Anthropomorphic Imagery in the Mesoamerican Highlands: Gods, Ancestors, and Human Beings 1607329956, 9781607329954

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ANTHROPOMORPHIC IMAGERY IN THE MESOAMERICAN HIGHLANDS

ANTHROPOMORPHIC IMAGERY IN THE MESOAMERICAN HIGHLANDS G O D S, A N C E S T O R S, A N D H U M A N B E I N G S

EDITED BY

Brigitte Faugère and Christopher S. Beekman

U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S O F C O LO R A D O

Louisville

© 2020 by University Press of Colorado Published by University Press of Colorado 245 Century Circle, Suite 202 Louisville, Colorado 80027 All rights reserved Manufactured in the United States of America



The University Press of Colorado is a proud member of the Association of University Presses.

The University Press of Colorado is a cooperative publishing enterprise supported, in part, by Adams State University, Colorado State University, Fort Lewis College, Metropolitan State University of Denver, Regis University, University of Colorado, University of Northern Colorado, University of Wyoming, Utah State University, and Western Colorado University. ∞ This paper meets the requirements of the ANSI/NISO Z39.48-­1992 (Permanence of Paper) ISBN: 978-­1-­60732-­994-­7 (hardcover) ISBN: 978-­1-­60732-­995-­4 (ebook) https://​doi​.org/​10​.5876/​9781607329954 Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Faugère, Brigitte, editor. | Beekman, Christopher, editor. Title: Anthropomorphic imagery in the Mesoamerican highlands : gods, ancestors, and human beings / edited by Brigitte Faugère and Christopher Beekman. Other titles: Gods, ancestors, and human beings Description: Louisville, Colorado : University Press of Colorado, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019030034 (print) | LCCN 2019030035 (ebook) | ISBN 9781607329947 (cloth) | ISBN 9781607329954 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Indian art—­Mexico. | Anthropomorphism in art. | Mexico—­Antiquities. Classification: LCC F1219.3.A7 A487 2019 (print) | LCC F1219.3.A7 (ebook) | DDC 972/.01—­dc23 LC record available at https://​lccn​.loc​.gov/​2019030034 LC ebook record available at https://​lccn​.loc​.gov/​2019030035 Cover image courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Contents

List of Figures  vii

List of Tables  xiii

Introduction:. Gods, Ancestors, and Human Beings Brigitte Faugère and Christopher S. Beekman  3 1 Pretty Face and Naked Body in Context: Meanings and Uses of Chupícuaro Figurines (Guanajuato) during the Late Formative Brigitte Faugère  29 2 Unseating the Shaman: Narrative Performance and Co-­Essences in the Hollow Figures of Western Mexico Christopher S. Beekman  68 3 Gender and Paired Ceramic Figures in Late Formative West Mexico Melissa K. Logan  108 4 Sexuality and Regeneration in the Underworld: Earth Sculptures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy, Sierra Mixe, Oaxaca Marcus Winter  153 5 Costumes and Puppets among Cholula’s Early Classic Figurines and the Formation of Social Worlds Gabriela Uruñuela and Patricia Plunket  185

6 Unmasking Tlaloc: The Iconography, Symbolism, and Ideological Development of the Teotihuacan Rain God Andrew D. Turner  205 7 The Nature of the Old God of Teotihuacan: Why Would the Old God Be Represented by an Elderly Human Body? Claire Billard  238 8 Epiclassic Figurines of Xochitécatl, Tlaxcala, Mexico: Hypotheses on Their Social Lives and Their Ideological Relevance Juliette Testard and Mari Carmen Serra Puche  266 9 All the Earth Is a Grave: Ancestors and Symbolic Burials at Tula Cynthia Kristan-­Graham  301 10 Representing the Human Body in Postclassic Central Mexico: A Study of Proportions and Their Evolution in the Aztec Pictorial Tradition Sylvie Peperstraete  331 11 The Notion of Substitution in Aztec Kingship Danièle Dehouve  355 Contributors  387

Index  389

vi

CO N T EN T S

Figures

1.1. Archaeological Map of the Acámbaro Valley, Guanajuato 30 1.2. Chupícuaro figurines from San Cayetano

1.3.

Chupícuaro-­type figurines

1.4. Munguía-­type figurine from La Tronera

32

34 34

1.5. Rayo-­type figurine from Cuizillo Don Fidel 34 1.6. Hollow statuette from Louvre Museum

35

1.8. San Cayetano burial

47

1.7. Some protagonists of the Cerro de la Cruz offering 45

1.9. San Cayetano offering reconstruction

1.10. The animistic forces in the human body according to López Austin

1.11. A horn headdress from Cuizillo Don Fidel

48

50 52

1.12. Heads of Chupícuaro figurines

54

2.1. The earliest publication of western Mexican hollow figures

70

2.3. Solid figurine holding staff with disk, and solid warrior figurine

72

2.5. Ceramic diorama with two opposing groups of warriors

74

1.13. Chupícuaro type with teeth

2.2. Watercolor by Adela Breton

2.4. Ceramic model of a guachimontón

55

71

73

2.6. Simplified guachimontón and pole ceremony 75

2.7. The Old Fire God, and a possible representation of the Wind God

77

2.8. Horned warrior facing left

79

2.10. Figurine in dancing posture with noisemakers on legs

88

2.12. Warriors with animal on helmet

89

3.1. West Mexico

112

3.3. Design motifs identified on the clothing of the west Mexican figures

123

2.9. Figure holding staff with disk

2.11. Hollow figure with a fixed fish mask

83

88

2.13. Details of three hollow figures with animal-­ skin hats 90 3.2. Ceramic figural pair of the Ixtlán del Río substyle 122

3.4. Cap-­like head cover on figures in an Ameca-­Etzatlán pair

3.5. Zacatecas pair showing the two-­horn head adornment of males

124 125

3.6. Ixtlán del Río pair showing a man (left) in the seated pose wearing a cape (200 bc–­a d 500) 135

3.7. Ixtlán del Río pair showing a third-­gender figure 138 3.8. Example of an adolescent–­adult pair from the Ameca-­Etzatlán substyle 3.9. Example of an aged/emaciated pair from the Ixtlán del Río substyle

4.1. General view in the cave with the stream, terraces, and some sculptures

F I G U R ES

140 154

4.2. Location of San Isidro Huayapam in the Sierra Mixe of Oaxaca

156

4.4. The embracers sculpture

160

4.3. Schematic plan and profile of the cave

viii

139

157

4.5. Trophy head painting

4.6. Jaguar and prey sculpture

4.7. The principal couple

161

161

163

4.8. Head of the principal male with jaguar features 163 4.9. Painting of head in profile, and drawing of a buccal mask 164

4.10. Ballgame sculpture

166

4.12. Sculpture of a woman with her legs spread

168

4.11. Painting of spotted rabbit and place sign

167

4.13. Jaguar sculpture

169

4.15. Human bones at the south end of the cave

179

4.14. Crested iguana sculpture

5.1. Map of the Puebla–­Tlaxcala Valley

170 188

5.2. Middle through Terminal Formative female figurines from Cholula 189 5.3. Late and Terminal Formative male figurines from Tetimpa 189 5.4. Early Classic female figurines, UDLAP campus 191 5.5. Early Classic costumed and masked male figurines, UDLAP campus 5.6. Early Classic censers, UDLAP campus

5.7. Broken effigies from Cholula’s elaborate Early Classic censers 5.8. Quadruped figurines, UDLAP campus

5.9. Non-­combatant monkey figurines from Early Classic Cholula 5.10. Mobilization of grooved human and monkey quadruped figurines 5.11. Japanese sumo wrestlers

191

193 193

194 195

196 198

6.1. Mural fragment portraying the Teotihuacan Tlaloc 206

F I G U R ES

ix

6.2. Late Postclassic representations of Tlaloc

6.3. Zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figures from Teotihuacan 6.4. The Teotihuacan Tlaloc (Tlaloc A)

207 209 215

6.5. The Teotihuacan Tlaloc and lightning bolts 217

6.6. Fangs, bigoteras, and forked tongues

220

6.8. Compound symbols with the head of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc

225

6.7. Tlaloc jars and bundles

222

6.9. The face of Tlaloc as a mask

228

7.2. Chronology of the Mexico Basin and Teotihuacan valley

239

7.1. The Mexican highlands and the location of Teotihuacan 239

7.3. Formative Old God effigy

240

7.5. Map of central Teotihuacan

245

7.4. Distribution of Classic-­period Old God effigies 242 7.6. Classic pattern of representation of Old God effigies at Teotihuacan

7.7. An Old God brasero-­effigy

247 247

7.8. Old God candle holder, ceramic

249

7.10. A “Xiuhtecuhtli-­Huehueteotl” from the Templo Mayor

250

7.9. Xiuhtecuhtli as an old man

250

7.11. Moctezuma wearing a Xiuhtecuhtli costume 256

8.1. Selected Mesoamerican sites mentioned in the text 8.2. Different types of quechquemitl among Xochitécatl figurines

8.3. Woman with child

269 272 273

8.4. Pregnant woman, Offering 3, Flowers Pyramid 273

x

F I G U R ES

8.5. Pregnant woman, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid 273 8.6. Articulated figurine 277 278 8.7. Life cycle of Xochitécatl women 8.8. Old woman 279 8.9. “Skin serpent” and xicalcoliuhqui motif on skirt of figurine 281 8.10. Enthroned figurine with quechquemitl 282 8.11. “Campeche A” figurine 283 8.12. Characteristic gesture of Rio Blanco Papaloapan figurines 283 8.13. Xochitécatl figurine headdress in relationship with Tlazolteotl 285 8.14. Distribution of figurine type by offering 287 8.15. Headdresses showing the “bleeding flower” glyph 289 8.16. Huehue drummer 290 8.17. Figurine showing perforations 291 291 8.18. Rattle figurine 9.1. Southern Hidalgo, the Tula region, and archaeological sites discussed 302 9.2. Reliefs, Tula Grande and Tula Chico 303 9.3. Figures with name glyphs, Pyramid B, Tula Grande 305 9.4. Pillar from Pyramid B, Tula Grande 305 306 9.5. View, Tula Grande 9.6. Plan, Tula Grande 306 9.7. Plan, Building 3, Tula Grande 308 9.8. Detail, section of the coatepantli, Tula Grande 310 9.9. Representative pair of figures from Tula Grande 310 9.10. Plan, Central House Group courtyard, Tula Grande 312 9.11. Plan, Tula Chico

315

F I G U R ES

xi

9.12. Prismatic basalts, Huasco de Ocampo, Hidalgo 317 9.13. Example of temillotl (“pillar of stone”) hairstyle 318 10.1. Detail from Codex Nuttall

337

10.2. Mural of Structure III of Malinalco

339

10.4. Murals of the House of the Eagles

343

10.3. Mural representing Cinteotl

341

10.5. Tizoc Stone, Dedication Stone, and Teocalli of Sacred Warfare 346

11.1. The impersonators of the mountain and rain gods 360

11.2. A personification of the wind god Ehecatl Quetzalcoatl 361 11.3. The metaphor of piercing of the eyes and mouths of children

11.4. The ceremony of dressing the tecuhtli in new attire before the Fire

11.5. Dressing the Aztec sovereign in garments decorated with bones

11.6. Piercing the nose of a Mixtec sovereign 11.7. The king of Texcoco, Nezahualcoyotl, in war dress

362 365 365

366 368

11.8. The five royal impersonators of Huitzilopochtli 369

xii

F I G U R ES

Tables

1.1. Content of those burials with figurines

3.1. Substyles by core and periphery

3.2. Attribute associations, males and females, ceramic pairs, outside central Jalisco 3.3. Attribute associations, males and females, ceramic pairs, central Jalisco

3.4. Attribute associations, figures without visible sex characteristics, ceramic pairs, central Jalisco 3.5. Attribute associations, figures without visible sex characteristics, ceramic pairs, Ixtlán del Río substyle

3.6. Attribute associations, position of cape on the body, ceramic pairs, central Jalisco 7.1. Summary description of the corpus of Classic Teotihuacan Old Gods

8.1. Synthetic table of the content of the offerings at the Flowers Pyramid

8.2. Typology of Xochitécatl figurines

38

129 130 133 137 137 142 244 270 274

8.3. List of headdresses of Xochitécatl figurines 275

10.1. Head:body ratios

340

10.3. Proportions of the figures of the murals with regard to their dimensions

347

10.2. Proportions of figures whose dates of realization (relative chronology) are known 345

ANTHROPOMORPHIC IMAGERY IN THE MESOAMERICAN HIGHLANDS

Representations of the human body can have many culturally specific meanings. In the Western artistic conception—­the origins of which in Europe go back to classical antiquity—­ anthropomorphic representations depict finite, stable entities with established anatomical features, often accompanied by material objects such as clothing that serve to identify them. These figures refer to the domains of nature, daily life, and cosmovision, but also to a repertoire of traditions, legends, and myths within a world that is both earthly and mythic, and within which humans can become entangled in the lives of the gods and engender intermediate categories of demigods and heroes. Anthropomorphic representations are usually situated within a framework of narratives that structure mythical thought, but they also feed into ideologies with historical, political, and social significance (see Malamoud and Vernant 1986). We need only widen our survey to include non-­Western civilizations however to realize that these perceptions are anything but universal, and that the representation of the human body must be approached quite differently in the face of different ontologies (Costa and Fausto 2010; Descola 2005, 2010, 2013; Ingold and Palsson 2013; Latour 2005; Martínez González 2016; Viveiros de Castro 1992). This volume meets this challenge by presenting a series of case studies on the anthropomorphic representations of the Mexican Highlands in the Prehispanic period by attempting to relate them to the Mesoamerican ontology. This new approach to ancient representations

Introduction Gods, Ancestors, and Human Beings Brigitte Faugère and Christopher S. Beekman

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c000

3

is particularly difficult because an understanding of the images will not be reached directly through indigenous texts that might explain them from the emic perspective. Unlike Maya works where text may accompany the image, writing—­though it existed in Teotihuacan or with the Mexica—­is of no help here as it was too limited in both its structure and use. The supporting sources used in this case are therefore ethnohistorical texts and ethnographic analogies, recognizing that the 3,000-­year-­old Mesoamerican ideology was decimated by European colonization in the sixteenth century and only survives today in acculturated forms. We refuse to accept this as a fatal weakness, however, and argue that elements of ideology concerning the body and the human person can be studied if we exercise sufficient caution when using these analogies. Why should we limit ourselves to a formal and etic analysis of imagery when we possess these other sources of information on the ontology of their makers? Since the works of Esther Pasztory especially, art historians regularly go beyond the method Panofsky (1960) initiated to adopt a comparative approach in which art and anthropology speak to one another—­sometimes going so far as to “aboli[sh] . . . the concept of art and [adopt] a cognitive interpretation of things” (Pasztory 2005, 4). This tendency has become only stronger over time with the growing number of works under the heading of an anthropology of art, even if the methodology linking typology, iconography, and contextual studies remains a strong trend among archaeologists (see, e.g., Lesure 2005). The theories of Alfred Gell, in particular, allow us to rethink the object as a mediator (Gell 1998; Osborne and Tanner 2007). Gell drew upon ethnographic studies in Oceania to develop a very stimulating approach in which art acts upon the viewer. This agency is obtained by the artist—­as Gell particularly emphasized—­through technical skill, but also through the dimensions chosen for the object and the diversity of materials employed, especially relevant in Prehispanic art with its emphasis on certain parts of the body and ornamentation (Orr and Looper 2014). The representations’ capacity to act can even be evident when certain motifs are not meant to be seen,1 but give the piece an essence and capacity for action. The viewer is in a way subjected to the artwork’s living presence, which becomes an instrument for dialogue, particularly between humans and nonhumans. The theme of the human body has long held a prominent place in Mesoamerican anthropology, particularly since Alfredo López Austin’s (1980, 1990, 1996, 1997) foundational studies based on ethnohistoric sources, iconography, and ethnography, which have impacted generations of researchers. Taking an interest in the human body also means taking an interest in the perception of the person and in the conceptualization of human life (Gillespie 2001, 2002; 4

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E A N D C H R I S T O P H ER S. B EEK M A N

Joyce 2000; Martínez González 2012; Martínez González and Barona 2015; Martínez González and Mendoza 2011; Pitrou 2011, 2012). Social anthropologists, in particular, have been very interested in this subject and have developed approaches that prove to be very stimulating for archaeologists—­these include among others, Chamoux (1981, 2011) and Sandstrom (1998) for the eastern Nahuas, Dehouve (2014) and Raby (2013) for Guerrero, Pitarch (2012) for the Tzeltal, Pitrou (2012) among the Mixe, Galinier (1990) for the Otomi, and Neurath (2011) for the Huichol. From an emic point of view, the person must be perceived as connected to a social sphere—­the body forming an unstable assemblage of more or less independent living elements permanently connected to various spheres of nature, the cosmos, and society. The boundaries between elements become permeable—­as do the boundaries between human beings, ancestors, or divinities (López Austin 1980; see Neurath 2011 for the Huichol). According to López Austin, these concepts are very deeply rooted in the ideology that constitutes the common foundation for the people of Mesoamerica (López Austin and López Luján 2001). In light of these observations, it becomes extraordinarily interesting to inquire as to the meaning of anthropomorphic representations in the Prehispanic period. How was this ontology retranscribed in a figural representation? And conversely, what formal features allow us to recognize the nature of the representation? How can we distinguish the representation of a god, an ancestor, or human being? And how can we take into account the historical and cultural differences in these conventions of representation? Without going back over the many articles archaeologists have published on this theme, the methodological and theoretical issues involved (Boric and Robb 2008; Hamilakis et al. 2001; Lesure 2005), and the multifarious lines of research that have been opened (among others, Lesure 2002; Gillespie 2001; Joyce 2000), we shall restrict ourselves here to mentioning a few recent contributions concerning Mesoamerica directly. The Memory of Bones: Body, Being and Experience among the Classic Maya (Houston et al. 2006) constitutes a major reference for the Maya based on the study of the iconography and texts that, in this case, accompany the images. With the Maya, the art is highly figurative and the human person is represented in known political and social contexts. The artwork offers exceptional possibilities for interpreting meaning and sensibility, morality, personal status, alimentary practices, and hygiene, but also the means of expression and individual development—­fields that make it possible to enquire into what is human within these contexts (Houston 2014). A second work, Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena (Halperin et al. 2009), touches on many points that concern G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

5

us here—­a reflection on the concept of the body, the function of anthropomorphic representations, and issues of social identities, genres, and links to political systems. It is also worth noting the publication in 2014 of an issue of the online journal Ateliers d’Anthropologie entitled “Representations and measurements of the human body in Mesoamerica” (Dehouve 2014), in which the body is studied in a comparative perspective by both archaeologists and social anthropologists. The contributions analyze the presence of the human body in social phenomena by studying figurative practices and rituals through mainly diachronic approaches, which attempt to highlight processes of continuity or discontinuity over the long term. From their origins, anthropomorphic representations in the highlands of Mexico are obviously very numerous and varied. In the framework of this volume it is primarily the representations of the body as a whole—­from head to toe—­that are discussed, but this need not be the case. Prehispanic art quite often includes representations of isolated segments of the body. Heads without bodies (very frequent in all sorts of materials and which may be partially or entirely fleshless), ceramic vessels in the form of feet, footprints and handprints, organs, and especially the heart come to mind. These depictions are important as they focus on the significance, capacities to act, and/or symbolic meaning to be found in incomplete bodies (McKeever Furst 1995). Further, it has to be borne in mind that the archaeological objects studied in this volume—­limited to materials preserved over time—­comprise only a part of the range of Prehispanic figural imagery. Anthropomorphic figures are known to have been manufactured in perishable materials, such as wood, but also in even more rarely preserved raw materials of plant origin. Human figures woven from leaves, or modeled using grains, flour, or copal were made to play a role in many rituals or deposited as offerings, especially in the Aztec period. Durán and Sahagún, in particular, describe how effigies were made of grains of amaranth mixed with toasted maize and black maguey honey to represent Huitzilopochtli and Tezcatlipoca during rites that took place in the 20-­ day month of Toxcatl (Durán 1967; Sahagún 1969). Since artifacts as ritually important as these are not covered by our inquiry, ethnohistorical accounts of the conditions in which they were manufactured and used are of real interest. Thus our investigation concerns what anthropomorphic bodies stood for—­but also the meanings of composite bodies combining human and animal elements, or the assemblages of signs or symbols covering or replacing the human body. For an etic perspective, as followed in certain articles in this book, we have chosen to include these signs and symbols as we consider them amenable to analysis. Nonetheless, we are aware that from an emic standpoint 6

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E A N D C H R I S T O P H ER S. B EEK M A N

these states are not fixed but temporary and subject to continuous mutation and transformation. GODS

The depiction of the god is situated between two poles. On the one hand, the intent to make the divinity present, to make it real in a living, animate image which can be used to contain it; on the other, the effort to suggest—­in and through the image itself—­the incommensurable distance separating the divine being from everything representing it here below. (Vernant 1986, 14; from the French original)

This statement by the eminent scholar of classical antiquity, Jean-­Pierre Vernant, may be applied to the choices faced by Mesoamerican artists and crafts producers as they sought to embody divine entities whose nature, however, is very remote from the classical pantheons of the Old World. On the basis of an analysis of the ethnohistorical sources and iconography, López Austin (1980) proposed that the Mesoamerican gods of the Postclassic—­invisible entities that are subtle in essence—­could adopt the form of the human body, and art historians recognize gods in some anthropomorphic representations (e.g., Nicholson 1971; Pasztory 1983; Solis 2002). The alleged purpose of this personification was to make the establishment of links, pacts, and exchanges of services possible in an ongoing dialogue between humans and supernatural beings. Nevertheless, the invisible and omnipotent entities do not pass solely through the human body but through any living being or inert object, including those manufactured by humans, hence people, animals, planets, stones, buildings, or tools are all potential conduits. An analysis of the Nahuatl term teotl (Bassett 2015) shows how the essence and the power of the sacred can materialize in animate or inanimate objects. The well-­known addition of mouths and eyes to Aztec sacrificial knives (tecpame) or to mountains in the Primeros Memoriales (Sahagún 1993) transforms the object to a god with the capacity to link humans and gods. The god or part of a god thus becomes material, perceptible but perishable. The divine essence, or substance, traverses time by passing from body to body over the generations (Houston 2014). The constituents of gods and humans possess independent links to natural and cosmic forces, such that the microcosm holds crisscrossing links to the macrocosm. An important characteristic of the Mexica gods is their dynamic nature, which allows them to go through transformations in accordance with cosmic cycles (Graulich 1999) and grants them their capacity for “fusion and G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

7

fission,” a principle whereby a divinity can divide itself into several entities or join itself to others to form a more complex divinity endowed with special powers (Beyer 1965; Ichon 1973; López Austin 1983; Monaghan 2000; Sandstrom and Sandstrom 1986; Townsend 1979). This particulate conception explains the limitless variations on Mesoamerican gods and the symbolic richness of their iconography (Gillespie and Joyce 1998). In a world entirely under the sway of supernatural forces, the image of divinity received concrete expression through a partial anthropomorphization. The structure of the human body was further used to give presence to a cluster of concepts that were materialized through the juxtaposition of symbolic elements (Mikulska 2017; Vauzelle 2017). The ornaments, attributes, clothing, manner of arranging the hair, body painting, and so on formed a true visual language that enabled the names or functions of the gods and their variants to be distinguished. The image became charged with power for an audience hoping to benefit from the divinity’s favors. This audience may be individual or collective—­each group, whether ethnic or social, referred to a specific patron god, because it had given substance to them. In an interlocking system each member of the group incorporates, though in varying degrees, a fraction of her/his patron god, social group, calpulli, or corporation (Gillespie 2002; López Austin 1980). Two forms of gods may be at least partially anthropomorphic, the ixiptla (Nahuatl “covering”; Dehouve, chapter 11, this volume) (Bassett 2015; Gruzinski 2001; Hvitfeldt 1958), which is an incarnation of the god endowed with a name and defined attributes, and the nahualli (Nahuatl “co-­essence”; see Monaghan 1998; Graulich 1999; Martínez Gonzalez 2011) often animal in form. A god may thus also be represented by his nahualli: for example, Coyotl Inahual, patron of the Amanteca people, is shown as a coyote covered with feathers, or as a composite being illustrating the process of hybridization (Graulich 1999). The divinity’s presence is thus materialized in anthropomorphic objects of various materials whether permanent or not, but may also take on the form of more abstract objects, such as the sacred bundles for particular ritual acts (Bassett 2015; Guernsey and Reilly 2006). The sacred bundles, called tlaquimilolli by the Mexica (Olivier 1995) or tnani among the Mixtec (Hermann 2008) are collections of objects often very different in nature connected metaphorically or metonymically to the god they materialize (Bassett 2015; Olivier 1995, 2006). Among the materials that constitute the teotl’s body, human bones gathered together after sacrifices were often included. During the months Ochpaniztli and Tlacaxipehualiztli, for example, separation rituals were held to prepare body parts to form sacred bundles (Durán 1967). 8

