On a recent cycling trip through Lake Pátzcuaro, I sheepishly hobble into a local casa turned artist gallery and pottery studio, with bloody knees and extremely bad body odor. Thankfully, I was met with a shot of tequila and a tour of the studio. This is where I discovered Guiseppe - and I pride myself on the discovery and the 180 mile bike ride.

Guiseppe, a Mexican national with dual passports, creates work he calls "Me gusta hacer hombres graciosos." I like to make funny guys.

Elsa, the gallery's grandmother and local matriarch, tells me about her bambino Guiseppe while we sip homemade tequila from upholstered rocking chairs - my current dehydration was of no importance in this moment.

Guiseppe lives among the agaves outside Michoacán, on what some call a "farm with firearms." He rises with the light to walk the rows before the heat sets in, moving with patience alongside his fourth-generation tequila-making family. "You don't learn to make tequila, you watch." she explains in her delightful and wise Spanish tone.

Somewhere between harvesting and waiting, Guiseppe peddles his paintings around town, quietly. Elsa says he is shy, charming, and "sneaky funny." She describes his work as precise, strange, and unexpectedly tender, carrying the patience of the land and the sharpness of distilled things.

I have not met Guiseppe in person. His address has not been shared.

xo Leonie Jannoit