro, a jaguar from Jalisco, a Buddha from Bali and masks everywhere, some from a market in Mexico City, others from the side of the road in Oaxaca. 

In one corner is the kitchen, almost like ordinary kitchens in that it has the requisite appliances and counters, but unique with its bright red tile, pictures, the “neo-traditional” Katsina dolls of the Hopi stuck up on the walls—not one or two, but possibly a dozen. Of course, everything has a story, like the clock from India with a god called Mahavira on one side and the time on the other. “I was the ashram shopper,” Anado explains, recalling the time he lived in India. He went into town regularly and bought from the merchants, known as Marvadis. He found them to be ruthless but tried to be nice anyway. “They’d never met an American who joked with them. They gave me the clock as a regalo.”

In addition to the studio beyond the kitchen (you won’t hear a word from me about that—because once you start how can you stop?—except possibly the word “parrot”; it’s perched inside a cage in the studio) and the fountain and façade beyond the studio, there is of course the whole upstairs of the house, a place with a vast bedroom with a bóveda ceiling, more fantastic xúchiles, life-size door paintings of interesting women and crafts both antique and contemporary, not to mention enchanting little nooks and crannies and closets.

Suffice it to say that I’ve only scratched the surface of Anado and Richard’s house and gardens and lives. It’s up to you to find out more when you see for yourself on September 10. Anado asked me to mention that it’s possible to arrange a private tour, too, by visiting his website, www.madebyanado.com  and making an appointment.