When I am empty please dispose of me properly

Several years ago I was asked to design a glyphic mural for the town of Santa Elena as part of a gift to the community for allowing the Duke University-UNC Summer Yucatec program to be housed there for part of their six week course. Instead of simply copying ancient texts that have little direct connection to Santa Elena, I suggested that we should produce our own in Yucatec Mayan, but in the style of the Classic period glyphs. This way the language of the inscriptions presented in this mural would match that of the people living in Santa Elena (the ancient inscriptions are in the Cholan family of Mayan languages), as well as telling stories that are currently popular in the town. Through this a connection is made between past and present in a way that we hope generated something vital and new.

We also hoped that the mural and associated texts would arouse the interest of the frequent tourists to the museum who come primarily to see Santa Elena’s famous “Momias,” or are simply passing through on their way between Uxmal and Kabah. By involving the community in the creation of the project–both in the telling of the stories as well as in the actual design and painting of the mural–we hoped that the project would truly be a joint one and not just something that was imposed top down (as are so many other things in rural Mexico). For my part, I wanted people to see that Yucatec is interesting and that old stories are important in whatever language they are told. In the end, it seems like many of these desired effects have been achieved. People were excited about the mural last year (2006) when it was completed, and are especially so now that the first set of labels have been installed (2007).

A note on activism
There is much in the world where the kind of activism to which we are normally accustomed here in the US is important and necessary. But sometimes–and this is perhaps something that bears repeating in anthropology–just revealing how the past is connected to the present, showing an interest in people’s lives and learning a language are enough to make major changes in people’s perceptions of themselves and how they are viewed by others. Just imagine how much more impressive it is for a youngster to see that a foreigner has taken the time to learn the language of his grandparents, than it is to proselytize (both religious and secular causes) through direct instruction or to make often false claims to righteousness. It has been my experience that all people recognize hypocrisy and condescension and do not enjoy these qualities. The kind of activism–if such it is–that this mural and associated texts are, is a more passive kind, but one that grows from listening to what people want and framing what they have said in ways that put their voice front and center. To my knowledge this is one of the only places where glyphic Mayan has been re-inscribed in a church with texts that are directly connected to the contemporary community.

The following text is the label that accompanies the mural (pictured below) painted in the Casa de la Cultura y Museo, housed in the annex of the Colonial church of San Mateo, Santa Elena, Yucatan. In addition to this label, a number of stories, such as the previously posted narratives of the Origin of Alux and Juan Tuyub are also posted in the museum.

Label to the Santa Elena Mural and Folklore Project

This mural represents a combination of ancient and contemporary aspects of Maya culture and a collaboration between the residents of Santa Elena and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and Duke University Summer Yucatec program. As visitors to Southern Mexico, Guatemala, or Belize know the Maya are still very much present. The so-called collapse of the Classic Maya kingdoms in the ninth century had major effects on the political and economic structure of Maya society but it did not extinguish Maya culture. In fact, contemporary Maya are the direct descendents of the people who built the structures that attract much of today’s tourism to these regions. The observant tourist will no doubt hear Mayan spoken in the streets of the Yucatan Peninsula and in such US cities as Los Angeles and San Francisco, where there are now large populations of Maya. As a site of constant negotiation, culture is always in a state of flux and is never the same from one point of time to the next, but it has been an oft-repeated mistake to relegate the Maya and other indigenous peoples to the distant past in such a way as to minimize real cultural contiguities with the present. This mural and its accompanying stories help to bridge the gap between old and new.

The Glyphs
The mural uses the glyphic writing system of the Classic period (200-900 AD) to present information specific to Santa Elena. The double column of glyphs to the left (read from left to right top to bottom) records the approximate date of the founding of Santa Elena’s church in the year 1779 (or 13.9.2.12.0 13 Ajaw 13 Keh in the Classic period notation). The column to the right names various stories and histories narrated by the residents of Santa Elena.

Mayan:
Left:
13 B’aktun, 9 K’atun, 2 Haab’, 12 Winik, 0 K’in 13 Ajaw 13 Keh liikmeyaj le k’uh naaha’

Right:
Te’ela yaan u tz’ikbalil nokakab nohpat, xk’oox, xtabay, yenano uxmal, wan tuyu.

English:
Left:
On January 17th, 1779 the Church was built.

Right:
Here are the stories of Santa Elena, Nohpat, Xk’oox, Xtabay, the Enano of Uxmal, and Juan Tuyu.

The exact day of the church’s foundation is unknown thus the date of January 17th was chosen because this was the first Ajaw date of the year 1779. The Classic Maya calendrical system tracks the number of days that have elapsed from a base date of August 13, 3114 BC. Thus, there is no way of recording the general idea of a year; rather, a specific day must also be present. Ajaw dates in the 260-day ritual calendar were import periods of time and it was on these days, particularly on period-endings, that new structures were dedicated.

