OF CLOWNS AND MUDHEADS

Some people love clowns; the grotesque faces with white, red and black patterns fascinate them; exaggerated motions, distorted noses, oversized pants, everything in clowns delights us, and when they jump, mimic or gesture, we laugh with happiness. Clowns, it is true, as with any caricatures, emphasize mankind's weaknesses, expand physical details into defects, manners into idiosyncrasies in headline size. It makes each one of us feel and think: I'm not like this; my nose is normal, my eyes well-placed in my face, my mouth behaves without elasticity and my feet are only size twelve-but this clown! Concentrated on this jester's shoulders are flaws we see in others. He is a digest of our inner criticism of our fellow men he makes us laugh because he surprises us with his burlesque imitations of them, and reminds us that we, in spite of everything, are still children.

Some people dislike clowns because they can't understand them. Clowns are down to earth-from the earth. Clowns are international: they breathe what the world has in common-that certain contraction of the diaphragm. Those who do not like clowns will never smile with a child, pet a dog, feel that angels are still flying around us in our modern world, in spite of helicopters and bug spraying. Clowns have sprouted everywhere and at anytime. Our clowns, naturally, the big-nosed buffoon of the side show with a green wig, the semi-sophisticated imbecile with the bald head and the flour-face in scintillating garments, have come to us through ages and countries. Born with the Roman Sannio, they matured in medieval courts. England invented the true clowns inspired by the Spanish Gracioso, recreated by Shakespeare as a stupid character. Contrarily, Italy's Commedia dell'Arte with the Napolitan Pulcinella, Pedrolino, the Venetian Pantalone, gave birth to an intellectual laughter. Punch and Judy are of the same blood-so

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DESCRIPTION OF PAINTINGS

The paintings illustrating this story are from the specialized collection of Mrs. Thomas E. Curtin from Santa Fe, New Mexico, who was first responsible for the author's interest in Koshares. She bought her first water color from Julian Martinez in 1930 and since has not only added to it, but promoted young and older Indian artists to represent clowns “doing something funny.” A friend of many Pueblo Indians, her popularity has helped her to gather such unusual art work for which we are thankful to her.

CLOWNS OVER A RAINBOW

San Ildefonso, New Mexico-Painted by Po Povi-Da, (Tony Martinez, son of Julian and Maria.)

TWO KOSHARES AND A BURRO

Cochiti, New Mexico-By Ben Quintana Mrs. Thomas E. Curtin saw this happen as she was watching a dance. She asked Ben, who saw it with her, to paint the scene.

The eighteen year old boy, out of 52,000 entries, won a thousand dollar award in the 1940 American Magazine National Art contest. He was killed in combat on Leyte, November 8, 1944.

San Ildefonso, New Mexico-The last of the San Ildefonso Kossa and two women Kossa painted by Gilbert Atencio in 1944 when he was fifteen. He is now serving in the Marines. Notice worn out moccasin with toe showing on woman at left.

THE MUDHEADS

Painted by Gumeyoishi (Jose Ray Toledo,) similar to the Zuni Koyemshi, but they do not attend on Kachinas-they walk in single file inspiring fear, making jokes, and they come out at times of races and cures (not at dances.) Cochiti, New Mexico-A Kossa in his duty of leading the Corn Dance painted by Joe A. Quintana.

Taos, New Mexico-One Chifonetti has been given money and is showing off, while another on his knees is begging for some. Another explanation: the Black Eyes are playing their sacred game as some of the clowns are gathering fruits and other gifts from the village-painted by Vicente Mirabal who was killed in Germany in the spring of 1945.

are Pierrot and Columbine, though sad, and the French hunchback, Polichinelle. Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and the Marx brothers are of the same vintage. They are all brothers under-the-paint.

Clowns are made to be laughed at, to be pointed at, to be framed in kindergarten and hanged in nurseries where they frighten children. We know that clowns have no souls, do not suffer, have no bones, never die, never wash-we know! Yet Pagliacci grieves, Polichinelle scorns his deformity. The only soulless buffoon is a toy made of rubber or cut out of paper. For all the others, in spite of their appearance, are human-weak humans as we are. Though clowns are mostly male, they are not necessarily human-Donald Duck is a classic clown of the screen cartoons, for none of the real clowns has invaded these comedies.

Santa Claus could become one if he were not spending most of his time being too generous and the rest of his time being too scared of losing his beard and being recognized. So long as man will at times act or play like a child, there will be clowns.

