Thoughts While Flying

Among the cloud people I feel uplifted, secure, suspended. Among the cloud people my craft is floating. Inside my ear of corn I feel at peace with my people's past.

Among the cloud people my oneness with the Hopi way is reinforced. Boundaries evaporate and Mother Earth sheds her man-made lines. Instead of fences, I feel freedom. Instead of limits, space abounds. Instead of men, life celebrates and I celebrate the ancient wisdom that resounds.

Down below the land unravels, a strip of mesa just comes along. Homes hug the earth in mute harmony, fields are firmly etched amid the brown. Down below the beans and squash and corn are waiting, the fields lift their thirsty faces up in prayer, always watching for the cloud people. And I, among the cloud people, understand that they are there.

We float beyond that cut-out mesa, sail beyond the ancient village in an arabesque of aerodynamics that the old ones never knew and yet they did.

Up among the Kachina spirits I listen to their whispered voices. "They are worthy; let us reward them." "They pray for rain; let us answer" "They wish our blessing; let us hear them" "They ask our mercy; let us bless them . . ."

Up among my people's cloud people I feel the breath of the Kachinas, I hear them rustling as did my fathers. Up among my cloud people my thoughts are pure. They are with me, I am not alone. I am at peace. I am at home.

(Right IJ-180) Appearing as though it is suspended in space and tethered with a leather thong, this pendant by Bob Lomadopki, Hopi, features African malachite with the traditional silver, coral, and turquoise combination.

Beads, Boots and Jaguars The Artists As They See Themselves CHARLES LOLOMA

Outside his doorway a cousins club of puppies snuggles into the soft sand, snoozing in the sun. The beige vistas of the mesas yawn into the distance. No signs point the way to his studio. The highway unravels its slate-colored face a hundred feet or so from his door, and in the space of 45 minutes, maybe four cars break the stillness.

Inside the concrete block building a baby bangs on his round walker. Classical music pours from an 8-track stereo tape deck, a slim, youngish-looking woman and a man in a drip-dry shirt and polyester pants earnestly examine a graceful strand of turquoise chunks expertly finished with graceful golden cones. The Colorado customers ask repeatedly, “What’s your opinion?” Behind the counter, the sturdy smiling artist wipes his hands on his dusty apron, smooths his silvered hair, and adjusts his square wire glasses. He proceeds to deftly illustrate how he would make an alteration on the necklace. The man nods happily to his wife, glad to have the famous artist's undivided attention. As Charles Loloma walks around the display counter toward his studio, which takes up half of his front workroom, he grabs a fistful of purple grapes. “These are the best - Hopi grapes,” he grins, heading for his workbench.

A few minutes and a couple thousand dollars later, the Colorado couple leave waving their good-byes. They are delighted to own an original “Loloma” and to have met the artist, himself. Charles turns to his sister, Ramona, and says happily, “Now, let’s get to the watermelon.” Sitting outside on upended cinder blocks, the platter of watermelon placed on a tree stump, Charles and Ramona, and his nieces, Verma and Sherian, relax. Juice flows, seeds are spit, and the sweet fruit is enjoyed to the utmost.

(Opposite page IJ-181) “Women float when they carry around such a big bracelet. It increases their own sense of strength,” the Hopi artist explains. This bracelet was photographed with multiple exposures and is over two times larger than life-size.

(Left IJ-182) The master continues to astound the world with new ideas. “Each piece represents the spirit that I have at that time,” Loloma explains.

(Center IH-59) “I make what I wanted to make . . . that’s where I began. You must know yourself . . . something few of us can do.” — Charles Loloma (Right IJ-183) “I make it a point not to be influenced by other’s work,” Loloma says. Yet, he relishes travel, for “it becomes another tool of expression.” Courtesy Lovena Ohl Gallery, Scottsdale.

This is the man who hobnobs with the jetset, who counts Oleg Cassini and Marcel Marceau among his friends. This is the craftsman who more than any other artist changed the look of Indian jewelry. He is, without question, our native Renaissance Man. Consider Charles as a man on a trapeze swinging effortlessly through various worlds. A Hopi who belongs to the Badger Clan, he is a member of the Snake Society, participates in traditional ceremonial life, and excels when performing as a Clown Kachina. Once afflicted with a Bell's Palsy, Charles overcame his introverted instincts with Dale Carnegie salesmanship courses. He won top honors. Later, ignoring convention, he took up pottery as well as painting.

