Dawn broke across a mostly lear sky this day, all turquoise skies and golden light. At first, my hart sank; the forecast had predicted rain-turned-snow for today, and such clarity seemed to nullify its potential.
Then I looked out the northwest window, and noticed a faint violet darkening over that horizon.
Suddenly, the day was looking a whole lot more promising.
Sure enough, by ten o’clock that faint haze had turned into a wall of giant thunderheads, no longer much puffy white at the top, as the bases grew and spread into a mix of iron and indigo. Since then, small lines of cells have passed and disintegrated and rebuilt, only a few faint drops falling on the land here, but new ones continually building in the distance.
We may have weather yet.
Ordinarily, such weather patterns don’t begin here until late May at the earliest, more often in June. These are the clouds of the summer monsoons, and their size and speed and track are distinctly the province of the hot season. In April, it’s still a wintry cold here more often than not.
But our patterns have changed, are still changing, will continue to change for generations to come. Colonial-driven climate change has made that a truth inescapable now. We are still adapting to its pace and caprice, but we are learning to appreciate its gifts even when they appear out of their usual order. Water is, after all, the First Medicine, whether it comes as rain or as snow, and it tempers that other medicine that can so easily escape the traces and become its opposite now: Fire. In conditions of such deadly drought, the latter is a daily risk, and any amoountof the former to prevent or balance it is a blessing.
But medicine comes in other forms, too, and so do the elements themselves. We speak of fire in the sky with monsoonal sunsets, crimson flames backlighting the remnant storm, and of course, color and light alike come from that distant being of purest fire, Father Sun. Summer is a time of cornflower mornings and violet afternoons and twilight hours set aflame, all the colors of today’s featured work, a bear with a bundle in the shade of a stormy sky. From its description in the Other Artists: Sculpture gallery here on the site:
This alabaster medicine bear by master carver Mark Swazo-Hinds (Tesuque Pueblo) is hewn in the classic vintage Southwest Indian style. The surface is smooth, silky, and touchable, in a brilliant clear orange with a translucent white marbled matrix. In Mark’s trademark style, the medicine bundle is made of macaw and turkey feathers, shells, pottery sherds, and bits of turquoise. The bear is 6″ long by just over 2″ high; the bundle extends 4-6″ beyond the back end of the bear (dimensions approximate).
Orange alabaster; turkey feathers; macaw feathers; pottery sherds; turquoise; shells
$425 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Requires special handling; extra shipping charges apply
The bear itself is classic Mark, all straight, spare, clean lines and smooth curves. The stone, too, is smooth and cool, impossibly silky and a joy to touch, but its real magic lies in its color and translucence when sitting in the light. And it carries a medicine bundle that is a marvel of artistry, of shape and texture and color: ancient pottery sherds and shells, giant turquoise beads, rich brown turkey feathers, and then those macaw feathers in electric hues.
The bear itself is not symbolic of water, but the feathers in its bundle are fanned in the shade of a stormy sky. Perhaps they will summon what the forecast promises.
After al, the skies are entirely gray now, on all sides, and the wind is rising. In a fe w moments, we shall have at least a little weather . . . and then the fire again at day’s end, too.
~ Aji
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