The Shaman's Mirror
Page 1
Copyright © 2012 by the University of Texas Press
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Printed in the United States of America
First edition, 2012
Portions of Chapters 6 and 7 appeared as “The Origins of Huichol Art” and “The Origins of Huichol Art, Part II: Styles, Themes and Artists,” American Indian Art Magazine 26, no. 3 (2001): 42–53 and no. 4 (2001): 68–77, 98–99. Portions of Chapter 10 appeared as “Sacred Colors and Shamanic Vision among the Huichol Indians of Mexico,” Journal of Anthropological Research 57 (2001): 305–323. Portions of Chapters 11 and 12 appeared as “The ‘Deified’ Heart: Huichol Indian Soul Concepts and Shamanic Art,” Anthropologica 42 (2000): 75–90. Portions of Chapters 14 and 15 appeared as “Huichol Yarn Paintings, Shamanic Vision and the Global Marketplace,” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 32, no. 3 (2003): 311–335.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
MacLean, Hope, 1949–
The shaman’s mirror : visionary art of the Huichol / Hope MacLean ; foreword by Peter T. Furst.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-292-72876-9 (cloth : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-292-73543-9 (e-book) —ISBN 978-0-292-74250-5 (individual e-book)
1. Huichol art. 2. Huichol textile fabrics. 3. Huichol mythology. 4. Art, Shamanistic. 5. Hallucinogenic drugs and religious experience. 6. Symbolism in art. I. Title.
F1221.H9M22 2012
299′.7845—dc23 2011035818
Cover image: Eligio Carrillo Vicente, Haa Naki, 2007. 24” x 24” (60 x 60 cm). This yarn painting shows a sacred site guarded by little people called “Haa Naki.” Photo credit: Adrienne Herron.
the shaman’s mirror
visionary art of the huicholt
hope maclean
Foreword by
Peter T. Furst
the shaman’s mirror
contents
Cover
Copyright
Foreword BY PETER T. FURST
Acknowledgments
1 The Path to the Sierra Madre
2 Wixárika | Children of the Ancestor Gods
3 Kakauyari | The Gods and the Land Are Alive
4 Gifts for the Gods
5 Sacred Yarn Paintings
6 Commercialization of the Nierika
7 Footprints of the Founders
8 Making Yarn Paintings
9 The Colors Speak
10 Sacred Colors and Shamanic Vision
11 The Artist as Visionary
12 The “Deified Heart” | Huichol Soul Concepts and Shamanic Art
13 Arte Mágico | Magical Power in Yarn Paintings
14 Shamanic Art, Global Market
15 The Influence of the Market
16 Ancient Aesthetics, Modern Images
Notes
Glossary of Huichol and Spanish Terms
Bibliography
Index
Plates
foreword
peter t. furst
Hope MacLean’s book, the first to treat in real depth the uniquely Huichol art of “painting” with colored yarns—and from the “inside out,” that is, from the artist’s viewpoint, rather than only from the “outside in”—brings to mind the transformation from the mundane to the sacred of a yarn painting that looked no different from those made for sale, to which I was witness in December 1968 on the second of the two peyote pilgrimages in which I was a semiparticipant-observer.
There were seventeen Huichol peyoteros in our party, thirteen adults and three children, the youngest barely a week old when we started out from an overnight stay on the left bank of the Rĺo Lerma. Across from our temporary encampment was a rural settlement of Huichol peasant farmers and their families. They had left their homes in the mountains and canyons of the Sierra Madre Occidental for lack of arable land, but had never lost touch with their old homes and the relatives they had left behind. Nor had Ramón Medina Silva, a multitalented artist but also a lifelong peasant farmer, who led this pilgrimage, as he had in December 1966, when the late Barbara G. Myerhoff and I had the great good fortune of being the first anthropologists to witness the peyote hunt, of which the Western world had first learned at the turn from the nineteenth to the twentieth century from Carl Lumholtz, the pioneering Norwegian ethnographer of Huichol art and symbolism.