An unabashed “dirty old man” who exuberantly enjoys his reputation, he insists on planting a kiss on every woman who buys a piece of his work. Don't worry if you profess not to enjoy his advances. He'll kiss you anyway and tell you with a grin, “That’s OK, I do!” A serious craftsman, Loloma's pieces are treasured by the famous and purchased by anyone able to invest in his artwork. For more than any other Indian artist, Loloma's pieces qualify as investments.

Worldly-wise yet trusting, astute yet generous, Loloma welcomes the world to his studio-home. A man of insatiable curiosity, Loloma explains that he wanted to know what it felt like to own an airplane, to drive expensive cars, to wear a tuxedo. "I wanted to know what it feels like to eat at the '21 Club,' in New York," he says, recalling that the evening he did eat there he showed up tieless. "Of course, the necklace that I had on was worth thousands of dollars and they gave me a dollar tie to put on," he laughs. He plunges into new experiences reveling in the feelings he hadn't known before, ingesting ideas and exploring emotions with gusto.

A showman, Loloma will model his Paris-made navy wool cape lined with crimson and play the King of Jewelry. He will host a lavish party, put on a sumptuous spread for lunch, charm a potential customer, and when appropriate, pinch a female bottom or two. He knows how to delight his public. But for his private circle, the close friends which include his mother, family, Ann Head, Judy and Howard Wilkins, and his accountant, another side emerges. He is loyal and concerned, thoughtful and totally sincere, but still fun. Ann Head remarked, "I've never done so many crazy things as I have since I've become friendly with Charles." He inspires in his friends the qualities which endear him to them.

Above all, Loloma is a genius. He feels that his jewelry is performed by the wearer. His slabs of stone and free-form castings have been compared to the Hopi landscape. He sees this comparison himself, a little differently. Flying over the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon, observing the colors change as the Little Colorado River flows into the major river, he relates that he looked down from his plane window at the pools of green, shapes of beige and rose, and ribbons of blue. "I saw Loloma jewelry," he smiles.

At 57, he continues to astound. Always quick to take advantage of the unexpected, he eagerly and constantly learns. After travelling to the Orient he began incorporating pearls into his designs. Wherever he travels, he carries home ideas. His only criterion is that the materials be of the highest quality. His face wreathed in a ready grin, Charles recalls that he has always been fortunate to have had people around to help him when he needed it. A student of Lloyd Kiva New, Loloma was chosen to paint murals for the Federal Building on Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay as part of the Golden Gate International Exposition in 1939. By 1940 he was assisting Fred Kabotie in other mural projects. He married Otellie Pasivaya in 1942. In 1945 he attended the School for American Craftsmen at Alfred University in New York, studying ceramics, courtesy of the GI Bill of Rights. He made his name as a ceramist, operating a shop in the Kiva Craft Center in Scottsdale from 1954 to 1962. But by the late 50s, he began in earnest to create jewelry. He experimented with and developed distinct styles in sand casting, soldering, and lost wax casting.

Reminiscing about those early days, the artist shakes his head. "I was thrown out of the Gallup Ceremonial. The judges wouldn't accept my work as Indian jewelry even though I made it." The rest is history. Loloma's reputation grew as his techniques and style gained distinction. Divorced in 1965, he built his home in Hotevilla on Second Mesa, going home as is the custom among his people. Yet in removing himself, Charles Loloma merely moved the mainstream to his doorstep.

It's evening and dusk settles silently over Hotevilla. In the vast empty expanse only a light or two breaks through the blackness. Charles expertly backs his low-slung brown Jag with the "Loloma" license plate onto the sandy indentation which marks the driveway. A paho dangles from his rearview mirror, the wrapped ceremonial prayer feather a visible link between his two worlds. "I used to be a car nut," he says, climbing into the Jaguar. "But now part of the fun comes from seeing people's reactions to an Indian in a Jag or Rolls." The car purrs as it settles onto the highway. Tucked between the carmel cliffs, the sleek brown sports car moves confidently among the pickup trucks and occasional sedans. Loloma talks about his favorite subjects - people and jewelry. Famous for romancing his work, the artist admits that this practice may have its roots in Dale Carnegie, but he adds, "If I interpret people correctly, it creates a romance." He explains that he can immediately design a piece of jewelry for a person. "You can tell by someone's speech what weight of jewelry that person should wear," he observes. "I can sometimes even tell over the telephone. When you design for someone, you design for their future soul. They grow to it and become more for it." Loloma pauses and considers his subject. He turns, smiles, and pours out the full measure of his charm. "That's what I'd like to be about - beauty."

