Light

When the time came for Kira to attend fourth grade, Jana suggested we send her to Blanding.  After much discussion, I became convinced Jana was right, and the decision was made.  So, for the past year we have been carpooling to and from school with another Bluff family.  Usually Jana or I drive the kids in the morning, and the other folks bring them home that afternoon.  In spite of my earlier reservations, I have found the morning deliveries extremely enjoyable.  The kids frequently read or do their homework on the journey up, and the return trip gives me time to collect my thoughts and admire the landscape before tackling the daily routine of the trading post.

On a recent return trip to Bluff, I noticed a large, distant land mass I had never seen.  The soft morning light shifted quickly as rays of light intermittently broke through the cloud cover, highlighting the sandstone butte in stark relief against a black, moisture laden backdrop.  Other monuments, uplifts and valleys were also illuminated in a kaleidoscopic spectacle, as light danced over the fragmented, multicolored geography in a rapidly changing ballet.  The scene was electric, poetic and oddly enough seemed choreographed for the music playing on the radio.

Since I have been watching this land for many years, it amazed me that I had never noticed such a large formation.  This geologic revelation reminded me just how complicated this stark, uneasy paradise can be, and made me realize I will never fully comprehend its complexities.

Later that same day, Ray Lovato stopped by the trading post with a small supply of turquoise beads.  Unfortunately Ray seems to be slowing down, and his supply of handmade beads is decreasing.  I am sure the time will come when his well will run dry.  As a result, I buy from him whenever possible.

It seems we have been buying jewelry from Ray since I was barely at my mother's knee, so I thought I knew him pretty well.  On this day, however, a different type of light was illuminating facets of Ray's life I had never  before seen.  Ray talked about how his father taught him to make beads in the traditional way and how he was now trying to pass the knowledge down to his own children. 

Ray mentioned how most artists in his village were no longer making their own beads.  Instead, they were simply buying materials from the Far East and stringing necklaces.  He shook his head at the loss of creativity and tradition, and talked about the Ancient Ones who made beads using techniques similar to his own.  I could see the shadows creeping in on yet another traditional way of life, and understood that the old ways are truly passing.

When he talked about his experiences in Vietnam, and what it was like coming home to Santo Domingo Pueblo after the war, I began having flashbacks.  Not relating to the horrors of war, because I was too young to participate, but of older college friends who were actually there and experienced first hand the conflict and the complications of coming back to a country that did not fully support their sacrifice.

For me, the conversation was like discovering that large chunk of land I should have known was there, but kept overlooking.  Vietnam has faded into the background for most of us, but its remnants creep back into our lives decades later in very unexpected ways.  The light Ray allowed into that corner of his life spotlighted both the personal hardships he experienced and the difficulties this country struggled with after the war.

At the trading post, we often explain to our clientele that we sell contemporary art because we enjoy learning about the artists and what is influencing their work.  It is usually a great joy to talk with them about what they are doing and why.  There are times, however, when it is extremely painful to learn what has happened to them and watch their personal struggles.  As I stood by the counter listening to Ray's stories, I could see the clouds begin to move and shift.  The formations of his life were alternatively bathed in light or blanketed by shadows; the picture was fascinating, and painful.

Sincerely,
Steve