Stunts that delight some people do not always amuse others. Laughter is created by a startling surprise. The best story has an unexpected twist-the best clown an unexpected nose. The real jester makes fun of the non-obvious or, of the obvious, he points out the amazing weaknesses. To be a good clown is not a mood-it is a talent. To make people laugh genuinely every time is a science-or genius. But to take, ad libitum, a hundred people in a crowd of one hundred-dread and have them all become merrymakers is an impossibility. Only liquor might temporarily lower enough inhi-bitions to boost such talents, but then, such pitiful jokers are drunks! Skeletons of clowns!

Can we imagine a group of people being asked to become clowns? Can we dream of such clowns admired, respected, highly praised and even taken so seriously as to be blessed almost as saints? Yet such people exist. They are the clowns of the Pueblo Indians-Koshares along the Rio Grande, Koyemshi at Zuñi, Mudheads or Chürküwimkya among the Hopis-as Indians, supposed to be so silent and dignified, are among the best merrymakers when happy among themselves.

In the southwest, people call Indian clowns Koshares and Mudheads; these are popular terms. In fact, the name varies with each group and among the Pueblos, roughly speaking, there are four kinds:

The first are the Koshares or Kossa of the eastern villages. Their eyes and mouth are circled with black. Their hair, when long, is either tied in two rolls over the ears, or mounted in one or two pokes decorated with corn husks, but when their hair is short, they wear a similar headdress. They often wear breech clout of dark women's cloth. They also wear attributes such as bandoleers of yellow flowers, or rabbit skins; sometimes twigs of spruce are tied to their ankles, wrists, or inserted into their belts. They carry gourd rattles, hoofs, wands, or crooks; around their neck hangs a pouch containing sacred corn meal as they will interrupt their buffoonery by sprinkling masked or unmasked Ka-chinas dancing on the plaza and being besprinkled by the townspeople.

Their first appearance varies: very often they come down from a house top, often cascading without the use of a ladder or else, they will approach the dance court slowly, showing fear, or peering under their palm, pushing each other, even riding each other's backs. They may bring in a drum. Some of them carry a doll or some fetish often made of dough, representing a girl. They settle in the center of the plaza by building “a house”-which is nothing but four lines of ashes laid on the ground in the manner of children playing. Their ways, also, remind us of the behavior of youngsters, particularly naughty ones.

There is no end to their inventiveness. Not only do they cause laughter, but also, they use the filthy gestures either of a glutton or of a very indecent person, indeed. They may or may not talk. If they talk, very often their voices will be as high pitched as a woman's; and they have complete freedom of terms and subjects. They will criticize people, bring out their foibles, reveal lovers, disclose thieves, or mock lazy wives and inconstant husbands. They will frighten children, go after animals (sometimes with cruel-ty), tease sheep, provoke burros, chase and steal chickens, and pester and even kill dogs. Their obscene ways have shocked early missionaries and, later, tourists. More than one white visitor has left disgusted or frightened by the personal teasing directed against him. We look upon the scene, anxious to keep them from playing with us, and cer-tainly wondering why the people laugh at these dangerous actions. It is indeed a strange contrast-a continuous com-bination of childlike plays, of respectful religious rites and of scenes of indecency and brutality. It does not appeal to our cold reasoning nor our civil manners nor our code of ethics. More than one church of ours has forbidden, then condemned, such ceremonies. As they still persisted through the centuries, the Indian Bureau received letter after letter of grumbling complaints. But who cares!

The reasons behind all this come from the esoteric meaning of it all: the Koshares are incarnation of the spirits of the ancestors (hence their skeleton-like appearance). They are also the moral disciplinarians of the Pueblos, who believe in no other means of coercion than to criticize in public. People have been known to become sick and even die, having been the subject of "public gossip" of this sort. It is the clown's duty to control the moral behavior of a village. It is also his power to bring fecundity. Therefore, in a generally modest and withdrawn village he will release frustration and not only spur sexual interest but create in the mind of the youngster a better understanding of the facts of life.

These clowns have even more important powers. Some of them are organized healers, and laughter is part of the cure. They provide by creating harmony and balance that which fits into the pueblo "way of life"; (e.g., nothing should ever be done with excess).

Gaiety is essential to pueblo life as it is part of their happiness, a "gift of the Gods." In this light, we might accept their obscene gestures not only as an animalistic satisfaction, but also as a release of the frustration imposed on ceremonial participants when continence and fasting are a duty. Conscious that life is made of constant exchanges, the clowns ask and receive blessings-water, which grows food -and food itself. In a way, it is part of the continuous desire of mankind for freedom from fear: prayers bring water, water grows food which satisfies hunger; chasing and killing animals (hunting) are part of the same procedure; protec-tion from sickness is evident in the actual curing capacity or merrymaking of some clowns. And their continuous reference to sexual manifestations is a summary of all forms of life as fertility is protection of the future. Finally, we see the clown as one of the highest and most sacred priests, as he is seen by the Indians themselves.