PRESTON MONONGYE

Along with Charles Loloma, Preston Monongye's name stands as the other great innovator of contemporary Indian jewelry. Yet Monongye, a large, powerful looking man whose long dark hair hangs in a ribbon down his back, insists that he is not a modernist or a contemporary artist. “I am a traditionalist. I feel that if my work were put into a time capsule, the beauty of the Hopi culture will shine through the art. My name has nothing to do with it. The Hopi culture should live forever.” The often controversial artist admitted that he enjoys his reputation. “My own people say, ‘He’s not a Hopi.’ Yet I consider myself an Indian artist. I have always been involved with the Hopis; my Dad brought me up that way. I speak fluent Hopi and am involved in the Kachina Society. My politics are strictly concerned with the Hopi political scene.” As for his creative side, the Phoenix-based artist leaned forward and said earnestly, “My responsibility is to do my

work to the best of my ability." He relaxed a bit and smiled, "If anybody copies me, they damn well better do my work better than me." He reflected a moment and added, "It's a shame that there aren't laws that would protect me."

Like Loloma, Monongye's style is widely imitated. Mark Bahti, owner of the Tom Bahti Shop in Tucson, suggested that innovations do invite mimicry. Moreover, Bahti predicted that eventually an individual artist's work may become part of a broad, craft tradition in itself, much like the squash blossom necklace. "Of course, it won't happen for years," Bahti said. But already, Monongye's distinctive style of casting, his spider and web, and other unusual designs are being picked up by artists. Of course, Monongye has trained several people to help him over the years, including his son, Jesse, and Lee Yazzie. But Monongye emphasized, "I do my own lapidary work. I hear that I can't cut stones... after awhile, you get hostile," he finished quietly. He explained that he does control his price structure since he knows what he needs to make on a piece. "Indian artists are all eccentrics. We have our own life-styles maybe to the point that we have to be rip-offs. Now we all need more money. When I was raised on the reservation, $150 was a lifetime's savings."

The 51-year-old artist, who was one of the first to work with gold, considered the latest trends in Indian jewelry but shook his head. "I see no place for diamonds or rubies or the like in my work," he said. "I try to use the prime Hopi colors, I don't use malachite; I use serpentine because it is native. And I use shell and jet. You see, Hopi-ism is my first love, and art, my creative outlet and material source which allows me to do what I really like to do speak out about the Hopi way."

The artist looked around his living room at the books and artifacts lining his walls. "If I could have lived in the era of the Kings and been an 'Artist of the Court' that would have been great," he mused. Barring that? "My personal philosophy is that I want to go out the way I came in with nothing."

JAMES LITTLE

At first glance nothing in James Little's background suggests his jewelry. Under his hands silver and gold dazzle, and coral and turquoise take on new meanings. Shooting stars and glass elevators are interpreted with equal elegance. Some pieces speak to tomorrow; others sing of ancient yesterdays.

Nothing hints of the years Little spent herding sheep on the Navajo reservation, or his childhood which was plagued with deafness. None of his designs tell of the time he hammered out silver in a Flagstaff trading post for $2.50 an hour, illiterate, unable to understand his situation. Without the kind intervention of the Don Kirkhuffs of California, he might still be in those backrooms.

Today his hearing has been restored by surgery. While he spoke no English just two years ago, now he is tutored in reading and writing, and his reputation as an artist is emerging.

Little, who lives in Northern Arizona, sees ideas everywhere. An unfinished rug becomes a bracelet, a yucca plant, a bolo. He sculpts stories into silver, legends into gold. Smiling, quiet, and shy he apologizes for his imperfect English, explaining, "I think about my nationality what I am. Indian. So I went from designs with curlycues to the stories that my mother told me because this is what I am."

He sketches mountains with stones, coaxes the wind into metal.

His His eyes crinkle at what's coming. “But sometimes I tell people that that's the Indian's red pickup truck.” Pointing to the inside of the ring he looks at four parallel lines. “That's for the four sounds of my Navajo name.” Little, whose uncle did silversmithing and whose mother does beadwork, received some formal training from the school at Many Farms on the Navajo Reservation. “My Uncle was going to show me how to work in silver, but he died the summer before he could.” His art is proof that inspiration can transcend training, that true sophistication stems from sincerity. The elegantly made pieces, carefully polished, unusually conceived, are winning national attention. His gold pieces sell in the thousands of dollars, and awards keep coming. At first glance, nothing about this warm native Navajo suggests the brilliant sophisticated designer. And that is much of the charm of James Little.

