By Sorayda D. León
Long before screens, digital files, or even writing as we know it today existed, the Andean peoples had already found a way to preserve memory: the khipus. These were systems of strings and knots used during the Inca Empire to record information, tally harvests, recount events, and preserve collective history. Each knot had a meaning. Each position held a story. Each thread was, in a way, a way of saying: “this existed.”
From Charlotte, Peruvian artist Khori Haylli Rodríguez revives this ancestral tradition and transforms it into a contemporary practice of memory, migration, and healing. She does so not only through technique, but from something deeper: the human need to communicate what sometimes cannot be put into words.
Photo: Ernesto Moreno
“Khipu means ‘knot’ in Quechua,” he explains during the conversation. “And I wanted to bring that into a contemporary context.”
Her project, Khipus Knot, plays precisely on that blend of past and present, of languages and territories. “Khipus” comes from Quechua; “knot,” from English. Ancient knots engaging with new migrant lives, an ancestral tradition crossing borders to continue telling stories.
Even his own name seems to carry an intimate connection to that Andean heritage: “Khori” means gold in Quechua, while “Haylli” refers to ancient ritual chants and poems from the Inca era. His father used to interpret it as “Poem of Gold.” And that is what he seems to be creating with his hands today: woven poems.
Khori’s story in the United States began far removed from this textile tradition. She arrived with her family from Peru seeking medical treatment for her son Adriano, who was born with epidermolysis bullosa, a complex chronic condition also known as “butterfly skin.” What was initially intended to be a temporary stay ended up becoming a new life in Charlotte, marked by hospitals, doctor’s appointments, sporadic jobs, and the emotional exhaustion that many immigrant families know all too well.
It was in the midst of that automatic routine, as she herself describes it, that textile art came into her life.
“My life had become routine… and when your life becomes routine, it’s consuming you.”
What began as an online search ended up becoming a way for her to reconnect with herself, her family history, and the hands of her mother and grandmother—women who knitted, sewed, and created everyday beauty without necessarily calling it art.
Photo: Ernesto Moreno
“When I came to the United States, I realized that it wasn’t just a craft. It was textile art.”
For Khori, the act of knotting also became a way to untangle her own inner knots: anxiety, exhaustion, nostalgia, a sense of belonging. Everything finds an outlet through the fibers.
“It’s like taking that lump in your throat and transferring it to that… turning it into a drawing, into a shape.”
Her work blends contemporary macramé techniques with the ancient logic of Andean khipus, and some of her pieces contain important dates, family memories, or personal events encoded in knots. The decorative becomes intimate, and the textile becomes a language.
Khori is currently a member of the Obra Collective, where she recently led a workshop on knotting techniques and necklace-making—an experience she describes as deeply meaningful, both because it was her first community workshop and because of the positive response from the participants. She is also part of Ventanas Culturales, an initiative of Enlace, and has created installations featuring khipus with significant dates at a Peruvian restaurant in Charlotte.
In addition, she has participated in various Latin American markets and the Craft Festival, where she showcased the rope jewelry pieces she creates as part of her exploration of contemporary textiles.
Although she still considers herself a novice in the world of fibers and textiles, Khori continues to explore new techniques, materials, and ways of communicating through art. She is currently working on a project involving weaving and color, while dreaming of bringing her textile installations to public spaces.
“I hope the opportunity arises,” he says.
Because for Khori, the goal isn't just to create beautiful objects, but to reclaim something much deeper: the ability to keep telling our stories.
Migrant Stories.
Family Stories.
Stories that, like the ancient khipus, refuse to fade away.