The high school opened a year ago. "Before the road was paved [in 2008], students traveled by van to school in Colonia Juárez — four hours a day to get to and from school," says potter Diego Valles. "Now our kids can walk to school. My wife is off taking our oldest daughter to piano lessons."
In the early days, village potters did their work as los antiguos (the old ones) had. They gathered clay and minerals for paints from nearby arroyos. They shaped ollas (pots) by hand, using bowl-shaped molds, adding coils of clay. They painted with brushes made with the fine strands of children's hair and used cow dung or cottonwood bark to fire their pottery.
Today, many potters specialize: Some collect clay. Others build pots. Some specialize in painting.
And some "cheat." Sometimes additives such as plaster of Paris are mixed with clays. Some use commercial paints, glazes and even shoe polish or Mop & Glo to make pots shine.
About 2000, the first kilns started to pop up in the village. Today there are about a dozen kilns, says potter Lila Silveira, and many of their owners rent time to potters.
"It's more consistent," Silveira says. "You're not at the mercy of the weather. Also, there's a shortage of cow pies, and the bark of cottonwoods is in limited supply."
About the only pots buyers can be sure are still fired the old-fashioned way are black-on-black pots, because it's not possible to get them to fire black in a kiln.
"Almost all other pots are now fired in kilns," says San Diego collector Phil Stover. "The village has gone from denial to 'OK, it's the norm.' Most collectors don't care; I know I don't."
Although most early Mata Ortiz pottery was made in the image of ancient Paquimé pots, today's potters create art for art's sake.
"It's no longer Paquimé pottery. Now it's Mata Ortiz pottery," says Carla Martinez, who was teaching engineering in Nuevo Casas Grandes before moving to the village and learning to make pots about a year ago. "What we do is no longer craft; it's fine art."
Today's artists experiment with bold contemporary designs, sgraffito, cut-outs, delicate miniatures and an ever-changing array of colored clays and paints.
"It's amazing to be a part of the evolution of an art form," says Victoria Martino, a Los Angeles pottery dealer who has visited Mata Ortiz 17 times in the last five years. "Every time I return, even if it has only been a couple of months since my last visit, I see tremendous new creativity, new techniques. The second-generation potters are really pushing the boundaries and thinking outside the box."
Stover, deputy superintendent of business for the San Diego Unified School District, agrees: "The second- and third-generation potters are creating work that clearly surpasses everything that has been done by anyone in the past, including Juan."
MacCallum now lives in Casas Grandes, about 30 minutes from Mata Ortiz. This year he'll become eligible to apply for Mexican citizenship. "I see myself as from Mexico," he says. "It blows my mind."
Stover, who visited Mata Ortiz for the first time in 1983, recently completed construction of a large two-bedroom, five-fireplace adobe home on 9 acres along the banks of the town's Palanganas River. He and his wife plan to live here full time when Stover retires late next year.
"We fell in love with the pottery, then the people, then the area," he says. "We were hooked." They'll be among about two dozen Americans who have fallen under the spell of the village and decided to stay.
And what about Juan Quezada?
Four months ago, the entire village turned out for a weeklong fiesta celebrating the artist and the 50th anniversary of his first attempts at making pottery.
But these days, Quezada keeps mostly to himself. He spends more time on his ranch in the foothills above Mata Ortiz than he does in the village. He calls the place Ranchito Escondido, his hide-out.
Despite years of worldwide acclaim, the artist remains uncomfortable in the limelight. A vaquero at heart, he's at ease rounding up cattle and wild horses that wander the vast open spaces he now owns. Signing autographs and posing for photographers or film crews? Not so much.
There's no denying the man's artistic spirit. At 72, his rugged, suntanned face still radiates childlike joy as he unearths a new vein of coveted pure white clay. His energy is boundless as he's rock-hounding for minerals to be ground into new paints for his ollas — and his enthusiasm is contagious when he discovers a slab of colorful stone that perhaps could become the beginning of a new art form.
At the end of such a day, as the setting sun is replaced by la via de leche (the Milky Way), Quezada sips tequila with close friends on the patio of his ranchito. When asked how his life has changed because of pottery, he speaks of contentment. "He says it's much better now," a bilingual friend interprets for me. "He has realized his dream."