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E A N D C H R I S T O P H ER S. B EEK M A N

Moreover, certain bones such as the leg or femur could also incarnate the divinity by themselves. If the ixiptla or substitute of a god on earth could take the form of statues, images, or objects, it could also be embodied in human avatars. In this way humans were so imbued with the force of their god that they became god-­humans, celebrated in myths and in life. Sacrifice could also transform the victim into a god; the priest who wore the victim’s skin and ornaments became, for the time of the rite, the divinity’s living incarnation. Similarly, Mexican rulers collected and used masks of gods (Klein 1986, 152–­157), probably to bring about a temporary embodiment of the divine in these highest of all political positions. Ethnographic examples show, moreover, the major role of ritual, “the inanimate objects ceremonially transformed into animate entities” (Bassett 2015, 15). In this sense, divine entities should be seen as a means of ritual action that varied according to the context and the goal of the ritual (Dehouve 2007). Recognizing divinities in the iconography of the Mexican Highlands thus presents particular challenges. Since a multitude of possibilities exist, the range of what is possible allows room for every hypothesis. It is possible from the images and objects available, however, to try to decode the language of the figurative representations, and we attempt to do so in this book by taking into account additional factors such as the production contexts or the identities of the works’ sponsors, makers, and users. ANCESTORS

The ancestor has a special place in Mesoamerica, not only for the ruling classes whose lineages it legitimated, but for all groups making up society (McAnany 1995). For Mesoamericans the ancestors were dead people transformed into spirits, non-­corporeal beings who continued to interact with the living (Gillespie 2002; McAnany 1995). However, not all the dead were destined to become ancestors (Neurath 2011) and, as Marcus (1998) and Headrick (2007) stress, several statuses probably existed—­close, remote, and mythical ancestors. These variations were determined by the social position they held in life, by how long ago they had died (due to the selective transmission of memory), by continuing support for them among living members of society, and perhaps also by how they died. As an effective instrument of social cohesion and group advancement, ancestor worship was practiced in the various cultures discussed in this book. It is often placed at the center of ritual among Formative cultures, or in regions G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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where explicit representations of divine entities did not exist or were not recognized as such, for example, in western Mexico (Hernández Díaz 2013; López Mestas 2007; Marcus 1998). The line between the living and the ancestor was a continuum, with the elderly forming a transitional state (as in Perrin 1996 for the Huichol). The duty of the living was to maintain not only the memory of the ancestors, but to take care of them physically, and in particular to feed them. This proximity between the living and the ancestors is part of a specific conception of the life cycle, in which life was a temporary, transient, and even permeable condition. Indeed, among the Huichol today, the aim of the ritual is not so much to communicate with the ancestors as to transform oneself temporarily into an ancestor (Neurath 2011). The associated rites may make reference to the ancestors’ curative or protective powers or have political purposes (see Morris 1991). It was also important to maintain links between the spirits of the dead and the household setting. The domestic unit seems to have been an “anchor for meaning” and the ancestor’s anthropomorphic representation may have the same function (Gillespie 2001). So manufacturing their images would have been a way to maintain social memory and retain access to the force of a spirit and, where applicable, its social position. Along the same lines, the manipulations of and interventions on human bones, very common in every period, at Chupícuaro, Teotihuacan, or among the Mexica, seem to have had the underlying logic that the intangible part of human beings was imprisoned in their skeletal remains (Gillespie 2002). On the material level, ancestor worship thus manifests itself through funerary deposits and the manipulation of bones, and in the importance they potentially occupy in iconography. The funerary deposits were made primarily beneath houses, altars, or other ritual structures, thereby energizing or sacralizing a surface construction used by their descendants. At Teotihuacan the cult of ancestors probably played a major role (Headrick 2007, 44–­45), and this is perceptible both in the presence of burials under house floors (Cowgill 2003) and in altars destined for ancestor worship (Rattray 1992). Besides the complete deposits, other isolated body parts such as skulls or jaws are also found (Manzanilla 1998). It is not impossible that the large residences of Teotihuacan each had a founding ancestor (Headrick 2007, 50). In the Mexican highlands, the most important ancestors may also have been given different mortuary treatments and been placed in sacred bundles, to which certain anthropomorphic features may have been added. At Teotihuacan the equivalent of the mortuary mask worn by certain Maya dignitaries would have been the anthropomorphic mask affixed to the sacred mummy bundles (Headrick 2007, 55). The importance of this funerary treatment can also be 10

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gauged by their miniature representation in ceramics. Headrick (2007, 57) thinks she can recognize these funerary packages in certain figurines wearing removable masks, or in others that are seated or lacking bodies but that wear imposing headdresses and face ornaments. In terms of specific iconography, the ancestors could be represented in various ways. We can recognize them in works composed of multiple registers, by their location in the register attributed to the underworld. This is well-­known among the Zapotec, for instance in the stela from Cerro de  la  Campana Tomb 5, but the visual practice also seems to have existed at Teotihuacan. Some authors sustain the interpretation that the lower scene of the fresco of Tepantitla represents a world connected to the souls of the ancestors (Headrick 2007, 49). For the Formative of Oaxaca, ceramic figurines arranged into scenes are proposed to represent ancestors, to be animated during rituals (Marcus 1998). In a particularly well-­known scene from the site of San José Mogote, one such figurine seems to take the form of an anthropo/zoomorphic flying figure (Marcus 2009, 33). But do formal morphological characteristics exist that allow the recognition of a dead person promoted to ancestor status? Ancestors may not necessarily be depicted as “old,” with wrinkles or an emaciated face, for example (Marcus 1998). On the other hand, signs of old age may well indicate seniority, anteriority, or respectability, and metaphorically the end of a cycle, a given social position, or mythical status (Billard 2015; Chamoux 2011). Furthermore, animal elements or signs of hybridity especially on the level of the face could express the transformation to ancestor status (Marcus 2009). Still within the Formative, issues of style may intervene, as in the case of the very schematic tezontli (Nahuatl “porous volcanic stone”) heads from Tetimpa, where the artisan barely modified the roughness of the basalt. Described as “carved anthropomorphic stones,” they could be confused with the Earth Lords and spirits as ancestors owning the land (Plunket and Uruñuela 1998). Taking the theme of transformation further, certain authors also propose that the representation of a temporary state, such as a pregnancy, may be likened by association of meaning to descent and ancestry (Faugère 2014; Headrick 2007). Headrick (2007, 48) adds interestingly that the ancestors might also be represented as immature beings such as babies (cf. Tate 2012). HUMAN BEINGS

Of course, human beings are also represented in the art of the Mexican highlands. Living beings often occur in the context of official images of G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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historic significance to glorify a ruler’s actions, showing especially their military exploits and ritual performance. The elites who commissioned the works thus constructed political narratives in which the human body is represented as acting in a context the spectator can identify—­a battle, ritual, or political act. This context of action is precisely what enables the living human to be distinguished. Indeed, the ability to work (Good Eshelman 2011) and to speak (López Austin 1980) are what in the tradition of the Mexican highlands distinguish humans from animals. The flow of work (Nahuatl tequitl) that a person generates is assimilated to his/her vital energy, which circulates alongside the energies of the other members of the community (Good Eshelman 2011). The individual only exists within the social relationships of his/her community. Thus, the human becomes identifiable when placed in the context of action and in a known environment. In depictions of isolated individuals, it was the ornamentation, the way of arranging the hair, and the tattoos and body painting that made it possible to emphasize certain characteristics of this human being, for they transformed a body into a person integrated into a social environment. In this context, the creation of effigies bearing this visual language in permanent materials such as stone or pottery was the surest means for portraying a socially integrated person ( Joyce 1998). From an etic perspective, researchers sometimes consider that naturalistically depicted figures represent human beings, as in the Formative cultures of central Mexico (Grove 1987; Joyce 1998) or the western region (Hernández Díaz 2013; Townsend 1998). “They are figures of men and women who are nude or lightly dressed, and manifest a profound awareness of corporeality and of what that implies about living beings, immersed in universal time and space” (Hernández Díaz 2013, 80; from the Spanish original). Yet the hollow ceramic effigies of western Mexico are not so easily identified. The depiction of clothing or ornamentation varies profoundly by region, as does the degree of naturalism, while widespread human social categories such as warriors, mothers, or musicians crosscut all such stylistic groupings (Beekman and Pickering 2016; Kirchhoff 1946). Clearly an analysis of the figural imagery needs to address regional variation, but must also evaluate known indigenous conceptions of the body rather than appealing to largely Western interpretations of form and aesthetic. The case of Teotihuacan is particularly interesting since its artwork has long been considered to include both naturalistic depictions, considered by some to be humans, and more conceptual and abstract entities thought to be divine (see, e.g., Caso 1966; Miller 1973; Pasztory 1976). Overall, the official art of Teotihuacan is described as “conceptual” by Pasztory 12

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(2005), a conscious effort to differentiate themselves from their neighbors, while Headrick highlights the fact that its supernatural entities reflect metaphysical concerns—­hence their abstract character. To conclude this inquiry into the criteria that might enable us to distinguish human beings amongst all the anthropomorphic depictions, it seems important for us to refer again to the fact that the perception of the human person is defined above all by a social context. The works of Gillespie stress the importance of considering the person (in the sense of personhood) in a given society, by insisting that the individual and the society interconnect in mutual regulation (Gillespie 2001). Among the Maya, there are anthropomorphic beings that, rather than representing individuals, might designate functions or “houses” that are metonymic references to the ruling house. She notes, “identities were not isolable essences but were linked systematically to others—­both persons and ‘houses,’ both the living and the dead—­in the reproduction and transformation of society” (Gillespie 2001, 99). In the art of Teotihuacan, all humans are represented alike as the members of a community, which distances them from any personal glorification (Headrick 2007, 26; Pasztory 1992). This absence of differentiation seems to reflect a corporate ideology, deflecting emphasis on any particular individual. The contributions in this volume make it clear that the political and social are essential for the interpretation of the objects studied. CONTRIBUTIONS

This volume includes eleven contributions concerning different regions in the Mexican highlands and various periods from the Formative to the Postclassic. Within the highlands, the center of Mexico holds a privileged position (seven chapters) owing to the importance of the cultures that developed there during Prehispanic history and the abundance of research conducted within its bounds. The Basin of Mexico and its neighbors have pride of place with a focus on the major loci: Teotihuacan (Billard, chapter 7; Turner, chapter 6), Tula (Kristan-­Graham, chapter 9), and the Mexica (Dehouve, chapter 11; Peperstraete, chapter 10). Puebla-­Tlaxcala is addressed for the Early Classic (Uruñuela and Plunket, chapter 5) and the Epiclassic (Testard and Serra Puche, chapter 8). In a more peripheral position, on the southern margins of the neo-­volcanic axis, we include a case study from the Late Formative Mixe zone of Oaxaca (Winter, chapter 4). The Formative receives more attention in the western states (Beekman, chapter 2; Faugère, chapter 1; Logan, chapter 3) because of the abundance of ceramic effigies characterizing this period. The G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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contributions highlight many of the issues raised here, and isolate a variety of factors that play a role in the formal, conceptual, and practical characteristics of anthropomorphic imagery. Concept and Image: Nahualli/Ixiptla

Our contributors suggest that the Mesoamerican ontology, particularly the ties between different beings, may be distinguished in how the body is adorned or placed in proximity to those other entities. The nahualli or “co-­ essence” is a near-­universal presence in Mesoamerican ethnography, yet its portrayal in Prehispanic contexts has only been recognized in recent decades. Beekman points to the appearance of animal co-­essences on the backs or helmets of warrior figures from Late Formative western Mexico, not as ethereal representations but as material items of headgear or ceremonial attire (as in Martínez González 2006, 13–­14, 17–­20). Whether the presence of animal-­skin headgear, as seen with rulers among the Gulf Coast Olmec, in western Mexico, and many other places, is meant to convey the same thing is not entirely clear, but is suggestive. The co-­essence may be more commonly represented than generally supposed. Beekman includes a more elaborate but related class of effigy figures from Colima that depict warriors as dancers, with removable masks in the form of animals or monsters. Winter describes the contemporaneous Late Formative life-­sized clay figures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy in Oaxaca, one of whom is a ballplayer wearing a mask with a jaguar next to the head. Uruñuela and Plunket also describe possible male warriors with masks or animal features at Early Classic Cholula. The near identity between warriors and ballplayers, particularly in the imagery of Late Formative western Mexico, and the association elsewhere in Mesoamerica between fierce animals and warriors link these distinct media as likely representations of co-­essences. Yet masks are also implicated in the ixiptla or “substitute,” both in how they are represented visually and in terms of their conceptual overtones. Dehouve considers the linguistic roots of ixiptla and finds the recurring theme of a covering or skin or mask, something that can be donned and removed at will as one adopts the mantle and abilities of a god. She finds the substitute to be less often associated with visual signifiers in her study, but she perceives its presence in the dressing of ceremonial objects or newly invested rulers in the garments of gods. Turner’s chapter finds numerous indications that the storm god’s features form a mask at Classic-­period Teotihuacan. His chapter focuses on separating out representations of different deities or distinguishing 14

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between masks and the deity itself. This highlights the role of the ixiptla in gaining access to the powers that controlled rain, agriculture, and warfare. The co-­essence and the substitute may have been associated with different social strata. Neither occurs in the Prehispanic visual record except in association with gods, rulers, and warriors. Dehouve in particular shows how the ixiptla was a manifestation of the divine in material or fleshly form, with the power of gods devolved upon rulers acting as their substitute, and the authority of rulers could be delegated in turn upon selected secondary elites serving as the ruler’s substitutes. The systematic destruction of elite culture and state religion after the Conquest may explain the ixiptla’s limited presence in the later ethnographic record (though Dehouve provides an example). The nahualli on the other hand, going by various names in various languages, is still well represented among traditional communities from one end of Mesoamerica to the other (Martínez González 2011). We would like to highlight this point to emphasize that the two concepts are not completely equivalent (Martínez González 2011; Bassett 2015, 66), which may also explain why they were not maintained in the same way. There is good reason to posit that the nahualli is a very old and widespread concept in Mesoamerican ontology. Body Parts and Proportions

Culturally specific meanings and metaphors could be indexed by highlighting different body parts or altering their proportions. Billard’s methodical review of the iconography of the Old Fire God identifies the visual package of wrinkles, missing teeth, and hunched-­over posture that define him as aged. The affinities between age, tonalli (Nahuatl “heat”), volcanism, and power explain the characteristics of his portrayal and hint at a time when community elders may have held sole political authority. Faugère suggests that the tonalli or the yollotl (Nahuatl “heart”) may be indexed not by metaphor, but by marking the part of the human body that they were thought to inhabit. Hence, Chupícuaro figurines show designs radiating away from the chest or the animistic centers in the thighs, and the forehead, where the tonalli resides, was stressed through painted decoration. She emphasizes the focus on the sensory organs, most notably on the face, that inscribes an identity or state of being onto the figurines. Dehouve’s chapter provides a more complex example. She describes a number of linguistic metaphors by which different body parts, particularly those of a ruler, may refer to desirable characteristics. Rulers or tlahtoani (Nahuatl “speaker”) possessed the ability to speak and give orders (the mouth), to G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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transmit the speech of a god (the mouth again), to hear and see more than other people (the ears, eyes), to lead others (the nose), or to conquer (again the mouth, as suggested by Turner in his chapter). These are not unlike the Western metaphor of the arm for “wielding” power. Some of Dehouve’s examples may ultimately refer to those animating components of the body such as ihiyotl (Nahuatl “breath”) or tlahtolli (Nahuatl “word”), but in many cases it is the senses themselves that hold symbolic meaning. What is problematic for purposes of visual analysis is that most of the examples given by Dehouve are not accompanied by a corresponding emphasis upon the imagery of the mouth, eyes, ears, or nose directly, but rather upon those piercing or opening rituals by which the body parts were activated or made ready to hold precious objects. One possibility to consider is that the knowledgeable representation of these body parts in visual culture may have changed over time and space. Artisans in the Formative period may have understood the special properties or inhabiting entities of different body parts, and displayed this knowledge in their creations, but had this changed by the Postclassic? Peperstraete’s contribution finds that the depiction of the human figure is very much fit-­for-­purpose in the Aztec murals of the Templo Mayor. The proportions of the human body are more pragmatic than symbolic, defined by the available space and the medium of representation. While the sculptors or potters of earlier periods embedded concepts within the images they made, the Aztec artisans for the monuments discussed by Peperstraete may have been more concerned with the space they had to fill. She notes however that those body parts that received the greatest emphasis are those most adorned with ornamentation, the head and the torso, which are also the major centers for animating forces. Fluidity and Stability in Representation

The gods of fire and water at Classic Teotihuacan show striking contrasts in the stability or mutability of their representations. Turner shows how the multivalent associations of the storm/war/earth god are indexed by complex regalia that reference first clouds, then war, then the underworld. Turner interprets the storm god’s best-­known facial features to be a mask with goggles, a five-­knot headdress, and a prominent mouth with two protruding canines. The essentially nude Old Fire God on the other hand displays a more stable core of corporal and facial iconography and an equally consistent form as a functioning brazier. The Storm God’s conceptual and iconographic complexity is mirrored by the diversity of murals, artifacts (jars), and sculptures that 16

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portray him. While the storm god corresponds well to the fluid and particulate model of the body posed by López Austin, the Old Fire God is more stable, the consistency of its representation likely dictated by its position at the heart of Teotihuacan society. The Old Fire God was at least partially a god of ancestors and the hearth, an entity largely limited to the city itself by the Classic period and found in public and private ritual contexts. The more visually diverse representations of the storm god are at least partially related to its role as the face of Teotihuacan in areas external to the city, since the demands upon it were more varied. Even the respective fates of these gods differ. The visually mutable storm god continued unhindered and recognizable into the Epiclassic and Postclassic periods, but the Classic-­period Old Fire God was rejected by Teotihuacan’s successors and reemerged with a very different and even youthful appearance under the Aztecs (Billard 2015). Public and Hidden Transcripts

Common to the different chapters is a concern with distinguishing where objects were used versus where they were deposited. Faugère emphasizes how the context of imagery is important for the interpretation of meaning, and several chapters note that even excavated objects may have passed through multiple locations before reaching their final resting place. Beekman and Faugère refer to excavation data supporting the proposal that the ceramic figurines and larger statuettes or effigies from the western highlands were used or displayed in domestic or public architectural settings, only to be finally deposited in burials. Objects used as charms, incense burners, storytelling props, ritual manipulations, or display can all potentially end up in funerary contexts, and objects found in such locations should not automatically be assigned a mortuary interpretation. Testard and Serra Puche find that figurines used as ixiptla may similarly have been used in forming narrative scenes before they were sacrificed or buried in association with public buildings. Figurines from accumulated domestic contexts versus deliberate deposits tend to be distinguished by their fragmented or complete condition, respectively, but what we currently lack is information on iconographic differences by context. Which figurines were interred in tombs compared to those represented in domestic settings? Are funerary offerings a representative subset of those used in public rituals, or are they completely different in the messages they were meant to convey? The fixed nature of some imagery makes them more useful for assessing the relative differences between public and private contexts. Winter’s analysis highlights nude figures or those engaged in sexual activity in the Cueva G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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del Rey Kong-­Oy, tying fertility to private, dark, and hidden spaces. Kristan-­ Graham’s chapter on the imagery at Epiclassic Tula Chico and Postclassic Tula Grande is the most explicit comparison of open and restricted spaces. Sculptures of standing rulers and of prone ancestors of those rulers are distinct representations found in locales with different degrees of access. She associates the living rulers with public spaces, while their dead ancestors are usually restricted to more private house compounds or halls. These structural distinctions suggest that publicly visible anthropomorphic portrayals are more likely to be gods or living rulers, while ancestors are more likely to be displayed in private settings. To what degree may these public and private distinctions hold parallels to Mesoamerican cosmology? Faugère describes how the human body played the role of microcosm to the macrocosm of the broader landscape or the cosmos as a whole, a theme represented in multiple chapters. Winter finds just such a micro/macro correspondence in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy. The explicit sexual imagery is present not only in a private context, but specifically within a cave, which represented both the underworld and the entrance to the sacred Mesoamerican mountain of sustenance. The Old Fire God of Billard’s chapter was associated with volcanos and the sacred mountain, relating him to the heavens and placing him at the center of the Mesoamerican cosmos. The presence of images of the Old Fire God transformed the private and restricted lineage altars into conduits to the heavens. This in turn may reflect the prominent role of lineages in Teotihuacan society, and their independent access to the divine. The deposits of expended ixiptla beneath the stairs up the Flowers Pyramid at Xochitécatl similarly brought substitutes for the gods closer to the heavens. Kristan-­Graham’s analysis of Tula Chico and Tula Grande placed ancestral representations in halls, which she notes as having drains. She suggests that flooding of these spaces would have created a natural tollan (Nahuatl “place of reeds”), and it may also have been an interpretive association between the ancestors and the watery underworld. Active Use, Performance, and Storytelling

The active use and manipulation of images is favored by many of the contributors to this volume. This is in some cases inherent to the object itself, most clearly exemplified by the anthropomorphic braziers of the Old Fire God. The transitive association between the tonalli, the heat associated with elderly and/or powerful people, and the fire of the brazier is direct, linear, and all the more powerful as an evocation of the god. Turner and Peperstraete

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discuss the portrayal of masks and headdresses worn in ritual impersonations. The small figurines cited by Faugère suggest a range of potential uses, particularly for individual rituals in which the object would have been held and manipulated in some manner. Due to their small size, these same small pieces could potentially have been strung as pendants. The larger figures discussed by Beekman and Faugère for western and north-­central Mexico were less likely to be manipulated than they were to be displayed, or placed in proximity to others to form tableaux. Beekman focuses on these larger pieces, and their flexibility for developing multiple unique performances of lineage or cosmic histories. Sets of figurines are groups that bring together varying proportions of genders, roles, and so on, while scenes are in situ arrangements of figurines that may convey meaning based on their placement relative to one another. Our authors suggest that both were taking place. Logan establishes matching “male” and “female” ceramic effigies as a very common set in Late Formative Colima, Nayarit, and Jalisco. Other sets described by Faugère for Middle to Late Formative Chupícuaro burials vary in their composition, and close comparisons of the specific numbers and features in relation to the characteristics of the individuals they accompanied may clarify their intended meaning (see Beekman 2016 and Rhodes and Mountjoy 2016 for examples). The occurrence of sexually adult female statuettes in child burials would certainly suggest that the images are not necessarily meant to correspond to the identity of those they accompanied, and other meanings need to be explored. Testard and Serra Puche agree with recent research from earlier and later periods that scenes related to a mix of mythical narratives and real social settings could have conveyed proper social roles. Scenes are particularly important for the relationships they portray between characters that might otherwise appear only as isolated pieces. The most detailed scenes are the examples from western Mexico alluded to by Beekman and in which buildings and figurines are permanently fixed onto slabs. The more convincing interpretations are that they show marriages, battles, and rituals—­this may in turn provide a guide for interpreting more ad hoc scenes made up of separate figurines. It is regrettable that the scenes out of western Mexico lack excavated context, while the few excavated examples lack detailed publication of the imagery. The most evocative of the performative figurines may be those discussed by Uruñuela and Plunket for Early Classic Cholula. The authors propose that these simply made anthropomorphs and animals were used in small-­scale “puppet” shows that were part of developing neighborhood identities during this period of rapid population influx. The figurines’ secular and/or neighborhood G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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associations expand the potential uses of images beyond simply the ritual or political fields. The authors contextualize these pieces within a longer history of performative figurines in central Mexico, such as the Xolalpan-­phase articulated figurines from Teotihuacan. As representations of gods, ancestors, and human beings, all of these portable anthropomorphic images were well suited to active storytelling and the development of identity and social memory for groups of various sizes. There is to some degree a predictable difference in uses for imagery that is large and static compared to smaller and more mobile objects. Examples of the former, such as the sculptures of Tula and the murals of the Templo Mayor, decorate or embellish spaces that may have had specific functions. But even these examples may have had an active use and been “read” by viewers. Winter proposes, for example, that the creation of clay figures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy to either side of a pathway may have framed a kind of active storytelling as viewers walked through the cave. Gender/Class