LARRY GOLSH

He loves Western shirts and Levis. His straight black hair hangs almost to his collar, and when he wears his glasses, the horn rims give him a studious, earnest look. He's a perfectionist who demands the highest quality, and when he's involved in conversation, he may ramble over ideas and trip over thoughts. Looking up quizzically, he'll suddenly ask, “Do you know what I mean?” Heir apparent to Loloma's title, he affects no airs and doesn't push his Indianism. Two favorite possessions are his silver Porche jacket and a traditional cast-silver belt buckle. Unaffected and unassuming, the Loloma crown rests easy on Larry Golsh's head.

At 39, Golsh, who has a secure name as a superb designer and artist, has a Scottsdale, Arizona, studio. His work has won countless prizes; he's judged numerous shows; he is the first Indian who ever enrolled in the Gemology Institute of America. Raised in Southern California, acutely aware of the art community, he studied fine art, painting, and architecture, at one time apprenticing to Paolo Soleri. He is up on the New York art scene, knows about Harry Winston and Tiffanys, and yet, Porche and all, Southern California takes a back seat to his Pala Mission heritage.

Golsh is intrigued with purity of design, especially as illustrated by the best of the old Indian artists. “Maria's (the famous San Ildefonso Pueblo potter) pottery will stand up in any contemporary show. You see a pure relationship of art, earth, and design. I'm trying to do a simple, clean type of thing trying to use the same basis as that on which the old work is done I'm trying to simplify my work.” A sophisticated artist with exquisite taste, Golsh is concerned with quality. Known for his unusual, artistic placement of stones, he points out, “Indian things always had a symmetrical feeling. It takes a lot to change that.” He philosophizes easily and his conversation will turn on tangents. He'll stop talking art, pick up a menu from a California roadside restaurant and switch tracks, marvelling, “Isn't this great? Look at these Polaroid shots of the food. It's a funky 50s place - not pseudoit just never changed.” Today, Golsh works almost totally in gold. He says that this metal blends best with what he is trying to do. “I want to introduce to the world that there are things out here that are really beautiful, that have always been done. I use emeralds, opals, diamonds . . . I don't feel that I have to be confined in anything I do. I can venture into any element of design, use anything from my heritage." His grandmother and aunts were basketmakers.While craftsmanship is essential, Golsh believes that artists must understand design before they can interpret. He is fascinated with the simple file and stamp marks on old jewelry and appreciates the precision and quality of extremely old pieces. "It's important for me to know that I come from all this . . . that I am developing from this culture, so that I can create a unique interpretation of my feelings."

While some of Larry Golsh's designs carry but a scent of the Southwest, he delights in his Indian heritage. He does not see it as restricting his creativity. "There are so many beautiful things to do," he says smiling slowly, "and the fun part is, I feel good about what I'm doing."

(Top, left to right) Tufa stone is soft, fine-grained, and easily cut and carved. Found in Arizona and New Mexico, it is used to make molds for casting gold and silver jewelry a method used by American Indians since the late 1800s. Small blocks are cut from the larger stone. The artist carves the shape of the object into the tufa stone, then adds the elements of design. The two-piece mold is clamped together and gold "shot" is melted and poured into the mold.

(Right, above IJ-191) All the raw elements the tufa stone mold, gold shot, charoite, and the rough gold cast await the talented hands of Larry Golsh who fashioned them into the finished piece shown below.

(Right IJ-192) The reversible pendant is completed with charoite, an unusual stone from the Lake Baikal region of the U.S.S.R., and a diamond, yet another example of beautiful cross-cultural blending.

Courtesy Turquoise Hogan, Scottsdale.

Courtesy Heard Museum Gift Shop, Phoenix.

RICHARD TSOSIE

Richard Tsosie is serious and aware. The 25-year-old Navajo is soft-spoken and emits a quiet dignity. Attentive and polite, he considers all questions carefully and chooses his words well, organizing his thoughts and completing his sentences. "I would like to know more about my culture," he says. "I don't know much about the dances or language. Navajo was spoken at home, but I was involved with my Spanish and Anglo friends."

Yet Tsosie hopes to be known one day as a total Indian artist. The young Flagstaff artist wants to develop a name for himself. Like other craftsmen, Richard Tsosie is drawn to his heritage when it comes time to design. He feels comfortable with the Indian symbols because of his own beliefs.

