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For Gennaro Garcia, his childhood memories of Dia de Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, are as colorful and vivid as the art he creates.

The 44-year-old spent his early years in Manzanillo, Colima, in southern Mexico. Every Nov. 1-2, his family would visit the cemetery where his relatives were buried. They would clean the tombs, making them look as good as new. There would be music, tequila and mezcal. And food, lots of food.

"It was a party," says Garcia, who lives in the Ahwatukee Foothills neighborhood. "Everybody in town would come to the cemetery to spend time with the dead. I remember meeting and seeing all of my friends at the cemetery on that day. It was like a celebration of life."

And, he stresses, there was never any fear.

"Part of our tradition in Mexico is to not be scared of death and to smile at it. It's a celebration of our ancestors as they were when they were on this earth, alive. It was never a sad thing or a scary thing."

Day of the Dead survives, celebrates life

Like the memory of a loved one that never fades, Dia de Los Muertos also survives. It may change and evolve, but it never vanishes. The Spaniards learned that when they arrived in central Mexico in the 16th century. They viewed the ritual, which was started by the Aztecs some 3,000 years ago, as sacrilegious. But the festival couldn't be quashed.

Not only did it survive, it thrived, moving from southern Mexico and spreading north. It also merged with elements of Christianity. Originally celebrated in the summer, it moved to Nov. 1 and 2 to coincide with All Saints Days and All Souls Day.

Day of the Dead is still celebrated throughout Mexico and has even gone Hollywood: Daniel Craig's James Bond pursued a baddie through Mexico City during a massive Day of the Dead carnival in 2015's "Spectre." The 2014 film "The Book of Life" features a Day of the Dead theme and animation filled with calacas (skeletons) and calaveras (skulls).

Itt has also moved to certain regions of the United States. In Arizona, for example, there are more than a dozen events that mark the occasion to honor the dead.

Celebrating with altars, processions

At the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, their annual celebration has turned into one of the organization's signature events. There is an exhibition of ofrendas, or offerings to the deceased on altars, as well as music, storytelling and a procession.

Ken Schutz, executive director at the garden, said their event - now in its 13th year - has grown annually, something he sees as a natural progression.

"Nationally, you hear more and more about Day of the Dead," he says. "Our country and our state is becoming more multicultural, and it's higher on everyone's radar. It's becoming part of the national consciousness."

The garden designed its festival to appeal to people who connect with the spiritual aspect as well as those who are more into the playful aesthetic of sugar skulls and dancing skeletons.

"That's important for me on a deep level," Schutz says. "People can plug in in different ways. For some folks, it's a party. That's true in Mexico, and that's true here. But for the indigenous communities, it's a very important holiday, and we try to stay true to that spirit."

Schutz has experienced the power of Day of the Dead first-hand. Several years ago, he spent a week in Oaxaca in southern Mexico during the annual celebration.

DAY OF THE DEAD: Landing page | 2016 events | Where to shop for Dia de los Muertos | History | Crafts | Recipes | For teachers and students

'A profound experience'

"It's a profound experience," Schutz says. "It can be shocking at first, when you go beyond the color and look at the deeper meaning. It was a time of happiness, a time of cooking. There was lots of decorating and bringing colors and flowers into the home. Families would come together to prepare an altar."

Like Garcia, he went to a cemetery at night. And, like most people born and raised with an American sensibility, it was initially an unsettling concept.

"To me, it was the most culturally unfamiliar part of the experience: To sit in a cemetery all night with a mariachi band and a picnic basket at the graveside. The whole thing - it's a whole different way to look at what it means to be alive. It was life-changing for me. I think that's one of the beautiful things about living in a multicultural society: You have the privilege of seeing and sharing perspectives with other cultures."

Oliverio Balcells, who originally is from Guadalajara, Jalisco, is very familiar with the tradition. As a child, he grew up in a "very Christian-Catholic" home, he says, and Day of the Dead was a regular part. There would be trips to the cemetery. In school, children would create skeleton-themed crafts to prepare for the holiday.

Now, however, "I don't really follow with the religion anymore," the Tempe man says with a chuckle. "I just explain to my kids: I don't go to church or to cemeteries anymore."

Tribute to loved ones

Phoenix artist Lucinda Yrene gives a tutorial on how to do adults and kids makeup to look like a Day of the Dead sugar skull. (Photo: Pat Shannahan/The Republic)

But Day of the Dead is a key part of the art he creates. He has made ofrendas for years. This year, he has a display at the garden of a spectacular ofrenda that stands 6 feet. Dominated by black and vibrant purples, it features a large butterfly and a symbol of a cocoon. In Mexico, monarch butterflies appear in November, and many believe they carry the souls of ancestors.

