Princess Magnolia and the Golden Breasts

Treana Peake

You had known José García and his work for years before making Princess Magnolia and the Golden Breasts. What made you feel that his story was ready to become a film?
I’ve worked with artisans around the world for nearly two decades, and I was fortunate to meet José and his family along the way. His work is incredibly distinctive, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized just how much of his life, and particularly his love for his family, was put into everything he created.

Every time I left their workshop, I walked away feeling reminded that love and imagination are some of the greatest gifts we are given, and I think anyone who’s spent time with José and his family would probably tell you the same thing.

After losing his sight, José began sculpting his wife Teresita’s face from memory so he wouldn’t forget her features. And then there were these stories about mermaids that he’d believed in since childhood, which had also found their way into his sculptures.

I was fascinated by how it all connected: his imagination, his love for Teresita, and this unwavering belief in mermaids. There was something so innocent and pure about the whole story, and I felt it was worth sharing.

José and his family were incredibly gracious in agreeing to let us tell their story. Ultimately, I think we all just wanted to put a little more love and imagination out into the world.

What was the first image, moment or idea that made you begin imagining this as a documentary?
It was José telling me about his belief in mermaids. His mother had told him stories as a child about beautiful women who lived beneath the sea, and he’d carried those stories with him his entire life.

What interested me was how naturally he spoke about them. There was no distinction between those childhood stories and the way he understood the world today.

When we started talking about the possibility of taking him to the ocean, where he could share this experience with his wife and get closer to mermaids, I knew there was a film there.

I loved the idea of making something about the purity of imagination and believing in something that may or may not exist, but to him absolutely does. I think there’s something we can all learn from José’s perspective on life, and that was reason enough for me to make the film.

José’s relationship with mermaids is central to the story. What interested you most about this belief, and how did you want to approach it without explaining it away?
What interested me was that José’s belief wasn’t something separate from his life or his work. It was all connected: the stories his mother told him, the figures he makes, and the way he sees Teresita. His sculptures often blur the lines between a woman and a mermaid.

I didn’t feel it was my place to question what he believed or try to explain it. That’s his world, and it’s a fascinating one.

I remember sitting with him at the ocean, with his face turned toward the water, genuinely believing there were mermaids swimming out there. It made me think about all the things we believe in but can’t necessarily see or touch, whether that’s something spiritual or even something as simple as hope or love. We all believe in things we can’t prove. José just happens to believe in mermaids, and I love that about him.

How did your existing relationship with José and his family affect the way you approached filming them?
It made a huge difference. These are relationships I’ve built over years, and I think that changes everything about how you approach a story.

We weren’t arriving as strangers asking people to open up their lives for a film. There was already trust, and that allowed us to work in a much more natural way.

I also wanted José and Teresita to feel completely comfortable with what we were doing. They aren’t actors, and I didn’t want them to feel they needed to perform for the camera. I wanted the film to reflect who they actually are.

And in many ways, the film itself was intended as a gift to them. Something that would preserve José’s work, his stories, and this moment in their lives. Something to leave with their family, their community, and their country. That was always an important part of why I wanted to do it.

What did you discover about José during the making of the film that surprised you?
I already knew how imaginative José was, how deeply he loves, and how much he influences everyone around him. His entire family looks at him with absolute adoration, myself included.

What I hadn’t realized was how physically active he is! He’s constantly moving, exercising, and keeping his body strong, never allowing his blindness to get in the way. There’s a scene in the film where he suddenly does a plank/push-up on a table, which took us completely by surprise.

I also hadn’t realized how he approaches his work. He gets up at three in the morning and makes his way into his workshop to begin sculpting. He doesn’t need the sun to be up or the lights to be on. He just quietly finds his way to the clay and starts working.

I find something really beautiful about that. Those early morning hours, before the world wakes up, are probably the only time he has complete quiet around him.

What did you discover about yourself as a filmmaker while making your first documentary?
That I’m not really a filmmaker! Or at least, I still don’t think of myself as one, even though I’ve made three films this year alone.

My goal was never to become a filmmaker in the traditional sense. I’m interested in people, in recognizing and appreciating the lives they lead and what they contribute to the world. Film just happens to be another way for me to share those stories, and I’m fortunate to have the resources and people around me to help bring them together.