The relative importance assigned to gender or to class is a significant theme among many of our chapters. Logan discusses a case in which gender and class received opposing emphases in spatially discrete style zones. She examines ceramic effigies of couples in far western Mexico during the Late Formative period, a body of visual material that has often been treated as monolithic in function and meaning. The equal representation of genders is rare in Mesoamerica, and it is surprising that this theme has not previously received this level of attention. Sexual characteristics receive their greatest expression in those areas of western Mexico where there is less evidence of social ranking. In central Jalisco and southern Nayarit on the other hand, where public architecture and social inequalities were most clearly expressed in the Late Formative period, gender fades in importance in favor of the display of regalia associated with rank or class. A more temporal contrast is described in the chapters by Faugère and Uruñuela and Plunket. The predominance of sexually defined images in the Formative gave way to a greater emphasis upon costumes that covered up sexual identity at the end of that period or in the Early Classic. This seems particularly evident in Turner’s discussion of Tlaloc at Teotihuacan. The tendency becomes more extreme by the Post-­Classic, when Dehouve argues that markers of status among the Aztec had become even more temporary, relying upon clothing, jewelry, and body painting to convey status and identity. 20

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Bodies themselves, as Peperstraete notes, had become assemblages of parts or armatures for symbols rather than true bodies. In concert with this shift is an increased emphasis upon male representations. Based on her sample from western Mexico, Logan argues that male sexual characteristics were obscured as they adopted some costume elements associated with women in an attempt to co-­opt the spiritual authority of the latter, an argument similar to that made by Joyce (1996) in other contexts. Testard and Serra Puche also argue for a higher status and more diverse range of social roles for women at Epiclassic Xochitécatl. The site is better known for the Cacaxtla battle murals, whose depictions of female or feminized warriors have received varying interpretations (McCafferty and McCafferty 1994). Testard and Serra Puche find a rapid diversification of depictions of women as orators, warriors, political dignitaries, and religious figures, an impressive change that demands a reexamination of the battle murals. We should also consider these changes in visual representation within a broader assessment of the Epiclassic as a period of disruption of existing social norms, perhaps allowing greater flexibility in social roles than previously or, at the very least, a change in norms of visual representation by which women might be portrayed in a wider range of social roles. FINAL THOUGHTS

The variety and abundance of the examples developed by our authors demonstrate the rich potential of anthropomorphic imagery to elucidate personhood, conceptions of the body, and the relationship of humans to other entities, to nature, and to the cosmos itself. Anthropomorphic representations illustrate these perceptions through their manufacture, form, context, and uses. We see continuities in the Mesoamerican analogistic ontology extending back into the Formative period, but legitimate questions remain as to whether they fully correspond to the beliefs of the contact period. This collection, in the end, only emphasizes the scope of the work that remains to be accomplished. We wish to thank all those who have helped in the completion of this book, including the authors, the reviewers whose comments permitted us to improve upon the initial draft, and the staff of the University Press of Colorado. NOTE

1. For example, in certain monumental Aztec sculptures, the base is decorated but is invisible when the sculpture stands upright. G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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REFERENCES

Bassett, Molly H. 2015. The Fate of Earthly Things: Aztec Gods and God-­Bodies. Austin: University of Texas Press. Beekman, Christopher S. 2016. “Who Did the Western Mexican Figures Portray? The Correlation between Figures and Their Contexts.” In Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Robert B. Pickering, 97–­108. Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Museum. Beekman, Christopher S., and Robert B. Pickering, eds. 2016. Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment. Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Museum. Beyer, Hermann. 1965. Mito y simbología del México Antiguo, ed. and transl. C. Cook de Leonard. El México Antiguo, volumen 10. México, DF: Sociedad Alemana Mexicanista. Billard Claire. 2015. “Le Vieux Dieu. Vies et morts d’une divinité ignée sur les Hauts Plateaux Mexicains.” PhD dissertation, Université Paris I, Panthéon-­Sorbonne. Boric, Dusan, and John Robb, eds. 2008. Past Bodies: Body-­Centered Research in Archaeology. London: Oxbow Books. Caso, Alfonso. 1966. “Dioses y signos teotihuacanos.” In Teotihuacan, Onceava Mesa Redonda, 249–­275. México, DF: Sociedad Mexicana de Antropología. Chamoux, Marie Noëlle. 1981. Indiens de la Sierra: La communauté paysanne au Mexique. Paris: Editions L’Harmattan. Chamoux, Marie Noëlle. 2011. “Persona, animacidad, fuerza.” In La noción de vida en Mesoamérica, ed. Perig Pitrou, Ma. del Carmen Valverde, and Johannes Neurath, 119–­154. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos. Costa, Luiz, and Carlos Fausto. 2010. “The Return of the Animists. Recent Studies of Amazonian Ontologies.” Religion and Society: Advances in Research 1:89–­109. Cowgill, George. 2003. “Teotihuacan: Cosmic Glories and Mundane Needs.” In The Social Construction of Ancient Cities, ed. Monica L. Smith, 37–­55. Washington and London: Smithsonian Books. Dehouve, Danièle. 2007. Offrandes et sacrifice en Mésoamérique. Paris: Editions Riveneuve. Dehouve, Danièle. 2014. “Introduction. Representations and measurements of the human body in Mesoamerica.” Ateliers d’Anthropologie 40. http://​ateliers​.revues​ .org/​9622. Descola, Philippe. 2005. Par-­delà nature et culture. Collection Bibliothèque des Sciences de l’Homme. Paris: Gallimard. Descola, Philippe, ed. 2010. La fabrique des Images. Paris: Somogy/Musée du Quai Branly. 22

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Descola, Philippe. 2013. Beyond Nature and Culture, transl. Janet Lloyd. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Durán, Fray Diego. 1967. Historia de las Indias de Nueva España e islas de tierra firme, ed. Angel Ma. Garibay. México, DF: Porrua. Faugère, Brigitte. 2014. “Montrer ou cacher le corps humain: Quelques réflexions sur la conception du corps et ses représentations dans les hautes terres du Mexique préhispanique au Préclassique et au Classique.” Ateliers d’Anthropologie 40. http://​ ateliers​.revues​.org/​9622. Galinier, Jacques. 1990. La Mitad del Mundo: Cuerpos y cosmos en los rituales otomies. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/Centros de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos/Centro Nacional Indigenista. Gell, Alfred. 1998. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Gillespie, Susan D. 2001. “Personhood, Agency, and Mortuary Ritual: A Case Study from the Ancient Maya.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 20: 73–­112. Gillespie, Susan D. 2002. “Body and Soul among the Maya: Keeping the Spirits in Place.” In The Space and Place of Death, ed. Helaine Silverman and David Small, 67–­78. Archeological Papers 11. Arlington, VA: American Anthropological Association. Gillespie, Susan D., and Rosemary A. Joyce. 1998. “Deity Relationships in Mesoamerican Cosmologies: The Case of the Maya God L.” Ancient Mesoamerica 9: 279–­296. Good Eshelman, Catharine. 2011. “Una teoría náhuatl del trabajo y la fuerza: sus implicaciones para el concepto de la persona y la noción de vida.” In La noción de vida en Mesoamérica, ed. Perig Pitrou, Ma. del Carmen Valverde, and Johannes Neurath, 181–­204. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/ Centros de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos. Graulich, Michel. 1999. Ritos aztecas. Las fiestas de las veintenas. México, DF: Instituto Nacional Indigenista, México. Grove, David. 1987. Ancient Chalcatzingo. Austin: University of Texas Press. Gruzinski, Serge. 2001. Images at War: Mexico from Columbus to Blade Runner (1492–­2019). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Guernsey, Julia, and Kent F. Reilly, eds. 2006. Sacred Bundles. Ritual Acts of Wrapping and Binding in Mesoamerica. Ancient America special publication n°1. Barnardsville, NC: Boundary End Archaeology Research Center. Halperin, Christina T., Katherine A. Faust, Rhonda Taube, and Aurore Giguet, eds. 2009. Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Hamilakis, Yannis, Mark Pluciennik, and Sarah Tarlow, eds. 2001. Thinking through the Body: Archaeologies of Corporeality. New York: Springer Press. G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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Headrick, Annabeth. 2007. The Teotihuacan Trinity: The Sociopolitical Structure of an Ancient Mesoamerican City. Austin: University of Texas Press. Hermann, Manuel. 2008. “Religiosidad y bultos sagrados en la Misteca prehispánica.” Desacatos 27: 75–­94. Hernández Díaz, Verónica. 2013. “Muerte y vida en la cultura de tumbas de tiro.” In Miradas renovadas al Occidente Indígena de México, ed. Marie Areti Hers, 79–­132. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/Centros de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos. Houston, Stephen. 2014. The Life Within: Classic Maya and the Matter of Permanence. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Houston, Stephen, David Stuart, and Karl Taube. 2006. The Memory of Bones: Body, Being and Experience among the Classic Maya. Austin: University of Texas Press. Hvidtfeldt, Arild. 1958. Teotl and Ixiptlatli. Some Central Conceptions in Ancient Mexican Religion. Copenhagen: Munksgaard. Ichon, Alain. 1973. La religión de los Totonacas de la Sierra. Serie de Antropología Social no. 16. México, DF: Instituto Nacional Indigenista. Ingold, Tim, and Gisli Palsson, eds. 2013. Biosocial Becomings: Integrating Social and Biological Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Joyce, Rosemary. 1996. “The Construction of Gender in Classic Maya Monuments.” In Gender and archaeology, ed. Rita P. Wright, 167–­195. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Joyce, Rosemary. 1998. “Performing the Body in Prehispanic Central America.” Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics 33:147–­165. Joyce, Rosemary. 2000. Gender and Power in Prehispanic Mesoamerica. Austin: University of Texas Press. Kirchhoff, Paul. 1946. “La cultura del Occidente de México a través de su arte.” In Arte Precolombino del Occidente de México, ed. Salvador Toscano, 49–­69. México, DF: Secretaria de Educación Pública. Klein, Cecilia F. 1986. “Masking Empire: The Material Effects of Masks in Aztec Mexico.” Art History 9:135–­167. Latour, Bruno. 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-­Network Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lesure, Richard. 2002. “The Goddess Diffracted. Thinking about the Figurines of Early Villages.” Current Anthropology 43:587–­601. Lesure, Richard. 2005. “Linking Theory and Evidence in an Archaeology of Human Agency: Iconography, Style and Theories of Embodiment.” Journal of Anthropological Method and Theory 12:237–­255. López Austin, Alfredo. 1980. Cuerpo humano e ideología: las concepciones de los antiguos nahuas. 2 volumes. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. 24

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López Austin, Alfredo. 1983. “Nota sobre la fusión y la fisión de los dioses en el panteón mexica.” Anales de Antropología Tomo II, 20:75–­87. López Austin, Alfredo. 1990. Myths of the Opossum. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. López Austin, Alfredo. 1996. The Rabbit on the Face of the Moon: Mythology in the Mesoamerican Tradition. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. López Austin, Alfredo. 1997. Tamoanchan, Tlalocan: Places of Mist. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. López Austin, Alfredo, and Leonardo López Luján. 2001. El Pasado Indígena. México, DF: Fondo de Cultura Económica. López Mestas, Lorenza. 2007. “La ideología. Un punto de acercamiento para el estudio de la interacción entre el Occidente de México y Mesoamérica.” In Dinámicas culturales entre el Occidente, el Centro-­Norte y la Cuenca de México, del Preclásico al Epiclásico, ed. Brigitte Faugère, 37–­50, Zamora: El Colegio de Michoacan. McAnany, Patricia. 1995. Living with the Ancestors: Kinship and Kingship in the Ancient Maya Society. Austin: University of Texas Press. McCafferty, Geoffrey, and Sharisse McCafferty. 1994. “The Conquered Women of Cacaxtla. Gender Iden­tity or Gender Ideology?” Ancient Mesoamerica 5:159–­172. McKeever Furst, Jill Leslie. 1995. The Natural History of the Soul in Ancient Mexico. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Malamoud, Charles, and Jean Pierre Vernant, eds. 1986. Corps des Dieux. Paris: Gallimard. Manzanilla, Linda. 1998. “Living with the Ancestors and Offering to the Gods. Domestic Ritual at Teotihuacan.” In Domestic Ritual in Ancient Mesoamerica, ed. Patricia Plunket, 43–­52. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Monograph 46. Los Angeles: University of California Press. Marcus, Joyce. 1998. Women’s Ritual in Formative Oaxaca: Figurine Making, Divination, Death and the Ancestors. Memoirs of the Museum of Anthropology 33. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan. Marcus, Joyce. 2009. “Rethinking Figurines.” In Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena, ed. Christina T. Halperin, Katherine A. Faust, Rhonda Taube, and Aurore Giguet, 25–­50. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Martínez González, Roberto. 2006. Nahualli, imagen y representación. Dimensión Antropológica 13:7–­47. Martínez González, Roberto. 2011. El Nahualismo. Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, DF. Martínez González, Roberto. 2012. “De pies a cabeza: una primera aproximación a la imagen corporal P’urhépecha a través de la Relación de Michoacan.” Anales de Antropología 46:155–­202. G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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Martínez González, Roberto. 2016. “Los dioses no entienden las metáforas: Realidad y representación en Mesoamérica.” Anales de Antropología 50:3–­23. Martínez González, Roberto, and Carlos Barona. 2015. “La noción de persona en Mesoamérica: Un diálogo de perspectivas.” Anales de Antropología 49(II):13–­72. Martínez González, Roberto, and Larissa Mendoza. 2011. “¿Por qué los agricultores cazan y los cazadores no? Aproximaciones etnológicas a la ausencia de escenas cinegéticas en el arte rupestre paleolítico.” Dimensión Antropológica 18:7–­41. Mikulska, Katarzyna. 2017. “El dios en mosaico? La composición de la imagen de la deidad en los códices adivinatorios.” Trace 71:40–­75. Miller, Arthur. 1973. The Mural Painting of Teotihuacan. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Monaghan, John. 1998. “The Person, Destiny, and the Construction of Difference in Mesoamerica.” RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 33:137–­146. Monaghan, John D. 2000. “Theology and History in the Study of Mesoamerican Religions.” In Supplement to the Handbook of Middle American Indians, Ethnology, ed. Barbara Edmonson and Victoria R. Bricker, 24–­49. Austin: University of Texas Press. Morris, Ian. 1991. “The Archaeology of Ancestors: The Saxe-­Goldstein Hypothesis Revisited.” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 1:147–­169. Neurath, Johannes. 2011. “Vecinos, gente y ancestros: Ambivalencias de los conceptos de vida y persona entre los huicholes.” In La noción de vida en Mesoamérica, ed. Perig Pitrou, Ma. del Carmen Valverde, and Johannes Neurath, 205–­230. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/Centros de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos. Nicholson Henry B. 1971. “Religion in Pre-­Hispanic Central Mexico.” In Handbook of Middle American Indians: Archaeology of Northern Mesoamerica, Part One, ed. Gordon F. Ekholm and Ignacio Bernal, 395–­446. Austin: University of Texas Press. Olivier, Guilhem. 1995. “Les paquets sacrés ou la mémoire cachée des indiens du Mexique central (XVe–­XVIe siècles).” Journal de la Société de Américanistes 81:105–­141. Olivier, Guilhem. 2006. “The Sacred Bundles and the Coronation of the Aztec King in Mexico-­Tenochtitlan.” In Sacred Bundles. Ritual Acts of Wrapping and Binding in Mesoamerica, ed. Julia Guernsey and Kent F. Reilly, 199–­225. Ancient America special publication n°1. Barnardsville, NC: Boundary End Archaeology Research Center. Orr, Heather, and Matthew Looper, eds. 2014. Wearing Culture: Dress and Regalia in Early Mesoamerica and Central America. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Osborne, Robin, and Jeremy Tanner, eds. 2007. Art’s Agency and Art History. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. 26

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Panofsky, Erwin. 1960. Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art. New York: Harper and Row. Pasztory, Esther. 1976. The Murals of Tepantitla, Teotihuacan. 2 volumes. New York: Garland Publishing. Pasztory, Esther. 1983. Aztec Art. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Pasztory, Esther. 1992. “Abstraction and the Rise of a Utopian State at Teotihuacan.” In Art, Ideology, and the City of Teotihuacan, ed. Janet Berlo, 281–­320. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Pasztory, Esther. 2005. Thinking with Things: Toward a New Vision of Art. Austin: University of Texas Press. Perrin, Michel. 1996. “The Urukáme, a Crystallization of the Soul: Death and Memory.” In People of the Peyote, ed. Stacy B. Schaefer and Peter T. Furst, 403–­428. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Pitarch, Pedro. 2012. “The Two Maya Bodies: An Elementary Model of Tzeltal Personhood.” Ethnos 77: 93–­114. DOI: 10.1080/00141844.2011.590217. Pitrou, Perig. 2011. “La noción de vida en Mesoamérica. Introducción.” In La noción de vida en Mesoamérica, ed. Perig Pitrou, Ma. del Carmen Valverde, and Johannes Neurath, 9–­40. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/Centros de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos. Pitrou, Perig. 2012. “Figuration des Processus Vitaux et Co-­Activite dans la Sierra Mixe de Oaxaca (Mexique).” L’Homme 202:77–­111. Plunket, Patricia, and Gabriela Uruñuela. 1998. “Shrines, Ancestors and the Volcanic Landscape at Tetimpa, Puebla.” In Domestic Ritual in Ancient Mesoamerica, ed. Patricia Plunket, 31–­42. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Monograph 46. Los Angeles: University of California Press. Raby, Dominique. 2013. “Comidas del Zopilote. Ofrenda, limpieza y empatía en un ritual Agricola (Alto Balsas Nahua, México).” Amérique Latine Histoire et Mémoire. Les Cahiers ALHIM 25. Consulted 19 September 2016. http://​alhim​.revues​.org /​4496. Rattray, Evelyn. 1992. The Teotihuacan Burials and Offerings: a Commentary and Inventory. Vanderbilt University Publications in Anthropology No. 42. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University. Rhodes, Jill A., and Joseph B. Mountjoy. 2016. “From the Living to the Dead: Connecting the Ceramic Figures with the People of the Shaft and Chamber Tomb Culture.” In Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Robert B. Pickering, 23–­38. Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Museum. Sahagún, Fray Bernardino de. 1969. Historia general de las cosas de Nueva España, ed. A. M. Garibay. 4 volumes. México, DF: Editorial Porrúa. G ods, A ncestors, and H uman B eings

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Sahagún, Fray Bernardino de. 1993. Primeros Memoriales, ed. F. Anders. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Sandstrom, Alan R. 1998. “El nene lloroso y el espíritu nahua del maíz: el cuerpo humano como símbolo clave en la Huasteca veracruzana.” In Nuevos aportes al conocimiento de la Huasteca, ed. J. Ruvalcaba Mercado, 59–­94. México, DF: Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social. Sandstrom, Alan R., and Pamela Effrein Sandstrom. 1986. Traditional Papermaking and Paper Cult Figures of Mexico. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Solis, Felipe. 2002. “Head of Coyolxauhqui.” In Aztecs, ed. Eduardo Matos Moctezuma and Felipe Solis Olguin, 304, 464. London: Royal Academy of Arts. Tate, Carolyn E. 2012. Reconsidering Olmec Visual Culture: The Unborn, Women, and Creation. Austin: University of Texas Press. Townsend, Richard F. 1979. State and Cosmos in the Art of Tenochtitlan. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Townsend Richard F., ed. 1998. Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past. Chicago, IL: Art Institute of Chicago. Vauzelle, Loïc. 2017. “Los dioses mexicanos y los elementos naturales en sus atuendos: unos materiales polisémicos.” Trace 71: 76–­110. Vernant, Jean-­Pierre. 1986. “Présentation.” In Corps des Dieux, ed. Charles Malamoud and Jean-­Pierre Vernant, 7–­16. Paris: Éditions Gallimard. Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 1992. From the Enemy’s Point of View: Humanity and Divinity in an Amazonian Society. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

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1 In Mesoamerica, clay figurines are common to all periods of Prehispanic history, but they constitute a more important part of material culture during the Formative in comparison to later periods. They are particularly emblematic productions of the Middle and Late Formative periods, and many hypotheses have been formulated regarding what they represent and the function that these objects may have had (among them Blomster 2009; Cyphers 1993; Follensbee 2009; Grove and Gillespie 2002; Joyce 2003, 2007; Lesure 1997; Marcus 1998, 2009; Meissner et al. 2013). In this chapter, I adopt the same line of inquiry, in that we wish to tackle the issue of the meaning and function of the miniature anthropomorphic clay productions of the Chupícuaro culture through a study of their contexts and their associations within different deposits. Reprising an earlier observation by Marcus (1996), Joyce (2009, 415) insists that we must take advantage of the “excellent contextual information that is one of the major strengths of contemporary Mesoamerican figurines studies,” and here we will consider the contexts of these miniature productions in north-­central Mexico (figure 1.1). Anthropomorphic clay figurines from the Chupí­ cuaro tradition have long been admired for their aesthetic qualities and for the fact that they depict individuals engaged in various daily activities. They were produced in abundance during the Late Formative period in the eastern part of the Bajío, in the states of

Pretty Face and Naked Body in Context Meanings and Uses of Chupícuaro Figurines (Guanajuato) during the Late Formative Brigitte Faugère

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c001

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Figure 1.1. Archaeological map of the Acámbaro valley, Guanajuato. Credit: Chupícuaro Project of Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y Centroamericanos/ Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique.

Guanajuato and Michoacan, but for a long time their precise contexts were lost because they came from illegal excavations. Context could be identified in a very small number of cases, but we now have at our disposal an important corpus originating in the work carried out in the Acámbaro region since 1999 where, thanks to extensive excavations, a substantial collection of contextualized clay figurines was recovered (Darras and Faugère 2008, 2010; Faugère 2014, 2018; Faugère and Darras 2008). Unlike the Classic-­period Maya who depicted captives only in the nude, or the rare depictions of nudity in Classic or Postclassic Highland Mexico, Formative figurines in general and the Chupícuaro culture in particular are partially or completely nude. As we see it, the representation of the body in its entirety, focusing on a particular part of the anatomy—­or, to the contrary, erasing or even obliterating body segments—­can help us to understand what Mesoamericans sought to portray through the medium of the human body. Consequently, this can help us to discern the meaning of the figurines and the status of the persons depicted (Faugère 2014). 30

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In this chapter, I propose to approach the Chupícuaro anthropomorphic figures from two angles: yy

yy

A review of their contexts, as these can provide information on the function of the artifacts as well as provide clues to their meanings. A synthesis based on earlier works carried out in the Solis dam region and on recent research1 is presented. I include an iconographic analysis that reinforces the study of the artifacts’ meaning, in particular by examining morphological differences in the beings represented in miniature and in the depiction of different body segments.

