Th wind is rising; the day is cold and gloomy. This is not unusual for spring at an elevation such as ours. Weather and mercury alike swing with the wild abandon of a pendulum unmoored from its mechanism.
It is, though, a perfect day for staying indoors, warm and safe by a low fire.
Not so very long ago, a day like this would have been one for storytelling — after the work was done, of course. But storytelling, in our way, is itself a form of work — not labor in the usual sense, but work in the sense of preserving, protecting, and nurturing, of both the culture in more abstract forms and the children who are its future.
In our way, of course, storytelling is not limited to children; it’s a way of understanding out world, of archiving its lessons, of passing history and lifeways to our people, and even of guiding those who would stray from the path back onto the proper road. But we tend to associate it with children, because it is one of the primary ways that culture, language, and spiritual tradition are transmitted from one generation to the next. Our children, at least those not displaced or exiled from their communities, grow up immersed in stories from the cradle.
In this corner of Indian Country, storytelling has been both elevated and distilled to an art form in both senses of the phrase: It is an art and a means of preserving art, as practice and praxis; and it is distilled into literal, tangible “art” in the form of “storytellers.” I’ve written here before about both manifestations, and what they mean for our peoples:
One of the hallmarks of indigenous culture is storytelling. It’s a way to pass the time where few other forms of entertainment may be readily available, true, but in our cultures, it’s much more than mere leisure-time amusement. It’s more than what today we might call “family bonding” time, and more than a way to build relationships among the older and younger generations. It’s also much more than a way to teach lessons, although it’s that, too.
It’s a way to keep culture itself alive.
Our stories are as varied as the peoples (plural) who tell them, and as the people (singular), as well. A survey of tribal nations within the same geographic region, the same ethnic subgrouping, or the same language family will turn up variations of very similar traditional stories. And yet, within those same groups, the same stories vary within other subgroups, as well. And thus you get dozens, perhaps hundreds of nations with their own origin stories that have basic similarities and yet vast differences; nations from all over the country that tell stories of how their own ancestors were given/invented the drum, the dreamcatcher, the jingle dress; variations within the same nation as to details of those stories, or even their fundamentals.
Stories tell our children where they came from. They tell us who we are. They tell us how to live, how to walk the red road, how to go well through life according to the old ways that Spirit has given us. They tell us how to be wise, and how to be wary. They teach us the meaning of courage and honor and respect and the sacred. And sometimes, they do all these things while making us laugh, such as when Coyote decided to lie in wait for the maidens picking strawberries.
In Pueblo cultures, this tradition has been given figurative expression and tangible form in a medium called, aptly enough, the storyteller.
I’ve also written in this very space about the ways in which our cultures and lives bloom through stories and the process of telling them.
If our existence and ways of being can be seen as a garden, or perhaps better, an open field of flowers, edible, ornamental, medicinal, then storytelling is the great cultivator: each story a petal, each child a blossom, in the flowering of our cultures and our peoples. Today’s featured works embody story, teller, and listeners alike, all in eminently traditional fashion.
These were part of a larger collection by Aaron Mirabal. Some of them sold when our physical gallery in the village was still open; of the four then remaining, there are now only three left — one small and two miniature, all found in the Other Artists: Sculpture gallery here on the site. We begin with the larger of the three, shown above. From its description:
Aaron Mirabal (Toas Pueblo) has formed this traditional storyteller out of the Pueblo’s micaceous clay. Grandmother holds two children on her lap while one peers over her left shoulder. All are shown in traditional dress, while Grandmother herself wears her hair in Aaron’s trademark Hopi-style butterfly rolls. Height is 3.5″ (dimensions approximate).
Micaceous clay; paint
$155 + shipping, handling, and insurance
The two miniature ones are virtually identical in size and general composition, but vary in color and placement. The first is very nearly a miniaturized version of the larger one shown at the top, featuring grandmother and children dressed almost identically in white and turquoise. From its description:
It’s a storyteller figure sized to fit in the palm of your hand (or take her place on a shelf or mantel), coaxed from local micaceous clay by Aaron Mirabal (Taos Pueblo). Grandmother holds two children on her lap as she passes down the old stories and lessons to them. All “wear” matching traditional dress; Grandmother’s hair is coiled into two butterfly rolls, Hopi-fashion, in what has become Aaron’s trademark style. Figure stands 2-3/8″ high (dimensions approximate).
Micaceous clay
$75 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Last, but certainly not least, is my personal favorite, a miniature version with grandmother and children alike dressed in the brilliant summery hues of desert sky and purple wildflowers. From its description:
This tiny storyteller figure fits in the palm of your hand. Created by Aaron Mirabal (Taos Pueblo), it consists of Grandmother with two children in her arms. All “wear” traditional dress, but grandmother herself also wears her hair in Hopi fashion, in two large butterfly rolls, a feature that is one of Aaron’s trademarks. Figure stands 2-3/8″ high (dimensions approximate).
Micaceous clay; paint
$75 + shipping, handling, and insurance
And on a day like this, when the wind howls and shrieks beneath lead-gray skies, both our stories and our children, add color and joy and life itself to our world: each petal, each blossom adding to our physical and cultural landscapes, keeping us all growing and thriving.
~ Aji
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