Today has been one of those days where nothing has followed its proper path: not our schedule, not the weather, and certainly not the winds that whipped through while we were gone, taking out two large sections of latilla fence. We were fortunate — nothing else damaged, none of the animals hurt — but it will be costly and time-consuming to repair and replace.
Nonetheless, the big gaps they have left behind, momentarily broadening our view from certain vantage points, remind me that there is more than way to look at a particular object or event. And given the horror abroad in the outside world these days, I’ll look for the best possible vantage point on this inconvenience, which is, in this case, the complete lack of any other damage.
It’s a lesson that applies in the best of times, too. It’s not merely a matter of being positive; indeed, there are times when a relentless positivism in the face of trouble is not merely irritating, but endangering, not only to oneself but to others. [We’re seeing that in a spectacularly risky way now here in town, where almost no one can be bothered to take minimal pandemic-minimizing precautions, such as the use of masks and gloves. It’s actively endangering the lives of others.] More to my point now is simply that any one point of view is too limiting, whatever the context; it is only when we step outside our norms, indeed, outside our very selves, that we learn . . . and, if we work at it, perhaps gain wisdom besides.
Here, that means for us on a daily basis a view of, and from, the mountain — both literally and metaphorically, working to achieve an understanding of what is before us, and what, perhaps, we present to point of view of this ancient earthen mass.
In its own way, the work that serves as this week’s Friday Feature captures both points of view, putting the focal point of the piece above the mountain’s peak, in a sense, even as the holder of it sees the mountain directly. That’s fitting, too, for a piece with this traditional purpose, a spirit cup, one used variously to leave offerings for the spirits, or otherwise in ceremonial contexts. From its description in the Other Artists: Pottery gallery here on the site:
Grandmother emerges from within this traditional mug as though from within the mountain etched on its front. Made of traditional micaceous clay by Jessie Marcus (Taos Pueblo), the mug is hand-coiled, the side merging into the woman’s blanket, wrapped around her figure arising from one edge. An image of the old village, sacred peaks in the background, is incised on the exterior. Mug stands 3.75″ high on the figurative side (dimensions approximate).
Micaceous clay
$125 + shipping, handling, and insurance
On this piece, the mountain is etched into the front of the mug, the Pueblo’s hallmark multistory architecture visible in the foreground below it. Fittingly, the firing process produced a small white “cloud,” entirely randomly, that appears in the exact spot where such thunderheads build in the rainy season. And above it all, a grandmother rises from the opposite side of the cup, producing the effect of dual emergence: her from the mountain, but also the mountain from her, as though she herself is Mother Earth, assuming a figurative form just for a moment.
It’s one of Jessie’s most striking pieces, all wrought in the traditional way. The clay is the local earth, ashimmer with mica; the bowl of the cup is hand-coiled, with the figure rising organically from it. And Jessie declines to fire her pottery especially closely or repeatedly, so that it maintains its rich earthy texture and color on the surface.
Perhaps it’s an image we all need right now, especially at a time when so many feel alone. Our mother, the Earth, is aways with us. She needs our care now, too . . . and she is taking care of us, even in this time of heightened risk.
We should remember to hold that viewpoint, too, and to honor it.
~ Aji
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