Monsoon season seems suddenly to be tapering off in the face of fall’s just as sudden early arrival. On all days save one this week, we have had at least a little rain, but it’s been mostly a little, not a lot.
This is rare for this season, or at least it used to be. This is the heart of the summer ceremonial season here, and in an ordinary year, those making their journey would be doing so under heavy threat of rain. This year, if the long-range forecast holds, there will be precious little of that.
Significantly altered weather and climate, along with other work and impositions that lay entirely outside our control, left us unable to plant as usual once again this year. Our only Indian corn this year is some that was sent to us by a dear friend; our only sweet corn, bought from the market. A quick glance out the windows at the fields surrounding our own confirms that the same is true of many families again this year: no tall green stalks, no golden silk, no nascent ears in sight. And yet, the spirits of the corn, of flower, fruit, and medicine, visit all the same.
Corn, of course, has many identities anyway: corn on the cob is formally classified as a vegetable; corn kerneled and ground into meal is a grain. In some taxonomies, its edible kernels, in that form, are categorized as fruits because they meet the definitional criteria of growing from the plant’s seed (this also applies to those, like squash, that grow from a plant’s flowers). But if you watch corn grow over its seasonal life cycle, you’ll see it flower with shimmering golden silk, tassels like elongated petals; and once harvested and dried, it can be used in prayer and ceremony, which makes it medicine.
And medicine, of course, is a good description of the gifts of the spirits with whom it is identified.
Today’s featured works are the embodiment of such spirits, Corn Maidens wrought in summery sandstone, flowering not with silk but with feathers in all the many and vibrant shades of Indian corn. From their description in the Other Artists: Sculpture gallery here on the site:
Master carver Mark Swazo-Hinds (Tesuque Pueblo) coaxes stylized Corn Maidens from plain smooth blocks of stone. Each is hand-carved from very pale, very fine pink sandstone, almost a translucent peach in color. With surfaces so smooth you can hardly keep from touching them, they feel a bit like large worry stones. In lieu of the traditional tablita headdress, each wears Mark’s trademark bundle of brilliantly-hued macaw feathers. All dimensions are approximate: The two smaller ones are in the 3″-4″ high range; the largest is about 6″; the one in the back on the far right is about 5″ high, and is narrower — almost an inverted teardrop shape. Individual views shown below.
Pink sandstone; macaw feather bundles
Far left: $275 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Middle: $425 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Far right: $275 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Back: $325 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Weight requires special handling; extra shipping charges apply
There are four in the photo shown above, although only three appear clearly visible; the fourth is tucked behind, only the deep blues and green of its headdress showing. The largest of the quartet is that one that appears front and center, above:
Like her smaller counterparts, her mouth is open as though in speech or song, much like a traditional storyteller. Her headdress is formed of a spectrum of intensely-hued macaw feathers: russet, gold, indigo, olive. She seems, in her way, the elder sister, the others more modest, as tough they have not quite gown into their full stature yet.
Still they have power. The second-largest, which is the one mostly hidden in the image at the top, has always been my favorite, partly for the colors and partly for her demeanor:
This one doesn’t feel shy, precisely; perhaps deliberate is a better word. She turns only so much of herself to the outside world as she wishes to show, even as she goes about her work faithfully. The blues and greens of her headdress, touched in a place or two with white the color of ice, renders her similarly unique among the group: tall, slender, graceful; headdress of fertile earth and the rich rains of the summer sky.
The third is a miniature version of the first — similar multicolored headdress, smaller stature and more modest attire:
She appears, at top, in the left-hand corner of the image, nearly a replica, a miniature form, a simulacrum of the largest of her kind. Here diminutive size is no predictor of power, though; like the others, she has put herself to her appointed task, one that keeps our world here in good health and harmony.
At the right corner of the photo above is the smallest of the four, the most humble of them all:
She has less mass, less height than the others, and less adornment, too. Her dress is plain, her headdress all one color. And yet, that color nearly matches the warm sunny orange shade of her features, carved into the pale earthy sandstone. The feathers are full, lush, a russet so bright as to be nearly crimson, like the fire of the sun itself. And she, too, sings about her work as steadily as her sisters.
The singing motif is no accident, either; it has long been our peoples’ practice to sing to the corn, to the other plants, to encourage them to grow and share their food and medicine. It is, indeed, a part of the work involved. It seems no stretch to think that these maidens should likewise sing, not only to the corn, but to the rains as well.
At the moment, the clouds are still low but amassing steadily. We will, perhaps, have a sprinkle or a shower, perhaps even a full-fledged storm, before day and night are out.
And even in the absence of corn in garden or field this year, we can still sing to its spirits and to the rains that summon it from the earth: songs of thanks for its flower, fruit, and medicine.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