Balcells laughs when he says it's not obvious what was on his mind when he created the ofrenda. But his mother, Marta Delgado, died last year. The altar is a tribute to her.

"You wish this person was here with you," he says. "You want to remember this person, and that's why you do it."

Making the piece was "difficult," he says. "I could not keep my emotions separate. Making an ofrenda is not something that is going to cure you of that feeling of sadness. But the feelings and the memories and all those things? When you finish, and you say, 'It's done,' and you know the purpose and meaning behind it, it's good to have this expression. And that helps you cope with the other parts."

As Day of the Dead has expanded, there could be some fear that certain aspects - the spirituality, in particular - could get lost. Marco Albarran, an exhibit developer at Arizona State University, says evolution is natural.

Still a spiritual holiday?

"Here in the United States, they're just trying to connect to something," he says. "All humans celebrate something that is very similar, but everybody in each place has their own kind of twist, so it becomes more a humanistic celebration than a specifically Mexican one."

Still, there are some elements that bother him about the commercialization of the days.

"Just go to the 99 cents store," he says. "You're going to see Dia de Los Muertos mixed in with Halloween. And then you go to a festival, and you look at Dia de Los Muertos art and it's made in China? That's not right."

He says he will hear people criticize certain Dia de Los Muertos celebrations, saying they're not traditional.

"But even what people perceive as traditional isn't traditional," he says. "I came from a family that was very traditional, and when we came to the border (in Sonora), that tradition still continued, but not as strong. It became very weak.

"Here, it's almost kind of lost. It's hard to connect with family the way we did when we were young, because everybody's doing different things. If it wasn't for Facebook, I don't know what we'd do."

Garcia knows that feeling. When he came to the United States, annual visits to cemeteries stopped. After all, he had no relatives buried here. He might go with friends, but it wasn't the same thing.

Keeping tradition

Art pieces are pictured at the Ofrenda Exhibition at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix on Friday, Oct. 21, 2016. Ofrendas are offerings to the dead, as part of the Mexican celebration of Dia de los Muertos. The exhibit, open until Nov. 2, displays original ofrenda pieces by local artists. (Photo: Ben Moffat/The Republic)

But now that his daughter, Frida, is 6 years old, he and his wife, Briseida Silva, have decided she can be introduced to the meaning behind the art that he does.

"I've been waiting for this moment so we can teach her about Dia de los Muertos," he says. "At an earlier age, they don't understand it completely. Now, she has her own opinions, her own understanding of the celebration. She can understand it, and she doesn't think it's boring. For us, it's as important as teaching her Spanish."

They talk about the grandparents and great-grandparents Frida never knew, and she listens intently.

"That's the beautiful part," he says. "When you see her eyes and she's trying to soak in these people and to understand they've passed away and we're celebrating what they did, their way of life, what they used to eat, their favorite pastry - that's the important thing."
Reach the reporter at randy.cordova@arizonarepublic.com or 602-444-8849. Twitter.com/randy_cordova.
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Day of the Dead history: Ritual dates back 3,000 years and is still evolving

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CLOSE For Gennaro Garcia, his childhood memories of Dia de Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, are as colorful and vivid as the art he creates. The 44-year-old spent his early years in Manzanillo, Colima, in southern Mexico. Every Nov. 1-2, his family would visit the cemetery where his relatives were buried.

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In-flight movie: El Dia de los Muertos en Mexico

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Sil Sandoval sits in a lawn chair in Steele Indian School Park, sipping a QuikTrip soda next to her daughter and mother.

But the scene unfolding around her isn't a typical Sunday soccer game or family picnic. It's Phoenix's annual Día de los Muertos festival, and the tradition is holding strong.

"Every year, I come out here," Sandoval said, her face and chest coated in skeleton paint and adorned with red and green gems. "It's a bunch of loved ones we're remembering. It's nothing like Halloween. It's nothing scary."

The beat of drums and the gentle hum of a mariachi guitar floats over Sandoval. Her hair is wrapped in a bun and topped with a flowered head dress resembling that of La Catrina, a famous image created by Mexican artist José Guadalupe Posada.

MORE: Day of the Dead history: Ritual dates back 3,000 years and is still evolving

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'We want to share the beauty'

Día de los Muertos - Day of the Dead - is a Mexican tradition that honors and celebrates friends and family members who have died. Families often gather at relatives' graves to remember their lives, and many make and decorate altars in their homes.

