Surfaces and lines: artefacts and designs as communicative manifestations of relationships in Amazonian cosmologies

Caroline Trimm

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CONTENTS

1. ABSTRACT……………………………………………………………………………ii

2. INTRODUCTION……………………………………………………………………...1

3. THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVES……..………..…….……………………………...3

• Fabricated Bodies……….…………………………………………….…….…….3 • Body Transformations……………………………………………….……………5

4. ARTEFACTS…………………………………………………………………………..9

• Social Agency…………………………………………………………………….9 • Ensoulment………………………………………………………………………11 • Production……………………………………………………………………….14

5. DESIGN…………………………………………………………………………….…17

• Aesthetics………………………………………………………………………...18 • Female Design………………………………………………………………...…22 • Shamanic Design.………………………………………………………………..24

6. CONCLUSION………..………………………………………………………………28

7. BIBLIOGRAPHY…………..…………………………………………………………30

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ABSTRACT

Starting from the concept of alterity, this article seeks to question the links between artefacts and designs

among various Amazonian groups considered to have ‘complex design systems’. The central hypothesis is

that design among these groups is a visual rendering of social interactions with both human and non-

human entities, and through an analysis of how artefacts are created, and the messages that design covered

artefacts and bodies communicate, anthropologists can hope to understand the complex relationships

governing the lived worlds of Amerindian cosmologies.

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INTRODUCTION

How can we understand the aesthetic systems of non-Western societies? What do objects

‘represent’ in Amazonian societies? And why should anthropologists study visual

systems? This essay attempts to answer these questions by analysing Amerindian notions

of materiality and production, investigating the potential connections that exist between

design covered bodies and artefacts, and suggesting that in perspectival cosmologies,

emphasis is placed on the fabrication of objects rather than the finished form. It seeks to

question how artefacts and designs are made meaningful, through both visible and

invisible relations. The emphasis on vision in Amazonian societies leads us to question

whether the meaning of design is representational, semantic, symbiotic, or something

else.

Miller posits that ‘humanity and social relations can only develop through the

medium of objectification’ (2001:228). The subsequent ethnographies on material culture

that have stemmed from such thought have been far reaching within mainstream

anthropology. However, little interest has been paid to the material culture of Amazonian

societies, perhaps, as Hugh-Jones suggests, because the focus in these societies has been

on human-animal relations, with objects fading into the background (2009:33). Santos-

Granero (2009) has attempted to change this with his recent edited book on the occult life

of things, which provides an overview of the material culture of native Amazonian

peoples and demonstrates the crucial role played by material objects in everyday life. In

this essay I attempt to draw on the theme of ensoulment raised by Santos-Granero, and

connect this to previous studies on geometric design, suggesting that designs visibly

announce the transformation of objects and people. They are therefore communicative

manifestations of relationships, sometimes between people, but often between people and

objects.

The first chapter provides an overview of the idioms of corporeality that

Amerindians use to define social relations. Such an analysis is necessary in order to

situate the highly transformational world that Amerindian people live in, for nothing is

ever permanent or fixed – the lived world is always subject to transformation. Lagrou

contends that ‘children are like artefacts and artefacts are like children’ (2009:209), and

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thus, this chapter analyses how children are made, through both the act of conception, but

also how children are made in real human beings through acts of commensality.

The second chapter situates objects and artefacts in Amerindian societies,

analysing how artefacts come into being, contemplating both the possibility of ‘objects

turning into subjects and…subjects turning into objects’ (Santos-Granero 2009:16). The

potential agency of seemingly inert objects is questioned through an application of Gell’s

discussion of social agency to Descola’s description of Achuar conceptions of Nunkui

stones. The potential for the ensoulment of objects is raised and expanded through an

analysis of the uses of the cushma among native peoples of the Peruvian Montaña.

The third chapter cements the links that run throughout the essay, suggesting,

through an analysis of the girls’ initiation ritual described by Gow, that the processes of

transformation are the central idioms of artisanry in these societies, for objects, like

bodies, are not complete until they have been initiated into society through design. Wider

issues on the role of art and aesthetics in anthropology are raised, which address the

warning that we cannot export our own ethnocentric judgements onto the societies we

study. A gendered analysis of design serves to highlight the importance of women’s

design in male spheres of shamanic practice.

While this essay attempts to provide a comprehensive overview of the

relationships involved in the production of artefacts and designs in Amerindian societies,

there are areas where one could extend the analysis further. The Panoan and Arawakan

groups on which the analysis of design rests are well known for their explicit notions of

alterity, and are specifically included in this thesis due to their histories of contact with

missionaries and other ‘outsiders’. Such potential links between contact and design,

despite a brief mention by Myers (2002), could be elucidated further, and one such area

of study might be the increasing use of permanent tattooing, especially among male

members in these societies. Another potential avenue of enquiry could be the links

between aesthetics and morality in these societies, which is briefly raised in the

discussion on production (Erikson 2009), but deserves a more in-depth explication.

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CHAPTER ONE:

THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVES

Alterity has become a central concept in the anthropological understanding of

Amerindian cosmologies, as Vilaça aptly elucidates: ‘alterity, not identity, is the default

state in Amazonia’ (2005: 458). Over thirty years of research on the body (Turner 1980),

nature and society (Århem 1996; Seeger 1989), and conviviality (Overing and Passes

2000) has enabled Amazonian scholars to build up an enhanced understanding of the

importance of corporeality in Amerindian societies, central to which are the notions of

Self and Other. Consideration of both alterity and the body provide two key idioms to

understanding Amerindian notions of the person. Crucially, one cannot understand modes

of communication without first understanding native conceptions of the body and the

world in which such bodies are situated, for, as Miller posits, ‘a theory of objects must

necessarily be a theory of the person’ (2009:76).

I. FABRICATED BODIES

The centrality of the body as an idiom for social organisation has been widely debated

among Amazonian scholars since the 1970s, when it became apparent that the language

of affinity and descent that had dominated mainstream anthropological studies of social

organisation could not easily be transposed onto Amerindian societies. Seeger suggests

that ‘in the place of “corporate descent groups”, Amerindians presented us with “corporal

descent groups”’ (Seeger 1980:130 in Vilaça 2002:350), which rely on notions of shared

substance as the essential ties of kinship. Biological ties, while relevant, are not necessary

to create kinspeople. Convivality and living together in close proximity creates

consanguineous kin ties, through the sharing of substances such as food and drink, but

also through the desire to ‘live well’ among others who also choose to ‘live well’

(Londoño-Sulkin 2000:170). Living well requires a combination of good health, proper

social relationships and an abundance of food and ritual substances (ibid.).

The creation of persons requires repetitive acts of shared substance through the

mixing of male and female substances in the womb. Central to Amazonian notions of

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conception is the belief that babies are created through repeated acts of intercourse, with

male sperm building up inside the woman’s womb, and that all the men that have

intercourse with the woman will contribute to the making of the child. In the act of

intercourse, husband and wife become consubstantial through the mixing of substances.

