One thing we learn from the old stories and the metaphors and symbolism in them is that life — in all its multilayered complexity — is a matter of perspective.
From one vantage point, any given experience or problem may seem to be teaching you one lesson. Seen from another angle, the lesson may wholly different. And both may be messages that you need to hear.
It’s related closely to our lessons about the importance of harmony, of balance: No matter how good something seems, it must occur in balance with all else; and however bad other things may be (and they can indeed be inherently very bad), there is still something useful that can be learned from the experience.
It’s a pattern that we see in Nature. Periodically, we drive down to Santa Fe for supplies, and the stretch of the drive just south of Taos runs through a winding canyon alongside the Quartzite River, a tributary of the Rio Grande. It’s a constant interplay of light and shadow, and it never looks the same twice. I’ve driven this stretch hundreds of times over the years, and yet, every time we make the trip, I see the surroundings quite literally in a new light: sometimes under blazing sun, sometimes shadowed by thunderheads, sometimes wrapped in a blanket of snow, but always, always with something new to show me, a view I haven’t seen before.
The same is true of our view here at home. We live at the base of the mountain peaks so sacred to Wings’s people; the mountains are very much “in our front yard.” He has lived on this land his whole life; even as a small child in the old village, his family came out to this parcel of land to work the fields every summer, and he and his brother Roy used to sleep under the stars here at night. And yet, just as I do, every day he sees something new in the natural world that surrounds us. The clouds are never the same twice, and so the effects of light and shadow on the peaks differ from day to day, and from minute to minute. At some moments, the peaks are not visible at all, despite being seemingly close enough to touch. This time of year, as the monsoonal storms pass through, the rain falls so hard and fast that it appears its own low gray cloud, obscuring the mountains entirely from view. And the rains themselves are a reminder of the need for balance and a healthy respect for Nature’s power: The cloudbursts can be deadly, dropping so much rain so fast that the arroyos and acequias flood, sometimes washing out roadways and more; and yet, the rains and their runoff are what feed the local watersheds, allow our crops to grow, and eventually soak into the earth to keep it healthy in the months to come before the snows.
And this one of the reasons I love Wings’s style so much: Every single time I look at a piece, I see something new. The light catches a stone in a way that evokes a sudden memory; the stampwork symbolism comes together in a new way that reminds me of how blessed we truly are. When I feel melancholy or a little lost, it reminds me that there are perspectives other than the blinkered on I’ve been seeing; it centers me and helps me step outside of my immediate problem and look at things in a new way.
Sound strange or hyperbolic? No. This is what art does.
The cuff in the photo above is a perfect example of what I mean. The very silver from which it’s made, known in the business as “triangle wire” because of the apex on the top side, lends itself to angles and perspectives. And his singular style, meticulously matching up stampwork by hand, is inherently a style of multiple vantage points, magnified here by the physical angles.
This piece, entitled Storm Valley, was included in his recent one-man show, and its description here on the site reflects one such view:
Sometimes the stories and lessons in the symbols left for us by the Ancient Ones are simply reminders to be thankful: for the storms that bring the rains, allowing life to blossom and thrive in the desert peaks and valleys. Here, hand-stamped thunderheads line either edge of this heavy-gauge triangle-wire cuff, allowing the rains to flow into the valleys that meet at the band’s apex.
Sterling silver
$475 + shipping, handling, and insurance
But now, returning to it, I see another interpretation. Wholly different, to be sure, and yet very much related — the obverse, perhaps, of the original view. The one above is seen from the apex of the band, where the symbolism reflects Nature and her power: thunderheads, rain, and the valleys below. But seen from the opposite direction, from the edge of either side of the band, the thunderheads become something else entirely: they look like nothing so much as the traditional Pueblo homes in the old village, that house and shelter and protect the people and their families. And the valleys? Inverted, they look like our traditional lodges: tipis, with the supporting poles over which the hides are stretched. Another form of shelter, of protection, both physical and spiritual.
And this morning, my spirit feeling feeling slightly abraded from events of the past few days and mindful that I have much to do today before the rains come, my eye fell upon the photo of this particular piece.
Apparently it was a new perspective that I needed to see today.
What does it show you?
~ Aji
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