Valentine’s Day is quite literally around the corner. If you’re like me, you’ve already been quite done, thanks, with the commercials advertising heart-and-diamond necklaces and tie-dyed roses for, oh, say, a month or more now. But it’s an inescapable societal marker, and while we currently have nothing in inventory that reflects the hearts/flowers/chocolate meme, I thought it might be a good time to highlight the color of the season: Red.
It is, after all, the color associated with hearts, with blood, with fiery passionate romantic love. And this being Tuesday, that means, currently, something in the “Jewels and Gems” line. For Valentine’s Day symbolism and imagery with a Native arts twist, that really leaves only one, and one really obvious, choice: Coral.
Now, I’ve written about coral on a couple of occasions here already, and at significant length. I’m not going to waste anyone’s time, least of all my own, with paraphrasing what I’ve already written; the earlier pieces are both comprehensive and well-written, and I’m simply going to quote from them as needed. But I will add to them a bit in terms of the symbolism involved (or, in some cases, simply projected). First, though, it’s useful to recap what coral is.
When I first wrote about coral here, I began by putting it in the context of the old children’s guessing game, “Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral?” Why? Because it’s one of those rare substances that, depending on its stage and state of existence, appears to possess qualities of all three. As I said then:
What is is: Animal, definitely. It’s a living organism, multicellular but with minimal organ development, and is further subdivided into multiple species. Coral can exist individually, but it’s most often found in mass groupings known as colonies or communities. The coral grow together in formations known as reefs, and this enables them to share nutrients and other resources — including increased safety from predation.
There are two basic types of corals: hard corals and soft corals. Both hard and soft corals grow in both individual and communal patterns that give them the appearance of being a form of plant life, whether it’s the cabbage-like effect of hard-coral reefs, as seen from a distance, or the swaying stalk-like effect of soft corals, giving their colonies the look of undersea grasses. Reefs occur in four patterns: fringing reefs (along the shoreline, extending seaward), patch reefs (small shallow-water “patches” encircled by sand), barrier reefs (near the shore, but separated by an often-deep lagoon), and atolls (formed atop a now-submerged island of volcanic rock, usually with a center lagoon).
Hard coral is sometimes called hexacoral (because its tentacles and other organ structures occur in sets of six), stony coral (for its hard outer surface), or scleractinian coral (again, a reference to its hard skeleton). This hard outer shell, or skeleton, is produced by the coral’s own secretion of calcium carbonate, which then accretes into the protective covering skeleton. Hard corals are also most likely to live in colonies, allowing for the secreted substance to merge together and harden into one large reef. These are often known colloquially (including in the jewelry business) as “branch coral,” and some reef species can grow in height and reach by as much as ten centimeters per year, comparable to the average growth rate of human hair. For organisms so small and delicate, it’s a significant growth rate, but in the larger scheme of things, it’s small (and other coral species often grow only from three-tenths of a centimeter to two centimeters per year). It explains why overharvesting, human-caused direct environmental damage, and climate change have left natural coral so scarce.
Branch coral in its natural state looks like the peachy-orange sprig in the photo immediately above. Some branch coral is less twig-like, and doesn’t grow in such zigzag patterns; some of it looks kinkier yet. Colors range from palest pink and apricot shades to deep oxblood, but the most common, at least for jewelry use, probably appear along the peach-salmon-blood part of the spectrum.
Branch coral is used in a variety of ways, depending on its size and color and stability. Exceptionally large and solid pieces may be cut and cabbed, like the old ones that appear in the bracelet at the top of this post. [Sorry; that cuff sold two years ago. I know, believe me; I coveted it, too.] It’s rare these days to find such large cabochons in that deep scarlet shade; much of what still exists on the market is either already set in existing pieces or being hoarded by collectors, dealers, and jewelers themselves.
Probably more common these days, if nonetheless increasingly rare, is coral in the form of drilled beads. An example of some spectacularly fine red branch coral drilled into tiny barrel beads appears in the necklace below.
This multi-strand necklace was created years ago by a pair of Kewa Pueblo artisans, and strung in classic repeating fashion with their own traditional heishi (old-style olivella shell beads cut in a particular rondel shape and strung in an equally particular way, according to very old Pueblo custom and style). You can read more about heishi here, as well. This necklace now resides with a friend who is like family to us.