Sex does not just produce life-filled substance; it actively shapes substance, through

making vital fluids (semen and blood) clot and grow fast, forming a healthy foetus

(McCallum 2001:16-17). Conception can also occur through intercourse with spirits or

animals, and such spirits can also cause the deformation of an already conceived foetus

through intercourse without a woman realising, as Lagrou illustrates:

I witnessed the frightened reaction of a young pregnant woman … who screamed upon seeing a caterpillar in her manioc garden. If you see the caterpillar in your garden … you run a great risk that you dream that night of its yuxin [vital force, double/powerful being] making love to you. Any yuxin intervention … can lead to the deformation of the child.1 (1998:47)

The potential for a child to be born as a spirit is a constant threat, and even if both parents

are human, this does not guarantee them a human child. Vilaça cites that ‘among several

groups, the body of the child is literally moulded with the hands after birth’ (2002:349) in

order to acquire human form. Humanity, therefore, is never certain nor given; it must be

continually fabricated throughout one’s life.

This concept of consubstantiality is not fictitious, but is seen as a genuine binding

of shared bodily substances. In Consuming grief, Conklin aptly highlights just how

literally the notion of shared substance, and in particular shared blood, is conceived:

“You can get Wari’ blood. If you want to, you can become Wari’, just like us.” …. How in the world, I wondered, could that happen? “Just take a Wari’ husband and have a baby here,” the young woman said …. [A] non-Wari’ woman “becomes Wari’” when she gives birth to a child fathered by a Wari’ man …. For women, ethnic identity can change, because when a woman is pregnant, her blood merges with the blood of the foetus in her womb. (2001:138)

1 The features of Yuxin are varied and extensive in Cashinahua thought. All beings ‘have’ yuxin, for it is the energy that gives life to matter. ‘Yuxin can be seen as the quality or movement that links all the interrelated bodies in this world’ (Lagrou 1998:37). Yuxin only becomes active when disengaged from the body: when embodied, it is treated as a body. McCallum notes that her informants sometimes glossed yuxin with the Portuguese alma (soul) (2001:26). As we will see, many Amerindian groups have this concept of a double or vital force or spirit that exists as a separate entity from the body.

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If Conklin had wanted to become Wari’, she simply needed to share substance with a

Wari’ man and have his child. However, this process can be reversed: ‘when a child is

born outside of Wari’ territory, the child and its mother are considered to have the blood

and identity of outsiders, wijam, and cannot revert to being true Wari’ (2001:138). This

illustrates again the very fragile nature of humanity, for bodily form is never fully

consolidated. It is this conception of the body that leads Vilaça to suggest that

Amazonian bodies are ‘chronically unstable’ (2005), and it is to transformation rather

than fabrication that we now turn.

II. BODY TRANSFORMATIONS

The body plays a central role in kin relations in Amazonia. The potential for bodily

transformation is a constant, daily threat that must be dealt with, for Amerindian

ontologies posit that humanity is not a position restricted to what we would consider to be

human beings: animals and spirits also conceive of themselves as human, making

humanity a subjective position to be consistently maintained. Viveiros de Castro’s pan-

Amazonian discourse on Amerindian perspectivism develops further the extended notion

of humanity in these cosmologies. He contends that perspectival cosmologies cannot be

understood through the Western idioms of Nature and Culture, for such concepts depend

on a Cartesian split between mind and body, a split that cannot be translated to

Amazonian societies. This leads Viveiros de Castro to describe Amerindian societies as

‘multinaturalist’, the opposite of the Western ‘multiculturalist’: whereas Western

multiculturalism posits that all humans have the same body, but different souls,

multinaturalism proposes ‘spiritual unity and corporeal diversity, culture or subject being

the form of the universal, while nature or object would be the form of the particular’

(1998:470).

In perspectival cosmologies, humans see humans as humans, animals as animals,

and spirits as spirits, but these animals and spirits also see themselves as human, as

anthropomorphic beings who experience their own habits and characteristics in the form

of culture: they see their food as human food; their bodily attributes as body decorations;

and their social system as organised in the same way as human institutions (ibid.). What

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determines this point of view is the body, a ‘mere envelope’ (1998:471), which conceals

an internal human form, visible only to shamans and their own species. This concealment

is not fallacious, but is about using the capabilities of the body one is in. Thus, using the

example of a wet suit, he suggests:

The intention when donning a wet suit is to be able to function like a fish, to breathe underwater, not to conceal oneself under a strange covering. In the same way, the 'clothing' which, amongst animals, covers an internal 'essence' of a human type, is not a mere disguise but their distinctive equipment, endowed with the affects and capacities which define each animal. (1998:482)

Bodily modification and decoration is therefore vital in order to create bodily specificity,

which enables groups to distinguish themselves as human. The ‘soul’ is identical in all

species, viewing the same things everywhere: what changes is the body through which

the world is seen.

Taylor (1996) has suggested that among the Jivaroan Achuar of Ecuador, the

category of ‘we’ is variable, defined in opposition to ‘they’. The scale of who ‘we’ and

‘they’ are depends on the context: ‘Achuar’ as opposed to other Jivaroan groups, ‘Jivaro’

as opposed to other Amerindian groups, or Indian as opposed to Mestizos or Whites.

Depending on context, two types of spirits are included in the ‘we’ group. The first kind

refers to spirits with a human appearance who behave in a non-human way, while the

second kind are non-human in appearance but behave in human ways. For example, they

use language and signs, and have human emotions (1996:204). The latter are of interest

for these beings, which in some contexts are included in the ‘we’ category, are credited

with human consciousness and intentionality (ibid.). These spirits are able to act upon the

world and effect change. As Taylor notes, ‘life, in short, is a postulated state of mind

rather than a state of matter’ (1996:205). In perspectival terms, then, among the Achuar,

it is possible for any animal, spirit or object to possess human capabilities or a soul,

wakan, providing it follows certain social and communicative practices, and possesses

consciousness and intentionality (ibid). This thought is not limited to the Achuar, for

most Amazonian groups have terms to define these potential human beings or spirits:

yuxin among the Cashinahua, wakan among the Achuar (Descola 1996), nihue among the

Shipibo-Conibo (Illius 1992), and Vilaça informs us of the Wari’ term jam-, which

implies the capacity to jamu, that is, transform and adopt another species’ habits

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(2005:452). The importance of vision, language and communication thus becomes

essential to the definition of personhood, and to the recognition of other members of the

same species in Amerindian societies.

Londoño-Sulkin has analysed the moral dimensions of perspectival thought

among the Muinane, arriving at some interesting conclusions that support the view that

certain substances are endowed with agency and intentionality, while questioning the

predator/prey analogy that Viveiros de Castro posits. The Muinane understand thoughts

or emotions to be the ‘Speech,’ or language, of agency-endowed substances that are

ingested daily. Such substances include coca, manioc, chilli peppers and, most

importantly, tobacco (2005:11). These substances produce ‘real people’, with ‘cool’

thoughts and emotions. Breast milk is conceived as a form of sweet manioc juice, while

semen is a weak form of tobacco paste (ibid.), indicating that from conception these

substances are what give form to the human body. This sentiment is echoed by the

Cashinahua, of whom McCallum writes: ‘the substances that are taken in orally by both

parents are ultimately transformed into the foetus …. Matter, including substances such

as semen, corn seeds, cooked foods, or human flesh and bones, is inherently

transformable’ (2001:18).