The Mudheads or Koyemshi are of Zuñi origin; under different names they appear in almost all of the pueblos but mainly on the Hopi mesas as well as in their homeland. They always dress the same, are highly traditional even in their jokes. They play set games, and each one of them has a special mannerism.

The "Bat" can't stand daylight, "Small Horns," like an ostrich, believes he is invisible when his head is hidden. The "Warrior" fears any noise, the "Water-drinker" is always thirsty; two are always sad, crying over the kidnaping by the Gods of two early Koyemshi when they were twelve. There is an "Old Grandfather" and an "Old Youth"-a "Small Mouth," and the deputy to "Great Father" and the "Great Father" himself, their leader, nominated at the winter solstice ceremony.

They act imbecilic because they are half earth. Also, possibly, the idiot is respected because he is a subject for wonder-but what a highly religious person he is in spite of it all. What courage it takes to be a Mudhead-a year's Pinkish cotton masks colored with clay from Sacred Lake with turkey feathers on knobs these filled with seeds or soil from people's footprints. Their duties: humble servility to the village, sleepless nights, hungry days, self-denial with continence and physical tests. Hours of learning songs, planning their part in the seasonal dramas, duties with no relapse-obligations beaded by the chain of nights-not only clowns, but priests-apparent buffoonery but actual sacerdocy.

A less spectacular clown is the one wearing American clothes and a simple skin mask. He generally acts in a shy way except for the cracking of a whip. He is not as well known by the white people as Mudheads and Koshares, but he is closer to them and to our clowns: he imitates us, not always politely, and comes out when small dramatic sequences refer to the first arrival of the Spaniards. In some villages, he is referred to as a "Grandfather" and sometimes "Grandmother" follows him. Among the Keres Pueblos his black mask is decorated with a white cross-his hair is made of sheepskin and he wears khaki pants and army leggings. Among the Tewa Pueblos his flat face has a protruding nose, and he wears a buckskin coat. The Hopi Pi'ptüka has blond hair and resembles our white-faced clowns, but his clothes are poor. The Tsuku, with two red stripes painted on his face, is said to come from the Rio Grande. Playing as bogey men, some Kachinas have been classified with the clowns. They are ogres and because they deal with Koyemshi or Chuku, their immense, monstrous snouts and their weapons frighten more than they amuse. But this is Hopi philosophy wherein funmaking and fear are as close as love and hate among us.

So we can describe this strange creature, the pueblo clown, as half willing witch, half witted wizard, part priest, part skeptic. One who heals and one who frightens to death; one who criticizes unruliness and yet breaks all laws; filthy and obscene, yet guardian of ethics. Always hungry and begging, he is most lavish with his talents and generous with his blessings. Mute, but if he talks, murdering with his tattling. Industrious, yet lying lazy and sleepy on the plaza. Impersonating his ancestors and pretending to be the "father" of their pantheon of saints, the Kachinas, he appears, behaves, and reasons as an imbecile. Cruel, stubbornly mean, he is, nevertheless, the best joy maker. A powerful constant contrast, a real, a live symbol of mother nature, a digest of fate. A masked enigma endlessly portraying life unmasked. Crude as a bare rock and just as hard and shiny beneath the sun, he is a stone he is dust, he is a Mudhead. He is important in the lives of his people.

Such as the Chapio of the Keres and the Tsabiyo of the Tewa; the Pi'ptüka of the Hopi or Natashku and Suuku of the Hopis and Zuñis are parallel to them, but have a definite Kachina appearance.

