It’s the dawn of a new month, by the calendar’s reckoning, if not precisely of a new moon. October, the month in which I was born, has always seemed to me the very essence of Autumn: a season utterly defined by its threshold status, when the warmth is not yet gone and the cold is not yet fully here; when the foliage dons its brightest shades for its final whirling dance before settling down under a subdued a blanket for the winter; when that narrow threshold that the spirits walk between their world and ours grows even thinner, and they sometimes make their crossings known to us.
In this part of Indian Country, spirit beings mean katsinam, the kachinas. They are not constrained by such small matters as time of year, of course — their powers exist year-round, although there are some whose powers become especially relevant at certain times of year, and for certain purposes. But when they emerge in artistic form, as the small cottonwood personifiers of powerful spirits, they have always seemed to me to be peculiarly relevant to this time and season.
I’m sure that part of it is the specific physical form they assume: Hand-carved of cottonwood root, the wood still textured and raw, then painted by hand in brilliant hues and traditional patterns, they seem to embody this intensely colorful time of year. Perhaps it’s also partly the soul-deep reaction we humans experience in this season, the unease as the shadows lengthen but the days contract, the atavistic sense of worry that accompanies the arrival of the colder air, all reactions rooted in millennia of evolutionary response. Our pace quickens; a vague sense of urgency now accompanies the smallest tasks. At times like these, a little help from spirits more powerful than our own seems a welcome aid indeed.
And so for this month’s Friday Feature series, we’re going to visit with some of those spirits: the katsinam of Josh Aragon (Hopi/Laguna). And we begin, appropriately enough, with the one who calls the dawn: Morning Singer. From its description in the Other Artists: Katsinam gallery here on the site:
Hand-hewn by master carver Josh Aragon (Hopi/Laguna) in the traditional manner, out of a single piece of cottonwood root, Morning Singer emerges to call the dawn. Most carvers create katsinam standing alone, divorced from the context of daily Pueblo life; showing the figure ascending the pine ladder to emerge onto the roof is one of Josh’s signature styles. Here, Morning Singer wears his traditional case mask and ruff, hand-painted in brilliant traditional colors and patterns, and carries an eagle feather. He wears a blanket of the dawn sky, complete with shooting star. Stands 7.5″ high from bottom of base to top of figure; 10″ to top of longest ladder pole (dimensions approximate). Additional views shown above and below.
Cottonwood root; paint
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I’ve written here about the katsinam before, and about the importance of their tasks:
They all share one aspect in common, however: All call upon the power of their respective traditions’ spirit beings for the benefit of the people.
At Hopi, one of those spirit beings is Morning Singer. We’ve introduced you to him before, during the rapidly shortening days of November when the light dims early. As I said then:
It’s the time of year when Father Sun has less and less time to make his daily journey across the heavens, when his progress is overtaken by the night spirits increasingly early at day’s end. And although he rises early, here, at least, he has mountains to climb before he can really begin to put some miles beneath his moccasins. As we get closer to the what the modern calendar calls winter, the time when the days are shortest, he needs every-more help to make the journey.
He gets help from the katsinam, the spirit beings, and from the songs and prayers of the people. At Hopi, Morning Singer performs this task year-round. Called Talavi in his people’s language, he appears as one of a pair. Together, they ascend to the rooftops of the pueblo and sing to call the dawn, waking the people to morning prayers that, merged, melded, and magnified, help Father Sun on his way across the sky.
In a land where Father Sun reigns supreme, his light the dominant feature of the rugged landscape, it’s not especially surprising that the peoples indigenous to this area would find that he takes a central role in their daily lives. In turn, it’s perfectly natural that the people should honor his presence and his blessings by offering songs and prayers — and by carving figurative pieces that pay tribute to those who do so.
On this morning, Father Sun’s awakening was soft, muted by a veil of clouds over the peaks. Only the faintest hint of coral escaped their blanket at the south end of the eastern sky. Now, early as it yet is, he is fully risen, a silvery-gold mass of light above Pueblo Peak, engaged already in his daily journey across the sky. Today he brings us soft blue and bright golden white for the roof above our heads, although we’re told to expect clouds and rain by the time he descends to sleep tonight.
For now, he travels above a beautiful clear October dawn, air simultaneously sharp and soft, like the light of his own face. As we travel our own inexorable path toward Winter, his light and warmth will be ever more valuable — and so will Morning Singer’s task.
~ Aji
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