"I don't tell a story about my jewelry unless people ask for it," the slim Navajo says simply. "But all of my pieces do contain the symbol for lightning. This stands for natural causes and an arrow points in it that's the man-made part. All my designs have this lightning and arrowhead, because this represents the ups and downs of life. That some things we can't do anything about and that you should try to enjoy life to the fullest."

Already Richard is enjoying a distinctive reputation. He is gathering ribbons and awards from shows by the fistful, yet he's only been working with jewelry for four years. "My hero is my brother, Boyd," Richard smiles. "Because he taught me the basics, how to begin in silversmithing." But Richard's fame is actually the result of a happy accident. "Filing got stuck on a ring I was making," he recalls, explaining how he discovered the technique he now calls "Reticulation," a process he is continually refining. He stops and then continues seriously, "When I started working with jewelry, I was surprised that I had talent. I hadn't been interested in art before, but now I am taking a class at Northern Arizona University in sculpture and clay modeling. One day I hope to work in bronze and marble."

For now, he's happy with jewelry. "I was surprised that my things sold well right away," the young artist confesses. His jewelry, like Tsosie, himself, displays a fine degree of control of technique and attention to detail. Where reticulation is used, it is meticulous and his inlay is elegant. He also accents occasionally, with precious gems a diamond placed in just the right spot to set off the piece. His work is appealing and his manner, inviting. But he doesn't take his talent lightly.

"I always have designs in my head and I'm always cutting them down, trying to simplify. I want to make my pieces as good as I can."

BOYD TSOSIE

Richard is serene, but Boyd is intense. Younger than his brother, Richard, by a few years, Boyd Tsosie explains that he is mostly self-taught. His intricate rings may consist of more than 40 pieces of individually shaped gold. A bracelet can require as many as three-hundred solderings. His designs are a distinctive blend of the antique and contemporary and build on natural forms, especially flowers and leaves. "I believe that nature is my teacher," the young Navajo said proudly. "I look at plants and wonder what went before. Everything in nature is uneven. I use the bud as the universal symbol."

At 23, Boyd Tsosie is confident of his abilities. "Everything I do is me my own thoughts and my own feelings." He laments that the young don't bother to learn the ways of the tribal elders. "I've always had a great interest in listening to my elders," he said, pointing out that these people don't teach through books, they preach from their own experiences. "As far as I can remember, I have wanted to be heard. I've wanted people to know where I am coming from."

For awhile Boyd was a political activist, a radical, traveling to promote his ideals. "Now," he said defiantly, "they might call me a sell-out. But I am speaking through

my jewelry. My themes are beauty and nature set against destruction. Who is destructive? Everyone. But no one is to be blamed, for destruction cannot be stopped. I feel that one day children won't know what a leaf looks like, or a bud, except through jewelry. I do feel pessimistic about our environmental future."

The Scottsdale artist calls himself a loner except for his collaborations with a few other craftsmen, including his brother. "I've been on my own, more or less, since I was 14. I've always set up the elders as role models for myself. I'd listen to them and say, 'Boy, I want to talk like that man.'" He finished high school, he said, because that was important to his parents, but while his father and mother stressed the white man's world as the way to success, Boyd increasingly turned to the Indian ways. Today, he is an active member of the Native American Church, and his jewelry fastens on spiritual events.

"I did a series of shields with variscite, which is a dark stone that has some turquoise in it," Tsosie said. "The first shield was based on a friend's running from the law when the statute of limitations should have run out. He was a warrior but no one cared what he was about. Variscite is something of beauty, but not beautiful because it's dark like war. I did the first piece in anger, then another to calm myself. I call it 'The Young Blood Shield.'" Would he have liked to have been a warrior? The intense young Navajo brooded a moment and answered, "Maybe I was."

His red and white Massey-Ferguson cap, pulled firmly onto his forehead, frames his unlined face. "If you're a man you have to have your corn," he says. "When you're married, you have to work in the fields. I'm well-known for my farming. I work in the field during the morning and do silversmithing in the afternoon. Then I work again in the field in the evening. I have corn every year."

He gazes at a baby dangling on its Daddy's knee and at the infant sleeping in the crib. His jewelry? He answers reluctantly, "People have started to copy me. I wanted to do something different that the others wouldn't be doing. You can't say, 'You're my brother; you can't do my work.' I do have a copyright stamp on my work, now. I hope that it will help." Checking the action in the large room the artist added, "People from big museums come here often. I'm pretty well-known." He explains that his latest series will tell the story of the Hopi migration. "But I won't tell any secrets in my jewelry. I wanted my designs to have meaning. So I got interested in pictographs." Considering his career, he added, "I've lived here all my life. Corn is my work." He motioned toward the workbench covered with slabs of silver and carved bands of gold. "Jewelry is my hobby."

