The Shaman's Mirror

by Hope MacLean

  The same principle may be in operation when one tries to reduce a color system to a system of symbols. Simple equations such as “red equals fire,” “yellow equals sun,” and so on may be the most basic way of understanding meaning. Some Huichol artists’ knowledge may stop at this level, the level explored by anthropologists such as Lumholtz. Others go on to a level in which colors are combined according to more general principles. Eligio consistently resisted interpreting the relationship between color and meaning according to either of these levels. Instead, he moved on to a higher level of generality, which is the relating of color to the referents that give it meaning in the first place. Eligio’s analysis challenges us, as anthropologists, to move to a broader level of generality in order to understand the relationship between shamanism and meaning.

  11

  the artist as visionary

  When I first began to study yarn paintings, I was intrigued by statements that they were spiritually inspired. The dealers told tourists that all Huichol artists were shamans and that all their art was the product of dreams and visions. As time went on, I began to question this romantic statement. Not all the yarn painters I met were shamans—and many of their paintings seemed to be about myths or legends or ceremonies. The images may or may not have had their sources in visions. Perhaps the dealers were being overly enthusiastic in order to sell art. The statement certainly seemed to catch the buyers’ interest, giving Huichol art a cachet that ordinary Mexican folk arts did not have.

  A growing literature suggests that the art of indigenous peoples is spiritually inspired or shamanic (Halifax 1982; Lommel 1967). But how much do we understand of what this generalization means? What is it that makes an art shamanic? How are shamans inspired, and how do they translate inspiration into art? Is it simply a matter of “seeing” a vision or dream and then replicating the image in art, or is some other process involved?

  Several authors have suggested that one source of shamanic art may be the trance experience created by hallucinogenic plants such as yage (ayahuasca; Harner 1973) or peyote (Cordy-Collins 1989). This has led to observations that certain plants produce characteristic patterns and images: users of ayahuasca see writhing snakes, peyote users see geometric, lattice-like color combinations. Other sources of visionary art may be altered states of consciousness induced by physical stress brought on by fasting, dancing, or drumming.

  Some authors have proposed that the stimulation produced by peyote and its chemical component, mescaline, is responsible for the designs made by the Huichol. This theory was popular in the 1970s, when there was considerable interest in the effects of hallucinogenic plants generally. Cordy-Collins (1989, 43) took this idea to mean that most or all Huichol art originates in chemical stimulation:

  The origin of Huichol art is to be found in such [peyote-induced] hallucinations; it is the direct product of the chemical alteration of the brain’s synapsing system. The sensory overload which is thus brought about is “translated” by the brain into colors, shapes, and sounds . . . There are two stages of mescaline hallucinations: the former is one of intensively color-saturated geometric forms. In the latter stage such abstractions are replaced by familiar, identifiable objects, people, and places . . . This two-part sequence is clearly reflected in Huichol art: the cross-stitched embroidery and the woven textile patterns . . . replicate the early stage of geometric images, while the beaded gourds, the yarn paintings . . . and other more “realistic” creations more ably evoke the sorts of images experienced in the later stage hallucinations.

  Several other articles in the literature support the idea of a visionary source for Huichol arts. Furst (1968–1969) was the first to identify dreams and visions as sources of inspiration for yarn paintings made by the Huichol artist Ramón Medina Silva. Furst made no claims that Ramón considered his vision-inspired paintings to be better than his other works.

  Subsequently, Eger (1978, 39–41) discussed mandala-like drawings made by a young shaman after eating peyote. She went on to say that some women’s embroidery and weaving was better than others and that following a path of completion similar to that of a mara’akame was the reason for the difference. A caption identified “embroidery . . . inspired by the artist’s dreams and hallucinations,” adding that “the women who have ‘completed themselves’ in the Huichol religion seem to have the most success in creating these patterns” (47). The author highlighted the important role of visions, particularly those induced through the use of peyote: “Through the process of her initiation to and continued ingestions of peyote, the completed woman also develops the ability to ‘dream’ her designs and remember them. Striking color combinations and hallucinatory geometric forms are typical examples of these dream creations. Variations on traditional designs, with enhanced feeling for form, composition and highly saturated colors also typify the work of the women possessing these divinely inspired talents” (52).

  Eger added that such women are not the only ones who make excellent artwork and that many Huichol are highly skilled artists; rather “the difference . . . is a whole level of existence . . . [that is] particularly obvious in regard to the symbolism, which ordinary women who have not completed themselves are fairly oblivious to” (52).

  Fig. 11.1. Unknown artist, embroidery, c. 1996. Cotton manta cloth, acrylic yarn, thread. The vibrant colors of Huichol embroidery suggest the vibrating, kaleidoscopic colors that many people report seeing during peyote visions. Photo credit: Adrienne Herron.

  Schaefer (1990, 225–248) reiterated the role of dreams and visions in relation to women’s weaving. She noted that a woman who has completed herself will see through her heart, called “iyari” in Huichol, and will receive and originate designs from many sources, including dreams, peyote visions, and natural designs such as those on the back of a lizard or a snake ally.