Of course, not all coral is branch coral. As I wrote last year:
There are other species of hard corals that do not produce enough excess calcium carbonate to permit the joining of their bodies in a reef, but they still live communally. They create mass colonies that are often described as “forests”: not cemented together, yet living closely enough that, on the surface, they appear interconnected, like the trees in a forest when viewed at a distance. The proximity provides additional safety from predators, since the tiny individual corals in fact appear to be one large mass organism. These types of corals are often found in much deeper waters.
Soft corals, on the other hand, do not secrete a hard outer surface, giving them a flexible, grass-like appearance. They are known by a variety of names, as well: the name of their order, which is Alcyonacea; ahermatypic coral (a reference to the fact that they do not build reefs); and octocoral (because their tentacles and other anatomical structures occur in groupings of eight). Some species of soft corals are the ones with “fringe” on their tentacles. And while soft corals, which do not secrete calcium carbonate to form protective skeletons, do not grow in reefs, they do grow together tin communities in a way that shares resources and functions or duties. Some species of soft corals “specialize,” coming together to create a core of physical support for the entire colony at its center. Just as with their hard-coral counterparts, some species live in deep waters.
Corals of either variety, once harvested or fossilized, give every appearance of being a mineral — i.e., a stone. As discussed in greater detail below, branch coral can be used variously in free from, as cabochons, as beads, or for inlay work; other types of coral, including fossilized coral, is often made directly into cabochons.
One of the other types of coral that is used for gemwork is sponge coral. Wings recently had occasion to use some in this piece:
The beads in in the pinky-peach to orangey-red shades on the strand in the photo above are all made of sponge coral. There’s wide variability in the shades of color and in the gradations and patterning of each individual bead. In this instance, the necklace was commissioned for a family member of another tradition, and the beads needed to tell a particular story, so to speak. We chose sponge coral precisely because the gradations of color in one of the needed hues permitted the choosing of beads that would blend the shades together as needed.
But not all coral is red, or even orange or peach or pink. In some parts of Turtle Island, you can find coral that looks nothing like the sherds of brilliant blood-red common here in the Southwest. As I wrote last month:
I love coral. As a child growing up near the Great Lakes, you could still find fossilized coral on the beach, especially in the form of Petoskey stones. We visited Florida once, when I was twelve, and I was astounded to see that you could buy bits and branches and sprigs of coral, some bleached entirely white, others still pink, from roadside stands. But it wasn’t until we moved to New Mexico that I encountered what most people in the Indian jewelry market think of when they hear the word “coral”: deep, glossy, brilliant blood-red.
. . .
Most of the coral used in Indian jewelry is branch coral, the classic red variety. Stalks of harvested branch coral are cut into pieces and polished, sometimes only lightly, just enough to give the surface a gloss; sometimes, they’re cut into roughly equal lengths and shaped into beads. Branches of larger circumference can be shaped into cabochons, whether free-form or standardized. And branch coral chips are used are used for both inlay work and beadwork (“beadwork” here refers to strung strands of beads used as necklaces, bracelets, etc., not to traditional Indian beadwork on fabric or hides, such as is found on moccasins, etc.).
In Indian jewelry, branch coral appears under a variety of descriptive names: “Mediterranean coral” (referring to its source), and “oxblood coral” (referring to its deep brick-red color) are examples. More often, branch coral sits on an orangey-red point along the spectrum, and hues run the gamut from a deep orange-red the color of a Southwest sunset to a peach shade to near-white. And example of whole branch coral in its natural state appears above at left (image courtesy of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration). And not all branch coral is reddish or orangey at all; some, particularly those from deep-sea sources, may appear in shades of blue or green or even black.
In other parts of Indian country, fossilized coral sometimes makes an appearance in traditional jewelry or other forms of adornment. Some lend themselves to perfect round cabochons, like the one shown at the top of the necklace immediately above . . . . They may be pinkish in hue; more often, they’re taupe or gray with white patterning, like this one. Where my people are from, a local form is often thought to be a genuine stone: the Petoskey stone. It’s not; it’s fossilized coral, and usually appears as a cluster of white geometric patterns on a gray surface. The “stone” shown [below] is an example (image courtesy of the The Children’s Museum of Indianapolis).