VICTOR COOCHWYTEWA

A large freezer and a yellow Hotpoint refrigerator are the only outward signs of success. But at 55, Victor Coochwytewa is acknowledged as one of the master Hopi craftsmen. His jewelry is prized by collectors; his talents widely acclaimed. Sitting in his home on the Hopi Reservation, the burly, soft-spoken Hopi politely takes every opportunity to interrupt the interview. He speaks with his wife, converses with a son-in-law, and visits with the steady stream of visitors who come through his home. It quickly becomes obvious that his jewelry is not his love.

"Look." He proudly pulls out a multicolored handful of corn. His calm facade breaks and his eyes light up. "Here, I even have a mother ear," he delicately caresses the rounded tip which is completely covered with tiny kernels. "Nobody else has any corn this year, but I always do." He surveys the stack of pink, yellow, white, and blue corn, arranging them gently in a fan on the floor. "Will you take a picture of these?" he asks. Casually, he gestures toward a small workbench along the wall. "Over there I have some things I'm working on," he says.

Victor Coochwytewa doesn't need to talk about who he is or where he comes from. A traditional Hopi, and a religious leader, his beliefs are etched on his person as surely as his designs are inscribed in the gold and silver he works. Outside his window, a Kiva ladder juts against the sky in an ancient, familiar silhouette. The pattern is joined by TV antennas and an occasional power line in testimony to progress which has even crawled up onto the Hopi mesas. Inside, Victor's home bustles with activity. He observes the scene, comments, and takes delight in stealing moments from the ordeal of talking about himself.

JESSE MONONGYE

What Victor Coochwytewa is to overlay work, Jesse Monongye is rapidly becoming to inlay. Raised on the Navajo Reservation by his great aunt, Jesse used the surname, “Lee.” Not until he was completing a tour of duty with the Marines did he learn his father's identity. He decided to pay his Dad, Preston Monongye, a surprise visit and that weekend, he recalls, turned into a week. Over the next few months, Jesse began working sporadically with Preston. “At first I was bored cutting patterns,” he admits. “I had flunked silversmithing in high school. Sports had been my thing.” What changed his mind? The Scottsdale artist looked up as if he wasn't sure how to begin, “I had this dream,” he begins.

He was sleeping under a tree. “In my dream I was alone, and there was a wagon with a coffin and a guy standing near it. I was on a hill, and I heard the man say, “Anybody want to see your relatives who are dead?” “The man pointed at me, and I told him I wanted to see my mother. Then a crowd gathered, and when they left, I was walking up a hill. The man said a woman's name and I said, 'No. Her name was Ida Mae Lee.' The people gathered around again, and they opened a coffin and she got out. We walked and talked and she asked about everyone, my brothers and all. Then the guy came back and said, 'The cloud is going to rise.' Navajo legend says that when the cloud is on the peaks, the spirits come back. Then my Mother said, 'If you take these tools, you'll become a famous Indian.' And she gave me the files and jewelry tools.

“I woke up and heard a far-away cry which sounded like a little bear cub. The sound got closer, and I got frightened. I thought it was a little bear.

“From then on,” Monongye smiles, “things started to come to me. I began fooling around with stones. I'd rather have found my mother than to find out that she died,” he adds seriously. The dream led him to design his first elaborately inlayed bear, a piece which won honors at the Gallup Ceremonial. “All my coaches and teachers from high school were there,” he grins at the memory. “My English teacher said she never thought I would have had any patience.” In school and in the Marines, he says, he was an athlete. “My high school football coach called me 'Golden Fingers,'” he grins. The young Monongye picks up his drill, expertly pierces a tiny hole and drops a sliver of coral into a thin jet slab, demonstrating a technique so perfect his pieces were once rejected for a competitive show because the judge felt they were enameled. Golden Fingers, it seems, can do more than catch passes.

