The Shaman's Mirror

by Hope MacLean

  FABIAN: And in the future, what are they going to want? They’re going to want it [the yarn] even thinner, but I’ve never seen any [yarn] thinner. They aren’t going to be able to get it.

  HOPE: They’ll want just thread, like embroidery thread?

  FABIAN: I don’t see it [that is, there is no yarn like that available].

  HOPE: What do you think? How are the yarn paintings going to change in the future? Do you think they are going to change more?

  FABIAN: I think so. They are going to change more.

  HOPE: Have you any idea how they are going to change, in what direction? Fabian: I think, in style. Well, the designs aren’t going to change. I think the designs are going to be the same, but the yarn will change. The yarn always changes.

  HOPE: The materials?

  FABIAN: This, the designs, isn’t going to change, because how can we change the customs, the beliefs? I can’t change them; I can’t put other styles, other designs. If I put other designs, I won’t know the story behind them, the significance, right? If I make it like this, from what I know, what I understand, my beliefs and religion, the things that I am making will go on being made.

  Fabian’s emphasis that the designs cannot change reveals an underlying aesthetic concept. The artists generally felt that yarn paintings should reflect the beliefs and practices of the Huichol, such as the correct activities in ceremonies, the appropriate offerings for a pilgrimage, or the story details of a myth or legend. The artist cannot and should not change these aspects. While the materials were open to change, the stories were not.

  To Fabian, it was important that the artist understand the stories and the significance of the paintings and that he be able to explain them. If the paintings were somehow changed in design, they would no longer be about what he knew.

  Mariano Valadez echoed Fabian’s insistence that the stories and the beliefs should not change. He said that if a change in design occurs, it is because the artist has learned something new or understood a new aspect of the tradition. The tradition itself does not change.

  HOPE: And you haven’t changed your methods, going from the thick yarn to the thin?

  MARIANO: No, it is the same. Or rather, it changes only because the yarn gets thinner. But you don’t really notice, because only the material is changing. The methods are the same because whether it is the work or the imagination, those are the same. But at times, when a style is changed, or some picture, it is because at times, a person has another explanation—it changes—but it is still the Huichol religion. That doesn’t change.

  Vicente Carrillo felt the need for a less time-consuming, more easily manufactured product than either yarn paintings or beads, since different methods might be more profitable for the artists. He expected that change would come soon, but he was not sure how or in which direction. He said that beadwork was becoming more popular than yarn painting. He speculated that in the future, the artists might not work with yarn or beads at all. Perhaps they would do easel painting or something simpler. He observed that marketplaces such as Puerto Vallarta are almost saturated with Huichol art, but that the buyers are limited to foreigners.

  Vicente demonstrated awareness of the relatively time-consuming Huichol work, its low profitability for the artists, the dependence on foreign buyers, and the possibility of market saturation. His idea that the Huichol might turn to easel painting is interesting. Brody (1976) documented a similar transition from indigenous art forms to easel paintings in the Native American arts of the Southwest.

  Since my conversation with Vicente in 1994, I have seen several experiments in easel painting. In 2002, I saw some paintings in a gallery in Tucson that looked as though they had been painted with acrylics; they were very simple landscapes with sky, trees, and ground, and each had a large appliqué of Huichol beadwork glued in the center. The effect was an uneasy melding of the two media, which use very different conventions. In 2005, a dealer showed me several superb watercolors by a new Huichol artist, José Carrillo. The dealer said he was a schoolteacher in his thirties from Guadalupe Ocotán, and from the sophistication of his drawing style, I suspect that he may have had Western art training.

  It is worth noting that the artists are not talking about how they might innovate spontaneously to meet their own artistic needs. They seem to be quite content with the status quo. Rather, they talked about how the demand for certain materials might change, or how particular buyer interests might shift, and they would have to adapt accordingly. In fact, Fabian González and Mariano Valadez indicated that there is an inherent conservatism in yarn paintings. As long as the painters try to depict Huichol beliefs and customs faithfully, the designs are unlikely to change radically.

  Huichol Artists Reflect on Buyers’ Motivations

  The modifications that yarn painters make in order to suit the market include changes of detail and complexity, colors and yarns, and subject matter. In making these changes, yarn painters seem to be guided by direct preferences expressed by the buyers. But regarding the deeper question of why Westerners buy their art and what buyers want from it, the artists profess some mystification.

  Many yarn paintings have some sort of explanation written on the back. At first, I wondered whether the artists wrote the texts because they had a particular desire to reach out to Westerners and explain Huichol culture and religion. However, the texts are so problematic that one wonders for whose benefit they are written.

  There is abundant evidence that Western buyers prefer an explanation when they purchase indigenous arts, and that a religious meaning is most attractive to them. Parezo (1991, 183–184) discovered that vendors of Navajo sand paintings quickly learned that tourists were more likely to buy the paintings if they had some sort of legend written on the back. Chatwin (1987, 257–261) described the complex negotiations of a dealer in Australian aboriginal art who insisted that she could not sell a painting without a mythological story attached, while the aboriginal artist and his ritual “policeman” tried to refrain from leaking any really sacred knowledge.

