The clouds have broken apart and finally departed; save for the hazy inversion layer that hangs low over the town, all that remains is blue sky and air so clear and sharp you could cut it with the blade-edge of the breeze.
It’s too warm, of course, but I suppose in a time of record drought and climate collapse on too many fronts, that’s only to be expected. Last night’s predicted hard freeze failed to materialize, and the grass underfoot remains soft, if fading fast in color now. Even our own aspens are now suddenly turning gold with remarkable speed, and the only webbing visible now is that of the earth newly visible between the evergreens on slopes and peaks alike. It’s possible to stand outside in the sun and look to the four directions, and see everywhere autumn’s version of a green earth born of the blues of the sky.
In other words, it turns out to be a perfect day for this week’s #ThrowbackThursday featured work. It’s a simple work, wrought in old-school vintage style, simple and spare and somehow full of power. It’s a necklace that dates back to somewhere between 2009 and 2011 or so, a Skystone pendant in the shades of land and mountain, edged in sterling silver and hung on a plain black cord.
This piece is at once very simple and . . . less so. Of course, that’s true of a great deal of Native jewelry, wrought in spare and elegant designs that nevertheless require a great deal fo skill and experience to bring from conceptualization into concrete being. And this is one of those rare works in which the creative process began, induspitably, with the stone.
First, a bit about the type of stone: It’s natural American turquoise, and it bears all the matrix-to-stone hallmarks of Montezuma turquoise, from Nevada. Most Montezuma, though, is pale blue, about halfway between so-called sky and baby blues, and the matrix, while manifest in this exact style of mixed patch-and-web patterning, is usually deep brick-red siltstone. This cabochon’s matrix included a litle f the reds and some bronzey shades, but it was mostly and intensely dark brown, almost a perfect black, as one would find with chert. The stone itself, too, was an unusual shade for Montezuma: only the faintest hints of blue in a bright soft green, a perfect counterpoint to the brown shades of the matrix. That would suggest Royston, or perhaps Fox, in a pinch. What I think is beyond question is that this old cabochon, part of Wings’s private collection, originated in the lands now known as “Nevada.” It was also, perhaps, less a traditional “Skystone” than an “Earthstone,” but every bit as beautiful.
It had been cut and cabbed in vintage style, too, with roughened spokes and curving corners and only a nod in the direction of smoothing them off in any real way. This was, I suspect, one of the exceedingly old cabochons in his collection at that time, some of which had been passed down to him by his father, also a self-taught silversmith. With material like this, there are a couple of ways to approch it: to attempt to smooth off all the rough edges, literally and figuratively, and turn it into a polished piece of contemporary work; or to honor the age and all those roughened edges, and keep the setting simple, traditional, and capable of showing off the natural beauty of the stone.
Obviously, Wings chose the latter approach.
He kept the cabochon exactly as it was — not a “cross,” by the way, which in the colonial culture implies a cruciform motif, but rather, a far older, frankly timeless shape that honors the Four Sacred Directions. As traditional symbols go, it’s a personal favorite of his, one that honors earth and sky, wind and water, stomr and light and all that they encompass and contain. He began work by fashioning the bezel: a simple strip of sterling silver, hand-cut to fit the height of the edges and shaped gently but very firmly around the cabochon, ensuring that the corners and angles fitted together firmly. This one, as I recall, had no backing, and in such instances, the closeness of the bezel to the stone is what holds it in place, so it needs to be spectacularly form-fitting. I do suspect that the lower edge wrapped ever so slightly over the back of the stone, but it’s been too long now for me to recall definitively.
Once the bezel was complete, but before the stone was set into it, Wings created a very small and slender bail, a simple sculpted loop with an open center, soldered onto the very top of the bezel. Because of the slender nature of the molded strip of silver, this one probably would have been put through the tumbler rather than buffed on the wheel. Then he set the stone, carefully but firmly molding the bezel into every curve and corner of the cabochon’s edges. Then he cut a length of solid black cord, formed an adjsutable slip-knot style closure, then tied and burned off the edges to prevent unraveling. All that remained was to bless it and put it into inventory.
It’s been too many years now for me to recall who the purchaser was. What I do know is that they acquired one of my own personal favorites from our inventory at that time. Looking back on it now, in light of our flawlessly clear weather today and a land fading to a mix of tundra and conifer colors, it seems a tribute to a green earth born of a blue sky, and a reminder that old symbols and styles still have much to teach us.
~ Aji
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