Symbolism
The symbolism of the mural plays on its placement in a doorway and represents the idea of fertility, which is a loose translation of Santa Elena’s Maya name, Nohcacab. Traditional doorways, especially into temples, were seen as portals. The capstones used to close the gap in the corbelled arch were decorated with fertility iconography and were believed to be the location through which communication between terrestrial and celestial realms could occur. In the mural the glyphic name of Santa Elena, no-ka-KAB, for Nohcacab, is painted where a capstone would have been placed in traditional architecture. To the left of Nohcacab is the glyph for sun, k’in, and to the right the glyph for water, ha’. These are the two main ingredients, apart from earth, essential to the cultivation of maize–the staple crop of Mesoamerican peoples. The maize growing from these glyphs makes these ideas visually concrete. To each side of the actual doorway are stacks of witz monster masks. These stacked masks often decorate the entrances of ancient temples and emphasize the fact that when a person enters a shrine they are conceptually entering a mountain cave. Portal jaws, again symbolizing the entrance to another realm, frame the entire assemblage of glyphs and imagery.

Thus, the text and imagery of the mural plays on ancient iconographic themes to present concepts and narratives relevant to Santa Elena as it exists today. This was done to emphasize the strong cultural links between the ancient past and the present day. The museum encourages visitors once they have viewed the exhibit to step outside and see for themselves the vitality of contemporary Maya life in the streets and plazas of Santa Elena.

Mihara Ken is an exceptional ceramist whose new work is currently on view in the show “Kigen - A New Beginning” at the Yufuku Gallery in Tokyo. Traditionally, he has crafted his sekki wares through a complicated double firing where the bisqued vessels are encased in a layer of clay, which is removed after the second firing to reveal the rawness of the ceramic body, free of any of the kiln effects caused by direct exposure to the fire. In his most recent work, such as the pieces in the current Yufuku exhibition, he has fired them a third time to bring out an additional range of colors not seen in his previous vessels (see below).

This surface quality of stony weight and subtle texture that he creates through his firing process lends a kind of silent monumentality to what are relatively modest pieces, ranging in form from vegetal inspired sculptural subjects to vessels echoing ancient objects, such as Jou (Chou) and Han dynasty bronze artifacts. In past work, he seems to have created forms that almost suggest a prototype in metal, again similar to certain ancient Chinese ceramics, which were in fact meant to imitate bronze. However, Mihara’s vases and bowls do not imitate vessel forms in other media nor should they be seen as doing so; but are, rather, echoes of past moments from the history of art, echoes whose cadence Mihara has captured in his own ?artifacts. In this sense, his pieces strike me as a kind of artistic archaeology. That is, they communicate an idea of past materiality in a tangible, haptic way that transcends verbal descriptions of ancient forms because his work brings them new life and allows us to experience them afresh.

The pieces represented in the current show move toward greater abstraction and simplicity, perhaps to better emphasis the rich surface textures and variations of color achieved through his innovative firing technique. The segmentation that divides many of these recent pieces horizontally nearly mirror bamboo joints. However, rather than maintain a fixed, identifiable mimetic referent, these facets create simple, compelling surfaces upon which variations in color record the dance of the kiln’s fire. To see Mihara’s latest work as a surface to be written upon is not entirely devoid of merit when one considers the explicit analogy he makes between clay and paper in his origami pieces. The ambiguity of form enriches the work and provides a dynamic movement that complements the color complexity of his new vessels. Mihara’s artistic production represents a significant new direction in contemporary Japanese studio ceramics as well as a profound engagement with ancient forms.

Below I have compiled links to much of the information available about Mihara. He is soon to have a show in New York, but until then one may find several articles about him in Japanese in the magazine, Honoho Geijutsu. A relatively in-depth piece in Japanese can be found here and at the Yufuku website. English information on Mihara is available from Wahei Aoyama’s gallery site, Toku Art Limited, and Robert Yellin’s e-yakimono.net. Below, I have compiled a series of photographs from these websites, but please visit the sites themselves for a more extensive selection.

In the first part of this series I talked a little about collecting and ended my last post with a discussion of ceramics and several questions about aesthetic judgment. I also mentioned that one of the reasons surveys of art history shy away from ceramics is because they are so often nonrepresentational. That, of course, has not stopped people from talking about nonrepresentational art and artistic movements, such as minimalism.

In this third part, I want to continue with this discussion and stay with ceramics to examine a couple of examples, which were never created to be viewed as “art.” In the next post I will turn to studio ceramics which are produced with the idea of art clearly in mind.

I bought the Seto sakabin illustrated above in a small junk shop located in the valley through which the old road between Fukuoka and Oita-ken passes. There is now an interstate highway so few use this old road except those who find the drive itself pleasant or are looking for a remote onsen. To judge by the condition of the shop few actually stopped there. It was filled with old vessels, perhaps none of great value, but many of them beautiful for the kind of unselfconsciousness that Yanagi Soetsu has found praiseworthy in Korean Yi dynasty Ido wares. The pots in this shop were not created with great care and were never intended to be seen as art. Nor perhaps do they even seem likely candidates to be promoted to the level of found art, if the Kizaemon Ido Chawan is the standard by which they are judged, but for those of us used to paper and plastic they are nevertheless special. They make us think. Having outlived their original function, they petition us to find a new use for them. They persist and resist annihilation.

I have a similar feeling for this green glazed bowl from Antigua, Guatemala, which in 2000 cost about three dollars. It is not old like the sakabin, but to me it and the other pieces that I choose from the kiln are of great aesthetic value not only because of their appearance, but also because they add something to every meal in which they are used. Again part of what makes this bowl special is the experience of acquiring it, of walking along the streets of Antigua and especially of visiting the potter’s workshop.