Three days into the new calendar year, and the world here is harsh and unutterably cold. The mercury plunged to -13 this morning, with a wind chill of 31 degrees below zero. This is the real bleak midwinter, a hard season for a hard land. After such a deep and sustained drought, two feet of snow are a blessing, but the storm always carries along an Arctic freeze in its wake
The new calendar year is also a new world to welcome and protect, but it works in both directions: It is our responsibility to nurture it, but we also depend on it to ensure our own survival. On days such as this, it’s hard to believe that such a land could be created for our benefit.
And yet, it is.
The old stories hold wisdom in such matters; they remind us both of simpler, better days and of times when the hardships of simple survival seemed insurmountable . . . and of the fact that our peoples made it through them all to face the world in its current form.
We had, of course, a great deal of help.
I’ve written at length about the old story of how Turtle Island came to be: the origin of the name, and the form and shape of the world of the First People in some traditions. It has always been, to my mind, a beautiful lesson in the importance of every being, that no one and nothing, however seemingly humble, is indispensable to the building of a good world and a good way to live in it.
Today’s featured work, in its way, also represents world-building of a different sort.
It was a special commission from a little more than two years ago. A very dear friend had found the stone around which the piece is centered, and she wanted Wings to create a very special pin for her husband. Turtle holds special and life-long significance for him, and indeed, world-building is an elemental part of his own vocation.
This was a piece with a particular deadline — she wanted him to be able to wear it for a specific event — and so Wings swept aside everything else on his workbench and set to work.
Wings has created countless turtles over the years, include a number of them specifically for our friends, and most adhere to a specific vintage-style shape — slightly geometric in design, with straight legs and pointed toes, head, and tail. Occasionally, he rafted versions with articulated hind legs, as though gathered to propel forward movement.
This time, however, the stone spoke to him differently.
In this instance, he began by sketching out a slightly different shape: a perfect oval to surround the turquoise cabochon, with head, legs, and tail all fully articulated, yet with softer, more rounded outlines. This vision produced a narrower head, tapering at both nose and neck, a narrow, slightly rounded tail, and small slender legs arched with a sense of motion and purpose. He did not, however, cut it free of the silver yet. Before that, he turned his attention to the stampwork.
Such an elegant stone needed equally elegant stampwork, something simultaneously simple and complex, layered but not busy. He kept the number of individual stamps to a minimum, most of the design evoked with a pair of similar stamps: both wrought in crescent-like shapes with rays above them, one a single horizon-like arc, the other the smaller connected arcs of clouds. The former he used on the body, edging the entire center of the pin with it in a repeating pattern; the arc faced one way down the left side of the bezel, and the opposite direction down the other side, both rows nearly (but not quite) meeting at top and bottom.
Next, he arrayed the second stamp in paired rows at the top of each leg, across the curved joint. Beneath these he stamped simple crescents, which created the effect of scales upon reptilian folds of skin. Then, he set off each leg from the body with a single stamp that consisted of a row of points, a motif he often uses to represent scales on turtles, lizards, or serpents.
The stampwork was nearly complete at this point. Only three more images would be required. First, he chose a stamp in the form of connected points, much like the zigzagging shape of lightning. This he used to edge the head and neck. Then, he selected two more that would be used for single images: a turtle in miniature, which would texturize the tail and link the two sets of crescents around the body at its base; and a tiny classic heart, that would connect the arcs at the top of the shell behind the head.
Stampwork complete, he cut the turtle, freehand, from the silver using a tiny jeweler’s saw. He then created a scalloped oval bezel to hold the stone and trimmed it with delicate twisted silver. He also crafted two tiny round saw-toothed bezels, soldered securely into place side by side at the widest part of the head. He then turned the piece over and soldered the pin assembly into place on the reverse. He oxidized the stampwork and the joins between bezels and twisted silver and the pin itself, then buffed it all to a medium polish, the better to bring the “scales” into elegant relief.
Lastly, it was time to set the stones. He had decided already that a pin of this size and substance needed stones for eyes, as well. He chose a pair of tiny round gaspeite cabochons, a beautiful spring green that matched the lightest shade of visible beneath the swirling matrix of the larger cabochon.
And about that stone: As noted above, it was provided by our friend, who had fallen in love with it on sight. It was a truly spectacular specimen, aswirl in shades of grass and emerald and forest greens. It was like staring down at a lush and fertile aerial view of Turtle Island, alive with the spirits and blessings of full summer.
And it was Chinese turquoise.
Long-time readers and clients alike know that Wings specializes in American turquoise. It’s only logical for Native jewelry, of course. But it’s also true that Chinese turquoise developed a reputation for being cheap and mass-produced, of low quality and not much in the way of individual beauty. It was always a generalization, backed by some truth and a little falsity, but it’s only been in the last few years that that country has begun mining specimens that rival the best other countries, including the U.S., have to offer.
This was one such cabochon. It’s known as Hubei turquoise, from the Cloud Mountain Mine in the Hubei Province of China. I’ve written about it here. It is now producing some of the most beautifully webbed turquoise to be found anywhere on the planet: deep rich blues and greens traced with inky lines like leaded stained glass, or aswirl in layers of color like the mists of a storm.
There’s a lesson here, too: one about not listening to the colonial prejudices of the market (or any other source). It seems especially apt here, given the story of Turtle herself. It’s also a reminder that every part of the world, all its beings, are essential, all deserving of our proper stewardship. We have a new world to welcome and protect this year; if we do it right, it will return the favor.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