Interpretations are based on principles of Mesoamerican comparative analogy since “the interdisciplinary nature of Mesoamerican studies makes distinguishing lexicographers from art historians from scholars of religions rather artificial, as their best work often occurs in consultation and concert” (Bassett 2015, 47). Situated geographically close to the high Central Plateau, Chupícuaro from its beginnings established relations with the cultures of the Valley of Mexico and participated in that region’s historical sequence until at least the fall of Teotihuacan. We base our work on these comparisons, and on the idea initially proposed by López Austin (1980) that there existed in Mesoamerica a common ideological base established over time, of which certain aspects are still present today among certain modern groups. This continuity makes it possible to develop trustworthy analogies to data from the Postclassic and colonial period to find trends that also reflect the mentality of Formative cultures. CHUPÍCUARO FIGURINES TODAY

Chupícuaro figurines were produced in copious quantities during the Late Formative period in the upper Lerma river valley, near the present-­day city of Acámbaro, Guanajuato. Their popularity on the precolombian art market explains how these figurines came to be widely disseminated among public and private collections since the 1920s. These miniature representations (most commonly about 3–­20 cm high) are predominantly anthropomorphic and mainly female (figure 1.2). They are solid when small to medium in size, and larger examples (up to approximately 35 cm high) can be hollow or partially so (particularly the torso). They predominantly depict naked women, usually with their hands crossed under the chest or resting on a rounded stomach, pointing to pregnancy. Less commonly, they P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

31

Figure 1.2. Chupícuaro figurines from San Cayetano burial (figures 1.8 and 1.9): (a) the leading figure of the group with slant eyes and (b) one of the supine figures with double-­ perforated eyes. Credit: drawing by S. Eliès.

can carry in their arms a child, a dog, or more rarely objects like jars or goblets, or they may be engaged in diverse everyday activities. The males differ in their body postures, frequently with one hand on the chest and the other on the lower abdomen, and also by the fact that they are clothed and wear more varied accessories: belts, loincloths, cone-­shaped headdresses, or turbans. Finally, zoomorphic representations are also quite frequent, particularly dogs and birds. In the past, the figurines were known predominantly from the art market, and this has led to a formal and etic approach to the figurines, forced by the dissociation of the objects from their contexts of production and from the society that has produced them (e.g., Flores 1992, 1997; Peterson 1955, 1956). It also explains why the Chupícuaro region has been a magnet for looters who sought out figurines, and why they were feeding into the illicit market in the same way as Chupícuaro ceramics. However, the situation began to change after 1940, when intensive excavations began near the village of Chupícuaro, a few months before it was flooded by the Solis dam (Rubín de la Borbolla 1948). A few articles were published by the team members immediately after the fieldwork (Estrada Balmori 1949; Porter 1948; Porter and Estrada Balmori 1945). Subsequently, Porter took responsibility for publishing the bulk of the data collected by that research program, first in a monograph in which the archaeological material was described in general terms and accompanied by copious illustrations (Porter 1956), and later in another volume that included a substantial appendix with descriptions of the tombs and their contents 32

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(Frierman 1969). In those two works, Porter treated the figurines in detail and she proposed a classification by comparing the figurines and other excavated materials with the better-­dated ceramics of the Mexico Basin. In this way, she identified six categories of figurines, including four (“Slant eyes,” “Choker,” “Prognathic,” and “Crude”) that are comparatively small and solid, the “Large figurines”2 that comprise the hollow statuettes, and lastly a category of imported figurines, all of them placed by Porter in the Late Formative. On the basis of a more-­detailed comparative study by McBride (1969) of stylistic similarities between Chupícuaro ceramics and those of the Formative Basin of Mexico, for which a few radiocarbon dates were available, Porter revised the chronological position of the different types identified some thirteen years before. The whole series is thus dated within an interval from 600 to 100 bc, with an earlier phase characterized by the “Choker” and “Prognathic” types and a later phase characterized by the “Slant eyes.” The examination of other collections coming from surveys or stratigraphic excavations in the region has corroborated that typology (Florance 1985, 1993; Wilson 1985). Today, this typochronology of the Chupícuaro figurines is considered reliable. Indeed, within the context of the recent Chupícuaro research programme, some 900 figurines coming from very diverse contexts were analyzed and the well-­dated stratigraphic sequence at our disposal enables us to place these types conclusively along a temporal scale (Darras and Faugère 2005, 2010). Some of these pieces can be easily integrated into Porter’s typology, even if the fact that excavations were extended to sites outside the river valley made it necessary to create new types for figurines produced from a still-­later period.3 When creating the new types, it became necessary to completely revise the terminology and to use a uniform system for all the types found in the Acámbaro region.4 For that reason, we opted to name the types after the site where they were identified for the first time: yy

Chupícuaro (figure 1.3) is the equivalent of the “Slant eyes” type (Porter 1956), also called H4 in the Basin of Mexico (Vaillant 1931), and belongs to the Late Chupícuaro phase, between 400 and 100 bc (Darras and Faugère 2005).

yy

Munguía (figure 1.4), called the “Choker” type by Porter (1956), is absent in the Valley of Mexico, is much more uniform in size than the “Slant Eyes” type, and dates from the Early Chupícuaro phase, between 600 and 400 bc.

yy

Rayo (figure 1.5) reprises Porter’s (1956) “Prognathic” type. Stylistically close to the Munguía type, but markedly less common in the collections of the Chupícuaro Project, it dates from the Early Chupícuaro phase.

P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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Figure 1.3. Chupícuaro-­type figurines. Credit: photo by B. Faugère.

Figure 1.4. Munguía-­type figurine from La Tronera. Credit: photo by B. Faugère.

Figure 1.5. Rayo-­type figurine from Cuizillo Don Fidel. Credit: photo by B. Faugère.

yy

The “Crude” type created by Porter (1956) may belong to the Early Chupícuaro phase but has not been identified in more recent collections.

yy

Finally, Porter’s “Large hollow” type (figure 1.6) comprises larger pieces that are completely or partially hollow, and takes the form of highly polished standing females. One specimen of that type, recovered in a burial of the Late Chupícuaro phase, was published by Porter in 1956. Recent excavations failed to uncover complete pieces, but yielded some fragments. All these fragments are distributed Figure 1.6. Hollow statuette among levels belonging to the Early and Late from the Louvre. Credit: Chupícuaro phases. drawing by S. Eliès.

FIGURINES IN CONTEXT

We take archaeological contexts as our starting point. One particular aspect, however, needs to be clarified right from the start. The small, solid figurines are identical to a remarkable extent whether they come from a funerary or domestic context, but those found in a domestic context are almost always fragmented, whereas those from tombs are mostly in one piece. In certain cases, this observation may be due to taphonomic problems, since most specimens found outside the burials come from fill and trampled surfaces. However, we think it would be interesting to study the breakage patterns (Chapman 2000), as the heads are often found alone, separated from the more or less whole bodies in what may be a manifestation of intentional breakage. On the other hand, the only hollow statuette found in context and in one piece (Porter, 1956) does come from a burial. Funerary Contexts

The abundance of complete figurines circulating on the art market is probably due to the fact that many of them come from funerary contexts. The funerary deposition raises a number of specific questions regarding the status of these objects—­are they personal belongings of the deceased individual? Accompanying objects? Offerings? Remnants of funerary rites celebrated at the time of the burial? P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

35

Viejo Pueblo of Chupícuaro and Surroundings The discussion here relies on those publications stemming from the salvage project carried out at the end of the 1940s in the Lerma river valley before the construction of the Solis dam, and in particular on the appendix of Porter’s 1969 publication. Indeed, this is a very significant document, since it includes a description of the content of each of the 396 burials, sufficiently precise as to still be useful today. Furthermore, a number of articles of considerable interest were published by the different members of the team while the excavations were still underway. Articles Published Shortly after the Excavation

Although limited in their content, these publications by researchers who participated in the fieldwork possess the virtue of describing finds in situ. Some interesting details were not repeated later by Porter, who was writing, as mentioned before, several years after the end of the field operations, with only a few notes apart from her own records and at a time when the materials (offerings and bones, but also graphic records of the excavations) were no longer available. We consider these initial observations to be highly significant. As early as 1948, Estrada Balmori and Piña Chan mentioned the existence of figurines in the burials: “there is no doubt that the clay statuettes constitute a depiction of the physical types of Chupícuaro. They are intended to represent the deceased person. Each group has personal features that are differentially marked. Many of these figurines were found inside vessels, near personal objects like ear spools, etc.” (Estrada Balmori and Piña Chan 1948, 40; translation by the author). At the time, 173 burials had been excavated. As for their contexts, the authors also specified that the figurines were almost never found in primary burials of adults. In her article of 1949, Elma Estrada Balmori, now referencing a corpus of 240 burials, highlighted the fact that figurines played a significant role in the funerary offerings and that figurines coming from funerary contexts shared specific features and were, in the main, arranged together so as to form assemblages that, according to her, re-­created scenes of everyday life. Using the examples of Burials 93, 95, and 107, she mentioned in particular their arrangement into scenes in which a chief (male) figure was accompanied by several identical female specimens, which might be interpreted as a reference to polygyny. Other groups seemed to represent family scenes, usually with figurines that were carefully laid out in vessels and associated particularly with the burials of subadults. She also explained that the burial of Subadult 108 included a scene related to the age of the deceased in which a woman was

36

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rocking a child in a cradle (Estrada Balmori 1949, 83). Finally, she noted that Burials 95 and 107 included depictions of sexed individuals with traces of body painting. This decoration comprised black lines at the hips for the women that she interpreted as a short skirt, and black fringes on the thighs and tattoos on men’s legs of the Chupícuaro type. The Munguía type included facial painting on the eyebrows, circles on the shoulders, and black traces at the hips. Although it was unfortunately impossible to determine the sexes of the individuals in the burials she cites (see table 1.1), it is interesting to take note of this information regarding the decoration of bodies, since any pigments almost always disappeared subsequent to burial. The Burials Excavated in 1946 and 1947 in Porter’s Publications

In her inventory of the offerings from the 396 excavated burials, Porter reported the presence of figurines in only 34 burials (table 1.1) (only 8% of those excavated), making it clear that, in contrast with the consistent presence of ceramic vessels, it was a relatively uncommon practice. The description of the burials by Porter in the 1969 appendix supplied information concerning the context (pit, depth); nature of the deposit (primary, fragmentary, disturbed, skull . . .); age of the deceased (child, adult); position (extended, flexed); sex (male, female); and offerings (position and nature). More essential information is available in the 1956 publication of the same author, in which appear photographs of numerous objects from offerings, thus making it possible to reunite them with the depositional context, and to determine whether they were figures of men, women, or children, and whether they held a seated or standing position (table 1.1). Even if these data are of great interest, one must remember that they present certain limitations, in particular concerning their contexts due to the absence of stratigraphic data, as well as the age and sex of the skeletons, because no information was provided as to the criteria used for their identification. Also worth noting is the fact that a determination on sex is rather infrequent, and a majority of individuals remain unclassified. In contrast, the description of offerings is precise (table 1.1): partially worked round stones; manos and metates; bone rasps and other artifacts; necklaces; earplugs; shells; obsidian artifacts; figurines (identified to type); and vessels (with type and form information). This information allows for a cross-­examination of different data in order to best approximate the funerary customs and to identify patterns, particularly by deposit, age, and sex, but also of the associations of offerings.5 In this sample, the total number of figurines is distributed in a rather balanced way between burials of adults (44%) and subadults (50%).6 Unfortunately, among the adult burials, sex could not be determined in 73  percent of the P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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T able 1.1. Content of those burials with figurines (based on Porter 1956, 1969). Burial number Description

17

Individual

Sex

Age

28 29 37 92

Individual Individual Individual Skull

Unspecified Female Female Unspecified

Adult Adult Adult Sub-­adult

93

3 skulls

Unspecified Sub-­adult

95

Individual

Unspecified Adult

104

Skull

Unspecified Sub-­adult

107

Skull

Unspecified Adult

108

Skull

Unspecified Sub-­adult

17, one in clay bed

114

6 skulls

Unspecified Sub-­adults

11, one seated diamond eyes, others standing, female

139

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

155

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

169 176

Individual 2 skulls

Unspecified Adult Unspecified Sub-­adult

181

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

Unspecified Adult

Munguía

Rayo

Crude

1 fragment 1

12 1 Standing females 1 fragment 1

2

Large

Unspec- General arrangement Chupícuaro ified of offerings a

1 seated female 1 fragment

Feet

1

7 standing male + female 2 fragments (heads) 7 standing male + female 2

1 1

1 squint eyes

7 standing females

1

Phase c

1 duck effigy vessel Early Chupícuaro

Feet, head, right side Chest Right hand

1

7 standing male + female

Other artifacts b

Total number of figurines 1

7 vessels none 10 vessels 6 vessels 2 obsidian points Inside black poly1 earplug chrome bowl between 1 diatomite ball the skulls 1 ocarina 4 turquoise beads 19 vessels Inside black mono2 vessels chrome jar. Pelvis ? Necklace Bone rasp Atlatl 3 vessels Right side Necklace Shells 10 vessels Earplugs necklace, obsidian artifacts shells 1 zoomorphic figurine rattles metate/mano 10 vessels Bone awls cut skull ocarina, necklace 27 vessels 1 ocarina 1 vessel Chest 2 vessels

Late Chupícuaro Early Chupícuaro Late Chupícuaro ?

1 1 1

Late Chupícuaro

8

Late Chupícuaro

9

Late Chupícuaro

2

Late Chupícuaro

7

Early Chupícuaro

18

Early/Late Chupícuaro

11

Early Chupícuaro

13

Head feet

Early Chupícuaro Early/Late Chupícuaro

1 9

Encircled skeleton

3 vessels 21 vessels notched potsherd Mano/metate 11 vessels

?

1

Late Chupícuaro

1

continued on next page

T able 1.1—continued Burial number Description

Sex

Age

191 200

Individual Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult Unspecified Adult

218

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

220

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

221

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

238 257 261

Individual Individual Collective

Unspecified Sub-­adult Unspecified Adult Unspecified Adults

266

Individual

Unspecified Adult

276

Individual

Unspecified Adult

289

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

292

Individual

Unspecified Sub-­adult

298

Individual

Female

333

Fragmentary Unspecified Adult

336

Double

338

Skull

Unspecified Adult + Sub-­adult Unspecified Sub-­adult

342

Individual

Male

377

2 skulls

Unspecified Adult + Sub-­adult

Munguía

1 pendant

Rayo

Crude 1

5 standing

4 standing + 4 H2 standing

23, standing female + bed

31, standing female + bed

Adult

Adult

4 standing females

9, standing males and females, seated female with child

“Arrangement” relates to offerings in general, without indication of how figurine(s) were specifically placed, except to note where appropriate when figurines have been placed together: for instance within a vessel, or when other objects are absent in the burial. b The following are considered here: the number of vessels and some particular features of the vessels; those body ornaments indicative of status. c Dating has been estimated by using the type of figurine as well as types of diagnostic vessels (in particular, the polychrome types).

a

Large

Unspec- General arrangement Chupícuaro ified of offerings a Right side

1 large hollow female

Left arm

1 fragment 1 5 standing females

1 3 standing females

9 standing females

3 standing males and females 1 2 seated females

Other artifacts b

3 vessels Metate/mano bone awl 5 vessels Necklace

Phase c

Early Chupícuaro ?

Total number of figurines 1 1

Late Chupícuaro

4

Inside right standing 1 vessel per arm Left standing per arm Clay rattle 1 vessel By left arm Left side 2 vessels 12 vessels

?

5

Late Chupícuaro Late Chupícuaro Late Chupícuaro

1 1 5

inside tecomate

Early Chupícuaro

24

Early Chupícuaro

35

Late Chupícuaro

1

Late Chupícuaro

3

Late Chupícuaro

9

Late Chupícuaro

3

Late Chupícuaro

1

8 vessels

Late Chupícuaro

2

Obsidian point 1 vessel

Early Chupícuaro

9

3 vessels

Early Chupícuaro

44

3 seated Inside effigy olla at females head

Head and feet along left side

Obsidian knife 6 vessels 5 vessels Polished stone 9 vessels Necklace 4 vessels Polished stone Earplugs 4 vessels Obsidian scraper

Chest

Early Chupícuaro

cases, leaving just three females and only one male, so this distribution cannot be taken as significant. Within this adult group, a majority consist of individual burials in which the number of ceramic vessels is often quite modest. Nevertheless, it is also striking that the largest group of figurines (34 examples) occurs in a primary burial of an unsexed adult (Burial 276). Thus, we can note that in the very rare cases when figurines are found with adults,7 they are accompanied by any number of vessels and sometimes by personal effects of the deceased. In contrast, figurines are most frequently associated with burials of subadult skulls and the number of figurines tends to grow with the number of skulls, even if there are exceptions (e.g., Burial 108). Deposits of skulls or groups of skulls suggest elaborate funerary rituals that entail the manipulation of bones. It would therefore not be farfetched to conclude that figurines were playing a role in those practices (manipulations in the course of the funerary arrangements?) or that they referred to a system of thought in which the skull, or more correctly the head, occupied a particular place. Burials containing figurines are chronologically distributed in a rather well-­ balanced way, since out of a total of 34, 13 date from the earliest phase (Early Chupícuaro: 600–­400 bc), 17 from the Late Chupícuaro phase (400–­100 bc), and four could not be dated. The case of burials from the earlier phase is of particular interest, since we can observe that it is the figurines from early funerary contexts that more frequently form sets or scenes. The sets are associated with adults (three cases) or children (one case) in primary position, and also with subadult skulls (one case). One case (Burial 377) includes an adult and a subadult skull. The most numerous groups, comprising 23–­34 exclusively female figures, standing or seated, and models of beds, are found in burials of particularly rich adults (Burials 266 and 276). These groups were placed in ceramic vessels, while a primary child burial contains 16 figurines without any container (Burial 155). One man and one child (Burials 342 and 221) have just eight or nine figurines that depict individuals of both sexes, as well as children, with no container. The subadult skull deposits are particularly interesting,8 as they are accompanied by exceptionally rich and varied offerings (up to 27 vessels), most notably Burials 108 and 114 that bring together figurines of both sexes, including one with diamond eyes, as well as models. Between 600 and 400 bc, the figurines are thus in most cases deposited in groups, with or without container, and they are preferentially associated with certain adults in rich burials and with subadult skull deposits. They form scenes dominated by females, seated or standing, sometimes accompanied by children and models of beds. Male figures can occur but remain rare. When isolated, figurines are found only in primary adult burials with modest offerings, except in the case of figurines worn as pendants (one case). 42

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During the Late phase the sets occur less frequently and are more modest, as they include only two to nine figures, generally arranged within a ceramic vessel. On the other hand, the number of vessels is on average higher than before. There also appear isolated figurines that are deliberately placed near to the arms, in the hands, or on the chest of the deceased adult, as well as the introduction of larger anthropomorphic figures (Burials 181 and 218) with subadults. The scenes generally include seven or eight figures of both sexes, usually standing, but without children or bed models. The scenes are most frequently associated with skull deposits, and with three primary burials of adults. As in the previous phase, the richest offerings are found in the skull deposits of children (Burials 93 and 176). One can thus observe continuities and evolutions. Among the continuities, one notes the particular nature of the skull deposits, and especially of children’s skulls, that are associated with varied and abundant objects, including numerous figurines. Small and isolated figurines appear most often with adults in primary burials. Nevertheless, funerary practices and probably the use and the meaning of the figurines seem to have been evolving over time: the scenes incorporate more protagonists during the Early phase and the ceramic vessels are more numerous during the Late phase. In parallel, isolated figurines occur more often during the Late phase: they are more intimately associated with the body of the deceased and they had become a personal effect or item of protection. During the same period, the scenes involve fewer protagonists (usually seven or eight) and with a more pronounced presence of male and standing individuals, while models are absent. So, it is quite probable that some evolution had taken place in the scenes depicted. It should also be noted that hollow statuettes appear in subadult burials (one case). The discovery of sets in documented contexts as a result of more recent work facilitates further progress in trying to understand the scenes. This is the case with burials from Cerro de la Cruz (Querétaro) and in San Cayetano (Acámbaro, Guanajuato). Cerro de la Cruz, Querétaro During the salvage excavations led by J.  C. Saint Charles at the site of Cerro de la Cruz, a burial containing a set of 22 figurines was located on the lower side of the site, on the left bank of the San Juan river (Saint Charles et al. 2005). Already badly disturbed before the arrival of the archaeologists, the burial was of a baby whose age could not be determined. The position of the set of figurines in relation to the body and the manner in which each figure was placed were not specified either. The figurines are presently on display in P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

43

the regional museum of Querétaro, which permits the identification of the protagonists of the collective scene. It is worth noting their excellent state of preservation, as most of them still show traces of red and white pigment, in particular on the headdresses, the hair, the eyes, and the ornamentation. All the figurines belong to the Chupícuaro type, thus dating the burial to the Late Chupícuaro phase. Among the protagonists, we can identify (figure 1.7): yy

yy

yy

yy

44

Three male figurines, nude and flat-­bodied, except for the buttocks and legs that are shaped and have volume, thus allowing the figurines to take a standing position (figure 1.7n–­p). They wear protective covers on the forefoot, a bangle on the left arm, and, on the right arm, a wider band that is in relief and looks quilted. They also wear necklaces composed of round pellets and elongated forms, and two of them have ornaments or protective bands at knee level. The headdress consists of a kind of bonnet whose upper part slumps down toward the front, like a Phrygian cap, supported at the forehead by a more or less wide headband that repeats a motif of small bars. The asymmetry of the protective elements worn on the arms, feet, legs, and head calls to mind equipment linked to an activity involving risks of injury like the ballgame. However, the entirely nude body poses a strong challenge to that hypothesis, as well as the absence of known ballcourts at that time in north-­central Mexico. Nonetheless, they are no doubt personalities in charge of particular functions or activities in their society. Two sexless individuals with thick bodies. Saint Charles et al. (2005) judge that they could be representations of “deformed twins.” I think that these persons may instead be wearing costumes that cover the whole body, except for the neck and the wrists; ornaments, or protectors, may be represented on the feet (figure 1.7l, m). A flat headband has been placed over the hair, which is cut short above the ears, and braided tails hang down onto the shoulders. According to the authors, a bicephalous sexless depiction is meant to represent the duality of nature (figure 1.7k). We are dealing here with a rather careless production, with a roughly modeled body in a cross-­legged seated position. Each arm wears a red-­painted bracelet. Both heads are simply roughed out and, lacking hair or headdress, they rather look like simple masks. The neck of each is covered by a necklace painted similarly in red. A woman is crouching in the childbirth position (figure 1.7r). It may be mentioned that this personage does not wear a bracelet or necklace and that her hair, cut in short locks above the ears, is only covered by a simple headband.

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E

Figure 1.7. Some protagonists of the Cerro de la Cruz offering. Credit: drawing by S. Eliès.

yy

If one trusts the presentation of the figures in Queretaro’s regional museum, the rest of the set was probably composed of apparently female figurines, although some of them do not exhibit explicit genitalia. There are at least 12 seated personages, among them one would maybe have the role of assisting the mother during the childbirth and one with a child on her left side (figure 1.7a–­j). One or two others are standing. It is striking to observe that some of them were made with extreme care, whereas others are cruder. In addition, rather significant size differences exist from one artifact to the other.