  Eger and Schaefer emphasized the important role of dreams and visions in Huichol art. However, visions are not the only source of imagery, since many designs are transmitted from person to person by the ordinary methods of teaching and copying. Dream and vision designs represent an aesthetic ideal in Huichol culture, although only some artists are able to achieve it.

  Has this aesthetic ideal been transferred into yarn paintings? In fact, there has been an ongoing debate in the literature about whether the paintings are products of shamanic experience or only stereotyped reproductions.

  Some authors maintained that the paintings are nothing but commercial merchandise, reproductions of symbols that originally had religious meaning within Huichol culture, but have since lost any connection to their original purpose. Muller (1978, 96) called yarn paintings a “degeneration” of the original religious offerings. While he observed that the inspiration for them often came from Huichol mythology, and that the Huichol were capable of turning out artistic masterpieces if given the right incentives, most paintings were mass-produced in cities and had little original content.

  Weigand (1981, 17–20) expressed doubt about the usefulness of yarn paintings as a source of information about Huichol traditions. There had been a considerable mixing of information from different communities in the urban environment where yarn paintings were produced, and sometimes the information contained in them was drawn from secondary sources. He cited the example of a yarn painting based on a myth published in a booklet. He added that some painters were what he termed “professional Indians”—that is, Indians who made a living by presenting themselves as well-informed Huichols; he considered them to be rather unreliable sources of information. The paintings responded to the demands of the tourist market and could be ordered according to tourists’ preferences, perhaps even combining several myths rather than having a traditional meaning.

  Perhaps most critical of the yarn paintings was Fernando Benĺtez, a Mexican journalist who is widely read and quoted in Mexico as a source of information on indigenous people, including the Huichol. Benĺtez (n.d., 7) called yarn paintings a falsification and an industry, completely unlike any other
traditional Huichol art. He blamed the anthropologist Peter Furst for inventing them while listening to the Huichol artist Ramón Medina singing his myths. Benĺtez claimed that the cartoonlike paintings that resulted from this collaboration, such as Ramón’s painting of dead souls in the underworld, looked more like floating heads drawn by Walt Disney than any authentic indigenous art.1

  Benĺtez’s criticisms should probably be read with caution. He was a journalist, not an anthropologist. Moreover, as an ardent Mexican nationalist, Benĺtez (1970, 285) deplored the fact that most writing about Mexican Indians was done by foreign anthropologists. This may have biased his view of Furst’s influence. Still, Benĺtez’s documentation of Huichol traditions was sensitive (P. Furst 1972, 144–145). Benĺtez is one of the main authors that many Mexicans read for information on the Huichol, so his criticism carries weight, at least in Mexico—it was repeated to me by various Mexicans. Therefore, it is worth investigating further.

  On the other side of the debate, some writers have claimed that yarn paintings can be an important source of information about Huichol religion. Negrĺn (cited in Manzanilla n.d., 124) agreed that the yarn paintings sold commercially were often of poor quality, reproducing designs that once had magical and symbolic significance, but have been deprived of their significance through commercial exploitation and the need for economic survival. Nevertheless, Negrĺn proposed that the best of the artists could create original designs, based on mythology and their personal visions; however, such masters were rare, and they needed to practice their religion in their personal lives: “To keep in his spirit the vitality of this mythology, to feel it genuinely and sense the urgency of re-creating its images, which weigh on his mind, the Huichol artist must live out the reality of his cultural beliefs and record his always-changing visions, concentrating his attention on the ritual path of difficult pilgrimages and dramatic celebrations of his traditions” (Negrĺn, cited in Manzanilla n.d., 124; my translation).

  These opposing points of view suggest an interesting problem. What exactly are Huichol artists depicting in their yarn paintings? Are the paintings a source of information about religious beliefs? Are they depictions of dreams and visions? Or are they only commercial products, albeit lovely ones, containing no more than sterile repetitions of once-authentic myths and symbols?

  Dreams and Visions: Huichol Artists’ Opinions

  Despite the assumption that Huichol art is visionary, there is little documentation in the literature of Huichol yarn painters’ points of view. Therefore, I decided to ask Huichol artists how they create their art and whether it is shamanic or spiritually inspired. I also asked whether artists use peyote as a source of their art and whether yarn paintings are records of dreams and visions. As I will show, the artists’ answers to these questions led me in unexpected directions. In particular, I found that the Huichol concept of the soul is central to understanding how spiritual inspiration occurs.

  At first, I thought that dreams and visions might be the source of inspiration for the paintings. I assumed that the process by which spirituality is translated into art consisted of the artist “seeing” an image, through dream or vision, and then transferring this image directly into a painting. By “dream,” I mean our common nighttime experience while asleep. By “vision,” I mean an experience while awake or in some form of trance. Visionary experience can include both auditory and visual components. Artists quite often described “seeing” particular images and also hearing sounds or holding a conversation with particular spirits.