  The attempt to increase salability may be one reason why the Huichol paintings have text, but one wonders what is really being communicated. The text is usually written in Spanish, which is unlikely to help much in selling the painting to non-Spanish-speaking tourists. Moreover, the texts are often very difficult to read. Typically, they are written in phonetic Mexican Spanish with many idiosyncratic spellings. Some texts are written in Huichol, which would be readable only by other Huichol. Some texts have writing that is almost completely illegible. Pens skip, ink is too faint, ink from thick markers runs together, and there is seldom an effort to correct illegibility.

  It is quite possible that the Huichol do not realize how difficult their texts are to read and understand. Many Huichol artists are illiterate, and so they dictate their texts to a well-meaning helper, who may be only somewhat literate. The artists may have no idea whether the writer is doing a good job. Semiliterate writers often do not spell well, form letters well, or follow the rules of grammar and composition (they may, for example, fail to use punctuation).

  Furthermore, the writers often assume a knowledge of Huichol religion, culture, and mythology that most buyers are unlikely to have. For example, a painting titled The Birth of the Sun God refers to a mountain in the desert north of San Luis Potosĺ, to a long Huichol myth, and to the pilgrimage to Wirikuta. Without this background knowledge, a buyer would be unlikely to understand the references.

  One wonders how important it is to the artists to convey the text, and for whose benefit they communicate. Grady (2004) addressed ekphrasis, or the use of text to explain the visual, in yarn paintings, concluding that the artists’ descriptions are often more confusing than illuminating. She asked whether the artists deliberately try to obscure meaning—for example, by writing two different explanations on the same painting or by writing confusing or illegible descriptions. She noted that in her experience, some Huichol refuse to answer questions at all.

&n
bsp; The problem, to me, seems to lie in literacy. I find that most artists will give long, comprehensive explanations of their yarn paintings when asked to describe them orally. The same artists may write confusing, illegible descriptions on a painting—if they can write at all. The artists are also limited by the space available on the back of paintings, even on 24” x 24” (60 x 60 cm) paintings. Some very small paintings, such as those that are 4” x 4” (10 x 10 cm), may have lengthy explanations but little room to write them. It is also quite difficult to write on the board; few pens will mark clearly, and pencil barely shows. I suspect that the problem of having two different descriptions for similar paintings may be due to a careless recorder—perhaps a clerk in a store who was copying and not paying much attention.2

  The opposite problem occurs when the same description is applied to different paintings. When I sampled a large number of paintings in 1993–1994, I found that one artist—José Benĺtez Sánchez—engaged in this practice. Perhaps he considered them all variations on a single myth or theme, or perhaps he was not interested in giving more refined explanations; that year, he was turning out large numbers of paintings to pay some debts. Certainly, he had demonstrated the ability to give very long, cosmological descriptions when asked.

  When I started my research, I speculated that Huichol artists might be writing the texts because they wanted to teach Western buyers about their culture. Therefore, I asked the artists what they would like Westerners to learn from their art, what messages they wanted to convey about Huichol culture, and why they thought Westerners bought their art. These questions were difficult for the artists to answer. They seemed not to have thought very much about such questions. They had difficulty speculating about either their own thoughts about buyers, or about what the buyers might be thinking. Most did not understand the question about what they might be trying to teach Westerners, and it was clear that they had no particular program of ideas they were trying to communicate to Western buyers. They—and I—did much better on questions that were more specific and concrete, such as what kind of designs sold best or which materials buyers asked for.

  Language is one barrier, as Vicente Carrillo explained. When I asked him why he thought Westerners buy yarn paintings, he replied that he didn’t know why people buy them. He just offered his art to North Americans, and they helped him financially by buying it. He said that it was good for the Huichol that they do so, and he was grateful to the buyers for their interest. He would be interested to find out what the buyers think, but he has never asked.

  HOPE: Why not?

  Vicente: Because they speak English.

  HOPE: No one has come who speaks Spanish?

  Vicente: No one has explained to me.

  Mariano Valadez was married to an American and has lived in the United States. More than some other artists, he understood my questions about what Westerners might be looking for in Huichol art and how the artists could meet the buyers’ desires. However, even Mariano did not waste much time speculating about why Huichol culture was of interest to Westerners. He echoed the gratitude expressed by other artists for Westerners buying their art. It helped the Huichol financially and allowed them to continue practicing their culture.

  MARIANO: On one hand, I would like to thank the people who come to buy [art], because they are supporting the Huichol Center by giving it financial resources to buy medicine, food, so that this Huichol Center keeps going. And I think that it is they who are helping the people, all those who buy art in the center.

  On the other hand also, we have things that they [the buyers] can see here, whereas in the mountains, it is very difficult to see them. So they can see them here, and also . . . it isn’t good for the [Western] people to travel there, because there are no stores, there are no services in the mountains.

  Mariano felt that what Westerners could learn about Huichol religion and culture was limited. While yarn paintings could give some idea of the religion, people could understand the religion only by living it. Few Westerners were able to make that commitment. Thus, the art served as a window on the Huichol beliefs, but not as any deeper form of teaching.