These protagonists are taking part in a collective ceremony, some sitting cross-­ legged, others are active. The presence of two sexless individuals, as well as of the bicephalous being, launched a long-­standing controversy that will be difficult to settle here—­are they people afflicted by physical deformities (dwarfs, bicephalous beings), or persons in charge of an office, perhaps people with social status (permanent or temporary) linked to ritual activities? Or, in an emic approach based on the perception of the body, are more abstract concepts being represented (Faugère 2014)? Either way, the theme of childbirth and the coming into the world of a new human being seems to be central. In other respects, we can note that none of these figurines has the eyes made with a double perforation. San Cayetano, Acámbaro, Guanajuato The excavations completed recently by the CEMCA Chupícuaro project brought about the spectacular discovery of a set of contextualized figurines recovered in the burial of an infant on the site of San Cayetano, situated to the northwest of the Solis dam. A set of eight female figurines had been placed at the feet of the child and, at his head, a monochrome jar (figure 1.8). The scene includes a leading personage who presides over a ceremony in which take part seven protagonists, who are laid out in a circle around a miniature vessel (figure 1.9). The leading figure, though standing in a dominant position, has few ornaments, no headdress or bracelets, and only a necklace of button-­like forms and earrings. Her hair is carefully done, parted in the middle, and she has slit eyes (figure 1.2a). At her feet, a miniature duck has been placed in front of the face on the effigy vessel (figure 1.9). The other seven female figurines are laid out in a radial pattern and are clearly distinguishable from the leading figure—­all of them wear headbands and elaborate headdresses and, remarkably, all of them possess double-­perforation eyes (figure 1.2b). This anatomic detail defines a shared state, while the headdresses speak to their prestige. It is equally important to note that most of these personages show differences in their headdresses and ornaments, while two of them, placed side by side, are perfectly identical. In a recent article (Faugère 2014), I proposed that this 46

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E

Figure 1.8. San Cayetano burial. Credit: drawing by S. Eliès.

scene represents a meeting or a ceremony between supernatural beings, ancestors, or persons showing an altered state of consciousness, or that it evokes a moment of transition in the cycle of time. Domestic Contexts

On Chupícuaro sites, figurines are among those artifacts frequently recovered on the surface, both in the central areas as well as in those peripheral sectors in which dwellings must have been located (Castañeda and Cano 1993; Faugère and Darras 2008; Gorenstein 1985; Saint Charles et al. 2005). Since reliable excavations from residential contexts are very rare, few data are available regarding the domestic sphere. During surveys and excavations in the Acámbaro region, Gorenstein’s team uncovered a collection of about a hundred anthropomorphic figurines belonging to the Chupícuaro tradition, all of them fragments (Gorenstein 1985), but 25 of these come from excavation contexts P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

47

Figure 1.9. San Cayetano offering reconstruction. Credit: photo by B. Faugère.

they considered to be occupation levels. In that project, the main objective of the figurine study was to contribute to the dating of the different occupation levels, but the illustrations show materials that are in fact quite fragmented and difficult to identify (Wilson 1985). The heads are seldom complete and one can hardly interpret this as a naturally recurring pattern of breakage. On the other hand, thanks to excavations made more recently by the CEMCA project, it was possible to uncover the remains of dwellings and excavate a number of domestic occupation surfaces (Darras and Faugère 2005, 2010). The dwellings could never be completely exposed, which hinders what would be a very instructive study of the fragmentation processes (Chapman 2000; Meissner et al. 2013). The presence of rather numerous fragments of figurines, among them a number of heads separated from the body, was noted in the site of Cuitzillo El Mezquital–­Los Azules. They were resting on the occupation surface of circular houses dated to the Early Chupícuaro phase, testimony to the popularity of figurines in domestic ritual at that time. But due to the circumstances of excavation and to the number of recovered artifacts, it is not possible to confirm any fixed or recurring patterns of intentional breakage.9 Therefore in the Lerma valley the figurines usually occur as fragments in domestic contexts. They could be debris resulting from activities or 48

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E

manipulations and subsequently abandoned. In comparison, unbroken figurines are found primarily in burials. Nevertheless, one cannot say that the custom of depositing figurines in the burials was frequent at Chupícuaro and it is quite obviously linked to the particular status of certain persons, or to ritual practices during which the manipulation of bones was taking place. Documented contexts are unfortunately not common enough to successfully conduct an exhaustive study comparing contexts with iconography. However, in order to approximate what the figurines may have represented for the Chupícuaro groups, some observations can be formulated based on the conventions used in the representations. WHO IS HIDING IN THIS BODY? 10

As stated at the beginning of this chapter, Formative figurines are stereotyped and they follow stylistic criteria and precise conventions. What we intend to do here is to decipher how these conventions reproduced views on the meanings of that representation. In a recent article (Faugère 2014) in which I adopted an emic position, I proposed that the manner of representing the body translates Mesoamericans’ specific conception of the human person. I have based my analysis particularly on López Austin’s (1980) research and also on the work of anthropologists who have studied contemporary societies of central Mexico, in particular the Nahua and the Otomí (Bassett 2015; Chamoux 2011; Galinier 1990; Good Eshelman 2011; López Austin 1980; Sandstrom 2009). The approach I wish to follow here is to examine to what extent highlighting certain body segments (while in contrast effacing others) reflects a conception of the body within a generally analogist ontology (Descola 2005) and in a system of thought shared by Mesoamericans (López Austin 1980; McKeever Furst 1997). López Austin was the first to explain that human physiology was linked to the general processes of the universe, and that several features influenced the perception of the body in the Prehispanic era. First is the existence of animist forces in the body that are mainly determined by one’s birthdate. Some of these forces are stable and determine the personality of the individual, whereas others can change and form an inner heterogeneous mosaic that facilitates change. Next is an interplay of matter, a source of both conflict and complementarity. Human beings are made of a heavy and dense matter that is perceptible to the senses, and at the same time of another component, imperceptible to human beings in normal circumstances. That imperceptible and subtle part is not only similar to that of the gods but is divine in itself. The human body P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

49

Figure 1.10. The animistic forces in the human body according to López Austin. Credit: drawing by S. Eliès from López Austin 1980.

must be perceived as a microcosm with correspondences to the outer world at different scales, up to that of the universe in a clearly analogic ontology. The organs, and equally the different segments of the body, are linked to these correspondences. Among the major animistic centers, the tonalli, in the head, is linked to the celestial stratum, the heart (yolia or yollotl) is linked to the earth, and the liver (ihiyotl ) to the underworld (figure 1.10). These soul centers inside the organs confer on each individual his personality, aptitudes, abilities, and desires (McKeever Furst 1997). Finally, one last consideration must be evoked: the body must be perceived as an assemblage of components that are independent of one another. Like other components of the human body, and as an example, the tonalli is an independent material entity situated in the head. It is a physical being who resides inside the individual, whose strength, rank, and personality depend on the tonalli (see also Chamoux 2011). The tonalli represents for present-­day Nahuas the nonhuman part of humans that extends our world and can become apparent on the occasion of nocturnal shamanic transformation processes in the form of one’s double or nahualli. In some ways, this conception of the body and of the human person provides an analytical framework that enables us to glimpse what Mesoamericans 50

B R I G I T T E FAU G ÈR E

intended to represent through the human body. In Chupícuaro, the body is depicted in its entirety and nude, whereas from the Classic era onwards, the clothing and ornaments that are increasingly present conceal the body and provide an accumulation of symbols in a system that is more clearly analogic, at least at first sight (Faugère 2014). However, we tackle here only those points that seem to us particularly significant for shedding light on the intent and meaning of the representations. These points are nude and sexed persons, the emphasis placed on the face, the depiction of the sense organs and the circulation points between the outside and the inside of the body, and finally the position of ornaments, paraphernalia, paintings, or tattoos on the body. On Age and Gender

Nudity enables us to distinguish males from females, whereas the depiction of children can only be recognized if adults are carrying them or, in a subtler manner, through the omnipresent depiction of the pregnant woman. Sexual differences are not distinguishable through facial characteristics but only through the portrayal of the body. Each figurine’s biological identity is given by the depiction of the sexual organs or by the fact these organs are covered by clothing or ornaments modeled in the clay itself for certain masculine representations. Generally, men sport a number of garments and specific attributes as belts, folded bands over the torso, footwear or other adornments on the feet, as well as headdresses, jewelry, and specifically placed protective pads on the limbs. Among these examples, the four-­horned headdress (figure 1.11) and a kind of horn passing behind the ear seem to be reminiscent of the shaman’s or ritual specialist’s horns in the western part of Mexico. Those specific features seem to suggest the existence of statuses, activities, or powers attributed to men and that possibly corresponded to functions they fulfilled in society. It is considered that in Mesoamerica the figurines when used could be dressed and decorated with independent items made of textiles and other perishable materials (among others Follensbee 2009; Marcus 1998), which is not impossible here. So it seems interesting to wonder what might be the meaning of the concealment of the sexual organs of some men but not others (figure 1.7p, for instance). In this case, the emphasis on the ornaments would permanently fix the status of the beings depicted. However, it should be noted that the men with naked bodies in the set from Cerro de la Cruz also wear headdresses and jewels referring to specific statuses. In this case, the depiction of the sex acquires a particular meaning. Thanks to rare cases of sets of figurines, it is also possible to better understand the distribution between men and women. Two patterns occur—­either P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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Figure 1.11. A horn headdress from Cuizillo Don Fidel. Credit: drawing by S. Eliès.

the protagonists are all female (especially during the Early phase), or both sexes are represented. The San Cayetano scene includes only women, whereas both sexes are present in scenes that evoke childbirth in Cerro de  la  Cruz (Saint Charles et al. 2005) as well as in Colima (López Montes et al. 2013). In this latter scene women are mostly seated, maybe to assist the mother, whereas men stand up and are active. The sexual ambiguity of the bicephalous creature could be a representation of androgyny, perhaps associated with a primordial absence of differentiation in which female and male principles are one, or signifying “the importance of a union celebrating the complementarity of the two genders” (Chapman and Gaydarska 2007). And finally, we must return to one of the major features of the Chupícuaro figurines, which are, it must be recalled, in the great majority female and often pregnant. For most authors (among them Halperin et al. 2009; Joyce 2009; Marcus 1998, 2009), the frequency of the maternity theme refers to the function of anthropomorphic terracotta miniatures and to their possible curative functions that would be particularly important at moments of great vulnerability for mother and child. I argue for my part that the expanded belly of the mother refers more particularly to the unborn child and to the cycle of life (Faugère 2014). López Austin (1980) stresses that the figure of the supreme mother, the earth, was also a symbol of death as childbirth was assimilated to the moment of agony. Johansson (2016) underlines the homology between the womb and Mictlan—­the place the dead make their way towards and 52

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where beings germinate. Depicting the gravid woman is tantamount to evoking the cycle of life, and the birth of a new human being who will take over from the previous generation. More than simply ensuring protection from the health risks of childbirth, the image was intended to protect the integrity of the unborn child as a human being, because birth is the moment when an individual is filled with the essences that will characterize her/him. As noted by McKeever Furst, the neonate receives “its animating force (or tonalli) at the time of the birth, but the date of birth also imparted its fate or destiny (also the tonalli)” (McKeever Furst 1997, 66). The Face, Reflection of the Personality

In Chupícuaro, the head and headdress are portrayed with extreme care, whereas the body often remains highly simplified, particularly the limbs, which are merely sketched out. Within any given type and phase, we can recognize multiple hairstyles that must have really existed, such as with bangs, clearly parted in the middle, with locks hanging down to the shoulders, or cut at the level of the ears, and with a great variety of headdresses, headbands, and turbans (figure 1.12). The faces are finely modeled but expressionless, oval-­ shaped with cheeks that are full or triangular. The sense organs are clearly represented or emphasized by ornaments—­hearing, sight, smell, and taste being especially important for Mesoamerican people (Houston et al. 2006). The wide split or coffee-­bean eyes are obliquely positioned on the face. Shaped in relief, by application of a clay pellet that is afterward pressed or perforated, the eyes can be simply split, with a creased center, or present two adjacent perforations (Faugère 2018). The eyes may take the form of a lozenge or rhomboid, and have been referred to as “diamond-­shaped” (figure 1.13). It is striking that this is frequently the case with larger figurines. The mouth is fleshy and sometimes half-­open. It may rarely be open and show the teeth, which can occur in some large solid figurines over 18 cm in height (figure 1.13) and in hollow statuettes (figure 1.6). These ways of depicting the eyes and the mouth are contemporaneous, indicating that these conventions must have designated different natures, functions, or states of the person. For ancient Mexicans, the most noble part of the body was the face, through which were expressed the virtues of the individual, and it also reflected the personality corresponding to a person’s birthdate and social position, perhaps because the tonalli, linked to the sun and to heat, was situated on the top of the head. The eyes played an important role, as they were abundantly loaded with tonalli (López Austin 1980) and reflected a state of consciousness or the very P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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Figure 1.12. Heads of Chupícuaro figurines wearing distinct types of headbands: row 1, with linear motives; row 2, with geometric motives; row 3, with braided motives; row 4, double headband; row 5, with pellets. Credit: drawing by Daniel Salazar.

Figure 1.13. Chupícuaro type with teeth. Credit: photo by B. Faugère.

essence of the person (Chamoux 2011). While split (coffee-­bean) eyes or eyes with a center could be considered to reproduce the natural shape, this is not the case for those eyes with the double perforation, each of which is perfectly circular and symmetrical. The San Cayetano scene shows clearly that there was a difference of status, or of essence, between the split-­eye figurine that leads the ceremony and the seven other specimens with double-­perforation eyes. The rhomboidal form, with four sides and a center, was used for the eyes of large figurines. As to the mouth, it is not only the source of the vital breath, but it is a connection point between the inner and outer parts of the body and, of course, the orifice that allows feeding. Whereas it is depicted closed or half-­ open in small figurines of the three types studied here, it can show sharp teeth in large figurines and could in those cases refer to the devourer function of the earth, which is well documented among the Nahuas (López Luján 2010) and the Otomis (Galinier 1990). These observations enable us to distinguish at least three groups. Standard-­size split-­eye figurines must be distinguished from figurines of the same size and type that have double-­perforation eyes, which might designate human beings in a particular state of consciousness or of transformation, as well as ancestors. As to the large figurines with eyes of rhomboidal shape and occasionally toothed mouths, they might represent supernatural entities associated with the terrestrial sphere. The Adorned Body

The decoration exhibited on the body was essential among Mesoamerican peoples in the sense that it was always indicative of status. In Chupícuaro, the P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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headdresses vary endlessly, from headbands on the upper part of the forehead, embellished with flowers, twisted bands, and numerous decorative elements, to the turbans, fringed headdresses, or caps (figure 1.12). As mentioned before, some headdresses seem to relate to the function of ritual specialists, like the horned headdresses, whereas others seem more indeterminate. On the other hand, the remaining adornment is composed of a limited number of elements—­besides earrings, one can systematically identify a necklace, one or two bracelets, and (for males only) ornaments worn on the legs and an element that seems to be padding on the arms, possibly indicative of a particular activity.11 Depending on the phase, necklaces may cover the neck entirely with several tight rows, or have a rounded or a V shape (figure 1.2b), in which case the necklace usually includes a central pendant. If in fact all figurines wear ornaments, differences obviously exist in their complexity and quantity, which can indicate status differences between persons. Although few solid figurines of the Chupícuaro tradition still show traces of bodily painting, a few sufficiently well-­preserved examples demonstrate the popularity of this practice. These examples show in particular a focus on the eyes, an important sensory organ often painted in white, and on the head, in particular on the central part of it where the tonalli is supposed to lie, generally painted in red. It is also noteworthy that the popularity of the hairstyle with the part down the middle and swept back at the sides stresses that very same part of the head (figure 1.12), giving it a heart shape. Returning to Estrada Balmori’s 1949 descriptions of the painting that still remained on the figurines, it is equally striking that traces of painting observed on the eyes, the hips, and the shoulders (as circles) correspond to those body segments where animistic forces also concentrate. Finally, other figurines frequently show on their shoulders the presence of pellets that could correspond in real life to scarifications on that part of the body. As the Chupícuaro hollow statuettes were painted before firing, they have much better preserved their rich geometric polychrome decorations. The motifs systematically cover the torso, the upper part of the thighs and hips, and sometimes the shoulders and the arms, as is the case of the statuette exhibited at the Pavillon des Sessions of the Louvre Museum (figure 1.6). Those decorations are composed of endless combinations of dichromatic squares, often nested at different scales or divided in two, and of undulating lines on the thighs and hips. It is frequently proposed that the decoration displayed on that part of the body might represent a garment such as pants, but this interpretation is improbable because as females, the figures should be wearing skirts. Alternatively, the location of these decorations does correspond to the seat of 56

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major and minor animistic forces (figure 1.10). In particular, we can point to the center of the torso where one of the main centers is situated (the heart or yollotl associated with the vital force and with the surface of earth) and, in the case of the head, there are the eyes, the mouth, and the hair part close to the tonalli. Representations of human bodies, male or female, analyzed from an emic position, might simultaneously be human beings, ancestors, and supernatural entities. It should be remembered that these different statuses were perceived by ancient Mexicans as temporary and reversible, and passage from one to the other was conceivable in ritual settings through the manipulation of that subtle essence common to humans and nonhumans. Nevertheless, it might be necessary to depict some of these states in order to give life to scenes involving several people or to activate objects loaded with specific powers, particularly for curation rites. The depiction of a gravid state and the presence of children carried by adults obviously emphasize human reproduction and motherhood, but in a metaphoric way that may refer to a more conceptual notion of the life cycle. Ornaments and body painting point to status, maybe a temporary one, especially through headdresses, whereas the other elements seem intended rather to designate animistic forces, whose place is marked jointly by painting and ornaments worn on the body itself. At the level of the face, the sensory organs, particularly the eyes and the mouth, might reveal at least a part of the essence of the represented being. DISCUSSION

From an emic approach, I addressed figurines by considering the perception of the person in the Prehispanic era, and seeing in bodily representation the concepts of permeability and reversibility of states and statuses of the visible and the invisible. With this approach, emphasis is placed on particularly significant segments of the body, particularly the face and sensory organs. Knowledge of specific depositional contexts allows us to better understand the functions of these objects in Formative societies; in particular, the discovery of scenes with details on the placement of different characters obviously opens essential perspectives to understand what was represented and to identify the protagonists. At the end of this analysis, it is possible to draw up a list of potential uses of figurines in Chupícuaro. There is no significant iconographic difference between the pieces deposited in funerary context and those relating to domestic ritual activities—­if indeed these objects were used as an accompaniment of P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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the dead or during activities practiced for living beings. Deposits of figurines in burials are relatively infrequent and, when they occur, they are for the most part intact objects. In Chupícuaro, objects of funerary accompaniment are more often ceramic containers and figurines linked to the domestic sphere. It is nevertheless true that the discovery in the burials of scenes with several protagonists make it possible to shed some light on the function of these objects in community life. Objects of funerary accompaniment may be personal effects used by the deceased during her/his lifetime, objects meant to ensure the passage to the underworld, or objects of protection. Some adults had on their chest or held in their hands figurines that might be personal effects or objects of protection. When the objects are found in groups, we consider them sets that belonged to the deceased, reflecting an activity or specific skills practiced in the course of her/his life, and that therefore accompany her/him in the underworld as personal effects. It is important at this stage to recall an observation evoked by Joyce (2009) on the question of scale. In Chupícuaro, large statuettes seem to be placed with children and one hollow figure was an isolated object with a strongly symbolic content. The sets are in turn composed of solid figurines, whose size is adapted to the human hand, and they are by definition less fragile and easier to handle. Furthermore, it is known that in other Formative cultures of western Mexico, as in Aztec practices (Overholtzer 2012), some figurines also served as rattles (López Montes et al. 2013). Observations on the placement of figures in the scenes open the way to further hypotheses. These scenes are often interpreted as ceremonies or ritual acts reproduced in miniature, as is often mentioned for the models (Estrada Balmori 1949; Oliveros 1988). The variety of represented activities—­the association with children but also with animals, or the figurines of women grinding grain or offering libations—­all depict activities that can be linked to the world of rituals and beliefs just as easily as to the sphere of everyday life. Another hypothesis that in our opinion seems to be particularly relevant for Chupícuaro examples is that the scenes could operate as visual referents designed to relate mythical episodes, as was proposed for the Classic Maya (McVicker 2012) or in Oaxaca since the Formative (Marcus 2009). We admit that this interpretation is to a great extent influenced by the recent discovery of the San Cayetano scene, which constitutes so far an isolated example in Chupícuaro culture. Furthermore, we have noticed that scenes were especially frequent and of rich content in the secondary deposits, particularly those of infant skulls. It is therefore not unlikely that, in that particular case, the scene was arranged on the occasion of treatments and practices taking place during “secondary” funerals in the 58

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course of which the evocation of myths or the reconstitution of cosmograms was done by depositing objects in relation to others. As we see it, that set comprises a language that might have stressed the processes of transformation, which govern the function of the universe and embody time. The Cerro de la Cruz scene might refer to the cycle of life. Indeed, the omnipresence of the motherhood theme is not restricted to domestic contexts, and it is also associated with death. Birth and death constitute the most definitive stages of transformation in the cycle of life. It is well known that numerous rituals of the ancient Mexicans emphasized precisely these processes of transformation. Billard (chapter 7, this volume) points out the importance of children in the Mexica rituals consecrated to the god of fire who, besides his function as the god of time, is equally a principle of transformation. We also note that the repeated presence of objects functioning in pairs (twins, doubles, or male/ female couples) and of bicephalous individuals, in Chupícuaro as well as the shaft-­tomb tradition of western Mexico, might refer to the same idea. That attempt to symbolically re-­create the cosmos might have had as its function, in the case of a funerary context, “to give life,” according to the expression of Baudez (1999, 21)—­that is, to ensure for the deceased a form of eternal life. In daily life, the figurines most certainly had multiple functions. Scale is equally an important issue here and it is possible that larger hollow statuettes, which are fragile, were not meant to be subjected to constant handling but rather to be displayed in a private setting, or for a family or a community (see Beekman, Chapter 2). On the opposite side, there are figurines that display a hole through the forehead for suspension, indicating that they were designed to hang from a string and probably to be worn. These are typically small and thick (to avoid breaking?). These specimens could be reutilized in funerary offerings and integrated into scenes, as shown in Porter’s Burial 108. In regards to the remaining majority of figurines, it is generally thought, leaning on ethnographic comparisons, that they were meant to be handled, particularly during curing practices in the domestic sphere (avoiding among other things transmission of the essence of the patient’s disease to the curer) and similarly on occasion of rites of childbirth (see among others Joyce 2009; Marcus 1998). These manipulations served to activate the power or “charge” within the figurines so that they can have an effect within their domain of efficacy. Leaning on Bailey’s (2005) theories, Joyce argues that miniaturization modifies the perception of the passage of time for users of these objects. Recomposition of scenes, as part of practices that may take place not only at funerals but equally in the context of rituals meant for the living, was modifying the perception of time and space. “Miniatures might be thought of as media of an altered state P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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of consciousness, one in which everyday temporality is shifted” ( Joyce 2009, 411). In the same way, one might wonder about the existence in Chupícuaro of scenes that might have been set up in a ritual or residential space. The figurine style whose legs terminate in a slab, designed to keep the piece firmly in an upright position, or with flat and undecorated backs, constitute a convincing argument for that use (Overholtzer 2012). Marcus suggests that figurines might have been used in domestic rituals practiced by women to make contact with the spirits of recently deceased family members who have reached the status of ancestors. The “charge” of a figurine when used in an individual manner in rituals or when deposited alone in a burial might in that case originate in the role that it had played in an earlier scene, in accordance with the pars pro toto principle (McVicker 2012). What figurines represent is the crux of the matter and one of the most difficult and unresolved questions. The scenes are useful in the formulation of hypotheses, as well as in iconographic analysis. Our cross-­analysis of scenes attributed to the Chupícuaro culture and of selected characteristics of essential bodily segments led us to identify three groups of pieces. First, there are the large figurines with diamond-­shaped eyes and sometimes with teeth and/ or bodily painting marked by squares, crosses, and quincunxes that might embody a female principle linked to the earth. They might prefigure the Classic representations, which, from Jaina (McVicker 2012) to Teotihuacan (Taube 2010), exhibit headdresses or elements of clothing attributable to deities of the Postclassic in clearly analogical compositions as Descola (2010) understands it. In regards to smaller specimens, whether naturalistic representations or figurines using (particularly facial) conventions, it is our opinion that they might embody characters from collective stories or myths. Among them, one could probably identify ancestors, mythical heroes, or ritual specialists, but it is not impossible that humans and temporarily living beings might be present as well. Key elements for suggesting the identity of these individuals should be drawn from the scenes, though they have not yet been analyzed in sufficient number to allow precise interpretations to date. The San Cayetano scene indisputably suggests an assembly of supernatural beings or of persons belonging to the world of the dead (ancestors) gathered to accompany the deceased child. The Cerro de la Cruz scene, which is undeniably close to a set recently uncovered in Colima (López Montes et al. 2013), represents a childbirth, with a gathering of male and female personages. An ethnographic comparison is obviously quite useful for attempting an interpretation of what it was meant to represent. For the Nahuas (López Austin 1980; Sandstrom 2009), as well as for the Huichol (Neurath 2011), the human 60

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body is replete with metaphorical correspondences between its components, the cosmos, and the landscape. Some anthropomorphic portrayals by present-­ day groups materialize the spirit of an ancestor and of a divine entity in its multiple aspects. In the case of the anthropomorphic paper figures studied by Sandstrom, the spirits of the deities that are multiform and change over time, can be embodied in one or more individuals. For instance, the spirit of maize, when it has partially grown, is represented by two children. Similarly, in the course of its growth, the maize may be alternatively man or woman, with the representation of the woman accompanied by a child embodying the maize itself (Sandstrom 2009). These examples show that it can be particularly tricky to propose interpretations because the range of possibilities is so extensive and difficult to comprehend. But it is only by increasing the cross-­analysis of possible meanings and uses that progress will be possible in our understanding of the role of these artifacts in the lives of Formative populations. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks go to Lionel Massün for the translation of the text, to Christopher Beekman and the anonymous reviewers for their suggestions on the original paper. The Chupícuaro and Tigre/Lerma Projects are operated with permission of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (Mexico) and supported by the French Department of Foreign and European Affairs (MAEE) and the University Institute of France (IUF). NOTES

1. The “Chupícuaro Project” led by the CEMCA (Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y CentroAmericanos) from 1999 to 2014. The corpus of figurines is currently being studied. 2. The English names given to the types refer to their most striking morphological characteristic. 3. The Purua, Cazueleja, Tronera, and Infiernito types. 4. In fact, Mexican archaeologists do not utilize the English terminology much. Rather, they turn to the Mexico Basin terminology proposed by Vaillant (1931). 5. In 2012, Myriam El Eweily set up a database that should greatly facilitate more research in that direction. 6. Only these two categories were used. 7. As indicated by Estrada Balmori and Piña Chan in 1948. 8. We should reconsider the nature of these clusters of subadult skulls. Are they P retty Face and N aked B ody in Context

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really burials or should we consider them to be a different category of deposit? Unfortunately, this question goes beyond the current study. 9. Because the extent of looting made it enormously difficult to obtain samples without mixture of materials. 10. We reprise this title from Descola (2010, 25). 11. The same remark was made by Oliveros (1988) about the figurine set recovered on the site of El Opeño. He deems that the males are equipped with protective pads for the ballgame. However, this assertion needs to be corroborated in view of the absence of ballcourts at that time. REFERENCES

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Joyce, Rosemary. 2003. “Making Something for Herself: Embodiment in Life and Death at Playa de los Muertos, Honduras.” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 13:248–­261. Joyce, Rosemary. 2007. “Figurines, Meaning, and Meaning-­Making in Early Mesoamerica.” In Material Beginnings: A Global Prehistory of Figurative Representation, ed. C. Renfrew and L. Morley, 107–­116. McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Joyce, Rosemary. 2009. “Making a World of Their Own: Mesoamerican Figurines and Mesoamerican Figurine Analysis.” In Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena, ed. C. T. Halperin., K. A. Faust, R. Taube, and A. Giguet, 407–­425. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Lesure, Richard G. 1997. “Figurines and Social Identities in Early Sedentary Societies of Coastal Chiapas, Mexico, 1550–­800 bc.” In Women in Prehistory: North America and Mesoamerica, ed. C. Claassen and R. A. Joyce, 227–­248. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. López Austin, Alfredo. 1980. Cuerpo humano e ideología. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. López Lujan, Leonardo. 2010. Tlaltecuhtli. México, DF: INAH. López Montes, Ramón, Fernando González Zozaya, and Juan Joel Hernández Olvera. 2013. “Representación simbólica material de una escena de parto dentro de un contexto funerario.” In Salvamento Arqueológico “Valle del Sol”: Municipio de Villa de Álvarez. Colima: INAH. Marcus, Joyce. 1996. “The Importance of Context in Interpreting Figurines.” Cambridge Archaeological Journal 6:285–­291. Marcus, Joyce. 1998. Women’s Ritual in Formative Oaxaca: Figurine-­making, Divination, Death and the Ancestors. Memoir 33, Museum of Anthropology. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan. Marcus, Joyce. 2009. “Rethinking Figurines.” In Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena, ed. C. T. Halperin., K. A. Faust, R. Taube, and A. Giguet, 26–­50. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. McBride, Harold. 1969. “The Extent of the Chupicuaro Tradition.” In The Natalie Wood Collection of Pre-­Columbian Ceramics at UCLA, ed. J. D. Frierman, 33–­46. Los Angeles: University of California. McKeever Furst, Jill L. 1997. The Natural History of the Soul in Ancient Mexico. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. McVicker, Donald. 2012. “Figurines Are Us? The Social Organization of Jaina Island, Campeche, Mexico.” Ancient Mesoamerica 23:211–­234.

