It’s thirty degrees this morning. Two degrees below freezing, the same as yesterday morning.
I think monsoon season is officially over for the year. Of course, I realize that the effects of climate change have made any such assumption a bit of a crapshoot, but the freezing point is still usually a fairly reliable marker.
What this means is that we’re heading into our sunniest season — and, given the sharply-slanting angle of the sun this time of year, coupled with the stark and brilliant clarity of its light at this elevation, as of today, we’re heading into the months where our eyes need protection the most.
It’s not to say, of course, that you shouldn’t wear sunglasses here in the summer; you need them year-round, actually. But in summer, even on days that are sunny, there are often enough thunderheads on all sides to block its most direct rays. I’m not referring to the UV dangers, of course, but merely to its blinding effects on immediate vision. There’s a reason we all have crow’s feet around our eyes and squint lines on our foreheads here; if you work outside year-round, as we do, lines are unavoidable even with sunglasses. It’s like the old joke: I earned my wrinkles.
I admit to being careless, too. As fair-skinned as I appear for much of the year, I tan easily and rapidly — and dark. It takes a lot for me to get a sunburn. So I’m accustomed to being able to go outside thoughtlessly and do what needs to be done without worrying overmuch about how many layers of sunscreen I need. But I learned a few years ago that my eyes aren’t quite so tough.
If you’ve never seen the sun radiating from a flawless, cloudless turquoise sky down onto three feet of ice-hardened snow . . . well, it gives you a new sense of the phrase “blindingly beautiful.” It really is spectacular. And like most such things, it will hurt you if you gaze at it too long, openly and unprotected.
And it will be here sooner rather than later; once the dawn clouds cleared away from the peaks yesterday morning, they parted to reveal the first distantly-visible snow of the season, the major peak wearing a full headdress. Light and thin, yes, but the entire peak was capped. All that remains now are traces, ribbons and feathers of white winding down the trails of the upper mountainside, courtesy of yesterday’s intense sunlight.
It was just this sort of light, this time a year or so ago, that prompted Wings to try his hand at today’s featured piece. A couple had come into the gallery on one of these blinding autumn days, the husband with sunglasses in hand. At the village, of course, there is no power, so stepping into a gallery or shop can be utterly disorienting, especially in fall and winter, because there’s no artificial light inside. Your eyes are forced to adjust from the hard sunwashed scape of the plaza to a dim, unlit adobe interior in a split second. And this gentleman quite wisely had worn his sunglasses, but when he took them off upon entering, he had no place to put them. In a gallery where fragile Native art sits everywhere, all in the enclosed space of a single small dim room, it’s understandable why people don’t like to have anything in their hands while they browse. It’s hard enough for your eyes to adjust in the first place; no one wants the added worry about knocking something off a shelf.
So the gentleman asked Wings whether he had a “sunglasses holder” (he didn’t). i’m not entirely sure what the customer was envisioning; he apparently didn’t have, and I get the impression didn’t want, the sort of “holder” that hangs around the neck, a length of rubberized or woven band that allows the glasses to dangle by the bows from its ends. Also understandable; dangly things can be dangerous in an art gallery.
At any rate, he was looking to buy something right then, but not to commission a piece; he needed it for their immediate visit. But in talking with the man, it gave Wings an idea for an accessory that could be used by nearly anyone, and would have utility nearly anywhere, year-round. So when he came home, he set to work sketching out a sunglasses holder, trying to design something that would permit people to keep the glasses close, without risking dangling or falling, and leave their hands free.
This was the result — with, of course. Wings’s own inimitable cultural twist. From the description in its entry in the Accessories Gallery here on the site:
Tablita Sunglasses Holder
Keeping your sunglasses secure has never looked so coolly cultural. A Sleeping Beauty Skystone in a deep, dark blue centers this one-of-a-kind accessory. The cabochon is set into a sterling silver bezel, hand-cut and hand-stamped into the shape of a tablita in miniature, the ceremonial headdress of Pueblo spirit beings and the dancers who personify them. A bow of the glasses slides securely through an opening beneath the bezel; the back clips to collar or waistband.
Sterling silver; Sleeping Beauty turquoise
$325 + shipping, handling, and insurance
It’s a much easier thing to wear than an actual tablita. And like the real thing, it bears traditional imagery in the stampwork: celestial symbols, markers of sustenance and life. Oh, and that stone? Yes, it’s every bit as blue in real life as it appears in the photo — a little bit of the brilliant Pueblo sky to carry with you throughout the year, regardless of the weather overhead.
And now, Father Sun has finally begun to peek over the top of the mountains. As I’ve been writing, he’s raised the temperature only one degree above the freezing point, but give him time; as he comes more fully awake, he’ll send it to seventy or so as he makes his journey across the sky. He’s getting to work, and it’s time for me to do the same.
~ Aji