  All the artists had eaten peyote. Some said they did not use peyote as a source of their imagery. For example, the artist Mariano Valadez told me that he is not a shaman and does not rely on peyote to generate images. Moreover, he questioned whether this process was possible.

  HOPE: Have you seen things when you are eating peyote? Things that you put in your yarn paintings. Or do you not put these things in your yarn paintings?

  MARIANO: No, because the thing is, when you are eating peyote, it is as though time is passing. When the effect ends, I don’t keep in my mind what I see or what I imagine. I don’t do that. Nor can I eat peyote in order to do my work.

  HOPE: You don’t remember afterward what you have seen?

  MARIANO: No, I don’t remember. Because I cannot lie in my explanations and say that I can take something in order to be able to paint better. No, because I cannot . . . And regarding the peyote, I don’t do it [that is, use it as a source of imagery]. Many of my colleagues say that they use peyote to do their work, but I don’t believe it. I can’t lie. I want to speak honestly.

  Another artist, Modesto Rivera Lemus, explained that peyote gives energy but is not itself a source of images. He is referring here to a Huichol belief that peyote is a source of spiritual and physical energy (or life force) called kupuri in Huichol. (When I interviewed Modesto in 1994, he had just begun the training required to become a shaman, but had not yet acquired visionary ability. He has continued to make pilgrimages since then, and his knowledge may have deepened by now.)

  I asked him whether he had seen visions. He told me that when a person takes peyote, he or she has the energy that comes from peyote. This energy stays with the artists and gives them the energy to invent images. He thinks that the things of the Huichol religion are not things a person can actually see. For example, one does not see things in the sacred water, but one has a mental idea or image of what they represent; it is this idea that the artist presents in a painting. Sometimes he depicts the energy of sacred places or of the sacred gods. For him, the source of images comes from his childhood. His father always performed the ceremonies and attended fiestas, so he knows Huichol traditions.

  The artist who was most explicit about using dreams and visions as a source of imagery was Eligio Carillo. However, even he stated that dreams were more important as a source than visions, including peyote visions.

  HOPE: And do you get your designs from visions?

  ELIGIO: Oh yes, that, yes. From visions. Sometimes from dreams. Which represent a lot through dreams.

  HOPE: And is there a difference between the designs that you get from dreams and designs that you get from your imagination?

  ELIGIO: Yes, there is that also, from my imagination. There is also that. That is to say, it comes from many places. I have learned that it is thus, things that I learn well [that is, through shamanism]. Many things result.

  When I asked him whether it was possible for a person looking at his paintings to tell the difference between designs derived from dreams or visions or imagination, his answer was that a person who was already a mara’akame or visionary would know without being told. Otherwise, it was up to the artist or mara’akame to explain it. Without an explanation, an observer could not really understand.

  HOPE: And do the two types look different? . . . If I am looking at a yarn painting, can I know if it is from a vision or if it is a dream or something else?

  ELIGIO: Yes.

  HOPE: How can I know this?

  ELIGIO: Well, for me it is easy. But perhaps that person, there, who doesn’t know anything [that is, does not have shamanic ability], for him it is very difficult. That’s how it is. Because I . . . when I see it . . . I have to say it, because I have the knowledge, right [that is, a shaman should explain what he sees]. [I should say to the person]: “Good, then, that is an image that is the representation of where they made the beginning of the ceremony.” Perhaps I should say it. But if he doesn’t say anything to me, I will only look at it to see what it contains, right. And that too. If another person makes it, I just [look at] what he made, right. Just look at it. I understand. That’s what that means.

  As Eligio explains, it is the learner’s (or the purchaser’s) obligation to ask what the painting means or what sort of vision it may contain. Once asked, the artist is obligated to explain; for example, he may explain that this painting represents a vision of what occurred at the beginning of a ceremony. If the learner does not ask, the artist
will not explain but will only look at the painting himself, knowing its meaning. Similarly, if Eligio sees a painting by another artist, he can understand its meaning without asking.

  Among artists who said that they had occasionally experienced dreams or visions, the responses were mixed. Some artists could describe a vision that they had experienced, but said that they had never tried to depict it in a yarn painting. Others had experienced one or more visions that they had then put in yarn paintings; but they said that most of the paintings they made did not depict visions, but rather culturally derived themes, such as myths. An artist such as Ramón Medina may produce some paintings that express visions, but also make paintings that narrate myths. I found it was not uncommon for painters to point out to me which paintings were their own visions and which were not; this ability to distinguish between the two showed that they used both types of inspiration in their work.

  Some artists used what might be called a secondhand version of dreams and visions as a source of inspiration. I have called this process “borrowed vision.” During ceremonies, the mara’akate may tell in their songs about what they are envisioning at that moment; often, the mara’akate tell stories from the Huichol body of myths. The artists listen to what the mara’akate say and then use their imaginations to paint what they hear. Mariano Valadez explained how he applies this idea.