For Ramón, this was the high point of his life. Long ago he had pledged five peyote pilgrimages to his tutelaries, Tatewari, Our Grandfather, the ritual kin term for the old fire god and tutelary of earthly shamans, and Tayaupá, the Sun Father, and this would be his fifth, when he would have the right to call himself a mara’akame, Huichol for the shaman who not only cures but sings the many nightlong sacred chants.
Our goal, three hundred miles to the east, was the sacred peyote desert in the north-central Mexican state of San Luĺs Potosĺ. The Huichol call the desert “Wirikuta,” and they are convinced it was the homeland of their ancestors.1 One of the Huichols in our party was an exceptionally handsome young woman named Veradera. As soon as we camped on the first night out, I saw her pull a small rectangular piece of quarter-inch plywood from her woven shoulder bag and cover it with a thin layer of brown wax from the indigenous stingless bee. It certainly looked as though she was preparing the board for one of the yarn paintings that the Huichol have been making for sale since the 1950s and early 1960s, only smaller than usual. By the time we arrived in Wirikuta, she was putting the finishing touches on a wool yarn design that now covered the entire board; after returning it to her bag, she rejoined her companions for the “hunt,” literally with bow and arrow, for the little visionary succulent that, for the Huichol, is the transformation of the sacred deer.
Except for the painting’s size, perhaps five inches across, in technique and appearance it was no different from those the Huichol make for the tourist trade. True, even in the Sierra you rarely see Huichols, even young children, without something in their hands—a weaving, an embroidery, a string of beads for weaving into rings, necklaces, or ear ornaments—when not otherwise engaged in agricultural or household chores. But why would someone apparently every bit as charged as any of her fellow pilgrims with anticipation of her first encounter with the ancestors and the visionary peyote distract herself—or so I thought—with thoughts of future income?
I could not have been more mistaken. This young artist—who, like her companions, had taken on the name and identity of one of the divine participants in the primordial peyote hunt and, also like them, was addressed as one of the Tateima, Our Mothers, for the duration—turned out to be as deeply immersed as her fellow pilgrims in this, the most sacred, longest-lasting, and physically and mentally most demanding ritual in the crowded ceremonial round.
The first day in Wirikuta was spent “stalking” and harvesting peyote, which, because it is only a few inches across and a dusty grey-green in color, and grows low to the ground under the protection of thorny vegetation, is not easy to spot. The roots are long and come to a point, and no Huichol would fail to leave the bottom portion in the ground to assure cloning and future growth. That night, everyone assembled in a circle around the fire that was the manifestation of Tatewari, Our Grandfather, the old fire god and tutelary of human shamans, continuing what they had done in the afternoon: sharing their bounty with their companion
s and slowly masticating slice after slice. Some also watched for the reaction to the very bitter taste of a young boy peyotero, who was probably ten or eleven years of age.
Ramón was feeding him slices of peyote, urging, as he had everyone, to “chew it well, chew it well, so that you will find your life.” Whether the boy liked it was important: if he did, the Huichol say, he was likely to become a shaman; if not, it was cause only for laughter, not shame. As we could see, our young companion, his mouth full of chewed peyote, was grinning from ear to ear and nodding his approval. So the omen was favorable.
But it was the young yarn painter who would soon catch everyone’s attention. Sitting perfectly upright, she was taking her time before returning to everyday consciousness, so much so that lighted candles were placed around her, each a miniature manifestation of Tatewari, to shield her from hostile witches who might try to steal her soul while it was traveling out-of-body to Other-worlds. It was not the only time that she kept her companions waiting, eyes closed and with an expression of wonderment, for the return of her soul, and on each occasion her companions saw to it that she was protected by a ring of “little Tatewaris.”
But it was on the following day that no one, not I nor her fellow Huichols, could have missed the power of her spirituality, a power that with a simple gesture would send her yarn painting full circle from commercial art back to its origin as visual prayer and means of communication with the ancestor gods.
The Huichols were again assembled around the fire, into whose flames Ramón and his chief assistants were placing various kinds of offerings, including the small wart gourds in which the Huichol keep the nicotine-rich “tobacco of the shaman,” Nicotiana rustica, which they smoke in maize husk cigarettes to put themselves into a state of mind receptive to the peyote experience.