Animals do not ingest these ‘cool’, moral substances, but choose to ingest ‘hot’

tobaccos, which provides them with perverse agencies, making them failures in moral

sociality (Londoño-Sulkin 2005: 11). Many Amazonian groups posit that animals, spirits

and plants were human at the time of creation, but at some point they transformed into

the forms that exist today. For the Muinane, the transformation of animals was a

punishment instigated by the creator deity who, having given them his Speech of tobacco,

saw them behaving ‘in “hot” immoral fashions, disobeying the prescriptions of the

Speech’ (2005:13). As a result, they were transformed into their current condition and

condemned to stay in that form forever. Viveiros de Castro suggests that animals see

themselves as humans, behaving in a socially acceptable and correct manner, but for the

Muinane, these animals are not human, for they act in ‘morally and ontologically

inferior’ ways (2005:20). To be human is to behave towards kin in a certain way, which

animals do not do, and it is for this reason that Londoño-Sulkin suggests that Viveiros de

Castro leaves an opening for the moral differentiation of species, since such animals

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cannot be said to behave in a properly ‘human’ way (ibid.). Lima (2002) has adduced that

perspectivism deals primarily with hierarchies, with one view always imposing its moral

values onto the other, as in the Muinane case. Thus, ‘the relation between two or more

perspectives is necessarily asymmetric … [as] one perspective effectively imposes itself

on the other as a perspective with a superior truth-value. Hence, this implies a hierarchy

that is only ever defined a posteriori’ (Lima 2002:19 in Vilaça 2005:458-9). The

Muinane will view animals as immoral beings as long as they hold the subjective position

at the top of the hierarchy. Any being behaving in a different manner to the Muinane will

always be seen as morally inferior.

While we must acknowledge that ethnographic accounts are ‘elaborate thought

experiments rather than accurate renditions of indigenous systems of thought’ (Taylor

1996:212), the Muinane example illustrates how such perspectival cosmologies are a

lived reality for many Amerindian people. They experience it intimately and on a daily

basis, and the potential for transformation is constantly apparent. This has also been

noted by Rivière (1994), who suggests that transformation is not something that only

happens in myth, but is a part of the everyday world, a constant threat whether gardening,

cooking or hunting. The danger of transformation is elucidated by Lima’s (1999) article

on the Juruna wild peccary hunt, which illustrates how the parallel dual worlds of the

hunter and the peccary, and the subsequent predator/prey analogy, are played out in

reality. A hunting expedition for the Juruna provides the peccaries with an opportunity to

capture affines - the event has a different meaning, depending on the subject position one

takes. Kin relations and the creation of bodies can be seen as more than just

consubstantiality. They are part of a wider process, ‘which establishes relations between

humans and animals through acts of commensality and cannibalism’ (Vilaça 2002: 354).

It is through such relations that persons come into being, and the maintenance of such

relations encompasses the core of social life: ‘the person is the self … in the sense of its’

positioning as a focus of agency and experience within a social relational field’ (Ingold

1991:367).

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CHAPTER TWO:

ARTEFACTS

The process of making bodies is thus a complex, time-consuming, social activity that is

always incomplete and subject to transformation. As noted by Taylor, spirits and animals

are granted intentionality by the Achuar, but here I question the potential subjectivity of

artefacts. Objects tend to fall into one of two categories in Amerindian thought – native

and industrial goods. Western industrial goods have been of interest to Amazonian

anthropologists for some time (Hugh-Jones 1992; Conklin 1997), and are now a

necessary part of everyday life for many Amerindian groups. Anthropological curiosity in

traditional arts such as weaving and geometric design is also longstanding, especially

following the publication of Steward’s Handbook of South American Indians, which

identifies the Panoan groups of the eastern Amazon to have a distinctive art style

(1948:587).

Until recently, however, the animacy of both native and industrial goods had been

overlooked, partially due to the fascination of animals and plants in both anthropological

studies of animic societies and in Amerindian everyday experience and cosmological

conceptions (Hugh-Jones 2009:33). Santos-Granero has recently brought this issue to the

fore, demonstrating that there are ‘multiple ways of being a thing’, not only in the

Yanesha lived world, but across Amazonia (2009c:106). Perhaps the crucial point to

emerge from the book is the understanding that objects are apprehended very differently

across the region. Some societies perceive only native objects as endowed with

subjectivity, while others consider both native and foreign goods to have a subjective

dimension (2009b:11). Both native and manufactured objects are symbolic of social

relations, but here I will concentrate on native objects for it is not just the finished

product that is of interest but also the process of creation.

I. SOCIAL AGENCY

Santos-Granero argues that the most widespread native Amazonian mytheme is the

notion that in mythical times, all beings were conceived as human, and at some point in

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time these beings ceased to be human and transformed into the forms they exist in today

(2009b:4). The world as it is today is a result of the transformation of pre-existing things

– it was not created ex nihilo (Viveiros de Castro 2004:477). However, some objects

appear to have existed prior to other beings and are attributed a critical function in the

composition of persons (Santos-Granero 2009b:5). Van Velthem infers that the Wayana

conceive of woven objects as body parts, and are named accordingly (2003:206), while

the Yanesha conceive animals in their current form as transformations of ancient human

ancestors, whose bodies are composed of the artefacts they possessed in mythical times:

‘the blood covered axe of the primordial Currasow became the red beak of the present-

day currasow, the straw mat on which Armadillo slept became the plated shell of its

animal counterpart, and the beautifully woven hammock of Spider became the spider’s

subtle web (2009b:5).

That bodies are considered to be composed of artefacts is not surprising. The

incorporation of Other in the construction of Self is a common strand of thought in

Amerindian cosmologies - ‘everything that is proper is made out of other (Lagrou

2009:196). Furthermore, since Malinowski’s description of the Kula exchange in

Argonauts of the western Pacific (1922), anthropologists have been conscious of the

potential for artefacts to be endowed with ‘social agency’ (Gell 1998:96). Yet only

recently have these two strands been considered in conjunction by anthropologists

working in the Amazon basin.

The Achuar Self is defined in relation to the Other. In a similar strand of thought

Gell, discussing objects, posits that ‘social agency is relational … what matters is where

it [the object] stands in a network of social relations. All that may be necessary for stones

to become “social agents”… is that there should be actual human persons/agents “in the

neighbourhood” of these inert objects’ (Gell 1998:124, in Viveiros de Castro 2004:470).

Any artefact or seemingly inert object may have agency and intentionality, depending on

where it stands in relation to others. In Amazonia, the agents ‘in the neighbourhood’ of

these seemingly inert objects are the animal ‘spirit masters’ that exist throughout

Amerindian cosmologies (Viveiros de Castro 2004:470). These spirit masters control

inert objects such as plants and exercise the same intentionality and consciousness as

human beings, allowing them to exert their influence over other persons.

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Nunkui, the spirit of the gardens, is just one such ‘spirit master’ described by

Descola in The spears of twilight (1996). Nunkui, the spirit master of gardens, owns

stones that are charms, which encourage the growth of cultivated plants by passing their

energy on. These stones are dangerous, for they are endowed with a life and

consciousness of their own. Gardeners bury the stones in the garden and sing anent

(songs that transmit messages to the spirits they are addressed to) to them in order to

please Nunkui and encourage her participation in the well health of the garden (1996:84-

93). Natural objects may appear to be inert but are often controlled by a powerful spirit

master from a remote location. These objects have the potential to affect those who are

near them for long periods of time. For example, both Nunkui stones and manioc are

considered to suck the blood of human beings (1996:93). Women and children, who

spend their days tending to the garden, are thus at risk from these plants, but, by singing

anent, women communicate to the manioc and order it to attack strangers rather than the

children. This command must be followed, for the manioc depends on humans for its

survival. Erikson has demonstrated a similar strand of thought among the Matis, who

perceive themselves as competing with the spirit master of the plant, and when taking a

vine, will proclaim ‘from now on, I am your master’ (2009:185). Natural objects are not

inert and have the ability to influence human emotions and health, although there exists a

hierarchy of agency in which humans reside at the top and are able to communicate and

dominate those objects and spirits who reside below.