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Meissner, Nathan J., Katherine E. South, and Andrew K. Balkansky. 2013. “Figurine Embodiment and Household Ritual in an Early Mixtec Village.” Journal de la Société des Américanistes 99(1):7–­43. Neurath, Johannes. 2011. “Vecinos, gente y ancestros: ambivalencias de los conceptos de vida y persona entre los huicholes.” In La Noción de vida en Mesoamérica, ed. P. Pitrou, M. C. Valverde, and J. Neurath, 205–­230. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y Centroamericanos. Oliveros, Arturo. 1988. “Juego de Pelota entre las ofrendas del Opeño, Michoacan.” In Ensayos de alfarería prehispánica e histórica de Mesoamérica: Homenaje a Eduardo Noguera, ed. M. C Serra Puche and C. Navarrete, 187–­204. México, DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Overholtzer, Lisa. 2012. “‘So That the Baby Not Be Formed Like a Pottery Rattle’: Aztec Rattle Figurines and Household Social Reproductive Practices.” Ancient Mesoamerica 23(1):69–­83. Peterson, Fredrick A. 1955. “‘Doughnut-­Shaped’ Vessels and Bird Bowls of Chupicuaro, Mexico.” Ethnos 21(2–­3):137–­145. Peterson, Fredrick A. 1956. “Anthropomorphic Effigy Vessels from Chupicuaro, Mexico.” Ethnos 21(3–­4):161–­180. Porter, Muriel N. 1948. “Pottery found at Chupicuaro, Guanajuato.” In El occidente de México. Cuarta reunión de Mesa Redonda de la Sociedad Mexicana de Antropología sobre problemas antropológicos de México y Centroamérica, 42–­47. México, DF: Sociedad Mexicana de Antropología. Porter, Muriel N. 1956. “Excavations at Chupicuaro, Guanajuato, Mexico.” Transaction of the American Philosophical Society 46:515–­637. Porter, Muriel N. 1969. “A reappraisal of Chupicuaro.” In: The Natalie Wood Collection of Pre-­Columbian Ceramics from Chupícuaro, Guanajuato, México, at UCLA, ed. J. D. Frierman, 5–­15. Los Angeles: University of California. Porter, Muriel N., and Elma Estrada Balmori. 1945. “Estudio preliminar de la cerámica de Chupícuaro.” Revista Mexicana de Estudios Antropológicos Tomo VII, 1(2, 3):89–­121. Rubín de la Borbolla, Daniel. 1948. “Problemas de la arqueología de Chupícuaro.” In El occidente de México. Cuarta reunión de Mesa Redonda de la Sociedad Mexicana de Antropología sobre problemas antropológicos de México y Centroamérica, 48–­49. México, DF: Sociedad Mexicana de Antropología. Saint Charles, Juan Carlos, Laura Almendros López, and Fernando González Zozaya. 2005. “Elementos para el estudio del Cerro de la Cruz como lugar de culto.” Boletín Americanista 55:241–­259.

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Sandstrom, Alan R. 2009. “The Weeping Baby and the Nahua Corn Spirit: The Human Body as Key Symbol in the Huasteca Veracruzana, Mexico.” In Mesoamerican figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena, ed. C. T. Halperin, K. Faust, R. Taube, and A. Giguet, 261–­296. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Taube, Karl. 2010. “La religion à Teotihuacan.” In Teotihuacan, cité des Dieux, 152–­159. Paris: Musée du Quai Branly, Somogy Editions d’Art. Vaillant, Georges C. 1931. Excavations in Ticoman. New York: American Museum of Natural History. Vaillant, Suzanne B., and George C. Vaillant. 1934. Excavations at Gualupita. New York: American Museum of Natural History. Wilson, Lee Ann. 1985. “Figurine Fragments.” In Acámbaro: Frontier Settlement on the Tarascan–­Aztec Border, ed. S. Gorenstein, 297–­303. Vanderbilt University Publications in Anthropology, Number 32. Nashville, TN: University of Vanderbilt.

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2 Unseating the Shaman Narrative Performance and Co-­Essences in the Hollow Figures of Western Mexico Christopher S. Beekman

They apparently wished to ignore war, bloody sacrifices, and even death; in any case nothing of this sort appears in their art. They are the Greeks of America, if, as has been said, the Mayas represent the flamboyant style . . . all their love goes out to children, dogs, the young of animals, familiar scenes; while the warriors, all adorned with plumes and entangled with their weapons, over their shields throw to their enemies looks that are more sly than frightening. (Médioni and Pinto 1941, x) Horns are one of the most widespread—­indeed, universal—­insignia of supernatural, priestly, and shamanic power, so much, from the Paleolithic to the ethnographic present, and in so many places, that one hardly needs to make a case that it had the same meaning in pre-­Columbian art and symbolism. (Furst 1998, 180)

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So-­called sumptuary rules both conveyed and legitimized rank through the control of special garments and ornaments, while the production and distribution of deluxe versions of such things as serving vessels and figurines for domestic and burial rituals further reflected the increasing importance of craft specialization and, probably, the consequent loss of local autonomy over such activities. (Graham 1998, 193)

Shamanism, as defined by Peter Furst (1965, 1966, 1972, 1974a, 1974b, 1975, 1978, 1998), possesses a striking longevity for interpretations of the ceramic human effigies from Late Formative–­period Jalisco, Colima, and Nayarit. Ceramic figures found within the region’s burials are thought to be offerings accompanying the dead, and Furst interpreted them as depicting shamans and their activities. But shamanism and mortuary ritual seem strangely paired, and Furst made only limited attempts to explain why figures referring to esoteric aspects of shamanism would even be in a tomb. Why were they made? What did they do? What were they meant to convey? Who was their audience? Furst ceased to propose new observations or interpretations by the 1970s (compare Furst 1965 with 1998), and others who refer to shamanism in the art of this region have not produced any further shamanism-­derived interpretations of figures beyond those offered by Furst over 50 years ago.1 Yet the public fascination with shamanism and death among the prehistoric Other means that the exhibit and auction catalogs that publish the vast majority of these effigies have only limited motivation to interpret these objects in other terms (see other critiques of uses of shamanism in Mesoamerica in Fikes 1993; Kehoe 2000; Klein et al. 2002; Stuart 2005; Zender 2004). Alternate interpretations based on social or political factors have been suggested for the figures, but have not received sustained scholarly attention. My aim in this chapter is to challenge both the shamanism and funerary interpretations by addressing their most central assumptions. I propose that the human effigy figures were actively used in public performance and storytelling. I then focus on the figures most prominently interpreted by Furst as shamans, and propose that they are instead warriors, and their frequent association with animals is most convincingly interpreted through specifically Mesoamerican beliefs relating to co-­essences. Among the implications for this shift in perspective are that western Mexican cultures shared Mesoamerican perspectives of the self and of humanity’s relationship to nature. THE WESTERN MEXICAN ANTHROPOMORPHIC FIGURES

The western Mexican visual culture to be discussed encompasses three-­ dimensional ceramic sculptures found primarily in the states of Colima, Nayarit, and Jalisco. They were apparently first published by Leopoldo Batres (1889) (figure 2.1), and the earliest dedicated publications came decades later (Dirección General de  Educación Estética 1946; Médioni 1952). The images were produced from the Early through Late Formative periods (1400 bc–­a d 200), but by far most attention has focused on those from the last 500 years of U nseating the S haman

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Figure 2.1. The earliest publication of western Mexican hollow figures, modified to show only images 1 of the San Sebastián Red style from the Nayarit-­Jalisco border, 3 of the Tala-­Tonalá style attributed to central Jalisco, and 5 of the Comala style attributed to Colima. No scale in original. Credit: Batres (1889, lámina 23).

that span. Nearly all of the pieces were looted from archaeological sites, passing ultimately to collectors and museums. A rough estimate from the early 1970s (Weigand 1974) proposed that some 8,000–­10,000 figures had been stolen from archaeological contexts in the central valleys of Jalisco alone. Pickering and Smallwood-­Roberts (2013, 16) have already recorded 2,000 pieces from just seven American museums, and von  Winning (1974, xiv) studied 1,200 from private and museum collections in southern California. The intertwined faking industry seriously compounds the problem of assessing the scale of looting (Pickering and Smallwood-­Roberts 2013), but the database is clearly huge. There are reasonable ethical concerns to be considered when studying figures with such provenances, but they are no more compelling than the ethical quandary of dismissing a source of information about a region that lags so far behind its neighbors in legitimate archaeological research. We can take comfort in the fact that some figures and fragments have been recovered from properly excavated archaeological contexts (Beekman 2016a and below), and they help to confirm that the figures are real and numerous, and come from a wider variety of contexts than a reliance upon looted materials would suggest. Excavated examples also provide an analytical point of entry into the interpretation of those objects in museums that lack comparable provenience. In the discussion that follows, I illustrate my points whenever possible by using multiple examples from multiple styles when citing unprovenienced objects, to mitigate the impact of individual fakes that may have worked their way into the literature. This approach may become tedious with the augmented 70

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Figure 2.2. Watercolor by Adela Breton of hollow figure recovered from the looting of a 13-­m-­high mound on the Hacienda Guadalupe, Jalisco. San Sebastián Red style. No scale in original but text indicates it must be 30–­50 cm high. Credit: Breton (1902, figure 4).

number of citations, but it is desirable at this stage of research. Such precautions are rarely taken, and some analyses have indeed assigned a disproportionate significance to unique and even strange examples that have not been authenticated (e.g., Furst 1998, 169–­172). Most publications refer primarily to the larger hollow figures, which fall between 20 cm and 100 cm in height and are often vessels as well as figural representations (see von Winning 1974 for a still-­useful synthesis). Individual anthropomorphs, animals, or vegetables/fruits form the subject matter (figure 2.2). The detail depicted can be remarkable, and it is these larger figures that possess the richest potential for iconographic analysis (see Logan, chapter 3, this volume). Some figures are sufficiently distinctive as to suggest idealized portraits (Norwood 2016), but it is art that shows the hand of the artist more clearly than the identity of the individual subject. More often one can make out similarities across figures that mark them as the output of single artists or workshops (Stone 2016), and further correspondences in color, form, subject matter, and style cluster in geographic areas (Pickering and Beekman 2016). Within central Jalisco, the pastes used for Ameca-­Etzatlán figures are the same as those employed for zoomorphic and fine serving vessels of the Estolanos U nseating the S haman

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Figure 2.3. (a) Solid figurine holding staff with disk, of Tuxcacuesco style attributed to central Colima and southern Jalisco (Médioni and Pinto 1941, figure 107); and (b) solid warrior figurine of style attributed to southern Nayarit (von Winning 1974, figure 305). No scale in original image of a, but b is 15 cm high. Credit: redrawn by Chris and Kathy Beekman from the original photos.

ware (Beekman 1996, 2007; Beekman and Weigand 2000; Johns 2014), clearly tying together the production chains for hollow figures and well-­made vessels. Research is lacking that might reveal similar economic relationships elsewhere, and the potential for studies of paste and manufacture techniques remains virtually untapped. Chronological trends in the figures and styles have been proposed (Alsberg and Petschek 1968; Kubler 1962, 108–­110) but have never been tested. There are also numerous smaller solid figurines that receive less scholarly analysis (but see Taube and Zender 2009, 199). A higher proportion of them represent anthropomorphic subjects than among the hollow figures (figure 2.3). Solid figurines were sometimes attached to clay slabs to form group scenes often set within architecture from the region, such as ballcourts, circular ceremonial architecture known as guachimontones (Weigand 1985), and individual buildings (figure 2.4). Most of the solid figurines could be quickly hand modeled and were made following a production chain distinct from that of 72

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Figure 2.4. Ceramic model of a guachimontón composed of an altar and four surrounding structures. Attributed to southern Nayarit. Height 33 cm. Credit: photo courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago.

the hollow figures; solid figurines in central Jalisco were made with the same dense and highly processed paste used for the finest Tabachines-­ware vessels (Beekman 1996; Beekman and Weigand 2000). The most elaborate group scenes are attributed to southern Nayarit and Colima, and the only excavated examples are the typical house model recovered from a damaged pit grave in La Tapatia, Colima (Olay de  Barrientos 2012, 376–­377, n. 172), and figurines from a model left behind by looters at Las Cebollas, Nayarit (Furst 1966, 90–­91). The model sculptors made use of a number of representational strategies when depicting their subject matter; they used pars pro toto representation, sought to depict motion, and expressed relational qualities between figures. Some of the complex models represent the guachimontón ceremonial architecture, reducing the circular arrangement of usually eight structures down to four, but still portraying their position around a circular altar with a tall pole placed in the center (figure 2.4). In other models, the architecture is further U nseating the S haman

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Figure 2.5. Ceramic diorama with two opposing groups of warriors, and a simplified guachimontón on a hilltop. Note the individual with the rattles behind the warriors below. Height 18 cm. Credit: courtesy Division of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural History, New York, NY; catalogue number 30.3/196. Photo by the author.

simplified, as in ritual scenes in which the central altar and pole are carefully modeled, but the surrounding structures are reduced in size and number to only one or two examples. In one battle scene, the artist reduced the architecture to its core characteristics—­a single structure with the central pole (figure 2.5). One often-­reproduced image of a pole ceremony actually shows two poles side by side in the patio (figure 2.6), one tall and straight and the other bent over from the weight of a person who has climbed it. The artist probably meant to indicate sequential moments in time as a person climbed the pole and then rode it as it swayed. Finally, recognizable similarities between large hollow figures and their less-­detailed solid counterparts in the dioramas allow the analyst to see how warriors, musicians, and ballplayers interacted with others in a wider setting. These characteristics give the models a narrative quality absent in the individual figures and figurines. 74

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Figure 2.6. Simplified guachimontón and pole ceremony. Attributed to southern Nayarit. No scale in original photo. Credit: redrawn by Chris and Kathy Beekman from von Winning and Hammer (1972, plate 1).

Although not the first to observe the figures, English explorer Adela Breton was one of the first to provide information on their context. In 1896, Breton (1903) passed through central Jalisco, where she observed the systematic destruction of a 13-­m-­high earthen mound that was almost certainly the central mound of a guachimontón. She noted the discovery of a burial within the mound that was accompanied by jewelry and 20 hollow ceramic figures (figure 2.2). Succeeding studies strengthened the association of the figures with burials or deep shaft-­and-­chamber tombs, established through direct excavation (Barrera Rodríguez and González Barajas 2010; Bell 1972, 1974, 154–­155; Cabrero García 1994; Cabrero García and López Cruz 1997; Cach 2008; Disselhoff 1936; Furst 1966; Galván 1991; Kelly 1978; Long 1966; López Cruz and Cabrero García 1994; López Mestas and Ramos de la Vega 2006; Olay de Barrientos 1993, 2012, 335–­348, 374–­385; Ramos de la Vega and López Mestas 1996) or less securely through purchases from or interviews with looters (Corona Núñez 1949, 1954, 1955; Disselhoff 1932; Galindo 1922; Kelly 1980, 3–­8; Lumholtz 1902, II, 307–­308; Weigand 1974). Various sources describe U nseating the S haman

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the figures as placed among the bodies within the tombs. One excavation in northern Jalisco found that one of the figures had its head broken off and the body and head were tossed separately into the burial pit (Bell 1974, 154–­155) in what would seem to be an act of termination, and other examples have recently been identified (e.g., Zavaleta Lucido and Flores Ramírez 2016). The characterization of the subject matter has been the central source of debate, and one’s preference tends to be linked to preconceived notions of western Mexico’s relationship to Mesoamerica. Graham (1998, 191–­193) identified a series of perspectives that have emerged over time, which are represented in the quotes that open this chapter. The earlier daily life perspective tended to present western Mexico as the Other to Mesoamerica’s well-­known concerns with power and religion, and the region thereby appealed to social idealists such as Diego Rivera (Braun 1998). High-­status figures carried in litters were acknowledged but passed over (von Winning and Hammer 1972, figures 146–­158). Very little was made of the depictions of the Mesoamerican Old Fire God (Dirección General de Educación Estética 1946, figure 64; Furst 1978, figure 36; Reynolds 1993, figure 90; Taube 1988, figure II-­10; von Winning 1974, figures 202–­204; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figures 118, 119), or of possible examples of the duck-­billed wind god (Kan et al. 1989, figure 111; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figure 83) (figure 2.7). Before public architecture had been identified in the field by archaeologists (Kelley 1974; Weigand 1974), the architectural models were characterized as “village scenes” and snapshots of daily life (Borhegyi 1964; von Winning 1974; von Winning and Hammer 1972; von Winning and Stendahl 1968). Following this perspective, representations of foodstuffs (Schöndube 1998) or community were offerings to ensure adequate food and social experiences in the afterlife. This interpretation sees western Mexican art as biographical, either documenting a person’s life or helping to extend it into the underworld. Furst (1965) introduced the shamanism model as a challenge to the secular side of this argument, but has also contributed greatly to the “Othering” (à la Said 1978) of western Mexico. As discussed by Kehoe (2000, 37–­46), the term shaman, originating as a term for certain religious practitioners in Siberia (Mikhailovskii and Wardrop 1895), had been adopted by scholars and popular authors for centuries to lump together a variety of non-­Western religious figures with very different attributes—­diviners, visionaries, healers, midwives, sorcerers, necromancers, astrologers, and so on. Mircea Eliade (1964) attempted to define shamanism as a substratum of ecstatic religious practices carried out in non-­Western cultures and dating back to the Paleolithic. In a series of publications, Furst (1965, 1966, 1972, 1974a, 1974b, 1975, 1978, 1998) took a very broad view 76

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Figure 2.7. Figurines of (a) the Old Fire God and (b) a possible representation of the wind god, to judge from the “duck bill.” Ixtlán del Rio and Comala styles, respectively. Figure (a) is 11 cm high and figure (b) is 25 cm high. Credit: redrawn by Chris and Kathy Beekman from Taube (1988, figure II-­10) and von Winning and Stendahl (1968, figure 83), respectively.

of shamanism, but frequently returned to the narrow theme of shamanic use of hallucinogenics to induce an ecstatic state. He argued that secular interpretations had failed to address much of the western Mexican imagery, and gave examples of figures that he viewed as shamans, transformations of shamans into animals, and the juxtaposition of this world and the next. Importantly for us here, he interpreted the widespread Mesoamerican belief in an animal companion in terms of shamanic transformation (Furst 1968, 166–­170). Furst interpreted art beyond the confines of western Mexico through much the same lens. Drawing upon a detailed consideration of Amazonian ethnography with only limited Mesoamerican input, Furst (1968) ordered four unrelated human-­jaguar figurines into a sequence to argue that Olmec rulers of the Gulf Coast were shamans who used hallucinogenics to enter trance states and transform into animals (see Reilly 1996 for acceptance of the model and Martínez González 2011, 185–­187, and Tate 2012, 27, for critiques). The influence of this perspective emerged in Maya scholarship as well, where shamanism was merged with divine kingship (Freidel et al. 1993). These studies did not clarify what constituted shamanism so much as define the ancient Mesoamerican ontology as animistic (Freidel et al. 1993, 13), and all religious figures within that setting were consequently seen as de facto shamans. Furst’s interpretations in U nseating the S haman

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western Mexico differed in the mortuary aspect that he attributed to shamanism and visual culture, a position he supported through comparisons to Han China, the Huichol, the Hopi, and other sources (Furst 1966, 1975, 1978; see Coe 1975 for a similar and contemporary perspective on the Maya). Furst’s keystone example in western Mexico was of figures that possessed one or more projections from their foreheads that have been called horns (e.g., Alcina Franch 1983, plate 17; Alsberg and Petschek 1968, figures 4, 25; Butterwick 2005, piece 31; Dirección General de Educación Estética 1946, figure 64; Kan et al. 1970, figure 118) (figure 2.8). Many are in the Comala style of Colima, but some occur in styles attributed to southern Nayarit (Lumholtz 1902, II, plate 2a,b; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figure 181). The figures in question are all male, and associated costume elements or weapons identify them as warriors. Some female figures can also have projections from their foreheads, but the lined texture identifies most as a hair knot and the remainder lack the straps winding around the projection (Kan et al. 1989, figure 129; Leyenaar et al. 1992, figure 204; Médioni and Pinto 1941, figure 87; Museu Barbier-­Mueller Art Precolombí 2000, 265). Furst acknowledged that the male examples were a subset of the numerous warrior figures. He metaphorically likened shamans to warriors battling with supernatural enemies without, it must be pointed out, any substantiating data from Mesoamerica. Furst (1965, 1974b, 1998) felt that the presence of a horn or horns was sufficient to identify them as shamans—­“ The universality of these associations and the equally widespread attribution of supernatural power to the horn . . . leave little doubt that the armed tomb figurines of West Mexico are, in fact, not ‘warriors’ but shamanic guardians of the dead” (Furst 1965, 67). He relied upon the posture of these figures, with their faces commonly oriented toward the left, as evidence that the shamans were engaged in battle with sinistral (left-­hand) forces. Furst’s (1965, 60–­67) only detailed discussion of the significance of the left hand draws upon Jungian psychology, Hindu marriage ceremonies, European languages, the Ghost Dance, the Maori, and the Bagobo of the Philippines, but gives only superficial attention to Mesoamerican data. Palka (2002) has considered handedness and postures in Mesoamerican art in greater detail, and notes that presenting one’s left side toward others identifies weaker and subordinate figures in Maya and related artwork, not shamans. But it is far from clear whether this particular stance held any symbolic meaning at all. The majority of baseball players face to their left when batting, but this has more to do with most people being right-­handed and how a bat (or weapon) must be wielded for use. Furst never considers how exactly a right-­ handed person could possibly face an enemy to their right—­they would have 78

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Figure 2.8. Horned warrior facing left. Nearly identical to one presented by Furst (1965, figure 4). Comala style. No scale in original. Credit: redrawn by Chris and Kathy Beekman from Graham (1998, figure 1).