  HOPE: And what do you think the Huichol religion can teach to the people of the North? Do you have any ideas about that?

  Mariano: What can it teach them?

  HOPE: The Huichol, to the North Americans.

  MARIANO: Well, only through the art, what the religion is about, but portrayed in pictures, or in masks or bowls . . . only through these types of offerings . . . But in reality, a person cannot understand the life of the Huichol. They can only know it from outside, as though they were observing a custom. But I think the Huichol cannot teach anything else, about how they live, because the person would have to travel and see how they live, all the explanation. But that life is very difficult, the life of the Indians. But in the culture, through the work, the [Huichol] are teaching everything, so much that in the designs of the yarn paintings, they say a great deal. That is all that they can offer.

  Chavelo González expressed most succinctly, and probably most accurately, why Westerners might buy yarn paintings. He thought it was because they like the stories.

  HOPE: Why do you think the North Americans like the Huichol yarn paintings? Chavelo: I look at it this way. The North Americans like the designs, not just that a yarn painting is very pretty. Some North Americans, even if a yarn painting is badly made, they may buy it. But because of its meaning, its story. The story is what gives it value. Because you might see a yarn painting that has very pretty colors, pretty designs, well combined. But if it doesn’t have meaning, well, maybe someone may buy it or maybe not. But what is important is the meaning, the story, the design. That is what is important. Some North Americans see that. There are some who like the story of a design—they may buy it. That’s what the difference is.

  HOPE: That they are buying it because it is part of the sacred lore?

  CHAVELO: Yes, some may buy it just because it is pretty, a decoration, and there are others who buy yarn paintings because they like the story, the meaning.

  Responding to this interest in meaning, some artists professed an openness to teaching other people about their culture. Fabian González said that he enjoyed explaining Huichol traditions to Westerners through his art. He liked to explain Huichol customs and ceremonies. He liked the fact that people from other countries want to learn about Huichol beliefs. If anyone asked about them, he was pleased to explain. I then asked whether some Huichol did not like to teach about the customs. He agreed that there are some such people, but said that he is not one. Nothing ever happened to him as a result.

  Fabian’s reference to possible harm that might befall him because of teaching Westerners about Huichol beliefs is significant. By this, he referred to punishment from the deities, who may send sickness or death to him or his family. Some Huichol fear divine sanction. For example, the anthropologist Barbara Myerhoff (1968, 8) noted that Ramón Medina had asked and received permission from Tatewari, the fire god, to reveal Huichol sacred stories to her, and he told her that he was therefore not afraid of supernatural sanctions.

  There may be a reluctance to speak openly even to other Huichol about occult matters, as Eligio Carrillo explained:

  HOPE: Why do you think there are some people who want to keep the religion hidden, and others who are willing to talk about this?

  ELIGIO: Well, they are closed people. Old-time Huichol like we were once. And they don’t even want to teach their own family. Those people don’t want to teach their wife, nor their brother, no one, nor their children. They just receive [information from the gods] for themselves, and they want to be here learning it. No more. When that person dies, then no one knows. That’s how many are. But many others are not. Among we Huichol, that’s how it is. Many others, no, they talk to everyone. They are friends of everyone. The person who is no more than himself alone, that person is not a friend. That person doesn’t have friends, not with anyone.

  HOPE: Thinkin
g only of himself?

  ELIGIO: He himself. No more. And it is as though he had a mirror in front of his face. Every face like this [holding his palm up in front of his face]. He doesn’t see other people. He is covered by his own mirror, turned toward himself. He doesn’t talk to you—he is doing nothing more than looking at himself talking to himself. That’s how it is.

  HOPE: I am looking at the person talking with his mirror in front?

  ELIGIO: Talking to his own mirror.

  HOPE: And he doesn’t see the people—he only sees his own face.

  ELIGIO: That’s how it is.

  HOPE: And to you, it is better to speak to everyone, to teach, so that all this will survive?

  ELIGIO: Yes, I have talked to many people. Many people know me. And I talk to them this way. Many people like it. They gather around, they meet together, listening. They like it. They say, “Well, many people don’t like to talk about this, and you do.” And yes, I do. Maybe because the others don’t know, for that reason they don’t want to talk. But I know some things, and I speak about it. But no one taught me, neither my father, nor my mother, nor my grandfather, no one. No one. No one. I learned all by myself.

  HOPE: From the gods?

  ELIGIO: From Tatewari, the fire god. He, yes, he has concentrated me.

  This discussion with Eligio reflects the difficulty that even the Huichol themselves experience in relation to the question of openness; and while Eligio opts for openness, other Huichol may not.

  In 2001, one artist told me that a backlash was developing in the community of San Andrés. The new Huichol governors had decreed that the artists should no longer explain the meaning of yarn paintings to foreigners and had ordered all members of the community to leave the cities and return to the Sierra. The artist told me that he disagreed with the governors, that he had been explaining the meanings of his paintings to buyers for thirty years, and that he intended to continue. In addition, he felt that this was a passing phase and that other governors might have different ideas. For example, in the early 1990s, some governors of San Andrés confiscated cameras from visitors and refused to return them, but this practice ended with a new set of governors.