Today, we’re going to venture back off the beaten path a bit, but this time, we’re going to introduce you to another “gemstone” that’s not really even a stone at all. More, it’s not something that occurs on and of its own in Nature — yet, it is a natural substance. As we’ve noted here repeatedly, Wings doesn’t work in synthetics, and today’s “stone” is not synthetic . . . but it does occur as a result of human actions.
Confused yet?
It gets better: It’s a substance whose name appears, to most people, to bear absolutely no relationship to what it actually is. Indeed, its name is a Spanish feminine proper name, one that has been applied to or appeared in an incredible diversity of American contexts: In the title of a 70-year-old Roy Rogers and Dale Evans musical Western and its soundtrack. In the title of an until-recently-unreleased Warren Zevon song, and as the title of a Neil Sedaka number from one of his mid-’80s albums. In the name of a fictional California town in a collection of stories by Korean American author Don Lee, published in 2001. As the name of a character in a 1991 comedy film — and as the name of a fictional South American country in an old adventure film from 1939. It’s even the name of a particular brand of refried beans. And in a non-Hispanic twist, it’s also the first name of a popular Lebanese fashion designer and model who held the title of Miss Lebanon in 2008.
What is this name that appears with such rambling diversity?
Rosarita.
It’s a name that one might expect to have a specific etymology, or at least a literal English translation, but the fact of the matter is, it’s probably mostly a compound name. In Spanish, rosa of course translates to “rose,” which has long doubled as both flower type and feminine proper name.
But rita is a bit different. Rita is a proper name in and of itself, but not a word in Spanish per se. Rito, what would seem to be the masculine form, is an ordinary noun, one that translates to “rite.” But there is, to my knowledge, no feminine version of the noun. In Spanish, of course, -ita is often a diminutive suffix, one applied to nouns and proper names alike to show youth, small stature, or status as someone dear. But to turn the proper name Rosa diminutive, you would get Rosita (“Little Rose”), dropping the ending vowel and replacing it with the suffix.
Now, there is a word that resembles both, and would seem to combine the various meanings in a somewhat metaphorical manner: rosario. It, too, is both noun and proper name, and although it is expressed in the normally-masculine form, with the -o ending, it is used as a first name in some cultures for both boys and girls. As a noun, it translates to “rosary.”
Ah.
Does the symbolism begin to fall into a place a bit?
Curious, I decided to look up the etymology of the name Rosarita, if any. It turns out that at least some folks had the same thought: that it stems from rosario, a female diminutive form. It doesn’t take much of a leap, really — a rosary is a set of beads that are sometimes stylized, and that could be said to resembles rose petals or even the whole flower, and they are most definitely used in a set of rites. They are also used in a set of rites whose iconography depends heavily on a particular set of images involving blood as one of the symbols of salvation. More about that in a moment.
So why the lengthy language-lesson lead-in?
Because names don’t transpire, magically, in a vacuum. They are deliberately bestowed within a cultural context — perhaps sub- or even entirely unconsciously, yes, but cultural and social frameworks dictate and shape those choices.
And for a substance that is born under the pressures of intense and purifying heat, one ostensibly named for its location in a province named for a Catholic saint, I think it’s no accident that the name was chosen for a “jewel” the color of blood.
So what, exactly, is this mysterious material?
It’s very simple, really. It’s gold slag.
Yes, you read that correctly. It’s a byproduct of the gold refining process. This is what I meant by a natural substance that occurs as a result of human intervention and man-made processes. But “gold slag” doesn’t really have a very attractive ring to it; for me, the phrase conjures up (as I suspect it does for most people) images of scrap heaps, of waste products and dull leaden-looking clumps of impure metal. And, of course, it is impure, at least in its relationship to gold: It is literally midwifed into being by the smelting process that, under furnace-like temperatures, burns off the impurities in a given amount of gold; the impurities rise to the top and are filtered off, leaving the pure precious metal behind.
Are you seeing connections between blood and impurities and cleansing yet? It’s the old salvation story, inscribed in metal and “stone.”
In South America, there is a mining operation of the same name: Rosarita. It is in the San Juan Province of Argentina, in an area of the nation’s Northwest area where it abuts Chile in the bisecting border of the Andes Mountain Range. The mine is active today, although it appears that, in relation to some others in the area, it is perhaps not as productive, and certainly not as well known.
What it is known for is the quality of its gold slag, which, when cooled, hardens into a brilliant, blood-red stone-like substance, one that can be cut, cabbed, polished to a silken gloss, and used in high-end jewelry and gemwork just like any other gemstone.
I don’t know whether the Rosarita Mine was the first to process and sell its gold slag this way, or if it’s simply that they are the best at it. Either way, somewhere along the line, the “stone” was given the name of the mine and the district from which it comes. In these days of coral scarcity and rising gemstone prices across the board, it’s become a popular alternative for Native American jewelers and silversmiths: It’s easy to use; more readily available and less expensive than the deep-red natural coral whose use for so many centuries has been a tradition among our jewelers; and it manifests in a beautifully intense red of near-perfect clarity, a shade that is intrinsic to the symbolism of many of our cultures and traditions.
I also can’t help but think that it draws its name, however unconsciously bestowed, from the symbolism of a more recent tradition on these shores, one that itself draws on the symbolism of blood as purification and salvation. Whatever else it may be, rosarita is a testament to the idea that even that which seems impure, diluted, even contaminated, still possesses great beauty and intrinsic value.
Those things we think of as impurities? Perhaps they’re just being overshadowed by something more flamboyant. Brought out into the light, polished, cared for, allowed to stand on their own, they have whole new lessons to teach us about where beauty and worth reside.
~ Aji
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