to lead with their weapon-­hand, an awkward feat with the spears, clubs, slings, and spearthrowers found with the figures. Furst’s mode of argument relied upon denigrating more direct interpretations and arguing that the figure being interpreted must be more deeply religious in nature, thereby characterizing ancient peoples as inherently spiritual. Clearly one of the problems here was the undisciplined range of examples that Furst cited for support. For example, solid figures of high-­status persons seated in a litter carried by multiple attendants were reinterpreted through selective comparison to a specific culture—­in this case a single modern Huichol clay offering of two people seated in a chair, which was reportedly a prayer for a safe journey (Furst 1974b, figure 1). A straightforward interpretation of social inequality was thus deflected by a solitary, isolated, and unrelated counterexample, creating an unnecessarily hesitant atmosphere for the interpretation of western Mexican art that went beyond normal debates over the meaning of imagery (e.g., Gallagher 1983; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998; Lynton and Lynton U nseating the S haman

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1986). On the other hand, characteristics without any such specific ethnographic tie were instead explained through reference to a supposedly universal trait associated with all shamans—­the horn being an excellent example (Furst 1965, 47–­60). The horned figure in particular has been the central rallying point for shamanic interpretations of the figures (Butterwick 2005; Gallagher 1983; Lynton and Lynton 1986). Yet even Eliade’s massive cross-­cultural analysis made no claim about any association of horns with shamans—­in the bare couple of lines that he devoted to their presence on the caps of some Siberian shamans, he made it clear that he was referring to reindeer antlers, not horns (Eliade 1964, 155). Furst’s more far-­flung consideration of the potential significance of the feature (1965, 47–­60) indiscriminately mixes horns and branching antlers and assigns their presence in Upper Paleolithic cave art, at Çatal Hüyük, among Neanderthals, Scythians, Vikings, Han Chinese, the Huichol, and Bronze Age kings of the Near East to an increasingly undifferentiated category of shamanism. As demonstrated by these examples, the shaman model was used in an alternately particularistic or universalistic manner on a case-­by-­case basis, and never through the disciplined use of ethnographic analogy, comparative iconography, or even of well-­supported and contextualized universals. Notably, comparisons were not made between the western Mexican figures and the visual culture of Precolumbian Mesoamerica. Assessments were made at the level of supposedly shared concepts without any consideration of how those concepts were represented visually within that cultural milieu. Although foundational to succeeding interpretations over the years, the original analysis looks decidedly weak today and Furst ceased to provide new supporting evidence after the 1970s (e.g., Furst 1998). Even assuming that some figures represented shamans (by some definition) or related subjects, the audience and purpose of the art was never clarified. The representations in western Mexico do not depict common shamanic themes (healing, for instance), and the figures as interpreted represent a hodgepodge of idiosyncratic and often minor snapshots, such as using a drum, drinking from a cup, and so on, that were then interpreted as shamanic in nature. In the ensuing decades, the archaeological database grew dramatically and suggested that Formative western Mexico was considerably more socially complex and more closely tied to Mesoamerica than had been assumed (e.g., Oliveros 2006; Weigand 1985). Mark Miller Graham (1998) proposed that the figures could now be reinterpreted in light of Mesoamerican political ideology and as efforts by elites to legitimize their social status and privileges. The use of controlled iconographic comparisons has been powerfully effective 80

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elsewhere in Mesoamerica over the past several decades, but this was the first serious attempt in western Mexico. Graham noted that the projections on the proposed shamans are costume elements clearly held on by straps (Butterwick 2005, piece 31; Graham 1998, figure 17; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, figures 5, 9; Kan et al. 1989, figure 119). They were representations of real people wearing costume elements, not visions of another world. He drew attention to other examples that showed that the horn was simply a pars pro toto representation of the full headdress with a row of projections crossing the figure’s head from side to side (e.g., Gallagher 1983, figure 54; Graham 1998, figure 1; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, figure 6). Graham interpreted these as conch shells with their evenly spaced nubbins, and compared them to headdresses of rulers from the Late Formative highland Maya site of Kaminaljuyu, with the accompanying fertility symbolism from that context. Within this perspective, the anthropomorphic representations in western Mexican art were comparable to images of human elites elsewhere, displaying the symbolically charged accoutrements that identified and legitimized them as elites. The models depict funeral processions, public rituals, warfare, and conferring individuals, all potential occasions for public display and legitimation of elite status. However, most western Mexican figures do not hold objects or wear clothing conducive to this kind of analysis (Kirchhoff 1946, 51–­55), suggesting that the individuals depicted represent a wider cross-­section of society than typically seen in politically sponsored artwork. Logan (chapter 3, this volume) has furthermore found that artists from different regions of western Mexico made distinct choices as to whether to emphasize the human body or its social identity, again pointing to other motivations. Although some figures are amenable to a political interpretation, the larger class of anthropomorphic representations indicates a still broader purpose. REORIENTING THE DEBATE

Such a death cult doubtlessly existed, although . . . it is not iconographically reflected by outward appearance of single figures. The elaborateness of the death cult is convincingly portrayed only in complex figurine groups mounted on slabs (cf. the funeral processions and mourning scenes). The association of single figures with mortuary practices can be inferred solely from their provenience in grave lots. (von Winning 1974, 7)

All of the preceding perspectives could benefit from consideration of the context, medium, and archaeological characteristics of the figures, thereby U nseating the S haman

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providing insight into how they were used (Gell 1998). It is vital to recognize that the figures and figurines were the primary vehicles for expressive imagery in western Mexico during the Late Formative and Classic.2 Yet they are mobile, and hence very different from the fixed sculptures, murals, or architectural embellishments that dominate many Mesoamerican ceremonial centers. They were capable of being moved, put away, and brought out again on multiple occasions. Second, the hollow figures were and are innumerable. Even if faking has occurred on a monolithic scale, the hollow figures were far too frequent to be the products of highly restricted manufacture. More likely, numerous groups in multiple workshops (Furst 1966, 240–­241, 262, 266; Townsend 1998, 19) had the resources to commission the artwork. Third, there is good reason to think that the hollow figures were not meant to be viewed in isolation, but in relation to other pieces. Specific categories of figures can be found duplicated in less detail in the models or individual solid figurines. For example, hollow figures of males holding a staff topped with a horizontal disk that represents the guachimontón public architecture (Beekman 2003a) (figure 2.9) also appear in the small solid figurines (figure 2.3a). The failure to consult the larger detailed examples led to misinterpretations of the staff as a “sunshade” (von Winning 1974, figures 50, 55, 62–­64) or as hallucinogenic mushrooms (Furst 1974a, figures 2, 4). The smaller figurines are conducive to being placed in juxtaposition with one another (see Almendros López and Platas Ruiz 2016; Faugere, chapter 1, this volume), and this indeed happens in many museum displays, and in a more permanent way in the slab-­ based models. But this also suggests that the hollow figures could have been similarly manipulated into larger groupings that are not obvious from the study of decontextualized figures alone. Art historians have long noted the presence of pairs of male and female figures that, although physically separate, are so similar in their visual characteristics that they must have formed a consciously executed unit (see Logan, chapter 3, this volume for illustrations and a closer consideration of their gender). Bell (1974, 154–­155) excavated such a pair in context in northeastern Jalisco. Numerous examples exist in which these couples were manufactured as a single piece (Butterwick 2005, pieces 34, 35; Kan et al. 1989, figures 14, 18, 53, 68, 77, 141; Leyenaar et al. 1992, figure 292; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figure 181), substantiating the pair theme and again implying that figures that were separately constructed may nonetheless have shared a relationship that was invoked only when they were placed together. Finally and most revolutionary for our thinking, accumulated excavations over the years challenge the assumption that the figures were made for 82

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Figure 2.9. Figure holding staff with disk; compare with figure 2.3a. The “cat’s paw” headdress and the disk are infrequent and probably status indicators. Compare the arc arrangement of the multipaw headdress to the multipronged headdress in figure 2.8. Ixtlán del Rio style. No scale in original. Credit: redrawn by Kathy Beekman from Anawalt (1998, figure 1).

specifically mortuary purposes. Excavations in all three western states have reported figure and figurine fragments in excavated residential and other nonburial contexts (e.g., Bell 1974, 154, 157; Meighan 1972, 72; Mountjoy 1970, 83; 1982, 280, 327; Ramírez Urrea 2005). Recent excavations in central Jalisco are more specific. Horizontal excavations at the ceremonial center of Navajas recovered approximately 15 hollow-­figure and 43 solid-­figurine fragments from the patio and structures of two guachimontones (Beekman, ed.  2007). The remains indicate the breakage of many distinct figures and figurines within the confines of the public architecture, and in the absence of any burials. The much more extensive excavations at Los Guachimontones recovered whole figures from caches and secondary burials (Cach 2008) and fragments from throughout the ceremonial center (Weigand and Esparza López 2008, 48, 141, 325, 326), though no quantification was made available. One particularly instructive hollow figure was recovered during the excavation of the La Joyita residential group (Weigand and Esparza López 2008, 148). The large and partially complete figure of a probably seated person was associated with a residence, indicating open display (see Beekman 2016a). Excavations thus establish the use of the figures in ceremonial and residential contexts among the living, and we cannot assume that they represented mortuary themes. Critical evidence can be obtained from the figures themselves, even in the absence of contextual data. Aronson’s (1993, 207, 210) study of the excavated U nseating the S haman

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materials from the cemetery at Tabachines (Galván Villegas 1991) found possible evidence of scuffing on some figures and figurines.3 Furst (1965, 72) noted wear on many of the decontextualized warrior figures as well, though he failed to recognize the challenge this posed to his characterization of the figures as funerary art. Usewear is to be expected for mobile art, particularly if figures were brought out of storage now and again to enact stories. Given the size of the figures, such displays would not have been for very large audiences. Even the use of multiple figures to form tableaux would have been most meaningfully presented to a modest group within a range of 4 m to 7m (estimated using Letesson and Vansteenhuyse 2006, 105–­107). Thus historical or mythical scenes could have been enacted using several of the figures, though the subject matter may well have been more personal and family related, given the intimate setting. The small models would have restricted the potential audience even further, unless they served more as mnemonics for storytellers playing to a large group. Performances of this kind are a challenge to demonstrate archaeologically (see Inomata and Coben 2006), but they fit well nevertheless with what we know of storytelling in Mesoamerica. Mixtec screenfold codices or books were publicly displayed and read to audiences (King 1990; Monaghan 1990; Pohl 1994, 12–­13, 109–­121). Historical dramas such as the highland Maya Rabinal Achí were and are performed by live actors before entire communities, incorporating speeches and dance (Breton 2007). The native western Mexican Relación de Michoacan begins with the explicit statement that its historical elements were performed aloud on the occasion of the fiesta of Equata cónsquaro. And as the day came for the festival, and all those criminals were in the patio with all the caciques and lords of the province and a great number of people, the high priest stood up and took his staff or spear, and told everyone there the entire history of their ancestors: how they came to this province and the wars that they had in the service of their gods; and this lasted until the night was over and he did not eat or drink, nor did any of those in the patio. And so as not to cause weariness I will divide it into chapters, and put it into your own language, that you may understand. Many people from the city and the towns of the province who were in the patio of the cazonci [ruler] came to know the history; and the high priest sent other lesser priests through the province with the history to tell it to the people.4 ( Jerónimo de Alcalá 2009, Segunda Parte I)

Similar to reading from codices, storytellers could have used the figures to relate the exploits of gods, culture heroes, ancestors, living members of the elite, or individuals on the occasions of their burials. Given the themes present 84

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among the figures and models, the most likely subject matter would include births, marriages, battles, conferences between important individuals, battles, captive taking, and so on. All these occasions are depicted in the later codices and have been recognized by Pohl (e.g., 1994) as crisis events that give particular insight into the local political and social system. By beginning this analysis with a consideration of the constraints and possibilities for how the figures were used to express their visual content, it is possible to reconsider prior approaches to the artwork. The figures display recognizable characteristics that made them easier to visually communicate their roles as mothers, leaders, warriors, and so on, but the size of the figures makes it less likely that their primary use was for status legitimation before large groups. Performances were most likely among family members, or status equals. The even smaller solid figurines could only have been used in more intimate scenarios, such as a single individual arranging them for ritual acts (Marcus 2009). Attempts to interpret the art as specifically funerary in character broke a basic rule of archaeology—­they were based on the final resting place of complete figures rather than where they had been used (see Almendros López and Platas Ruiz 2016, and Testard and Serra Puche, chapter 8, this volume, for recognition of this point). If the images were regularly being displayed, used, scuffed, and broken in ceremonial spaces like the guachimontones or residential areas, then they possessed a uselife that undermines specifically mortuary interpretations of the figures as guardians of the dead or representations of the underworld. Only with this established is it possible to examine symbolic aspects of the figures and figurines more carefully. WARRIORS AND THEIR PORTRAYAL

The so-­called “warrior” figurines are a case in point . . . from their frequency alone one might deduce that warfare was a common feature of life in western Mesoamerica some 2000 years ago. (Furst 1965, 32)

One of the most common themes represented among the anthropomorphic figures, figurines, and models is that of warriors, as recognized by Furst himself in the quotation above. Out of 126 complete and fragmentary figures from known contexts in central Jalisco, 13 of them hold weapons (Beekman 2016a, 2016b). Warriors were considerably more common in Colima, where they occurred in multiple styles. Their identification as warriors is very strong when considered as a group rather than singling out one particular pose or costume element. Figures and figurines hold slings, spears, spearthrowers, or U nseating the S haman

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clubs (Butterwick 2005, pieces 6, 7, 8, 31; Furst 1965, figures 3–­27; 1998, figure 6; Lefort 2005, 58; Leyenaar et al. 1992, figure 294; Lumholtz 1902, II, plates 117; Nicholson and Cordy-­ 4d, 5a,b; Médioni and Pinto 1941, figures 115–­ Collins 1979, piece 31; Solís Olquín 2004, 297; von Winning 1974, figure 305; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figures 140, 141, 184). The poses represented are divided between those with a more active standing posture (figures 2.3b, 2.5), and those in a more static seated pose (figure 2.8); the former face to the left, and the latter typically face forward. That these are warriors and not hunters is evident by their defensive gear. They are protected by helmets and shields, and by armor around the torso (e.g., Kan et al. 1989, 23; Solís Olquín 2004, 297) and back shields or neck restrictors behind the head that can resemble those worn by American football players (e.g., Kan et al. 1970, figure 86; 1989, 30; von Winning 1974, figure 305). When examined as part of a diverse sample, the horned headdresses become just one type of head decoration among several that include conical fringed hats, “sagittal crest” helmets, upside-­down pottery vessels, and double-­peaked helmets that resemble the peaked roofs on the house models. Armor varies in form, with figures from all of the western states wearing something that looks like a barrel (Galván Villegas 1991, lámina 64; Médioni and Pinto 1941, figure 67; von Winning 1974, figure 42; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figure 174), and certain figures from Colima can be dressed in what appears to be quilted-­cotton armor (Leyenaar and Pillsbury 1997, II, figure 29; Lynton and Lynton 1986, figure 27). Some figures may not have weapons but can be identified as warriors by the combination of costume and the dangling trophy heads with headgear identical to their own (Basler and Brummer 1928, plate 113; Eisleb 1971, cover image; Furst 1998, figure 10; Reynolds 1993, figure 63). Matching heads can be found as isolated vessels or arranged together into a bowl (Eisleb 1971, 75; Furst 1998, figure 11; Gallagher 1983, figures 37, 92; Lynton and Lynton 1986, figure 48; von Winning 1974, figures 56, 60), again suggesting decapitated warriors. Larger scenes were formed from multiple warriors. Battle models composed of figurines fixed to a flat slab show many warriors with shields and spears engaged in combat (von Winning and Hammer 1972, plate 5, figure 53) (see figure 2.5). Some hollow figures were joined into a single piece, in which one warrior is about to strike the other with a weapon (Furst 1965, figures 35, 36; Kan et al. 1970, figure 83; 1989, 42). There are also themes that seem unlikely as isolates—­such as captured warriors bound with rope (Furst 1998, figures 8, 9; Gallagher 1983, figure 43; von Winning 1974, figure 43)—­but they could have been effectively paired with one of the standing warriors to form a narrative tableau. 86

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WARRIORS AND ANIMALS

Warriors and high-­status figures in the western Mexican corpus are repeatedly associated with animals. These occur as (1) warrior-­dancers with sharply defined animal masks that are detachable from the human image, (2) warrior-­ dancers with animals on or in the place of human heads, (3) animals seated atop or behind a warrior, and (4) decorative fur caps on important figures that lack warrior indicators. The first category is represented by the “Late” Comala style of mostly solid figures up to 60 cm in height, and assigned to Colima. These pieces depict a personage with weapons such as a spearthrower, shield, and padded armor, and facing forward (Butterwick 2005, piece 29; Berjonneau et al. 1985, piece 215; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, piece 47; Nicholson and Cordy-­Collins 1979, piece 56; Townsend 1998, figure 12) (figure 2.10). Their costumes include noisemaker disks around their legs, and they adopt the active bent-­knee poses of dancing (Kurath and Martí 1964, figure 7). To be clear, then, they are not simply warriors, but dancers dressed as warriors (Baus de Czitrom 1997), perhaps associated with displays prior to or following battle. The removable mask and headdress can portray a reptilian or feline face, but the human head is fully modeled underneath. Because they are multicomponent pieces, we can clearly discern that these are human figures wearing a mask. Their disguise may be referencing the act of transformation, but they are not literally portraying the process of physical transformation from one form to another, nor are they hybrids with both human and animal characteristics. This type of figure allows more confident interpretation of the second category. This figure (figure 2.11) retains the same elements of armor, weapons, curved necklace, leg decorations, and animal head, but it was made as a single piece and has no movable parts (Baus de Czitrom 1997; Berjonneau et al. 1985, figure 217; Lynton and Lynton 1986, 80, figures 26, 27; Médioni 1952, figure 5; Mountjoy 1998, figures 6, 9; Reynolds 1993, figures 13, 47; Townsend 1998, figure 11; von Winning 1974, figure 42; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figures 62–­64). It has been interpreted as a hybrid shaman-­fish, but ignores the more detailed composite figures within the same region. These two types of warriors with animals are most prominently associated with styles attributed to Colima, where warriors appear to have been common, as Furst stated and then dismissed as too literal an interpretation. The third category is of warrior figures that do not wear animal masks, but have animals on their headgear or back (figure 2.12). The figures in this third group do not have the leg decorations nor do they offer dancing poses, and we can interpret them as more direct portrayals of warriors. A bird, canine, U nseating the S haman

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Figure 2.10. Figurine in dancing posture with noisemakers on legs. He holds a bundle of darts in one hand and a shield in the other. His animal headdress has been removed, revealing his fully modeled head. “Late Comala” style, attributed to Colima, although no evidence actually places these later than the typical Comala style. Height 31 cm when assembled. Credit: redrawn by Chris Beekman and Kathy Beekman from Berjonneau et al. (1985, piece 215).

Figure 2.11. Hollow figure with a fixed fish mask, with disks on legs. Comala style. No scale in original. Credit: redrawn by Chris Beekman and Kathy Beekman from Furst (1998, figure 30).

Figure 2.12. Warriors with animal on helmet, back, or tall standard. Heads of figures have been left blank to highlight animals, but all possess weapons and may have helmets, shields, or armor. Credits: Redrawn by Chris and Kathy Beekman from the following originals. Top row: (a) Graham (1998, figure 17); (b) Butterwick (2005, piece 20); (c, d) Holsbeke and Arnaut (1998, figures 46, 66). Bottom row: (e) Lefort (2005, 58); (f, g) von Winning and Stendahl (1969, figures 68, 74r).

or feline can be seated atop a warrior’s back shield or other costume element, or atop a cylindrical post that extends vertically from his back like a battle standard (Furst 1965, figure 10, 11, 27; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, items 46, 66). The animal most consistently sits atop the warrior’s headdress or helmet (Furst 1965, figures 6, 7; Gallagher 1983, figure 115; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, pieces 45, 69; Lefort 2005, 58; von Winning 1974, figure 216; von Winning and Stendahl 1968, figures 68, 74). Anthropomorphic figures with these animal associations are found in styles from across western Mexico, and include the warriors with the horned headdress (figure 2.12a). The fourth category may be distinct, and is limited to the Ixtlán del Rio style attributed to southern Nayarit. Figures of evidently high status wear an animal pelt headdress (Alcina Franch 1983, plate 19; Furst 1998, figures 1, 11; Gifford 1950, plate 9; Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, piece 84; von Winning 1974, figure 236) (figure 2.13). Figure 2.13a, for instance, depicts a rectangular body with a head at one end, and short legs hanging downward. Limbs wrap over the crown of the person’s head, where paws with delineated toes project upwards. Similar pawlike elements are commonly found incorporated into other headdresses U nseating the S haman

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Figure 2.13. Details of three hollow figures with animal-­skin hats. All three are in the Ixtlán del Rio style. Note how the markings on the fur occur in lines, suggesting a depiction of cat’s pelage. Observe the depiction of the animal feet, and compare to the projections on the headdress of the personage in figure 2.9. Faces have been left blank to highlight the animal skins. Credit: redrawn by Chris Beekman and Kathy Beekman from (a, b) Furst (1998, figures 1, 11) and (c) Alcina Franch (1983, plate 19).