The candid Apache-Navajo continued, “I think it's better for people to buy direct from the artist. Though in this business that means a lot of traveling. You have to pay your dues. But this is the best living I've ever made.” At 32, Nez has been making jewelry for just 21/2 years, yet his style is distinctive and his reputation gaining stature. He's used to taking chances. “I did bronc riding. And I'm in the Indian Cowboy Association Hall of Fame. I had hoped to go to the National Finals in Oklahoma City, but it's a rough sport. You're up against the animal, and it's all up to you.” Now he's out of rodeo and into silver, turquoise, lapis, etc., in Los Lumas, New Mexico. “I can't see diamonds blending with my style,” he admits. But he loves fine turquoise. “People need to be educated about turquoise,” he says, “If I see a fine piece of #8, well, I just have to have it.” Leatherwork was his first love, Nez says, spreading out a magnificent leather concho belt case. “I made chaps and sold them at rodeos. I'd never fooled around with jewelry until I started playing with solder and got into it. I've heard people say that my work is precast by machine, that it's too perfect. I do it all, myself. In New Mexico, cast pieces aren't even considered handmade,” he points out.

The ex-bronc buster, stuntman and heavy-equipment operator picks up a massive gleaming bracelet. “I really polish it to get all the fire scale off,” he says. “I feel jewelry should be masculine.” The artist goes to greet a potential customer, looks back and adds, “Word is getting around.” Gibson Nez, a stocky ex-rodeo bronc rider, hoots happily. “I'm not trying to give messages to the world with my jewelry. First off, I'm honest. I don't talk about the bear jumping over the moon, or any other stories. I think that's a bunch of BS.” Nez examines his display case and adds, “The main reason I got into jewelry was the green stuff. I could raise a family with it. Every piece I make is one of a kind. When people see my things they call it 'Star Wars' jewelry; they feel it's very modern. But I try to combine my contemporary with traditional.”

BEN NIGHTHORSE

Word has gotten around about all the Ben Nighthorses, too. There's Nighthorse the artist; Nighthorse, the judo champion; and Nighthorse the horseman all with impressive credentials. How does the judo champion fit in with the jewelry craftsman? He laughs and admits, “It doesn't. For about 12 years, while I was heavy into sports, I didn't touch a torch.” The ex-Olympic coach explains that he's out of the competitive sports world now. And horses? “Well,” the artist considers, “there is a strong, spiritual thing about horses. The horse is one of the few domesticated animals used in Indian ceremonials. When an animal is domesticated, the Plains Indians feel the animal has lost its power. The buffalo and horse still are considered to have power,” he concludes.

Describing his quarter-horse ranch in Colorado, the 46-year-old artist adds, “I didn't come here to work. I wanted to retire, raise horses, and do my art. But now I'm spending time with the Ute Indians.” As for his art, Nighthorse says that he gets ideas in dreams and from watching birds and animals around him. He rides daily for extended periods of time, he says, which also clears his mind to create.

Highly respected by his peers, the Northern Cheyenne insists that he considers himself an “artist.” “I don't want to hide my Indianism. I enter many open shows.” Yet he incorporates Cheyenne and Sioux traditions into his contemporary pieces. “The faceted stone doesn't fit with my philosophy. The Indian design is based on the directions, colors, and shapes especially circles. In the old traditional Cheyenne pieces, red stood for south; yellow, for east; blue or black for west; and white, for north.” Many of his earrings, he says, illustrate this Cheyenne tradition.

Obviously, Nighthorse is a man of many talents. A graduate of the University of California at San Jose, he majored in physical education and minored in art and business. Self-taught in jewelry making, he paints and sculpts and works in stone as well. He also sings and dances with the Utes and performs at national ceremonies. Currently, Nighthorse is working as general manager for SkyUte Downs, the Southern Ute Indian tribes' racetrack and horse-training center.

“Sometimes I use the horse as a design with Cheyenne horse tracks and the sunrise,” the artist offers, considering his two loves, art and horses. But judo? He chuckles. “I guess I am lots of different people.”

WHITE BUFFALO

“Telling people I wanted to study art was like saying that I wanted to starve to death,” the tall 31-year-old, Farmington, New Mexico, artist chuckles. White Buffalo his name comes from a Sioux word is articulate and open. He also looks healthy, proof of his success. “I was reluctant to go into jewelry because I thought that belonged to the traditional Indians.” Raised in Shiprock, on the Navajo Reservation, White Buffalo is a mixture of Mexican and Comanche heritage. Creating jewelry and sculpting both have come quite naturally to him, he adds. “It's not difficult creating; it's difficult to interface your creative needs with what happens in your life,” he explains.

As for his style, he shakes his head, "I'd have to say that I don't have a style. I don't do the same thing over - well, limited editions are an exception. It takes me a long time to do each piece, so I only do about 15 a year. "There are many things you must balance in order to make a piece that someone puts on and won't want to take off. I'm fascinated with things that move. I want to bring more life into my work." The artist picks up an elegant hinged bracelet demonstrating the movement. "I feel that the study of design is essential. There are basics that you must know, and you either learn this formally or study on your own."

