We are on our third day of snow here, and our second separate storm: eight inches already on the ground last night, and another three or four added since five o’clock this morning. The Christmas week blizzard that inundated much of the state south of here may have missed it, but its cousin has arrived in its stead.
This is, of course, normal weather for this place at this time of year, but “normal” has seemed vanishingly out of reach in recent years. Our current meteorological blessings may be simply the result of an El Niño driven into hyperactivity by accelerating climate change, but they are desperately needed and have been sorely missed.
Outdoors, the world has come to a still and silent halt, almost no traffic and even less sound. The only sustained activity comes from the small birds, the tiny winter spirits who revel in cold and snow. Larger creatures find it more difficult to move in this weather, and so, it seems, does Father Sun himself, his gaze kept low, face pale and wan beneath a veil of descending white flakes.
It’s a time when certain spirits are needed more than ever, especially those who sing the morning into being. It is they who call the sun, who coax him from his bed in the darkened comfort of the indigo hours, setting him on his daily journey across the winter sky.
One resides, in tangible miniature form, in our gallery, and his name, like that of all his brothers, is simply “Morning Singer.” From his description in the Other Artists: Katsinam gallery here on the site:
Hand-hewn by master carver Josh Aragon (Hopi/Laguna) in the traditional manner, out of a single piece of cottonwood root, Morning Singer emerges to call the dawn. Most carvers create katsinam standing alone, divorced from the context of daily Pueblo life; showing the figure ascending the pine ladder to emerge onto the roof is one of Josh’s signature styles. Here, Morning Singer wears his traditional case mask and ruff, hand-painted in brilliant traditional colors and patterns, and carries an eagle feather. He wears a blanket of the dawn sky, complete with shooting star. Stands 7.5″ high from bottom of base to top of figure; 10″ to top of longest ladder pole (dimensions approximate). Additional views shown above and below.
Cottonwood root; paint
$585 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Requires special handling; extra shipping charges apply
His eagle-feather headdress is a halo, like the sun’s own corona in the color of the light itself (and, on this day, the snow). His dress tells the story of the dawn, the dark of the indigo hours giving way to the turquoise sky of full daylight. And as he emerges onto the rooftop to coax the sun onto its path, that sky spirit’s light casts the singer’s shadow upon the walls of the old Pueblo village — a tangible expression of Father Sun’s journey, and his gift.
On a day such as this, it’s a reminder to call the light to ourselves, to sing our own morning into being. In these first cold and stormy days of the new year, it’s a good spirit to emulate.
~ Aji
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