When we hear the word “threshold,” it tends to evoke feelings of anticipation: of momentousness, of the sense that something of great import lies just beyond. In the dominant culture in which we today are all immersed from infancy, a culture that prizes notions of “advancement” and “upward mobility” and “taking charge” and “progress” and “change for its own sake,” that sort of anticipation, while perhaps a bit scary, is generally regarded as heralding something unequivocally good. Which is to say, the change itself is inherently good; by definition, it means progress. Whatever lies inside the threshold, it must be an improvement — at least, provided that we are willing to put ourselves in the “right” frame of mind to regard it that way.
In other words, the movement goes in one direction: forward, into whatever lies beyond. There’s no thought of stepping back, of turning around, of returning whence you came. Contemporary society reflexively frowns upon phrases like “go back,” as something inherently regressive and outdated, preferring to forget, to ignore the fact that are things to go back to, things that have value in and of themselves that perhaps cannot be replaced or improved by “progress.”
But that’s a cultural framework.
And, of course, it contains certain culturally embedded assumptions that are inextricably intertwined with the words used. Think of political propaganda, of advertising and marketing: The whole point is to capture an audience, a message, an exhortation to do something, a result (vote for me; donate to my campaign; buy my product or service) via the economy inherent in the use of a well-chosen word or two, words that resonate at a subconscious level, that evoke feelings of one sort or another in those who hear them.
And so “forward” becomes identified with”progress,” which in turn becomes identified with that nebulous and amorphous concept we like to label good: “good,” as an adjective; “the good” as a noun.
It’s not a new phenomenon; rhetoric and propaganda are as old as speech itself. It’s also one that’s so deeply culturally embedded in human experience that, most of the time, we don’t even recognize it; it wears the mask we call “The Norm.” But occasionally, the mask slips, and we see the artifice for what it is. And that is never so likely to occur as in the gaps between cultures themselves.
The photo above is a good example of this cultural disconnect, and it’s one that extends beyond the dichotomy of dominant (i.e., white American) culture and traditional Indian culture to a fissure in the foundations of Indian cultures themselves. And it’s perfectly natural: After half a millennium of contact that included overt genocide and forced assimilation, it would be shocking if there were not dominant-culture influences now deeply embedded in our own contemporary cultures.
That doesn’t mean there are not lines of demarcation, however faint. Sometimes the line manifests as a fiissure, a crack in the foundation, and sometimes it requires structural repair that can only be achieved through a patch, an acceptance of some outside influences in order to preserve the whole.
Sometimes, it manifests as a threshold, and occasionally, we’re afforded the option, the choice, the autonomy and agency and personal and cultural sovereignty that accompanies the ability to make a conscious decision whether to cross it.
Such was the genesis of the photo above.
It was, of course, one that Wings included in his recent one-man show. But when it was taken, it was taken as part of a series of shots that reflected a particular view afforded him on that day. From its description here on the site:
THRESHOLD
I entitled this Threshold because it evokes such an ominous feeling of portentousness, of momentousness: as though once one steps through the doorway, over the threshold of the church courtyard, there will be no turning back.
To a great degree, so it was, and so it remains.
After 500 years, that cross is now a part of our lives, of our contemporary culture, of our Pueblo itself. But it was not always so, and some of us retain the ancestral memories of the day before the arrival of the cross and the sword, the day of our pure red earth.
And so we choose not to cross that threshold, or to recross it in the other direction, out into the fresh air and budding trees and dusty earth and warm light of our essential selves.
Signed on white matting; brown wooden frame.
Size including frame: 17.75″ by 20.25″.
$625 + $100 shipping, handling, and insurance.
Other images in the series he took that day included shots facing the other way, over the threshold: of the church itself, of the bell tower, freshly whitewashed and topped with more crosses. It also included another image, taken from the same direction as this one, but back a few steps, to provide a wider angle . . . and wider context. It was an image that provided some hope as a counter to the walls and crosses that bounded and circumscribed his vision and view in the image shown above (and it’s one that will be featured next Monday).
To me, as an outsider coming from a different traditional culture, it’s an image that fascinates for so many reasons.
Despite the brilliant light of the desert sun, the interplay of light and shadow carries with it a feeling of foreboding. As with other thresholds, anticipation, yes, but of the kind that leaves you on edge, your stomach heavy and your arms tingling and your feet numb with cold. But the details, the tiny bits of substance that the whole comprises, tell wide and varied stories, and perhaps raise more questions than they answer.
The resurfacing of the church occurs every summer, in anticipation of the Feast of San Geronimo at the end of September. The aesthetics vary from year to year; I’ve seen the courtyard wall mudded and faced entirely in red clay adobe; I’ve seen it entirely whitewashed; and I’ve seen it, as in the year pictured, a combination of the two. What goes into each individual choice? Is it entirely aesthetic on the part of the individual making the decision? Is there a deeper meaning to it? Whitewashing was used regularly among ancient Pueblo peoples, but on the courtyard wall of a Christian church placed in the center of the ancient village, it carries the weight of heavy symbolism, even if only accidentally, and the lines of demarcation are especially stark and clear.
The look of cross atop the wall is not lost on me, either. “Crosses” are common in ancient indigenous art and symbology, but they have nothing to do with Christianity — indeed, in some areas, predate it by several thousand years. Their meaning varies among cultures and usages, but they are often used to represent the Four Sacred Directions. And their arms, or spokes, are of equal length.
The Christian cross, on the other hand, is bears a much longer spoke at the bottom. It must, of course; it’s a facsimile of a crucifixion tree, after all. But that’s a very symbolism very different from a global expression of the reach of the cardinal directions.
I find it interesting that this cross appears much more like the former than the latter, with what appear to be spokes of equal length. Accident? Intentional? Given that it sits atop a wall shaped into the “kiva steps” pattern found on traditional pottery, I wonder.
Aesthetically, I like the tiny touch of modernity visible at the left: a strand of heavy wire wrapped around the ancient tree-trunk post, used to hold whatever needs to be tied there for particular reasons or uses throughout the year, standing out in stark relief against the whitewashed wall like two of Grandmother Spider’s legs. She’s a keeper of thresholds, too: of dreams, of more permanent places.
And I love seeing the interplay of line and form, light and shadow, among the old homes beyond, with the traditional arbors and ladders not merely still in use, but used as a regular part of daily life, so much a part of the culture that they’re not even “seen,” they simply are.
And, of course, the mountain, barely visible in the background, yet watching over all since before the first people ventured onto this particular plot of land.
The mountain, and what it protects and preserves and represents, will feature prominently in next week’s image, and next week’s post.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