In this part of the country, many people have a hard time believing that either of these two “stones” is coral: They’re the wrong shape, the wrong form, the wrong color — at least, compared to what people who buy, wear, and collect Indian jewelry have come to expect. But they are coral, and to my own eyes, spectacularly beautiful kinds.
Unfortunately, coral is now severely endangered world-wide. As I also noted last month:
In the ’70s, no thought was given to the use of coral in jewelry, nor to the future ability to use it; like so many of this world’s natural resources, it just was — and it was therefore assumed that it would always be. The warnings of that decade’s energy crisis hadn’t yet translated into an awareness of scarcity in other areas in the public’s collective mind. By the mid-’80s, there were early warnings, but most of the dominant culture dismissed them as doomcriers on a par with cartoon characters wearing sandwich boards announcing the end of the world.
By the ’90s, anyone with the slightest bit of environmental awareness knew that we were in trouble, as a planet and as a species. And one of the early warning signs, one largely ignored up to that point, had been the cry of the coral reefs. I’ve written elsewhere, frequently and at length, about the effects of mass coral bleaching and other environmental destruction, particularly for our peoples. I won’t revisit that here today; suffice to say that, in virtually every respect, it is the world’s indigenous peoples who are on the front lines of the swamping impact of climate change. In the twenty years since the endangered status of the reefs first began to seep into the national consciousness, that impact has accelerated and magnified and will only get worse, our Mother Earth having long ago passed any tipping point of self-remedy.
As a practical matter, the long-term effects of the mass die-off of the world’s coral reefs is an event of such magnitude that it overwhelms the human mind; gauging, much less internalizing, the long-term effects are incomprehensible to most people. But for Native artists, it’s been brought home in recent years in very real, quotidian terms: One of the materials they’ve used in their work since the dawn of time is, for the most part, no longer available.
That caveat, “for the most part,” is important. Genuine coral, including red branch coral is still available — but quantities are essentially limited to the pool of unused coral that’s already out there, and thus it has become very expensive. It’s now illegal to dive for it (although, as with any human endeavor, there will always be unscrupulous types driven by greed and worse who will flout the laws to take the fat of the world for themselves, at least until they’re caught). But for your average Native jeweler, the pool of available genuine coral has grown very small and pricey indeed. Wings is fortunate to have a supply of it, some handed down to him years ago, other pieces that he acquired over a lifetime of work as an artist. He rarely uses it, because of its scarcity and inherent value — but for very special pieces, he does have the option.
Many indigenous artists no longer have access to the real thing in its natural state; they’re priced out of the market. The obvious option, and one that many dealers try to sell to artists, is so-called “lab coral,” which is just what it sounds like: a synthetic substance created in a lab. It looks like coral, in color, at least. In tiny pieces, it’s often difficult to tell, because gradations of color and natural striations would not be visible anyway. But in larger pieces, it becomes fairly obvious, because it’s usually too uniform, in color and surface appearance, to be the real thing. It’s also, you know, fake.
But there is one option that remains to our artists, and that is the one shown above: apple coral. Yes, it undergoes a secondary process that transforms it somewhat. No, it is not an entirely artificial substance created from chemicals and plastics in test tube or petri dish. As noted in the description above, it’s genuine coral — all of the tiniest bits of detritus left over from cutting and cabbing and otherwise working with coral, including particles so small they can only be called dust, carefully compiling them, and treating them at high heat to melt and meld them together. Yes, it changes aspects of their essence, but at bottom, it’s actual coral. And nothing, however tiny the piece, of such a scarce resource goes to waste.
That post was built around the day’s featured item — a single strand of large, matched coin-disc beads made entirely of apple coral:
As I said in last year’s post, it allows Native jewelers to to use an old and beautiful traditional material in an environmentally conscious way:
[Apple coral is] actually a stunningly beautiful “stone,” speckled and swirled reds and oranges and golds and browns. It’s also actual coral. The difference is that it’s “treated,” and it’s one of the rare instances where Wings will sometimes use a natural material that has been treated. Here’s why.