Which path did he take? White Buffalo remarks that he was an engineer for 10 years. "I worked my way up through the ranks to that post and had degree engineers working for me. I've got a good knack for designing and creating," he smiles, fingering one of the tiny pots that he sculpts in silver and in gold. "You see, sculpting is my real love. Two years ago I had a dream that a guy was coming after me. with silver hair and a silver face and feathers. I got up in the middle of the night to capture him on paper. It was one of those pieces that really just came together." He gestures toward the large sculptured silver Indian bust that bears his signature.

While he emphasizes that he is always looking for something new, White Buffalo's jewelry has an ancient, out-of-King-Tut's Tomb look. Questioned about this, he grins. "I grew up on the backside of Mesa Verde. The Anasazis fascinate me the most. Every time I see a ruin, it's like something alive left from long ago." He looks down for a moment then says matter-of-factly, "The message I want to express is 'life.'"

He explains that while he was raised in a traditional Indian home in New Mexico, he is not deeply involved in the Indian ways. But his work reflects his own choice for home base. "We live in a very conservative village in New Mexico where there's a five-year waiting list for a private phone line. We don't like cities." What they do like, he and his wife Sharon agree, is the jewelry business. "I make friends with the people who buy from us. I feel that I have really found what I want to do. We like the traveling and meeting people.

Involved in jewelry just three years, Chavez marvels at his success. "I never expected to win anything. The first time I entered the Heard Museum show I didn't feel comfortable enough to enter. And I won in gold," he grins. His clean, flowing designs are finding ready public acceptance. But he is always looking for new ideas. Now he's using spondylus, which is a spiny oyster shell. "I'm always looking for something different - something that other people may not have. I go to gem and mineral shows and see new stones, read how to polish them, what kinds of compounds to use. ." He finishes simply, "I want to develop an enduring name as an artist."

He's working hard at this goal. Typical of today's market-wise craftsman, he and his wife make their own contacts and place pieces only in quality galleries. Before Indian Market in Santa Fe this summer, he says, he was ready to quit. "But Larry Golsh was very complimentary about my work," Chavez beams. "Since then, things have been good!"

(IJ-199) Almost Scandinavian in mood, Richard Chavez reaches beyond his San Felipe Pueblo heritage to grasp tomorrow's promise. Bold, open shapes dominate his designs, yet a potent Indian flavor persists.

"My grandfather made heishi," the young artist says. "I want to get into lost wax casting there's so much to do..." Courtesy Heard Museum Guild Indian Arts and Crafts Exhibit, Phoenix.

Turquoise Testing

How can you tell if turquoise is "real"? For many years the best system was to know and trust the person who sold you the stone. Any physical test involved harming or even destroying the gem. While trust is still important, a new laboratory technique can take the mystery out of the question. Two years ago Dr. Michael Parsons of the Arizona State University Department of Chemistry came up with a non-destructive technique which uses the university's quarter-million dollar electron microprobe facility. Basically, the sophisticated equipment can answer two questions: is the stone turquoise and has it been treated?

The cost for the test is $20, which includes measuring and photographing the stone and identifying it in the Turquoise Research Project Archives. Within two weeks the stone and a certificate of analysis are returned to the sender. Most of the lab's customers are dealers buying turquoise in vast quantities, Dr. Parsons said, but individuals with valuable pieces of jewelry also make use of this elaborate and unusual test. Dr. Parsons, who feels that his technique is unique, may be contacted through The Turquoise Research Project, Department of Chemistry, Arizona State University, Tempe, Az. 85251, phone (602) 965-3321.

RICHARD CHAVEZ

At 29, Richard Chavez has his artistic life still ahead of him. But he's not wasting a moment. Today the former architecture student says he draws inspiration for his brightly colored jewelry from the forms of buildings. "I like clean-looking things," emphasizes the fresh-faced San Felipe Indian. "I really like the Scandinavian style."

Turquoise endures. Diamonds tantalize. Today's designs point to a new beginning. Just as the mesas are chiseled by the blowing winds, change works at the arts continually. New is coaxed from old in a process called creation. Through color, texture, stones, techniques, the artist builds on his tradition borrowing the best from a shrinking globe. The spirit of Atsidi San lives on. Always the interpretation calls out "Indian," testimony to the timeless truths he holds.

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