This year's Phoenix festival, organized by the Phoenix Cultural Coalition, featured drummers, traditional dancers, a children's mariachi band and a handful of masked entertainers. Circling the celebration were rows of booths with community artists and food vendors.

The festival dates back to 1980, when it began in Mesa. The goal behind its creation was to showcase Mexican culture where it often wasn't embraced, according to Carmen Guerrero, Cultural Coalition executive director.

"Our food, our music, our dances - everything contributes to the betterment of society," Guerrero said. "We want to share all the beauty that we bring to our community."

In 2005, the coalition moved the festival to Phoenix's Margaret T. Hance Park, later relocating it again after it outgrew the site. Guests continue to gather each year to both mourn and rejoice.

Mingling with the constant hum of music coming from the stage Sunday were the quiet chants of prayer groups. The smell of incense hovered over altars decorated with pictures and bright orange and yellow flowers.

"It's important for us to celebrate who we are," Guerrero said.

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'It's important for us to celebrate who we are': Día de los Muertos festival holds strong in Phoenix

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Sil Sandoval sits in a lawn chair in Steele Indian School Park, sipping a QuikTrip soda next to her daughter and mother. But the scene unfolding around her isn't a typical Sunday soccer game or family picnic. It's Phoenix's annual Día de los Muertos festival, and the tradition is holding strong.

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People young, old and in between, Latino and Anglo, crowded into Healdsburg's Plaza Sunday afternoon for games, food and up-tempo music, joined - spiritually at least - by the souls of departed loved ones.

It was the second edition of Día de los Muertos, subtitled "An Event of the Heart," co-sponsored by the city of Healdsburg and Corazón Healdsburg, a nonprofit dedicated to Latino services and bridging the gap between cultures in the north county community.

"The main idea is to bring back the souls of the dead and have a good time with them," said Sealtiel Cisneros, resplendent in a dark pinstriped suit, white shirt, red bow tie and black stovepipe hat, his entire head wrapped in a white skull mask.

Cisneros, 42, was part of the 22-member Grupo Oaxaqueño, a dance troupe that drew a large audience to the center of the tree-shaded Plaza.

"We like to share the day with them," he said, speaking as if dead friends and relatives were in the crowd numbering about 1,000, according to a Healdsburg police estimate.

A huge American flag hung from a line between two ladder trucks from the Healdsburg and Windsor fire departments, parked in Center Street, with a yellow-and-red banner, "Thank You First Responders!" below the Stars and Stripes.

Día de los Muertos is not mournful, despite the presence of a traditional community altar decked with orange marigolds and decorated with photographs of deceased people, said Dawnelise Rosen, a co-founder of Corazón with her husband, chef Ari Rosen.

Marigold scent serves as a connection between the living and the dead, she said.

The event is "a celebration of life, a celebration of community, a celebration of culture," said Rosen, 39, holding her 5-month-old son, Manny. The dark skeleton-like circle painted around her left eye, with her right eye untouched, signified the presence of life and death.

"The veil between the living and the dead is thinnest for Día de los Muertos," she said.

This year's event was different, she said, in the wake of North Bay wildfires that killed at least 42 people.

"It's an opportunity to come together and say thank you" to the first responders "and give them a hug," she said.

"Every single person in the community has been touched in some way."

Día de los Muertos has its origins in the traditions of pre-Columbian Mexican cultures as far back as 3,000 years, and is now celebrated around the world.

Lupe Castañeda, 47, of Healdsburg, stuck to the event's traditional meaning.

"Every single year, whatever happens, we celebrate the dead," she said. "It's a day we remember."

"It's not a sad event," said her sister, Bertha Castañeda, 43, who dressed in a traditional Mexican long black skirt and black blouse with red embroidered flowers.

Lupe Castañeda, who wore necklace bearing small replica skulls and a bony hand, is a volunteer with Corazón who attended the June ceremony in Sacramento at which the organization was honored by Healdsburg Democratic Assemblyman Jim Woods as his district's nonprofit of the year.

Admission to Sunday's event was free, while Corazón took donations and sold pozole for $5 to assist fire survivors ineligible for other forms of assistance and 44 first responders who lost their homes.

Two wine country tourists - Bill and Jane Parker of Irvine, both in their 70s - accidentally found themselves in the midst of the festivities.

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At Healdsburg's Día de los Muertos, music, dance celebrate departed loved ones

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People young, old and in between, Latino and Anglo, crowded into Healdsburg's Plaza Sunday afternoon for games, food and up-tempo music, joined - spiritually at least - by the souls of departed loved ones.