Today has, at long last, felt more like May than most of the month thus far. It’s been warm, if not much over seventy; mostly sunny, if banded by thunderheads around the horizon. For the first time in days, there has been no rain . . . yet.
But those thunderheads are coalescing now, climbing high, and while a lowering sun illuminates them in shades of slate and violet, the wind regularly pushes and pulls them over the face of the sun.
There may be rain before the night is done.
It’s been one of those difficult days, front-loaded with tasks that took us elsewhere and then added onto the tasks awaiting us when we returned. There’s been no time for the work of our customary schedules, and it feels somehow of a piece with the chaos that has marked this month seemingly on every level, from the weather to the light.
In truth, weather and light have contended and conspired together to create more chaos: While we can follow the track of a intermittently-veiled sun, it’s harder to gauge a moon whose phases are hidden from view. We are some five days into the new moon of this month, and the waxing crescent has shown itself to us only two of those nights; the Evening Star, otherwise known as Venus, has been more visible, but its counterpart that holds court in the dawn has been mostly concealed from view.
An allergy attack courtesy of the cottonwood pollen drifting everywhere in the air now kept me awake for much of the night, and I was able to see just how rapidly the shifting skies altered the presence of any light at all. At eleven, the stars were nothing more than a feeling, an echo, a memory; cloud cover, light but expansive, shielded them all from view. An hour later, at midnight, the clouds had broken up, disintegrating and drifting eastward on the wind, and I could see brilliant stars all around.
Twenty minutes later, the clouds returned, and the stars were lost to my sight once more.
This is a world that requires us to take much on faith, and lately, the existence of the light is no exception. We know that it is there, simply by virtue of our own continued existence; any occurrence drastic enough to deprive us of moon and stars, never mind the sun, would mean instant death. But it’s as easy to forget their power and beauty, their medicine, as it is those of our own Earth when circumstances hide them beneath cover of storms literal and metaphorical.
But ours is an Earth that holds us in place, rooted, born, growing, alive. It is a world not alone in the broader cosmos: Indeed, in the same way that our own existence is interdependent upon our planet’s health and well-being, this Earth depends upon other spirits of the skies for its survival — sun moon, more distant stars and planets. The light of the world is life itself, and by the medicine of these ancient spirits do we survive and thrive.
Today’s all-new featured work, completed only last week, embodies this elemental truth. It’s an old-style, classically-wrought cuff bracelet as homage simultaneously to our world itself and Grandmother Turtle, she who some old stories say holds us safely on her back, and to the four lights most significant to our planet’s existence and our own navigation thereof: Sun, Moon, Morning Star, and Evening Star, the light of the world in four manifestations. From its description in the relevant section of the Bracelets Gallery here on the site:
The Light of the World Cuff Bracelet
We are held safe within the light of the world, feet firmly grounded beneath the warmth and illumination of sun and moon and stars. With this old-style traditional cuff, Wings honors the earth that uplifts us and the spirits of light that keep our world alive. The band is wrought in vintage style, wide and heavy, with gracefully sculpted ends saw-cut freehand to create a comfortable fit. The stampwork is elegantly spare, the rays of sun by day and moon at night scored freehand, deep and even, on all four sides of the center, emanating from beneath the focal cabochon at center. Single layered directional arrows in an old-style traditional design point outwards in each of the four open spaces between the grouped rays; the rays to either side each terminate in a stunning line of arcs scalloped freehand at the very point where the band begins to taper. Centered on one of the narrower ends is a Morning Star hand-formed of four long, tapering points around a small central hoop, with its Evening Star counterpart centered on its opposite end. At the center of the band, set into a hand-cut bezel, sits a a freeform oval cabochon of natural Damele turquoise, seafoam green in hue with bronze-colored spiderweb matrix, marbled like the shell plates of Grandmother Turtle, she who holds the world on her back. Band is heavy fourteen-gauge sterling silver, 6″ long by 2-5/16″ wide at center and 1-1/2″ wide at sculpted ends; cabochon is 15/16″ high by 3/4″ across at the widest point (all dimensions approximate). Other views shown above, below, and at the link.
Sterling silver; Damele turquoise
$2,000 + shipping, handling, and insurance
The silversmithing on this work is extraordinary: fine, even rays of light, all of them scored deeply (and entirely freehand) into the heavy silver. You wouldn’t know it to look at these deep, straight grooves, but each one was chased repeatedly using a single short chisel-end stamp — no outsized stamps, no lasers or power tools here.
And between each set of rays, collectively extending to the Four Sacred Directions, a single directional arrow, a old layered motif, pointing outward toward the universe that holds us safe in its embrace.
Then there is the scallop work, more freehand stampwork at the end of each ray along the sides. Together, they form their own border, a line of demarcation where the cosmos curves inward, then back outward once more. Its a very simple, old-school design, but it involves heavy freehand saw-work, all of it performed with the same filament-thin blade used in lighter, more delicate cutwork.
And, of course, there are those two guides at either end: one Morning Star, one Evening Star, bookending the hoop just as the spirits they honor bookend the day.
Finally, there is the stone. It’s a small but stunningly beautiful specimen of Damele turquoise, from Nevada: pale but rich seafoam green, marbled with matrix that ranges from golden to bronze to brown, spiderwebbing that resembles ink on wet parchment, the lines fading into the surrounding color ever so slightly, giving it a soft, delicate look.
It also, as the description notes, strongly resembles the plates of Grandmother Turtle’s shell. With its freeform and imperfectly oval shape set into and hand-made bezel created with hand cut- and file-work, it looks for all the world like our world itself, told through the story of humble Turtle: On a planet once covered with water (as it was) and inhospitable to our kind (as it also was), it was her plated shell that made a world, and a home, for us to survive.
Here, she sits backlit by the rays of sun and moon, and by the guiding stars, the illuminating powers that keep us in orbit, on our axis, warmed and alive. The light of the world is life itself, truly, and it all deserves our gratitude, and the work of our care and respect.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2023; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