Veradera, seated with legs slung under, took her little yarn painting from her shoulder bag and, with its muslin cover removed, placed it on the fire, watching intently as, in its reincarnation of art as prayer, it was consumed by the flames: to give pleasure to the deities in exchange for hoped-for benefits, a baby, perhaps, or a calf, or rain and enough of the sacred maize to feed the family. To make sure that not only Tatewari, in his guise as the flickering flames, but also the Sun Father received her gift, Ramón gestured the smoke in the direction of the summit of an extinct volcano towering over Wirikuta, from which, in the time of the ancestors, the sun was born in a fiery eruption.
· · · ·
The yarn paintings made for sale are not in and of themselves sacred. But they do tell sacred stories. And though it may not always be available, for the wax into which the yarn is pressed, Huichols much prefer that of the indigenous stingless bee. Of that little insect, which does not sting but can inflict a little nip, there is a treasure house of sacred stories. And as Veradera’s sacrificial yarn design attests, what matters most in the end is the artist’s motivation and the depth of his or her relationship to the past.
1. Recently published DNA studies have shown this to be “real history” framed in the language of myth, a reminder to anthropologists to give more credence to the people whose culture they are studying than to their own biases. See C. Jill Grady and Peter T. Furst, “Ethnoscience, Genetics, and Huichol Origins: New Evidence Provides congruence,” Ethnohistory 58, no. 2 (Spring 2011): 283–291.
acknowledgments
Doing fieldwork in anthropology is like directing a Broadway musical. A cast of hundreds makes the research happen, and sometimes it seems that all the researcher can do is orchestrate the voices. While I thank the key players who appear in these pages, I also acknowledge the kindness and concern of the many people who pointed me in the right direction and helped keep me going.
The University of Alberta provided a PhD recruitment scholarship and grant for writing. I thank my supervisor, David E. Young, and committee members, Ruth Gruhn and Gregory Forth. Since then, my colleagues Peter T. Furst and Marie-Francoise Guédon have been a constant source of advice and encouragement. Parts of this work have been published previously, and I am grateful to the publishers for permission to reprint.
The Mexican government, through the Secretarĺa de Relaciones Exteriores, assisted me with a scholarship for fieldwork. I thank Guillermo Espinosa Velasco, then director general of the Instituto Nacional Indigenista (INI), and Marina Anguiano Fernández, a Mexican anthropologist, who supervised my research under this grant; Luis Berruecos Villalobos, Alfonso Soto Soria, Trini Lahirigoyen, and Jesús Jáuregui of the Museo Nacional de Antropologĺa in Mexico City; and Jorge Alvarez Fuentes and Fernando Delmar of the Embassy of Mexico in Canada. Denise Jacques, Michael Small, and Pierre Sved of the Canadian Embassy in Mexico City gave invaluable backup support.
I also thank the Huichol officials of the Unión de Comunidades Indĺgenas Huicholes-Jalisco (UCIH-J): Guadalupe de la Cruz Carrillo, Rafael López de la Torre, and Antonio Carrillo. I owe a special debt to those families that invited me into their homes: Tomás Montoya and his wife, Catalina; Alejandro López de la Torre and his wives, Rosa and Alicia; Eligio Carrillo Vicente and his wife, Jacinta Rĺos; Guadalupe de la Cruz Rĺos and her family, who first introduced me to Huichol culture; Tachillo Pérez, who opened my eyes to what shamanic vision might be. Susana and Mariano Valadez welcomed me into the Huichol Center for Cultural Survival and Traditional Arts in Santiago Ixcuintla.
A number of dealers in Huichol art allowed me to photograph their collections and shared their experience with Huichol artists. Among these, I would especially like to thank Isabel Jordan, Maria von Bolschwing, Martha Elliott, Donato Schimizzi, Magua and Mahomedalid, Ignacio Jacobo, Kevin Sullivan, Maggy Flocco and Luc Vleeracker, Rolf Schumann, Pilar Fosado, Wayland Coombs and Aruna Piroshki, Jessie Hendry, and Judith Anderson. I am also grateful to those anthropologists who shared their experiences, such as Ingrid Geist, Paul Liffman, Olivia Kindl, and Denis Lemaistre.
