In San Miguel de Allende, I’ve learned to always look up. Above the narrow cobblestone streets, strings of papel picado stretch from balcony to balcony, fluttering with every breath of wind. In the mornings, as the church bells ring and the scent of fresh tortillas drifts from the market, delicate banners sway in the sunlight. By evening, when mariachis begin to play in the Jardín, their cutout shapes cast shadows that dance against adobe walls painted in ochre and rose.

These decorations feel timeless, yet their history runs deeper than most people realize. Long before bright tissue paper became the canvas, the Aztecs and Mayans created sacred designs from Amatl, a bark paper they considered alive with spiritual power. They cut intricate patterns into it for ceremonies and offerings, transforming a simple sheet into something sacred. What we see today, the vibrant strings of color strung across fiestas and altars, is a living thread that ties us back to an ancient practice.

The process begins with imagination. An artist sketches a design onto paper, then protects the delicate outline with a layer of clear plastic. To bring the design to life many times over, they carefully stack dozens of tissue thin sheets, sometimes as many as 40 or 50 before stapling them into place.

With a small mallet and chisels shaped for different cuts, the artist begins the rhythmic work of carving. Each strike removes tiny pieces of paper, slowly revealing flowers, birds, geometric patterns, or sacred symbols. When the stack is finally separated, what emerges is not just one papel picado but a whole flock of them identical, fragile, and ready to catch the light.
From there, they are strung along plazas, streets, and doorways to wave in the breeze. More than decorations, they become threads of color that stitch together community, celebration, and tradition.

Here in San Miguel, I feel that connection. During Día de los Muertos which arrives in the Fall, papel picado flutters above candlelit altars. It’s more than decoration, it becomes a whisper of remembrance. At weddings, when banners ripple over the streets, they feel like blessings carried on the wind.

To me, papel picado is a bridge. It links the sacred with the celebratory, the Indigenous past with the present day fiestas that spill into our streets. It reminds me that even the most delicate materials, including paper, really can carry centuries of history and spirit. And so, every time I look up, I see not only a burst of color but a story fluttering above my head.