For the first time in days, we can see the sky.
Just after dawn, that sky glowed a deep storm blue from the western horizon nearly to overhead, the now fast-turning leaves glowing against it in electric shades gold and green, lit by the rays of an impossibly yellow sun. Now, the clouds have moved out almost entirely, only a few scattered white bands floating around the horizon, serving as a pale backdrop to the snow-dusted peaks.
But we have been lucky, or perhaps more accurately, we have been blessed. The gardens fared far better than we expected in the freezing cold and snow, and the earth is warming once again. It is neither a new world nor a new season, and yet, our small space here feels as though it has not merely been granted an extension, a little more time, but as though it has reborn in a new light.
Our elders, like the ancestors before them, teach us the importance of gratitude, of acknowledgment of such gifts as we are granted, of honoring them and the beings who bestow them, of prayer and ceremony and simple thanksgiving. Today’s featured work embodies both the teachings and the teachers, all in the glowing radiance of the season’s golden light. From its description in the Other Artists: Sculpture gallery here on the site:
This traditional sculpture by carver Paul Dancebow (Taos Pueblo) is done in classic Pueblo style. Carved of cedar, his upturned face is finely detailed, as is his long hair, tied back in traditional style. He’s wrapped in a blanket, and his body curves gently, following the natural line of the wood. He stands atop an alabaster base, golden in color with silver-white matrices throughout. Another view shown below.
Cedar on alabaster base
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The way in which this work follows the line of the wood itself, rather than working against it, seems a valuable lesson, too. Colonialism teaches dominance, demands that we force the world to bend to our will, even if that means carving out and throwing away whole swaths of its body and being.
The world is paying for such arrogant violence now, and so are we.
There will be no going back to “the way things used to be,” certainly not in our lifetimes. Too much harm has been inflicted, too much of it irreversible, for that. But we can alter our engagement with the path that lies ahead of us.
Instead of a praxis of taking, of pillage and theft and killing simply to force the earth to yield up a few more convenience, a few more dollars of profit, we can embark upon a praxis of communal stewardship, of taking care of the earth that in turn takes care of us. It sounds so simple as to be utterly facile, but it’s a concept that seems beyond the reach of this colonial and colonized world now. The difficulty lies not in the process, but in the expectations and desires that drive it, and those need much work yet.
This small, curved piece of golden cedar retains its essential shape; an elder, eminently traditional, has emerged to remind us of our obligations now. It’s time to reclaim and rebuild, a communal effort guided by elders and ancestors, teachings and prophecy, to create a world reborn in a new light.
~ Aji
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