I offer special thanks to the Huichol artists who shared their knowledge and the stories of their lives. I hope this research will be a suitable record of the wonderful art that they originated and continue to take in ever more fascinating directions. Fabian González Rĺos, David González Sánchez, Modesto Rivera Lemus, Santos Daniel Carrillo Jiménez, Miguel Carrillo Montoya, José Isabel (Chavelo) González de la Cruz, Gonzálo Hernández, Mariano Valadez, and Alejandro López de la Torre all gave lengthy interviews. Eligio Carrillo Vicente has been my mentor and guide over many years. José Flores Bautista Ramos and the Bautista Cervantes family supplied the Tepehuane point of view.
I owe a special debt of gratitude to Adrienne Herron for her superb photographs, which capture the exquisite colors and details of Huichol art.
Finally, I would like to thank my parents, Dr. John MacLean and my mother, Dr. Margaret MacLean, one of Canada’s first dealers in Inuit art, who passed on to me her love of indigenous art.
1
the path to the sierra madre
It was December 1988, and I had traveled four days and thousands of miles, from Ottawa, Canada, to Tepic, Mexico, and from there to Tucson, Arizona, to meet a Huichol Indian woman I barely knew. When I finally found Guadalupe de la Cruz Rĺos (Lupe) in a house on the outskirts of Tucson, I realized that the tourist Spanish I had been learning from tapes was wholly inadequate. I could hardly understand anything she and her family were saying. I felt lost and discouraged.
“Why did I come so far to see someone I can’t even speak to?” I asked myself. I was ready to turn around and go home again.
The next morning, Lupe and I were sitting in the living room. Everyone else had gone out. On the table next to us was a copy of Art of the Huichol Indians, a beautifully illustrated book with many reproductions of yarn paintings—an art made by pressing colored yarn into beeswax spread on a plywood board.1 Lupe picked up the book and opened it to one of her own yarn paintings.
“Esto es Tamatsi Kauyumari” (Sp.: This is Tamatsi Kauyumari, the Deer God), she said, pointing to a picture of a deer-person holding a bow. I wrote down �
��Tamatsi Calumari.”
“Es el poderoso del venado” (Sp.: It is the power of the deer). She spoke slowly, sounding out each syllable. I wrote down the words she used. She waited while I looked up poderoso and venado in my dictionary.
Slowly, we worked our way through all the images in the yarn painting: the altar in the foreground; the Deer God, Tamatsi Kauyumari, a shamanic figure who wields a bow; the evil brujo (Sp.: sorcerer) called Kieri (Lat.: Datura),2 who is being shot by Tamatsi Kauyumari; the deception practiced by those who follow the evil plant, Datura, instead of the good spirit of the peyote cactus (Lat.: Lophophora williamsii); the deer, as the source of spiritual power; and the deer’s way of helping the shaman sing.
In a few hours, even though I was almost incapable of carrying on a conversation in Spanish, Lupe used her yarn painting to give me a lesson in some of the basic concepts of Huichol shamanism. One yarn painting became a teaching tool, a vehicle for establishing a relationship between two people from very different cultures and a window into Huichol mysticism.
From that day, I realized that yarn paintings were more than just pretty ethnic designs made for sale to tourists. A study of Huichol yarn paintings might provide a deeper insight into Huichol culture and the shamanism it is based on. This book is the result.
I first met Guadalupe de la Cruz Rĺos (Lupe) in the summer of 1988. She and her family were traveling around North America, visiting Native reservations and performing basic ceremonies. The man who had arranged their tour was a Canadian named Edmond Faubert. His family lived near the village of Wakefield in the Gatineau Hills of Quebec, Canada, where I also lived.
During their tour, they stopped in Wakefield. One day, they held an exhibition in our local art gallery, and that is where I met Lupe. We formed a bond, and she invited me to visit her in Mexico. I made several trips over the next few years, and Lupe stayed with me when she and her family made more tours of Canada.