II. ENSOULMENT

Santos-Granero suggests that the Yanesha conceive of five ways of becoming a

thing. While an analysis of all five ways of being a thing is outside the scope of this

essay, objects that came into being through ensoulment - objects that have become

subjectivised through direct contact with a subject’s soul (2009c:109) - are of particular

interest to the discussion of artefacts, for these objects are by their nature in close contact

with their makers. Thus the potential for the ensoulment of artefacts is much greater than

with many other objects.

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Amerindian societies are markedly concerned with forgetting deceased relatives,

and some of the first things to be destroyed after a death are personal possessions, such as

baskets, clothing and stools. This is understandable when one considers that objects exist

outside normal spatio-temporal boundaries, for they are a means of distributed

personhood. Gell, discussing Marquesian art, suggests that:

A person and a person’s mind are not confined to particular spatio-temporal coordinates, but consist of a spread of biographical events and memories of events, and a dispersed category of material objects, traces, and leavings, which can be attributed to a person and which, in aggregate, testify to agency … which may prolong itself long after biological death. (Gell 1998:222)

Similarly, Amazonian societies view objects that have been in close contact with the

deceased to remain subjectivised after death. The soul is understood to survive beyond

death, and longs to be reunited with both family and personal possessions. Living

relatives do not want to be reminded of those who have died, but more importantly, they

do not want to encourage a wandering soul looking for kinspeople and ensouled objects

into the village.

The connection between object and owner survives beyond death, for the object is

literally an extension of the self. Gow states that among the Piro, in cases where people

have died and there is no body to mourn, relatives will mourn over the deceased’s

clothing, which is used as a substitute for the body (2007:57). Certain Amerindian

societies, such as the Kayapó, possess certain ‘inalienable objects’ (Weiner 1992), such

as names, feather headdresses and body ornaments, which are not destroyed after death

but are handed down through generations. Lea (1995) has argued that nekrets (personal

names) among the Kayapó are non-material manifestations of identity, and are highly

valued and guarded as a result. Each house has a number of goods said to exist from time

immemorial, and this situates each member of the house with a particular identity and

rights over certain objects. Thus, objects can be both inalienably attached to a person

through ensoulment, or inalienably attached to a clan, as demonstrated by the Kayapó.

The relationship between clothing and the body has recently been of interest to

Amazonian anthropologists, for Viveiros de Castro’s discussion on perspectivism raises

some interesting questions on how indigenous Amazonian peoples view clothing and

body decoration. As already discussed, the body is conceived to be a ‘bundle of affects

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and capacities’, with every species seeing the same things everywhere, but what changes

is the body through which the world is seen (1998:478). Recent studies on body

decoration have focused on aspects of clothing as a ‘social skin’ (Turner 1980), that is,

the way clothing can provide a visual rendering of relationships between tradition and

modernity (Ewart & O’Hanlon 2007), or how indigenous groups use body decoration to

assert identity and acquire political rights (Conklin 1997). I contend that body

ornamentation such as clothing becomes a part of oneself, inalienably attached to the

individual and ensouled through daily use.

While the concept of ensoulment can be described as universal across Amazonian

groups, there are significant differences between object regimes, leading to diversity and

variation between regions (Hugh-Jones 2009:35). Bearing this in mind, the discussion of

clothing will be limited to those groups of the Peruvian montaña who wear, or have

previously worn, cushmas. The cushma is a cotton tunic that is considered to be the

traditional clothing of various groups located in the western Amazon. Some groups no

longer wear the cushma, others only wear cushmas, and some wear both Peruvian clothes

and cushmas. Some of these groups, such as the Piro and Asháninka are in regular

contact with one another and Gow suggests that the difference between the way these

groups think about body ornamentation may be ‘historically operant’ (2007:67). That is

not to say that their clothing styles are a direct result of interaction with missionaries or

the nation state, but that the internal logic of each group varies which creates a diversity

of ways in dealing with outside contact.

Clothing in its visible form it points towards relationships of alterity with

outsiders, whether Indians or Whites, while its invisible form is perceived to be an

extension of the body. Among the Yanesha, the relationship between bodies and tunics is

literal: ‘those items of personal clothing and ornamentation with which a person is in

closest contact become “ensouled” and thus grow to be an extension of one’s body’

(Santos-Granero 2009a:486).

For the Piro, ownership of kajitu mkalu, ‘white peoples clothing’, is essential, and

even young children own their own clothes, refusing to share with siblings or accept

second hand goods (Gow 2007:57). This is understandable when one considers that such

items of clothing are considered to be ensouled by the previous owner. The Piro express

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fear of their ‘traditional’ clothing, the elaborately design-covered cushma, for when

wearing it the wearer resembles a jaguar (ibid.).2 The designs on the cushma remind the

Piro of a time in their history when relations with neighbouring tribes were far more

conflictual and dangerous than they are today (2007:60). This type of clothing was most

commonly worn during kigimawlo, girls’ initiation ritual, and the desired ‘jaguar-affect’

served to intimidate neighbouring tribes (2007:60). ‘Ancient peoples clothing’ is

decorated with designs, yonchi, and the painted designs created a jaguar-affect.

The desire to wear ‘white peoples clothing’ over the traditional cushma thus

symbolises a change in the threatening relationships Piro people had with both forest

animals, neighbouring tribes and outsiders – ‘white people’ became their most powerful

and desirable form of ‘otherness’. Gow observes a homologous strand of thought: ‘like

jaguars, white people are violent, dangerous and frightening, such that a white people-

affect can perform the same functions that the jaguar-affect of ‘ancient peoples’ clothing’

once did’ (2007:64).

III. PRODUCTION

Traditional clothing, along with other artefacts, would have been produced entirely from

materials procured from the forest. This leads to the question of how artefacts are

produced in Amerindian societies. Modes of production in hunter-gatherer societies have

been widely discussed since Sahlins argued in 1966 that in such societies, modes of

production were set deliberately low by limiting material wants in order to achieve

maximum leisure time, thus allowing all targets to be well within their capacity (Sahlins

1968:85-9 in Ingold, Riches & Woodburn 1999:11). In Amazonia, Viveiros de Castro

suggests that such an impression was also uniform across the region after the publication

of Steward’s Handbook of South American Indians, which portrayed the region as ‘an

environment hostile to civilisation and of comparatively recent settlement, sparsely

2 As Santos-Granero (2009a) has suggested for the Yanesha, the issue of what is traditional is more complicated than it may seem. For the Yanesha, various adaptations of the cushma appear to have been appropriated from missionary contact, making certain elements of the cushma more traditional than others. Readers should bear this in mind whenever the term tradition is used henceforth.

15

populated, sociologically stunted and culturally dependent on more advanced areas’

(1996:181). Such ecologically deterministic views only began to be abandoned when

Lévi-Strauss published his Mythologiques in the 1960s, when the cognitive and symbolic

value of the material dimensions of social life came to be stressed over the ecological

limitations of such societies (Viveiros de Castro 1996:181). It is such material

dimensions that are of interest here, for as Wagner observes, ‘what we would call

“production” in these societies belongs to the symbolisation of even the most intimate

personal relationship’ (1981:24 in Guss 1990 [1989]:67). Every productive activity is

involved in a wider web of meaningful action: ‘The preoccupation of culture is not so

much with the production of goods as it is with the re-production of itself’ (Guss 1990

[1989]:67). Thus, production does not revolve around the finished product, but rather the

processes of creation, which bring people together, create relationships, and cement ties

of kinship.

