Mixed Kachinam

HEHEYA, Erotic Kachina Hooli

We are bound north. The car crosses a painted cattle guard and afterwards a metal one. Here the Navaho Reservation is empty. Soon there will be hills and strange volcanic formations.

The sudden richness of this panoramic vision contrasts with the emptiness of the “steppes” we left behind. We stand overtaken by the speaking muteness of this visual infinity. Strangely the dead sea moves. The breakers, one after the other in a silent image, drum the beat of the drums. Shadows. Up there Tawa, the Sun, plays behind the clouds. The short rays between darkness ooze life into the bareness, and from the mirrored surface of the waves sabers of light slash. Above, the clouds are sliding. In the west the white smile of the San Francisco Peaks is reflected in the cumuli! The long trail of male darkness, the mane of female lightness the clouds are here, now. The Olympus has opened its holiness. Clouds have over-powered, and Kachinam are here.

In the pre-summer build up of the storm we can see the images being born, and reborn. Year after year, annual magic of the return of the Kachinam, remnants of the Past, realities of the Present and infants of the Future. Kachinam whose names ring like echoes of memories, never lost. Kachinam for the Seasons snow, rain, sun; abstraction of pride and beauty; Kachinam of neighborhood tribes, Comanche, Apache, Supai or Navaho; Kachinam of Understanding of Life, Masao, both Mother Earth and Fire Death; reward and punishment: Ogre Kachinam; Kachinam with a sense of humor as religion must always be happy: the Left Handed One, the Terrific Power Kachina, the Mocking Eyes Kachina and the Clown priests . . .

The road goes straight under the moving, changing overhead parade. Now, the Mesas. The blue-shirted Clown Koyemsi sits on his kitchen chair, beating the rawhide drum in the middle of the plaza. Beating the ground with their right feet, shuffling their left, twenty young Hoolis bring the sound of turtle shells, playing the theme, while the bells on the left leg accentuate the harmony.

Mishongovi Second Mesa

And what does Hooli mean? Nothing. Nothing but what he utters as they file into the Kisonvi. An irrational sound could say so much. Words sometimes have limited meaning.

In the middle of the last dance before lunch, this time very late, Clowns drop from the rooftop again. After “much ado about nothing,” and landing in the mud (for the clouds have let their long vibrant hair down to impregnate The Earth), the clowns now process around the Kachinam, blessing them. The mixture of buffoonery and sanctity, the simplicity of the fact of life, always surprises our rational and somewhat still victorian minds. Observe the grotesque yellow faces, the short, dilapidated Levis, in the left hand a hard boiled egg or a can of root beer and in the right hand the holy pollen to be sprinkled on the shoulders of the Hoolis....!

As the Messengers of the Gods vanish in the Sacred Place along the cliff out of sight, the women congregate to a nearby area from which presents are taken to the Kachinam.

Soon after the Kachinam danced again a group of strange beings clowned their way into the Kisonvi. Their progress was slow. They threw, one at a time, shales with their own markings, pitching stone pennies with childlike motions.

In the 15th century plaza: the anthill of the crowd, the slow undulating motion of the Kachinam row, the scansion of the drum. The loud speaking clowns, laughter and talk bring here and there quick response from the crowd. The pitchers were still pitching, unaware of the world. The song and the over-powering beat create the real mood. The prayer suddenly is answered: first a cool breeze, soon a strong wind, an incidental polite warning of a few raindrops and finally the rain, The Great Rain! The crowd runs for shelter or gets close to each other under the umbrellas. Boys laugh and do not care. Youngsters crowd under open blankets. The clowns again take advantage of the slippery mud to obtain more reactions from comical antics. The pitchers are still pitching, unaware of the world. Under the shower the Kachinam dance, their body paint streaming yet within themselves they have the “Good Heart” of happiness because the clouds and themselves were one and the same, Messengers of the Gods, blessings for all. ground, will report the clowns' misbehavior to the Koyemsi warriors who will then come upon the scene.

Notes for color reproductions in this issue:

Editor's Note: Where space permitted we credited artists and owners with the illustrations. Artists whose work we could not credit because of space limitations included: Mark Tawahaugva, Hotevilla... Kenneth Pavenyouma, Moenkopi... Jimmy Kewanaytewa, Oraibi. Collectors included Harvey, Kibby collections, now continued by Barry Goldwater and the Heard Museum. Also Wesley and Marsha Sylvester collection, James D. Fox and the Hopi Cultural Center Arts and Crafts.