As noted earlier, real coral is increasingly scarce. For responsible jewelers and silversmiths, what’s out there on the market is all there is; it’s neither environmentally sound nor remotely feasible in practical terms (much less legal ones) to acquire newly-harvested material. That makes every bit of existing coral on the market especially valuable — and it means being responsible when cutting and cabbing it so that minimal amounts are wasted in the process.
An example of an apple coral cabochon that Wings used in one of his own pieces appears immediately below:
And still, the photo doesn’t do justice either to the apple coral cabochon or to the cuff itself. This was, in my opinion, one of his most perfect pieces, and one for which the cab was perfectly suited. It was purchased by a long-time client and friend who lives several states away.
Unfortunately, as with any especially rare and/or valuable material, much of what’s on the market today is synthetic. We took a look at the imitations last year:
Finally, the outright frauds: First up is so-called “lab coral.” This is gaining popularity because of ease of acquisition, but it’s exactly what it sounds like — fake “coral” created in a lab. It’s entirely synthetic. Experienced jewelers can often tell you the difference between “lab coral” and genuine coral simply by feel, but for most people, it’s not so easy. One key is to look closely (with a magnifying glass, if need be) at the beads or cabochons. Is the color too dark, too uniform, too perfect? Then chances are, it’s synthetic. One thing labs have not yet found a way to do with any reliability, or at all convincingly, is to duplicate the beautiful randomness found in Nature. If you’re not sure, ask for verification.
There is also an unfortunate habit of dying actual coral to make the color more intense. We see this with turquoise, too. Nature produces a dizzying array of shades and patterns herself, all beautiful in their own way, but misconceptions abound in the Indian jewelry market about what certain stones (and stone-like materials) are “supposed to look like.” One of these misconceptions is that real coral is always dark red, deeply saturated with color and uniform in finish, texture, shape, and appearance. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. The individual coral beads in the featured piece above all look uniform at first glance, but close examination shows significant variability in shape, and the beads themselves are dotted with subtle flecks and color variations, which only add to their beauty (and, significantly, to their value). But in the spirit of giving the market what it demands, some cutters and cabbers take perfectly beautiful natural coral and dye it in dark uniform blood-red and maroon shades.
Another common practice (usually among commercial sellers of mass-produced beads and cabs) is dyed “coral.” This may be bone (which gives it the variegated color and texture patterns that hint at “authenticity”), or it may be a cheap stone like magnesite, or, more likely, howlite (which is cheaper yet). One quick and easy way to check to see whether a batch of “coral” is genuine or some other dyed material is to break a piece (this works best with beads; you can tap one bead firmly with a small hammer to break it up). If the red color appears only around the outer surface of the bead, and the center of the bead is white, it’s been dyed. If you’ve been told anything else, get your money back.
Symbolically, coral’s meaning varies among traditions, and much of what is touted as “Native” is actually nothing of the sort. It’s become a favorite of New Age crystal “practitioners,” and many of them have picked up on its association with Native art and culture to attach to it particular symbolism and significance. Most of it has absolutely nothing to do with Indian practices or beliefs.
That said, it does have certain associations beyond simple aesthetics for some of our peoples — and it is these associations that make it an appropriate “stone” for Valentine’s Day.
Among many peoples, it’s not a gendered stone at all; it’s worn regularly by women and men alike, and across a variety of jewelry forms: bracelets, earrings, rings, necklaces, belt buckles, bolos, and more. In some traditional cultures, however, it’s seen, in whole or in part, as a woman’s stone, and particularly a young woman’s stone. The associations are obvious: the red of blood, the lifeblood pumped by the heart throughout the body, that of young womanhood and the accompanying notions of fertility, tying together in one scarlet knot motifs of both romantic love and life itself. It’s one reason why it’s popular in cactus-blossom designs such as that in the cuff shown at the very top of this post, and in the pair of earrings in the photo immediately above. Fertility manifests in many forms, and even where there is no association with human romance, there remains the symbolism of love in the form of blessings bestowed by the spirits.
Whatever the association, it remains a beautiful, and beautifully intense, representation of the gifts of the natural world. That’s a form of love always worth recognizing.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