For the Cashinahua, production may involve the help of many people, but only

one person will own the final product. When assisting in the production of an object,

selfhood is transferred from one person to another in order to lend personal powers or

effort to another - when helping another person, one is ‘giving one’s energies to the other

person as if they were the other’s own energies’ (McCallum 2001:92). In most cases

labour is only exchangeable between people of the same sex, since it involves a

(temporary) transition of personhood (ibid.). Therefore when creating an object, a transfer

or extension of personhood takes place from the artisan to the artefact, endowing the

finished product with aspects of the person: ‘artefacts constitute the objective expression

of the knowledge, skill, and affects of their makers, and thus partake in the makers

subjectivity’ (Santos-Granero 2009b:16). The creation of artefacts consequently

symbolises two modes of relationship:

When the product or item has been made by the owner, a relation [exists] between aspects of the self; and when the product or item has been given to the owner, a relation [exists] between subjects In the first case … the thing ‘is’ the person …. In the second case, the item stands for the relationship between giver and receiver. (McCallum 2001:93)

16

Furthermore, the products people make for personal use are part of wider relationships,

since the pot a woman cooks with makes the food her husband will eat, just as the bow a

man hunts with catches the food his wife will cook (ibid.).

The process of creating artefacts ties the individual into social relations through

use, despite the highly individualistic notions of ownership in Cashinahua thought. The

success of an object, for example, a curare dart, depends on the care and personal

qualities of the maker, as it is these qualities that will be bestowed upon the finished

product (Erikson 2009:176). Craftsmanship in such societies, therefore, has the potential

to become a moral imperative, as Erikson suggests may be the case for the Matis

(2009:173). The ability to create artefacts that convey social messages of care and

attention becomes central to defining oneself, and learning becomes a matter not of

enculturation but of enskillment (Gibson 1979:254 in Ingold 1991:371). When discussing

design a similar strand of thought emerges, for young girls learn how to ‘hold designs in

their head’ (Gow 1999) through watching their mothers and grandmothers and in so

doing gain ‘an education of attention’ (Gibson 1979:254 in Ingold 1991:371).

The gendered distribution of work serves to enhance the complementarity of the

sexes, for ‘social and economic production is made possible by male agency in dealing

directly with the spirits and foreigners; and by female agency in mediating the

transformation of the products of such encounters’ (McCallum 2001:65). As a result of

these gendered processes of enskillment, young children begin learning their roles from a

young age. Across the Amazon basin the sexual division of artisanry varies, with groups

of the Orinico designating basketry exclusively to the male domain, while groups of the

Ucayali identify weaving and pottery as an activity to be executed exclusively by

females. Basketry, weaving and pottery can be compared to bodies in that they are all

containers of substances. These containers are often covered in some form of painting or

design, and it is the meaning of such design that will now be considered.

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CHAPTER THREE:

DESIGN

The discussion of design is limited to those tribes situated along the Ucayali River and its

tributaries, particularly the Panoan speaking Cashinahua and Shipibo-Conibo, and the

Arawakan Piro. These groups are primarily selected for their evaluation of designs, for

each group considers the others to be people with Real Design – each group explicitly

defines the others as ‘people who know designs’, and compares them to other

neighbouring groups whose designs are considered to be ‘ugly’. (Gow 1989:21). Gow

advises that we must avoid placing ethnocentric value judgements on other peoples’ art

(1989:23), however, we must also acknowledge that aesthetic classification does vary

between those with ‘simple design systems’, such as the Campa and Amahuaca, and

‘complex design systems’, such as the Piro and Shipibo-Conibo. The latter are acutely

aware of these differences (ibid.). Design plays a critical role in self-image, for it is how

groups such as the Shipibo-Conibo choose to define themselves against other groups in

close proximity. For the Cashinahua, design, kene, is responsible for the classification of

all beings - humans, animals, plants and artefacts - who are described as either ‘with’ or

‘without’ design (Lagrou 1998:163).

The groups situated along the Ucayali who have ‘complex design systems’ are not

the only such groups across Amazonia – the prehistoric Marajó, situated at the mouth of

the Amazon in the east, and the Caduveo in the southern Amazon both exhibit ‘complex

design systems’ (Gow 1989:22).3 There does not appear to be any evidence of a historical

3 Myers (2002) has recently published a paper comparing various forms of Shipibo-Conibo pottery over the last one hundred and twenty years, with unexpected results: he suggests that rather than disappearing during crisis periods of cultural disruption, for example, during the rubber boom of the nineteenth century, the artistic style of the Shipibo-Conibo unexpectedly flourished, with technical improvement and artistic innovation that refined ceramic production into a fine art. Myers suggests that the Shipibo-Conibo example is not alone: during the late nineteenth century artistic expression on the Northwest Coast also changed dramatically, in part due to the availability of iron tools and increased wealth (2002:139). While both examples are neither definitive nor representative of the entire Amazon basin, it would be interesting to pursue further the link between the florescence of art during times of cultural disruption, especially in respect to the Marajó and Caduveo cultures, both of whom are societies with ‘complex design systems’ (Gow 1989:23), and both of whom are situated at the extreme edge of the Amazon basin. As has been discussed, the internal dynamics of each group is ‘historically operant’, but this does not deduct from the question of how conflictual (or peaceful) relations with others affect artistic styles. As Gebhart-Sayer suggests for the Shipibo-Conibo, ‘art is a living art, not an artificially revived or nostalgic art’ (1985: 150), and thus subject to change and reinterpretation depending on context.

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relationship between the design systems of the groups of the Ucayali, the Marajó or the

Caduveo, but rather, what exists is a convergence of certain aesthetic criteria (Gow

1989:23). Thus, before analysing the two gendered domains of design, a brief discussion

on the role of aesthetics in Amerindian societies is necessary to frame the subsequent

analysis.

I. AESTHETICS

The question of how to approach aesthetics in non-Western societies has plagued

anthropologists studying art forms, particularly since the 1970s when social scientists

began theorising about modernity and modernism, and the role of anthropology came

under scrutiny (Weiner 1994:1). The first obstacle one must address is whether art and

aesthetics can exist independently of each other, for many non-Western societies do not

have a concept of ‘art’, yet clearly express ideas of ‘beauty’ or aesthetic judgements upon

their own societies and others. For the Cashinahua, one might say that everything is

judged aesthetically, the whole gamut of interaction and production, ‘so much so, that it

ceases to fall under the category of what we would call the “purely aesthetic”’ (Lagrou

1998:144). There is no such concept of ‘beauty for beauty’s sake’ – that is, notional

beauty does not exist in isolation, but rather is linked to other fields of perception,

cognition and evaluation (ibid.). Therefore, as Shelton suggests, ‘aesthetic judgements are

based on values that may only be understood in the context of their relations to particular

concepts of nature’ (1992:229), which, for the Huichol about whom Shelton writes, and

the Amerindian groups under discussion, are deeply embedded in the ontology that

shapes their world view. It becomes impossible to deal with aesthetics as a separate

domain, for it permeates all aspects of life in Amerindian societies. As Geertz suggests,

‘a theory of art is at the same time a theory of culture, not an autonomous enterprise’

(Geertz 1976:1488 in Guss 1990 [1989]:90). An analysis of the aesthetics of such

societies necessarily becomes an exercise in hermeneutics (Lagrou 1998:143), for it

involves the interpretation of how material practices come to participate in a greater

cosmological ontology.