Bible, holding it upside down; the other, kneeling, soon falling asleep as the "preacher" was getting mad, madder, and finally, hysterical. I worried over Koshares "running after the women" and closed my eyes in disgust, but opened my mind to the gluttony of Koyala. I was even attacked by Chiffonetti in Taos, when I knew little of Indian etiquette etiqu and tried to take a picture on San Geronimo day. I was forgiven later and my camera was given back to me because

nothing is missing about the large, round kiva, and the youngsters who have never seen him have to go to the Santa Fe theatre to laugh at white people's jokes made on film. Mrs. T. E. Curtin, whose amazing collection of water colors illustrates this story, is a great friend of the Cochiti. She has helped them many times with advice and deedsshe, in turn, has learned many Indian ways from them. Eluterio, head of a wonderful family and leader of many dances, was sitting next to her during a ceremony and they were having a friendly chat. Several Koshares came. They looked the two over: the smiling old man and the popular little woman and then, suddenly, they put their painted hands on the two heads and pressed them against each other, yelling to whoever wanted to listen: "Grandpa and Grandma like to kiss!" It was gratuitous judgment, naturally, but Mrs. Curtin, known among her close friends as "Kosharita," laughed more than anyone else. For a conclusion, I will relate a personal experience which fills me with pride and excitement, when once I was a Koshare. I have seen Koyemshi and thrown cigarette packages from a Zuñi roof top. Even empty boxes with the appearance of being full (for a joke). I have laughed with the Kossa regardless if they were farcically irreverent of our ways. I had to smile, many times, when Is'un'tatabösh mimicked a preacher, reading the Sears, Roebuck catalogue as a • He brings Cochiti dancers to the Flagstaff Pow Wow.

I tried to comprehend instead of acting like a snob. Once, at Hano, I could even understand all the jokes because the occasion was the visit of Kachina of Second Mesa. Hano, on First Mesa, is a Tewa speaking group. So the Paiyakyamu, in manner of civil politeness, spoke English for the comprehension of their guests. This time they danced and played as Navajos. They came on the plaza with an old car and went into the formality of arranging for the dowry of a girl. It didn't go without trouble and double talk and sharp criticism of American ways, like the gradually increasing importance of canned goods in home economics. Later they acted sick and parodied the night chant ceremony. For half an hour the mock medicine man extracted irrecon-cilable objects from his “sacred” bag. He also extirpated contraptions of one hundred and three varieties from the tummy of a patient who violently, though voluntarily, died. His companion, having contracted the same disease, had to pass out at the same moment. This incident released two lively ghosts gliding in sheets with doughnut-shaped eyes and mouth, floating about everyone. The catching and taming of the ghosts was so hilarious that the clowns forgot about their Hopi visitors, forgot about English and carried on their farce in Tewa, understood only by few.

A summer day my wife, Thora, and I were sitting along the west wall of the Walpi plaza. The Kachinas had danced and clowns were about. We were (according to the traditional southwestern expression) the “only white people there” and the clowns came to my spouse and asked her, “Is this awful thing your husband?” But they got a good answer from her—“He is my wife,” she said. So they let her alone and came to me. I had levis and boots on and my hat was old, so I could really not worry too much and was ready for the worst. “You go to him,” one said, point-ing to another clown far away, “and tell him he is a Navajo from the waist up.” I arose. “I’ll go and tell him all this,” I answered, “but if he is a Navajo from the waist up, his ears are Navajo and I’d rather sing to him.” “Him” was one clown sitting with his back to us on the north side of the court. “Fine,” they all said, “sing!” and they spat a little toward my boots. So I went slowly to “him,” stood in the middle of the plaza and uttered the first two coyote yells of the yebetchai song; then I hit the ground with my right foot and at full voice gave my best imitation of the famous Navajo song. Finally I started to dance. That surprised the crowd and the jokers. They immediately followed me—and went behind me and we danced for ten minutes and “him” rushed toward us and joined the fun. When exhausted and my throat dried by the falsetto, I stopped. The whole village, roaring with laughter, applauded. So I had to mimic the “To-eu, to-eu,” and washing the hands in fire and other strange things I did notice when traveling in the sage land with Tom Dodge*—and I did somewhat of a Feather Dance around my fountain pen, moving back and forth as in the “Water Way.” Then the Kachinas arrived and I sat down in respect.

The next day we went to Shishomovi, where the same Kachinas were invited; the same clowns came in again. They greeted me by yelling, “The principal has arrived, the principal has arrived!” then, for the rest of the day, I was their guest. No farce was done without consulting me, no jokes without my collaboration. I even “died” with them and carried lollypops as flowers over my chest and when the Kachinas were gone, an old lady smiled at me and said, “Asquali,** you have helped us all—you made us laugh . . . you brought happiness to all of us. Asquali—thank you!

I drove back to Shungopavi day school that evening with the pink clouds above, dancing like Kachinas. The landscape was smiling too, in this peaceful, quiet manner which is the Indian way. I realized how rich these people actually are in their simplicity and what we call poverty. . . . How wise, also, are the Pueblos, as they consider a clown essential—highly respected—the most helpful and saintly of their priests.