Our peoples have always known that earth and sky hold all the secrets of existence: who we are, where we fit, how to be. The cosmos is library and research center, laboratory and observatory, and the spirits that dwell in it our teachers.
The answers are all there; the key is in finding them.
There is a misconception in the dominant culture that our peoples did not practice “science.” Tropes range from “primitive hunter-gatherer” to “noble savage,” but they all work to erase our ancestors complex identities and technologies, histories and skills. Here in this broader region of Turtle Island, many of the Ancient Ones were known for their expertise in the field of astronomy. That, in turn, gave rise to greater knowledge of time and season than that which is merely perceptible by eyes and skin, the proofs of cold air and early dark. In its turn, expanded understanding of the seasons enabled the peoples who inhabited what now represent parts of four contemporary states to become sophisticated farmers with a deep knowledge of agricultural techniques, from irrigation to hybridization.
It’s the same all across Indian Country; only the details differ. My whole life, my own ancestors have been slandered to my face by the dominant culture as “primitive,” “nomadic.” They were neither. They were simply well-attuned to their environment, with a thorough understanding of climate and weather patterns, and they knew when to make camp for extended periods and when to forage abroad in order to stock up for the winter.
There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with nomadism, either. The very word itself is rooted in the tending of sheep and other flocks, referring to feeding by way of grazing. But once colonial linguists and lexicographers got hold of it, it transmuted into a derogatory term. It’s now used in this part of Indian Country by white “experts” to denigrate non-Pueblo indigenous peoples, despite the obvious historical inaccuracy of it.
It’s also associated, in the minds of those same peoples, with tribal nations of the Southern, Central, and especially Northern Plains: those who adopted and adapted the horse as an integral part of their cultures. They miss, of course, the fact that many (most? perhaps all?) of the Pueblo nations are also “horse cultures,” having incorporated them some half-millennium ago when the Spanish invaded. But in the popular mindset, a worldview that includes far too many outsiders hailed as “experts” on Native peoples, the “Hollywood Indian” is the model, and nomadism and horses are inextricably intertwined in certain cultures, particularly the Apache/Kiowa, Comanche, and Lakota/Dakota/Nakota Sioux nations. Such stereotypes manage to insult us all.
The horse is important to the ways of Wings’s own people. It’s why, for most of his life, he has raised and trained horses. They are kindred spirits, in their way, and they have always also served as subject and inspiration for his art.
One of these magnificent beings is represented in today’s featured throwback work: a pin in the iconic form of a ledger horse, a classic Indian pony, created at least as long ago as 2006, and I think more likely in 2005. This was one in a small and irregular, informal series of pins that Wings created over a period of many years, each assuming the same general form and shape, each unique among the members of its small silver clan. This was one of my favorites, and while the purchaser is long since lost to time and memory, its image survives in my enormous trove of photos.
This one was unusual for another reason, too: Wings most often made both ledger and spirit horse pins facing to the animal’s (and the wearer’s) right, which is to the observer’s left. Once in a great while, though, he reverses the viewpoint, and this was one such, a horse running to its and the wearer’s left and to an observer’s right. Although the other direction points inward toward the wearer’s heart, for myself, this direction seems somehow more natural to wear.
These pins rarely, if ever, featured gemstones; their entire ornamentation consisted of stampwork, an echo of the paintwork that adorned traditional warrior horses in the old days. This was no exception. But the design began with form and shape, a sketch of a mostly-wild horse in full gallop, all four legs stretched fully outward, mane and tail flying. Wings cut the piece freehand from sheet silver using a tiny jeweler’s saw, one with blades so fine they resemble the leads of an Eversharp pencil. Such fine bits of metal permit him the flexibility to carve out the arch and hair of the tail, the notches in the mane, the ears, and the hoof-and-fetlock combinations with a smooth and graceful finish.
Once the piece was cut out, the “paintwork” could begin. Old photos and drawings by Native artists show clearly that our ancestors often adorned their horses: with thongs and fetishes and gemstones braided into mane and tail, and with traditional symbols and patterns painted on their bodies. Black and white were popular colors, and often a warrior’s horse would be given facepaint as fierce as that of its rider, the better to instill terror in the enemy, yes, but also sometimes simply to invoke the powers of certain spirits. But our peoples were as skilled at art as at other endeavors, and they knew how to mix red and yellow ochre from various plants and types of earth, and for some, indigo blues were accessible, too. It was not uncommon to see horses with, for example, painted bands around muzzle and legs, painted hoops around one or both eyes, and painted traditional symbols, often including the warrior’s own handprint, on neck, withers, flanks, and other open parts of the animal’s body. Wings adapted this tradition, scaled down to miniature size, by way of his stampwork.
This particular horse bore a collection of exceptionally powerful symbols all across its body, as well as some very practical ones. He used a tiny hoop for the eye, chisel marks paired together at the top for each flying section of mane, a more narrowly applied pair to create the crease of the neck. Then he turned his attention to the warrior’s marks. Then he added three curving bands over the horse’s muzzle, three wider evenly spaced bands on its right foreleg, and three crescent moons banded on its left hind leg. At the top of the right foreleg, he linked six chisel marks in a lightning pattern, then repeated the lightning motif along the horse’s neck with five segmented zigzagging lines of varying lengths connected together. Paired bands created dual arches across the animal’s back at the withers. Seven hoops — one the size of the horse’s eye, six somewhat larger ones — were scattered between the neck (two larger) and the flanks (one large pair at the top, one large pair stretched across the top of the right hip and leg, and the smallest one between the two pairs). Lastly, he added a pair of diamond shapes, traditional Eyes of Spirit, on the flanks between the small hoop and the lower pair of larger hoops.
The result was an animal infused with the power of earth and sky, storm and Spirit, fitting for a warrior’s horse. Any warrior riding (or, in this case, wearing) such a horse could call upon the power of the lightning, the wisdom of Spirit, and the continuity of life’s sacred hoop to help his or her cause. The wearer could also call upon the lessons of such forces and spirits, and the powers and talents of the horse itself: swiftness, surefootedness, and an unfettered sense of liberation. In ancient cultures, the horse was part transport, part pack animal, part hunter, and part warrior . . . but it was also a symbol (and facilitator) of freedom.
Perhaps the horse’s greatest gift to us lies in one particular lesson: that we are free to be.
These days, that’s a message worth remembering.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2018; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