Amerindian societies distinguish between ‘beautiful’ and ‘ugly’, conforming to

19

the concept of the aesthetic as deriving from taste. The fundamental conviction behind

these judgements is that ‘we do not reason to the conclusion that things are beautiful, but

rather “taste” that they are’ (Shelley 2009: 3). That is, while aesthetics may appear to be a

natural sensory reaction, no such reaction exists without some form of prior cognitive

schema, making such stimuli appear both transcendental and beautiful. However, what is

beautiful to one may not be beautiful to another, and it is for this reason that Gow advises

not to use aesthetics as a cross-cultural category of comparison, for it harbours

discrimination (Weiner 2004:21-22). Gow constructs his argument utilising Bourdieu’s

study of class (1984), which suggests that taste is influenced by the class one belongs to.

Such taste becomes assimilated and unknowingly embodied so that taste becomes a

crucial element in building an unconscious social identity, and for this reason we should

not be surprised that the Cashinahua express such aesthetic judgements against

neighbouring groups (Lagrou 1998:150).

Despite not having a concept or specific word for ‘art’, many Amerindian groups

do distinguish between designs that adhere to a specific style and those that do not. The

Piro compare real design, yonchi, to painting, sagata, and the difference lies in the

execution (Gow 1999:230). Lagrou outlines this difference for the Cashinahua:

What makes kene [design] really different is that it adheres to a specific abstract style …. While the two-dimensional graphic expression of dami [painting, drawing] and yuxin does not belong to Cashinahua tradition and is therefore not constrained by Cashinahua style … [kene] constitutes a coherent system that uses the same patterns and motifs on all media it is applied to. (1998:171)

The laws of design must be adhered to in order to create real design, an exclusive skill

held by the Cashinahua, as opposed to drawing or painting, a skill held by all which does

not follow any set rules.4 In order to be beautiful, the forms of objects must correspond to

the rules of the society – visual compulsion in itself does not make something beautiful.

The following anecdote documented by Lagrou illustrates this point perfectly:

4 Guss (1990) has demonstrated that for the Yekuana, the success or beauty of an object lies in the integration of every aspect of society, rather than in its final form. The neighbouring Panare, who were introduced to Yekuana basketry through a missionary have experimented with the formation of baskets and created new styles and graphic forms, transcending the imposed technical limitations. As a result, these baskets have no cultural value and are purely commercial. To the Yekuana, they are incomprehensible, for they have lost their perfect balance. (Guss 1990 [1989]:87-9)

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In the fertility ritual called katxanawa … each participant wears his own headdress …. The hats made by the village leader and his son are considered to show great workmanship and delicacy …. The case of Muiku was different. He was a rival of the village leader and seemed not to keep his ambitions to himself. Thus he used harpy eagle feathers, although they were only to be used in txidin and nixpu rituals, in the katxanawa fertility ritual …. [because] he did not have enough of them, and because other villagers would not lend him theirs, he had to mix them with trumpeter bird feathers. This mixture and the use of too prestigious a feather in the wrong context were aesthetically disapproved of by his fellow kinsmen. (1998:161)

The importance of adhering to the formal rules of design is therefore crucial to ensure

social acceptance. Furthermore, Gebhart-Sayer affirms that for the Shipibo-Conibo, art

and designs are closely linked to medicine, and the importance of following the rules of

design can often be a matter of life or death, for the designs efficacy depends on their

kikin, their correctness and beauty (1984:13). These aforementioned examples illustrate

the importance of correct form in Amerindian notions of aesthetics and beauty.

The insistence on conforming to a set of culturally conditioned laws has led many

anthropologists to assume that the designs are in some way semantic or representational.

While it is true that some designs are named after their resemblance to body parts or

animals, there is no evidence that these designs in any way represent the figures they

depict. What appears as representational is not; characters and images do not mean

anything in and of themselves (Gow 1989:23). The names of designs do, however,

correlate with patterns found on specific animals, leading Gow to suggest that for the

Piro, kayonalga does not represent the kayonalo fish, but is simply the design that one

sees on that fish (1989:21). I contend that the use of design on objects and bodies, rather

than being about representation, concerns identification – design only appears on certain

objects, such as those that transform food from raw to cooked, or on bodies in a state of

transition, such as kigimawlo, girls’ initiation ritual. Design thus communicates a

message about both the painter and the painted.

This postulation builds on Guss’ theory that ‘the material transformation of any

object – such as tree to drum or animal to food – must be accompanied as well by a

spiritual transformation realigning its symbolic structure with that of the human world

into which it is being integrated’ (Guss 1990 [1989]:95). I suggest that such a spiritual

transformation is completed by the visual aesthetics of painting, aligning the object or

person within a certain set of human relationships.

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The issue of whether these designs constitute a visual language must also be

considered. Gebhart-Sayer confers that the allegedly hieroglyphic nature of Shipibo-

Conibo designs was first raised by Alexander von Humboldt after his travels in the early

nineteenth century. A local missionary who had been living among the Shipibo,

Narcissus Girbal, had informed von Humboldt of Panoan ‘copy-books’, the format of

which corresponded to the missionaries’ copy-books (1985:155). Given the recent

literature on the obsession with non-native goods in Amerindian societies (Hugh-Jones

1992), anthropologists should not be surprised by such instances of mimicry – one of

Santos-Granero’s five ways of being a thing - and interest in non-native objects. Gow’s

(1990) analysis of the origin of writing among the Piro aptly demonstrates the potential

misunderstanding that has occurred with regard to these books, for he suggests that the

Piro ‘historically assimilated the graphic components of European writing to their own

category of “design”’ (1990:96), thus, mimicking what they perceived as the missionaries

source of power and authority. For both the Piro and Shipibo-Conibo, the word for

writing is the same word as used for design, yona and quene, respectively (Gow

1990:93). One can see how anthropologists may misinterpret this data and assume that

design is a form of writing for these peoples. Designs, as non-representational, led the

Piro to ignore the characters as potential bearers of meaning, and instead turned to

indigenous sources of knowledge – shamanic practice – to interpret the newspapers

thrown away by white bosses on the haciendas (1990:96-7).

Gow’s analysis rests heavily on the concept of ‘split-representation’ advanced by

Lévi-Strauss (1963), which proposes that the key to understanding such complex design

systems lies in the ambivalent relationship between the surface of the object and the

design being painted, for ‘the object is always conceived in both its plastic and graphic

aspects’ (1963:260). The surface of the object being painted is just as important as the

design being applied, for it is only in the combination of these elements that the object is

complete. The Piro, following the principles of split-representation, assumed that the

power of the European newspapers lay not in the characters of text, but in the material

embodiment of the paper itself:

Thus, while Westerners have searched the graphic component of Ucayali art in the vain pursuit of a semantic key, the Ucayali people chose the other pole of the relationship

22

which Lévi-Strauss describes, and searched the plastic component of European writing for an explanation of its power for the white intruders. (Gow 1990:96)

This reiterates the conviction that in order to understand the aesthetic systems of other

societies, we cannot impose our own notions of what art should be, for ‘the real question

is not what art means but how’ (Guss 1990 [1989]:90-1, original emphasis). Despite not

constituting a language, there is a communicative aspect to the designs. As Lagrou

remarks of the Cashinahua, ‘kene is a sort of written code, inscribed on bodies and

objects …. [K]ene is [a] “language”, a code … [K]ene contains the possibility of forms

and thus of beings’ (1998:179). Design thus contains the possibility of forms, which

indicates that design may play a role in the reproduction of society. It is this role of

reproduction that will now be analysed.

