This is the hard season, the sacred season — the time when our small world here literally goes to ground.
The Pueblo itself is closed to outsiders; the annual ceremonial period has begun. It is a time to return to first things, to history and ancestry, identity and tradition. It’s also a return to first things in a more literal way, a return to the Earth itself for a regrounding in advance of the coming year of life.
It’s fitting that this should happen now, at this threshold season that divides winter from spring. The worst of the bitter cold is past, the heat of warmer winds some distance off . . . and yet, this is no mild season, no time of easy living. The weather sees to that, harsh and blustery winds that chill the air far below what the mercury declares, a mercury that is itself mercurial, rising and falling a distance of fifty degrees in a single day. It is a time for rededication, for learning and teaching, for the holding and carrying of tradition from one generation to the next, a time to rely on powers greater than ourselves to help us survive forces stronger than our ability to withstand them.
In a month in which this space has already been reserved for figurative works, it calls to mind one particular piece: an elder spirit, one summoned from local cedar by the hand of a local master. It’s a sculpture by Wings’s own cousin, a figurative work that seems to emerge organically from the wood, a blanket-wrapped elder, hair tied up and falling back, raising his face to speak, his voice to sing. 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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This day began beneath a thin veil of clouds, clouds that now mask most of the sky. The wind has risen once again. The weather is changing, although whether we will see rain from it remains an open question. These are arid days, light too harsh and bright, wind cold and sharp with all the force of an iron horse. Venturing abroad is an effort, mere walking a chore.
There are days when it feels as though this season, begun earlier than ever this year, cannot possibly end — as though our small world here will be forever locked in a turbulent vortex of wind and dust. But however early, and however fierce, we know that this is not new. The ancestors survived this season under far harsher conditions, well enough to see their dreams fulfilled, their legacies renewed and revitalized, at this time every year.
Today’s work is an elder in miniature, summoned from another ancient being to stand on earth made of light. He is infused with the power of the season, a small spirit sent to inspire us to renew our own fierce world.
~ Aji
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