I have been making small sculptural figures that incorporate natural materials for a great many years now. The first came through in the early 1970s. I can't even remember all of them, but the two from that time that lasted the longest incorporated pine needles and snail shells. I always related to those figures as totemic, holding a kind of spiritual power. At that time I thought of them as kachinas, a term I borrowed from the Hopi and other Puebloan peoples. I adopted the term because I had been introduced to the concept of the kachinas (katsinas) when I visited the southwest. Kachinas are spirit figures, immortal beings that interact with humans--they are in effect messengers between the spirit and human worlds, and can intervene with human life, for example by bringing rain. There are ceremonies where individuals actually embody kachinas, dressing in ritual regalia and dancing their energy. Even more ubiquitous are the kachina "dolls," which are carved wooden figures that were traditionally given to girls to help them learn the cast of spirit characters. A few simple kachina images are pictured here to give a visual to go with this story.
My figures did not literally look like Hopi kachinas, but had "heads" resting on more or less tubular bodies. I was not carving, but assembling the parts, and I had not mastered the technical aspects of making these in a sturdy fashion. I felt connected to the idea, but stopped making them as my attention was brought to other arenas. I also realized that I was appropriating a term and concept, and especially as time went on and I became more sensitive to this, I felt more uncomfortable using the term for my own work.
Fast forward a long time, to about the turn of the 21st century. One day as I was dancing around in my attic, where I had baskets holding some of the very materials I collected in the 1970s--shells, leather pouches, driftwood--I literally felt something re-awaken. I've referred to this as my "muse" waking up. I saw those materials that had stayed with me for decades and began to imagine them coming together as beings once again. I had new ideas about how to construct the figures, and I knew their new forms demanded a new name. I settled on (Las) Tierras, which I translate as Earth Beings. Many of the people who see them refer to them as dolls, but I don't relate to them that way. To me they are indeed still spirit figures, intermediaries, not mini-humans. They each have their own character, often emanating from their materials, but they embody energies from another realm. This does not make them unapproachable; like dolls, they are relatable. They are compelling, but not all equally serious--some are funnier than others. Some are forceful, some shy, some mysterious. Some can be disturbing, mostly because their materials remind people of decay and death.
Each Tierra has a story of its own genesis, of its materials and where they come from, and if I ask, each will tell me of its essence. I didn't name them at first, but eventually I had to, just to keep them straight in my mind and even be able to refer to them in my own record-keeping files. I don't always like to share these tiles, since I find if I let people encounter them without names, they relate to them differently; they resonate with them in a more personal way. (The figures can act as a kind of Rorshach experience--one sees what is on one's mind and in one's heart.) Here I am sharing images of some of the Tierras that have made their way into my life over the last 15 years or so, and offering some information on the materials. Perhaps in the future I will tell more of the process stories, and can certainly supply a name if it is requested.
Fast forward a long time, to about the turn of the 21st century. One day as I was dancing around in my attic, where I had baskets holding some of the very materials I collected in the 1970s--shells, leather pouches, driftwood--I literally felt something re-awaken. I've referred to this as my "muse" waking up. I saw those materials that had stayed with me for decades and began to imagine them coming together as beings once again. I had new ideas about how to construct the figures, and I knew their new forms demanded a new name. I settled on (Las) Tierras, which I translate as Earth Beings. Many of the people who see them refer to them as dolls, but I don't relate to them that way. To me they are indeed still spirit figures, intermediaries, not mini-humans. They each have their own character, often emanating from their materials, but they embody energies from another realm. This does not make them unapproachable; like dolls, they are relatable. They are compelling, but not all equally serious--some are funnier than others. Some are forceful, some shy, some mysterious. Some can be disturbing, mostly because their materials remind people of decay and death.
Each Tierra has a story of its own genesis, of its materials and where they come from, and if I ask, each will tell me of its essence. I didn't name them at first, but eventually I had to, just to keep them straight in my mind and even be able to refer to them in my own record-keeping files. I don't always like to share these tiles, since I find if I let people encounter them without names, they relate to them differently; they resonate with them in a more personal way. (The figures can act as a kind of Rorshach experience--one sees what is on one's mind and in one's heart.) Here I am sharing images of some of the Tierras that have made their way into my life over the last 15 years or so, and offering some information on the materials. Perhaps in the future I will tell more of the process stories, and can certainly supply a name if it is requested.
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