II. FEMALE DESIGNS

Amerindian societies place an emphasis on the importance of vision in all aspects of life.

As Rivière has insinuated, ‘what you see is not necessarily what you get’ (1994). Seeing

kin on a daily basis and living together creates kin ties, and those who choose to live far

away or in another village are often denied kinship, emphasising the crucial role vision

plays in everyday sociality (Vilaça 2002). Designs belong to both everyday and

hallucinatory vision, and are gendered as such: everyday designs, on pots, clothing,

bodies and other everyday items, are painted by women and require specific skills, while

hallucinatory designs, seen by shamans, deal with the occult through communication with

spirits, and so require a different set of skills. Both types of design will be analysed in

turn.

Gow has argued that painting with design encodes the life trajectory of all Piro

women (1999:229). Painting with design is a skill that takes years to master, and though

girls begin to practice from a young age, only elderly women are considered to be skilled

specialists. Designs must be conceived of as a pre-existent totality before one begins to

paint, for each design must be manipulated accordingly – and the skill of such

manipulation lies in preconceiving the correct amount of spacing between lines, and

joining up the lines so that one cannot tell where the artist began or finished painting

23

(1999:23). This conforms to the rules of split-representation, for the skill lies in the

ability to manipulate a design over complex and varied surfaces. Whether bodies, pots or

a length of fabric, each surface requires different skills of application and only elderly

women who have spent a long time thinking about designs have the ability to manipulate

each design to its specific surface. Each design is completely unique. A woman will

create a design from a number of set templates and gradually build up the design through

repeating and inverting the chosen templates until she has formed the required design

(1999:233).

Design is a crucial element in becoming Piro, for it enables the reproduction of

society. This is illustrated through kigimawlo, girls’ initiation ritual, in which a young girl

emerges from seclusion, beautifully decorated in designs, yonchi, having been painted by

her grandmother, and serves manioc beer to the guests who are potential kinspeople from

neighbouring villages. Gow argues that kigimawlo is a visual celebration of Piro sociality,

for it demonstrates three successive generations of women, all linked by the concept of

flow: ‘the girl demonstrates her control over her internal bodily flow (graga, ‘menstrual

blood). Her mother demonstrates her control over the flows of koyga, “manioc beer”,

while the old women demonstrate their control over the flows of yongachi, “painted line

flow”’ (1999:240-1). All three types of flow described serve the reproduction of Piro

society. Through menstrual blood, new members of society are created; through beer, the

Piro extend their social world; and through painting with design, young women are made

beautiful prospective affines, thus creating a continual flow of relations (ibid.).

Lagrou posits an interesting comparison between the Piro and Cashinahua,

suggesting that while designs in ritual contexts, such as the girls initiation ritual, play one

role for the Piro (announcing the corporeal transformation of the girl through the visual

application of designs on her body) such designs for the Cashinahua actually play a

crucial role in the process of corporeal transformation, for the designs are seen as filters

which allow knowledge to be distilled into the initiates (2009:199-201). For the

Cashinahua, the agency of design depends on how it is applied: the designs used on both

adults and children do not differ in pattern or form, but in the way they are applied, as

designs on children are produced using maize to create wide lines, or ‘broad designs’,

huku kene, while adult designs are applied using thin sticks to produce finely drawn thin

24

lines (2009:198). The thick lines allow the propitiatory songs to enter the initiates’

bodies, and once inside, these songs guide their thoughts, enabling them to grow into

‘true human beings’, huni kuin (2009:198-9).

Designs meditate between an inside and outside, whether that be a body, a pot, or

a house. The ‘first design’, the placenta, mediates between the foetus and the mother’s

body, filtering out any harmful substances and nurturing the growing foetus (Gow

1999:236). However, while humans lose their ‘first design’ in the process of childbirth,

objects and artefacts receive design in their final stages of integration into society. While

the first design is an intrinsic aspect of the foetus, the designs painted by women are an

addition, a demonstration of a specific knowledge. Thus, there is a contrast in form

between ‘design as intrinsic identity form and design as an illusory form produced by

knowledge’ (1999:237). Both forms, however, render visible relationships of care and

attention, hinting at relations between affines and solidifying ties of kinship. Designs, as

Lagrou suggests, are ‘all about relatedness’, but they also link different worlds of

perception, for designs, being the language of yuxin, function as pathways for perceptive

transformation (2009:198). It is to shamanic aspects of design that I now turn.

III. SHAMANIC DESIGNS

Designs exist in both visible and invisible forms. Their invisible forms can only be seen

through the ingestion of ayahuasca, most frequently practiced by shamans. Shamanic

design comprises a vast field and an extensive analysis is beyond the scope of this essay.

However, the therapeutic nature of designs among the Shipibo-Conibo warrants analysis,

for it poses some interesting questions on the interrelatedness of art and medicinal

practice. The question of the origin of designs is also raised.

The Shipibo-Conibo shaman, muraya, is a healer, an artist, and a translator.

Gebhart-Sayer suggests that both visible and invisible designs are included in the therapy,

and these designs, in order to effect a cure, must be kikin, beautiful and correct (1984:13).

In order to heal, the shaman must ingest ayahuasca, which summons Nishi ibo, the master

spirit of the ayahuasca vine (ibid.). Other spirits, nihue, are present depending on the

illness of the patient. The visions seen during hallucination come in two forms: at first,

25

patterned ‘sheets’ flash before the shaman’s eyes, while Nishi Ibo projects floating

geometric patterns over everything the shaman sees. The shaman begins to interpret the

vision, and when the floating designs touch the shaman’s lips, the shaman translates them

into songs, icaros. A direct transformation occurs from the visual to the auditory

(Gebhart-Sayer 1985:164). The second transformation sees the song transformed into a

geometric pattern, which settles on the body of the patient in order to heal him or her

(1985:166).

Women’s designs deal with the daily reproduction of social life. Shamanic

designs, as described by Gebhart-Sayer, deal with processes of healing. There is,

however, another aspect to shamanic healing, for once a shaman has identified the nihue

responsible for the illness, he removes it from the patient, ‘unravelling’ it and winding it

onto an invisible spool (1985:169), which is then sent away. Such designs cannot be

destroyed, but must be directed away from the village to prevent further harm. The

shaman must find another person to direct the illness at: ‘if he [the shaman] doesn’t want

the nihue to stay in his immediate environment or on himself, he has to cast it on another

living being who doesn’t possess enough shinan [vital power] to repulse it’ (Illius

1992:75-6). Healing one’s own requires the harming of others, in a system of reciprocity

that exists on all levels of Amerindian cosmology. As de Civrieux notes, ‘to fight and to

heal are the same thing’ (1947:43 in Guss 1990 [1989]:102), and thus designs do not only

play a part in reproducing society, but are also involved in destruction and death.