I always believed I could do it, but that’s how I approach most things in life. I tend to jump in and figure things out along the way.

And maybe there’s something valuable about coming into filmmaking without a formal background. You approach it with a certain innocence, without too many preconceived ideas about how things are supposed to be done.

I have no particular ambition to turn this into a career. I’m not making films for myself. I’m doing it because I meet extraordinary people whose stories I think deserve to be told, and I want to find a way to tell them properly.

How did you decide what kind of visual language would suit José’s story?
I wanted the film to reflect how I imagine José himself views the world. And despite being blind, that world is in full colour.

He approaches everything with such wonder, excitement, and enthusiasm for life. I imagine that in his mind, things exist in their most beautiful form, because that’s so much of who he is as a person.

So we deliberately embraced colour throughout the film, both to reflect José’s outlook on life and to celebrate the richness of Mexican culture.

Because he works through touch and memory, we also spent a lot of time focusing on his hands, the clay, the textures of his studio, and the small interactions between him and Teresita.

And, of course, the ocean becomes another important element. It’s a place he’s imagined for so long but hadn’t experienced since losing his sight.

Sound was equally important. We wanted to capture the natural sounds of his environment, alongside original music composed by Ryan Peake and Mexican songs that hold personal meaning for José’s family and community.

Was there anything about the process that turned out to be completely different from what you had expected when you began?
You can go into a project with a pretty clear idea of the story you want to tell, but post-production is an enormous amount of work. I think that was something I just didn’t expect! You’re working through hundreds of individual moments, trying to figure out how they fit together, what matters, and what doesn’t.

And I probably didn’t help myself by taking on three documentaries in one year while also running a global company and a foundation, and having a family!

It’s been a lot, but I’ve learned an incredible amount through the process.

What was the most challenging part of making the film?
I would say the language, without question.

My Spanish isn’t quite where I’d like it to be. I took a lot of lessons leading up to filming, and I can certainly hold my own in a conversation, but making a documentary is very different.

So much of storytelling is in the subtleties and nuances of what someone is saying. It’s not just about understanding the words, but also the emotion behind them, the humour, the little expressions, and things that aren’t necessarily said directly.

Being able to recognize and properly capture those layers in another language was challenging. And when you’re telling such a personal story, those details really matter.

Did making this film change the way you think about your work with artisans and the stories that exist behind their work?
Not fundamentally, because it’s something I’ve believed for a long time. But it certainly reinforced it.

I’ve always been interested in the person behind the object: where someone lives, what they’ve experienced, what influences their work, and how their knowledge has been passed down.

José’s sculptures are extraordinary on their own, but understanding the relationship between his work, his memories, and his personal life gives you a completely different perspective.

I think when you understand the person and their story, you appreciate what they’ve created in an entirely different way.

Obakki Films grew out of years of documenting the people and communities you work with. What can film capture about an artisan’s life that photography, writing, or an object itself cannot?
Film gives you time with someone, and I think that’s what makes it so valuable.

I travel all over the world, and Obakki is active in 26 countries. The access I’ve had to people and their incredible stories is something I feel very grateful for. I’ve spent much of my life in different parts of the world, and I’ve always had a very global perspective. I don’t really see the world in terms of borders or divisions. To me, we’re all connected.

Film is a way to share that perspective and bring people a little closer together. It allows someone on the other side of the world to spend time with a person they might never otherwise meet, hear their voice, understand their life, and perhaps recognize something of themselves in that person.

I also think about what these films will mean years from now. We’re documenting artists, their techniques, their voices, their homes, and their relationships. It’s a record of a particular person and place at a particular moment in time.

To me, there is real value in preserving that.

What are you most curious to explore as you continue developing Obakki Films?
There are so many stories within the artisan communities we’ve worked with over the years, and we’ve really only begun exploring them through film. Most of my work is in remote locations, and after seeing how this film, just from sharing small links on my social media platform, is inspiring people, I can’t wait to create more.

One of my recent projects this year was documenting the massive earthquake in Turkey. We went to the epicentre and helped weavers rebuild after losing everything. The world is full of extraordinary people doing extraordinary things, and I am grateful for the opportunity to tell their stories!

I’m really just interested in continuing to meet people, learning from them, and finding ways to share their stories with others.