Furthermore, it is not the designs themselves that are intrinsically healing, but the

images that accompany such designs. Images are the true forms of spirits, visible only

through the ingestion of ayahuasca, which shows their true form. For the Sharanahua and

Cashinahua, the initial phase of ayahuasca hallucinations is associated with kunu,

‘design’, while the latter phase is associated with rami, ‘images’ (Gow 1989:26). Designs

feature in the first stage of ayahuasca hallucination, but the second stage is associated

with images, and it is these images that are considered to be the true source of

knowledge, for ‘the rami are the spirits’ (ibid.). The shaman communicates to these

spirits through icaros which tames them and persuades them to share their knowledge.

Townsley documents that among the Yaminahua, these songs are referred to as paths,

which the shaman must stay on in order to find the cure. The songs belong to yoshi,

26

spirits, and the shaman is exclusively entrusted to communicate with these yoshi in order

to procure treatments for the sick. The Yaminahua shaman’s songs are his most highly

prized possession, for the songs are what enable him to cure his patients.

Design does not feature in Yaminahua shamanic practice, because ‘it is only for

those peoples with an elaboration of design in their material culture that complex design

forms a part of visionary experience’ (Gow 1989:24). This theory contrasts with both

Gebhart-Sayer and Reichel-Dolmatoff, who postulate that art is biologically based,

derived from hallucinatory experiences, from ‘neurally based phosphenes’ (Reichel-

Dolmatoff 1987:12-14). The assumption both Gebhart-Sayer and Reichel-Dolmatoff

make is that design derives from chemical reactions in the brain. Design is reduced to a

side effect of hallucination, rather than an intrinsic ontological property. Gow affirms that

the reverse is true: the designs produced by women, that cover objects such as pots and

clothing, have a direct impact on shamanic vision, for such visions are culturally

conditioned: they do not stem from hallucinatory experience (1989:24). This explains

why, for the Yaminahua, the most important aspect of shamanic curing is the songs, for

design is not an intrinsic aspect of Yaminahua relatedness. Thus, while for the

Cashinahua designs are the language of yuxin, and function as paths leading to their

owners, for the Yaminahua songs are the language of yoshi, and function as paths leading

to their owners. The Yaminahua shaman still deals with images, as the songs are paths

that lead to Yoshi: ‘it’s not me who cures – it’s them – I call them – they come and sit by

me – show me what to do’ (Townsley 1993:461).

Seeger has argued that body ornaments reflect the symbolic meaning of organs in

society, making intangible concepts tangible and visible (1975:221). I suggest that

shamanic practice reflects a similar ontology, reiterating the importance of vision

(design) or hearing (song) in any particular society, communicating something that is

outside language in its own specific way: we are dealing with certain kinds of messages

that would be falsified if we communicated them through words (Bateson 1977:177 in

Lagrou 1998:189). The images that appear in ayahuasca visions are the ‘other reality’ of

particular things (Gow 1989:28), things that cannot be expressed in everyday language.

For the Cashinahua, Lagrou ascertains that:

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Cashinahua aesthetic expression does not communicate specifically or exclusively on the level of social relation … or on the level of the constitutive complementariness of the sexes and moieties …. Nor does aesthetic expression exclusively refer to the interdependence of the visible and invisible sides of the world, or to sexual union … the whole material production and aesthetic expression … is a synthetic statement on all these levels at once. (1998:194)

Thus, design is not representative, it is not decorative, and it does not stem from the

physiological features induced by hallucinatory experience: it is a written code modelled

on nature that provides a mnemonic structure to everyday activities and visually

communicates forms of embodied knowledge. What Guss observes for the Yekuana

holds true for the Piro, Shipibo-Conibo and Cashinahua too: ‘to become a true Yekuana

is to become an artist (1990 [1989]:70).

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CONCLUSION

This essay has integrated pan-Amazonian idioms of corporeality with geographically

specific notions of artisanry, suggesting that the creation of bodies and artefacts in these

societies follow the same concourse. The final application of design on these surfaces

visually announces that a transformation has taken place, incorporating the painted object

into mainstream society. The process of painting conveys a message of care and

attention, of thought and skill, and thus suggests that processes of fabrication are central

to Amazonian societies. This conclusion builds upon an extensive literature which

focuses on human-animal relations, and confirms that the material dimensions of these

societies must not be overlooked.

It is neither design itself, nor the object being painted, which are of importance,

but the relationship between the two: ‘facepainting is a question of essence, never to be

confused with form. It is the power within the material itself and not in the manner in

which it is applied that gives a face paint its strength’ (Guss 1990 [1989]:145). Designs

do not mean anything in themselves – they are not representational or semantic – but they

demonstrate skill, through the manipulation of the design in order to apply it to the

surface of the object. Painted bodies, such as those painted in the girls’ initiation ritual,

demonstrate the highest level of skill for they are applied to the most complex medium, a

child’s body.

As has often been mentioned in the ethnography of these societies, the practice of

design appears to be a dying tradition. Discussing design, Gebhart-Sayer notes that ‘with

the gradual disappearance of their other large, traditionally woven items, the Shipibo-

Conibo are losing their most visible vestige of cultural identity’ (1984:26). However, as

Gow has observed for the Piro, following Lévi-Strauss, Amerindian aesthetic systems

appear to have been on the verge of disappearing, an apparent dying tradition, for a

considerable length of time (1999:231). One cannot assume that design is no longer an

important ontological aspect of these societies, simply because it is rarely practised. The

invisible aspect of Amerindian cosmologies simply means that attempting to understand

such design systems becomes harder for the anthropologist – but not impossible. As

Kuechler (1987) has demonstrated in her analysis of Malangan art, the temporality of the

29

Malangan sculpture is not significant, and most of the time the art is invisible, only being

recalled from memory when necessary. This echoes the discussion on Ucayali art,

indicating that what has been discussed is part of a wider practice of the embodiment of

art forms. Gow postulates that ‘there are not two but three crucial embodied experiences:

making, seeing, something else. What that “something else” is varies … but its existence

gives to each its own extraordinary complexity’ (1999:244).

The essay began by considering how human beings are made, emphasising the

importance Amazonian societies place on the fabrication of human bodies; such

processes of formation were then extended to an analysis of artefacts, suggesting that the

care put into creating artefacts reflects the principles and processes of creating bodies;

and it concluded by suggesting that the application of design to both bodies and artefacts

symbolises that a transformation has taken place. It has examined how nature is

transformed into culture, and meaning is imparted, in every act that an individual

undertakes: ‘Living is not a way of art but art a way of living’ (Witherspoon 1977:153 in

Lagrou 1998:150). Art is more than a way of living, however, for it can also be viewed as

a vehicle for the transmission of cultural values: ‘to speak of basketry as a craft, a

technology, at best, as an art, gives a wholly one-sided view in that it disregards the

essential trait of information encoded in the artefacts’ (Reichel-Dolmatoff 1985:43 in

Guss 1990 [1989]:232, original emphasis). Basketry, like other practices of artisanry,

communicate meaning by conforming to a common symbolic language, meaningful only

to those who can read it.

This essay has emphasised the importance of attempting to understand visual

aesthetic systems relativistically. Despite increasing interest in the material culture of

native peoples, there is still an absence in mainstream ethnography on non-Western

visual aesthetic systems (Gow 1999:244), yet, as I have attempted to demonstrate, there is

still a wealth of meaning to be understood from societies who practice such systems.

30

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