(e.g., Kan et al. 1989, 57, figure 14; Vrieze 2002, plate 82), which likely indicate fur-­trimmed caps (see figure 2.9). The animals are simply modeled and could arguably be either feline or canine.5 Given the linear arrangement of the designs on their fur, their small size, and the geographic location, the most viable natural model would be a cat like a margay, one of which I photographed in central Jalisco in 2000. There is a strong tradition in Mesoamerica of associating warriors and elites with predatory animals, best known in the Jaguar and Eagle military orders in the Late Postclassic Aztec empire. These elite military units were dressed in costumes representing the eponymous animals, and the association has 90

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generally been considered a symbolic one that made the orders more intimidating (e.g., Martínez González 2011, 184). The same associations occur in the Late Postclassic to early colonial native Maya texts, such as the dance drama Rabinal Achí, where warriors are even spoken or referred to by the names of their military orders. Thus, the captive K’iche’ Achi spoke to the Eagle and Jaguar warriors who were about to execute him: “Oh you, the Eagles, oh you, the Jaguars, you will come! Do your work carry out your duty, so put your fangs and your talons to action.” (Breton 2007, 277)

Warriors at Classic-­period Teotihuacan were portrayed in costumes representing canines, jaguars, and raptors (Headrick 2007, 72–­89). The contemporary lowland Maya portrayed rulers in various media wearing jaguar-­skin cloaks, even without accompanying martial symbolism (e.g., Leyenaar and Pillsbury 1997, figure 39). Much older sculptures from the Formative Gulf Coast centers of San Lorenzo and La Venta depict elites with jaguar-­skin cloaks and headgear (Piña Chán 1989, figures 27, 34c). More developed interpretations of this relationship with animals emerged recently with the work of Headrick (2007) in highland Mesoamerica, and Reilly and Garber (2003) in the lowlands. Reilly and Garber consider the descriptions of battles in native Maya texts and how the victory or defeat of warriors was couched in terms of battle between their respective animal co-­essences known as wayob.6 Similarly at Teotihuacan, Headrick concluded that the raptor, jaguar, and canine imagery referred to the nahualli or co-­essence of those warriors. Although Furst and others characterized the widespread Mesoamerican belief in co-­essences as a kind of shamanic transformation, the nanahualtin present difficulties for the shamanic model even as they provide a more culturally specific explanation for the association of humans with animals in western Mexican imagery. THE ROLE OF CO-­E SSENCES

The Nahuatl terms nahualli (pl. nanahualtin; Hispanicized to nagual or nahual) and tonalli (pl. tonaltin; Hispanicized to tonal) are used across much of Mesoamerica to refer to the ties between a human and what is sometimes called an animal companion or alter-­ego (e.g., Brinton 1894; Ruiz de Alarcón U nseating the S haman

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1629, chapter 1, paragraphs 8–­35). Various attempts have been made to clarify the indigenous nature of the concept and to understand the relationship between the differing terms (an influential but outdated work being Foster 1944; see also McKeever Furst 1995, though she focuses on the other animating aspects of the body). The most recent and comprehensive analysis (Martínez González 2011; see also Jansen and Pérez Jiménez 2017, 12–­13) analyzes the use of both tonalli and nahualli in reference to ideas of personhood and the animating components of the body, and surveys Mesoamerican populations past and present with a view to how different groups interpreted the concept. Martínez González draws on the work of López Austin (1980) when he states that central Mexican Nahuatl speakers of the sixteenth century saw the human body as animated by the heart, air/wind, shadow, and heat. The last of these was the tonalli. These components appear in whole or in part among populations across Mesoamerica today, using either the Nahuatl term, another word in the local language, or a Spanish gloss. Typically it is the tonalli that is the shared material linking a human with their nahualli, but Martínez González notes how some modern populations may attribute the same role to one of the other animating forces (Martínez González 2011, 129–­135). When a human sleeps, their tonalli (or other aspect) leaves the body to join the animal that is their nahualli; similarly, the human is the nahualli of the animal, and the illness or injury of one can affect the other. Important for the correct interpretation of Precolumbian imagery is that a human does not physically transform into their nahualli—­“it was not a physical metamorphosis but the displacement of human subjectivity to the companion entity during sleep”7 (Martínez González 2011, 143). There is thus a transfer of consciousness from human to animal, and vice versa, allowing a human to perceive the world through the eyes of their nahualli; the word itself refers to a covering or mask (Martínez González 2011, 81–­88; see Dehouve, chapter 11, this volume). For this reason, the co-­essence is not represented as a hybrid human-­animal in Mesoamerican art, but as a human and animal side-­by-­side in relationship to one another (Martínez González 2011, 171–­174). Siberian shamans (Mikhailovskii and Wardrop 1895, 85–­90) and shamans in the writings of Eliade and Furst are special individuals recruited through a supernatural calling, a life crisis, or through inheritance from a line of shamans, and their possession of an animal companion reflects their unique status within an otherwise egalitarian society. This is not a good description of the Mesoamerican co-­essence. Everyone possesses a nahualli, though only special individuals (the human-­nahualli) may be aware of theirs or able to control it. Different ethnographic groups report different ways in which the nahualli can 92

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become assigned to a human—­through inheritance at birth, calendrical divination, ritual bathing, a pact with the animal, the interpretation of ashes, or through a dream—­and the literature is not always clear as to whether this is truly the assignment of a nahualli, obtaining an additional nahualli, or merely the means of its discovery (Martínez González 2011, 120–­125, 145). Hence Mesoamericans differed by the co-­essence they possessed, not whether they possessed them at all. Among the Aztec, one’s social status determined both the identity of the nahualli and how many of them one had. Nobles had fierce animals such as jaguars or coyotes as their nahualli, and commoners might have pigeons, dogs, or opossums. Saunders (1994) cites various statements that humans with the nahualli of a jaguar possessed aggressive personality characteristics and the skills of a warrior, making them particularly apt for military service. Among some groups today, the most powerful nanahualtin can be meteorological phenomena such as lightning, rain, and so on. Nanahualtin are also not limited to individuals. Groups can collectively have a nahualli (contra Gossen 1975, 83), which like those of individuals can reflect the position of the group in the social hierarchy (Martínez González 2011, 92–­101, 116). Aztec gods had their own nanahualtin as well—­the rain god Tlaloc had the serpent-­jaguar and Huitzilopochtli had both the hummingbird and the fire serpent (Martínez González 2011, 90), complicating the already multifaceted character of Mesoamerican gods. We are not solely dependent upon the ethnohistoric and ethnographic accounts to clarify the Precolumbian role of the co-­essence, as hieroglyphic and iconographic research among the Classic-­period Maya has pushed its presence back by a thousand years. Houston and Stuart identified the term way (pl. wayob) across several historical Maya languages and in the hieroglyphic inscriptions, with its basis in the root term for “sleep” (1989, 5–­6). They describe it as clearly parallel to the nahualli of the Nahuatl-­speaking world, with variations for the social environment in the dynastic kingdoms of the Classic Maya. Lowland Maya texts show how rulers constantly reaffirmed their positions through the ritual impersonation and conjuring of supernatural figures, and scenes described in the past as deity impersonations instead fall into a murky realm in which these entities may be gods, wayob of gods, or the wayob of rulers (Houston and Stuart 1989, 1996). As in Nahuatl-­speaking regions, the wayob of important individuals like Maya rulers and gods are strange and exotic composite creatures rather than ordinary animals. And once again, physical transformation is not the action portrayed, but rather an alternation between aspects of self that led Monaghan (1998) to translate nahualli and way into English as “co-­essence.” In a parallel to western Mexico, scholars’ recognition of co-­essences helped to displace interpretations U nseating the S haman

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that attributed much Maya imagery to death, funerary ritual, or the underworld (Houston and Stuart 1989). Nanahualtin have been suggested before as an explanation for the animal imagery in western Mexico. Salvador Toscano (1946, 24–­25) attributed the large number of animal representations to early nahualismo among ancient west Mexicans, though without further elaboration. Baus de Czitrom (1997) on the other hand deliberately sought to explain the large solid figures from Colima as warrior-­dancers (my category one, above), whose masks represented their nanahualtin. Finally, it is one thing to consider the concept of a co-­essence, but it is equally important to ask whether the west Mexican imagery follows the same modes of representation for the co-­essence used elsewhere in Mesoamerica. Martínez González (2011, 171–­174) reviewed native colonial documents and Precolumbian images to this end, and was able to identify four distinct modes by which ancient artists represented co-­essences. The nahualli or way could appear behind or on the back of the individual, a person may wear clothing or a mask of their nahualli, the human could be shown emerging from the mouth of the nahualli, or they may have the nahualli in place of their foot. The first two match the placement of animals in the western Mexican warrior figures. The warriors have animals atop their helmets or headdresses (figure 2.12a, b, e–­g), or the nahualli can appear as a mask (figures 2.10, 2.11). Animals may appear behind some warriors, initially appearing to be a battle standard or decoration atop their back protector (figure 2.12c, d). Some important humans wear an animal-­skin hat that may refer to a nahualli or perhaps be simply a sumptuary item (figure 2.13). To my knowledge, no figure from the Late Formative emerges from the mouth of an animal, nor does an animal replace someone’s foot. Note further that there are other representations of people with animals, such as women holding dogs in their arms, but there is no known precedent for portraying such a juxtaposition of humans with co-­ essences. Rather, it is only warriors and perhaps high-­status figures who are depicted with these companion entities. DISCUSSION

As I have discussed here, the ceramic figures best known from the shaft tombs are not inherently associated with a mortuary significance. As noted by von  Winning, most do not depict specifically death-­or underworld-­ related imagery, and have only been assigned such a meaning because looters pull the complete examples from burials. Archaeological research across western Mexico has also found the figures across public ritual and household 94

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contexts, while many of those from the tombs suffered breakage or usewear prior to their inclusion. Based on these features and their portability, I have proposed that the figures were used as props and mnemonics in storytelling. There is evidence that the myths and group histories depicted in Postclassic Mesoamerican written and painted sources were performed before audiences. In the Late Formative period, writing played a limited role even for elites, but physical objects held considerable potential as mnemonic prompts for oral performance (Severi 2015). The mobile figures and figurines provided the flexibility to combine different pieces and develop multiple performances. The potential occasions for live storytelling were various. Funerary ritual has received the most attention, but there were also ancestral rituals that may have been performed subsequent to burial. Ethnohistoric evidence refers to festivals structured around the calendar (see also Beekman 2003a), and perhaps the best ethnographic example is that of the Rabinal Achí. This last case is particularly intriguing, as it is a semihistorical dynastic drama from fifteenth-­ century Quiché Maya political history. This narrative performance is enacted on the day of the patron saint of the community of Rabinal, and other dances from the region that do not survive were evidently performed on both fixed or variable schedules (Breton 2007, 3–­6). Many of them told of battles and sacrifice, and the Rabinal Achí provides a distant model for some of our material in that warriors are the main characters, and dance and speeches constitute the performance. The warriors wear back decorations similar to some of those in the western Mexican figures, and often incorporate eagle or jaguar images into their costumes (Tedlock 2005, 139–­144, figures 1, 3). On another level, I have identified difficulties with the keystone examples of shamanism in western Mexico and among the Olmec. Scholars who wish to pursue a shamanistic model for the interpretation of the art of far western Mexico will need to address several problems. Furst’s analytical approach is one. Some scholars prefer to use the term shamanism as described at its Siberian origins (Mikhailovskii and Wardrop 1895), while others use the term as generalized into a cross-­cultural phenomenon (Eliade 1964). Furst pursued neither approach, but often drew opportunistically upon very specific points from a variety of unrelated cultures in Amazonia and from the Huichol, Taoists, and elsewhere. Even so, all these approaches generally share in the assumption that only shamans possessed animal companions or helpers, while Mesoamericans possessed co-­essences from birth. Co-­essences could also be obtained in a variety of ways that show only limited overlap with those described for shamans, and even less with Eliade’s perspective that saw shamans commonly recruited through a personal crisis. Amazonian shamans (Furst’s model for U nseating the S haman

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the Olmec) may transform into animals during a trancelike state of ecstasy, but neither trance nor physical transformation is particularly well evidenced in the Nahuatl-­and Maya-­speaking regions highlighted here. Any use of shamanism in the future needs to define what that term is meant to convey, why it is preferable to the known variety of religious practitioners, and how the concept meshes with specifically Mesoamerican beliefs. Finally, researchers must address how any of these characteristics are represented visually within the Mesoamerican artistic canon. Furst interpreted specific features—­horns, vertical staffs topped by disks, a leftwards-­facing stance—­with limited regard for how Mesoamerican artists used those conventions. The relationship between humans and other entities is a deeper question of ontology. Descola (2013, 215–­216) has described Mesoamerican perceptions of the links between humans and other entities under his broader heading of an analogistic ontology (see Faugère and Beekman, introduction, this volume; Dehouve, chapter 11, this volume). Personhood is composite and volatile with multiple animating components (of which the tonalli is just one), each tied to an animal or a god, which are themselves composite entities. Living creatures are situated within nested layers of ritual power, just as ceremonial centers replicate the broader cosmos. Human destiny is an amalgamation of multiple cosmic influences, well represented in the Mesoamerican calendar, in which one’s date of birth lies at the crossroads of numerous temporal cycles and influences upon fate. One of the questions posed by the editors is whether such concepts can be distinguished in highland Mesoamerican visual culture. If my proposals are correct, then the artists of Late Formative western Mexico chose to represent warriors with their co-­essences. Given that nanahualtin and wayob are possessed by all manner of people in Mesoamerican ethnography, this selectivity of focus is interesting. But it also parallels the visual choices made in other areas of Highland Mexico, where eagle, jaguar, and coyote warriors were prominently depicted from at least the Classic period onwards. This differs from the southern Maya lowlands, where dynastic rulers tended to control the production of formal artwork and had themselves and their family members portrayed in rituals with their wayob. While the people of different regions shared some beliefs, social organization and the distribution of positions of authority led to different modes of representation. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks go to John Pohl for stimulating discussions while working on this chapter, to Annabeth Headrick for encouraging my forays into the visual arts,

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and to Kathy Beekman for her continuing patience in producing the excellent illustrations. Jennifer Saracino, Brigitte Faugère, Johannes Neurath, and the anonymous reviewers provided suggestions that materially improved the chapter. The Navajas excavations were supported by the National Science Foundation, the Foundation for Ancient Mesoamerican Studies, Inc., and the University of Colorado Denver. Permits were provided by the Consejo de Arqueología del Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. NOTES

1. Within a broader discussion of shamanism, Stone (2016) proposes that the figures were conduits for shamans to communicate with the dead. The interpretation is derived from sixteenth-­century Aztec concepts of the body and its animating forces (teotl, teixiptla), not shamanism. 2. Stone sculpture during the period is infrequent and lacking in detail (see Williams 1992). Smaller figures made of shell, jade, or other materials were made but possess very different potential for visibility and iconographic expression (López Mestas 2007; Novella 1995). 3. Her analysis similarly identified varying degrees of usewear among all the ceramic wares found in the shaft tombs at Tabachines. None of these offerings can be assumed to have been made specifically for funerary activities, and all the ceramic wares and types have been found in surface contexts as well as in the tombs (Beekman, ed. 2007). 4. “Y como se llegase el día de la fiesta, y estuviesen todos aquellos malhechores en el patio con todos los caciques de la provincia, y principales, y mucho gran número de gente, levantábase en pie aquel sacerdote mayor, y tomaba su bordón o lanza, y contábales allí toda la historia de sus antepasados: cómo vinieron a esta provincia y las guerras que tuvieron, al servicio de sus dioses; y duraba hasta la noche borrado que no comían, ni bebían él, ni ninguno de los que estaban en el patio. Y porque no engendre hastío la repartiré en sus capítulos, e iré declarando algunas sentencias, lo más al propio de su lengua, y que se pueda entender. Esta historia sabía aquel al patio del cazonci así compuesto, con mucha gente de la ciudad y de los pueblos de la provincia; e iba con él el sacerdote mayor y enviaba otros sacerdotes menores por la provincia, para que la dijesen por los pueblos, y dábanles mantas los caciques.” 5. An anonymous reviewer suggested an opossum or tlacuache, important in Mesoamerican mythology. But the animals portrayed lack the most distinctive features of the Virginia opossum native to western Mexico—­the pronounced snout or prehensile tail. Their grey body also lacks patterns in their fur, consistently represented in the animal-­skin hats. U nseating the S haman

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6. There are accounts of Mesoamerican shamans (perhaps better referred to as brujos) who predate upon others using their co-­essence, as noted by an anonymous reviewer. Brujos have been known to attack brujos but they more commonly attack non-­brujos in this manner (Gossen 1975, figure 1; Knab 1995) because everyone has a co-­essence. Importantly for iconographic interpretation, there is no reference, metaphorical or otherwise, to the brujo as a warrior. 7. “No era una metamorfosis física sino el desplazamiento de la subjetividad humana a las entidades compañeras durante el sueño.” REFERENCES

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del occidente de México, ed. Eduardo Williams, 297–­324. Zamora: El Colegio de Michoacan. López Mestas, Lorenza. 2007. “Las piedras verdes en el centro de Jalisco.” Report submitted to the Foundation for Ancient Mesoamerican Studies, Inc., http://www​ .famsi​.org. López Mestas, Lorenza, and Jorge Ramos de la Vega. 2006. “Some Interpretations of the Huitzilapa Shaft Tomb.” Ancient Mesoamerica 17:271–­282. Lumholtz, Carl. 1902. Unknown Mexico. New York: Charles Scribner’s and Sons. Lynton, Marion, and Mark Lynton. 1986. Aus der Tiefe. Grabfiguren aus Westmexiko/Out of the Depths. Tomb figures from West Mexico. Köln: Rautenstrauch-­Joest-­Museum. Marcus, Joyce. 2009. “Rethinking Figurines.” In Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena, ed. Christine T. Halperin, Katherine A. Faust, Rhonda Taube, and Aurore Giguet, 25–­50. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Martínez González, Roberto. 2011. El Nahualismo. Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. McKeever Furst, Jill Leslie. 1995. The Natural History of the Soul in Ancient Mexico. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Médioni, Gilbert. 1952. L’art tarasque du Mexique Occidental. Paris: Paul Hartmann. Médioni, Gilbert, and Marie-­Therese Pinto. 1941. Art in Ancient Mexico. New York: Oxford University Press. Meighan, Clement W. 1972. Archaeology of the Morett Site, Colima. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mikhailovskii, V. M., and Oliver Wardrop. 1895. “Shamanism in Siberia and European Russia. Being the Second Part of ‘Shamanstvo.’” The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 24:62–­100, 126–­158. Monaghan, John. 1990. “Performance and the Structure of the Mixtec Codices.” Ancient Mesoamerica 1:133–­140. Monaghan, John. 1998. “The Person, Destiny, and the Construction of Difference in Mesoamerica.” RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics 33:137–­146. Mountjoy, Joseph B. 1970. “Prehispanic Culture History and Cultural Contact on the Southern Coast of Nayarit, Mexico.” PhD diss., Southern Illinois University, Carbondale. Mountjoy, Joseph B. 1982. Proyecto Tomatlán de salvamento arqueológico. Fondo etnohistórico y arqueológico. Desarrollo del proyecto. Estudios de la superficie. Colección Científica 122. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Mountjoy, Joseph B. 1998. “The Evolution of Complex Societies in West Mexico: A Comparative Perspective.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the 104

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Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 251–­265. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Museu Barbier-­Mueller Art Precolombí. 2000. Pre-­Columbian America: Ritual Arts of the New World. New York: Skira. Nicholson, Henry B., and Alana Cordy-­Collins. 1979. Pre-­Columbian Art from the Land Collection. San Francisco: California Academy of Sciences. Norwood, Lauren Wilson. 2016. “Ancestors in Clay: A Case for Portraiture in Lagunillas Style E Figurines.” In Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Robert B. Pickering, 195–­206. Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Museum. Novella, Roberto A. 1995. Classification and Interpretation of Marine Shell Artifacts from Western Mexico. British Archaeological Reports. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Olay de Barrientos, María de los Angeles. 1993. “Las Tumbas de Tiro de Las Animas, Colima.” Arqueología Mexicana 4:78–­80. Olay de Barrientos, María de los Angeles. 2012. Volcán de Fuego, cuna del agua, morada del viento. Desarrollo social y procesos de cambio en el valle de Colima, México. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Colegio de Michoacan. Oliveros Morales, José Arturo. 2006. El Espacio de la Muerte. Recreado a partir del Occidente Prehispánico. Zamora: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Colegio de Michoacan. Palka, J. W. 2002. “Left/Right Symbolism and the Body in Ancient Maya Iconography and Culture.” Latin American Antiquity 13:419–­443. Pickering, Robert B., and Christopher S. Beekman. 2016. “A Historical Overview of Shaft Tomb Archaeology in Western Mexico.” In Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Robert B. Pickering, 1–­22. Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Museum. Pickering, Robert, and Cheryl Smallwood-­Roberts. 2013. “Old Figures, New Ways of Seeing.” Gilcrease Journal 20:6–­25. Piña Chán, Román. 1989. The Olmec: Mother Culture of Mesoamerica. New York: Rizzoli. Pohl, John M. D. 1994. The Politics of Symbolism in the Mixtec Codices. Vanderbilt University Publications in Anthropology No. 47. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University. Ramírez Urrea, Susana. 2005. “Figurillas de la Fase Verdia: El Complejo Usmajac.” In Arqueología de la Cuenca de Sayula, ed. Francisco Valdez, Otto Schöndube, and Jean Pierre Emphoux, 211–­225. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara/Institut de Recherche pour la Développement. Ramos de la Vega, Jorge, and Lorenza López Mestas. 1996. “Datos preliminares sobre el descubrimiento de una tumba de tiro en el sitio de Huitzilapa, Jalisco.” Ancient Mesoamerica 7:121–­134. U nseating the S haman

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Reilly, F. Kent, III. 1996. “Art, Ritual and Rulership in the Olmec World.” In The Olmec World: Ritual and Rulership, 27–­46. The Art Museum. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University. Reilly, F. Kent, III, and James F. Garber. 2003. “The Symbolic Representation of Warfare in Formative Period Mesoamerica.” In Ancient Mesoamerican Warfare, ed. M. Kathryn Brown and Travis W. Stanton, 127–­148.: Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press. Reynolds, Richard D. 1993. The Ancient Art of Colima, Mexico. Walnut Creek: Squibob Press, Inc. Ruiz de Alarcón, Hernando. [1629]. Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentilicias que hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España. Editorial de Cardo, Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes. www​.cervantesvirtual​.com. Said, Edward. 1978. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books. Saunders, Nicholas J. 1994. “Predators of Culture: Jaguar Symbolism and Mesoamerican Elites.” World Archaeology 26:104–­117. Schöndube Otto. 1998. “Natural Resources and Human Settlements in Ancient West Mexico.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 205–­216. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Severi, Carlo. 2015. The Chimera Principle: An Anthropology of Memory and Imagination. Translated by Janet Lloyd. Chicago, IL: Hau Books. Solís Olguín, Felipe R. 2004. Art Treasures of Ancient Mexico. Journey to the Land of the Gods. Amsterdam: De Nieuwe Kerk, Waanders Publishers in association with Lund Humphries. Stone, Rebecca R. 2016. “Keeping the Souls Contained: Instantiation and the Artist’s Hand in Ceramic Figures by the ‘Mexpan Sculptor’ of Southern Nayarit.” In Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Robert B. Pickering, 175–­194. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series, Gilcrease Museum. Stuart, David. 2005. “Ideology and Classic Maya Kingship.” In A Catalyst for Ideas: Anthropological Archaeology and the Legacy of Douglas Schwartz, ed. Vernon L. Scarborough, 257–­285. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. Tate, Carolyn E. 2012. Reconsidering Olmec Visual Culture: The Unborn, Women, and Creation. Austin: University of Texas Press. Taube, Karl. 1988. The Albers Collection of Pre-­Columbian Art. New York: Hudson Hills Press. Taube, Karl, and Marc Zender. 2009. “American Gladiators: Ritual Boxing in Ancient Mesoamerica.” In Blood and Beauty: Organized Violence in the Art and Archaeology of Ancient Mesoamerica and Central America, ed. Heather Orr and Rex Koontz, 161–­220. Los Angeles, CA: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press. 106

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Tedlock, Dennis. 2005. Rabinal Achi: A Mayan Drama of War and Sacrifice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Toscano, Salvador. 1946. “El Arte y la Historia del Occidente de México.” In Arte Precolombino del Occidente de México, ed. Salvador Toscano, 9–­48. México, DF: Secretaria de Educación Pública. Townsend, Richard F. 1998. “Before Gods, Before Kings.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 107–­135. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. von Winning, Hasso. 1974. The Shaft Tomb Figures of West Mexico. Southwest Museum Papers No. 24. Los Angeles, CA: Southwest Museum. von Winning, Hasso, and Olga Hammer. 1972. Anecdotal Sculpture of Ancient West Mexico. Los Angeles, CA: Ethnic Arts Council of Los Angeles. von Winning, Hasso, and Alfred Stendahl. 1968. Pre-­Columbian Art of Mexico and Central America. New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc. Publishers. Vrieze, John, ed. 2002. Art Treasures of Ancient Mexico. Journey to the Land of the Gods. Amsterdam: Waanders Publishers, in association with Lund Humphries, De Nieuwe Kerk. Weigand, Phil C. 1974. “The Ahualulco Site and the Shaft-­Tomb Complex of the Etzatlán Area.” The Archaeology of West Mexico, ed. Betty Bell, 120–­131. Ajijic, Jalisco: Sociedad de Estudios Avanzados del Occidente de México. Weigand, Phil C. 1985. “Evidence for Complex Societies during the Western Mesoamerican Classic Period.” In The Archaeology of West and Northwest Mesoamerica, ed. Michael S. Foster and Phil C. Weigand, 47–­91. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Weigand, Phil C., and Rodrigo Esparza López. 2008. Informe Técnico Temporada 2003–­2006 Sitio Arqueológico Guachimontones, Teuchitlán, Jalisco. Informe to the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, México, DF. Williams, Eduardo. 1992. Las piedras sagradas: Escultura prehispánica del occidente de México. Zamora: El Colegio de Michoacan. Zavaleta Lucido, Marcos T., and Rosa María Flores Ramírez. 2016. “The Shaft Tomb of Parcelas 12, 19, and 25 and Their Inhabitants: Funerary Considerations on Recent Archaeological Finds in Colima.” In Shaft Tombs and Figures in West Mexican Society: A Reassessment, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Robert B. Pickering, 55–­72. Gilcrease Ancient Americas Series. Tulsa, OK: Gilcrease Museum. Zender, Marc. 2004. “A Study of Classic Maya Priesthood.” PhD diss., University of Calgary, AB.

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3 Gender and Paired Ceramic Figures in Late Formative West Mexico Melissa K. Logan

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Depictions of sex and gender are prominent in human imagery found throughout time and space in Mesoamerica. Although sex is often easy to determine by the presence of primary and secondary sex characteristics on the figures, gender requires a closer examination of the imagery to discern. Gender is constructed when the physical characteristics of biological sex are culturally interpreted and given social meaning (Munson 2000, 128). Socially determined characteristics including physical attributes, roles, behaviors, and rules are used to define different genders (Eicher and Roach-­Higgins 1992, 17; VanPool and VanPool 2006, 54). Biological sex is often part of gender construction; however, it alone does not determine gender. Gender can also be defined by the contradiction between biological sex and socially defined attributes, roles, and actions of males and females (Munson 2000, 128; VanPool and VanPool 2006, 54). In human imagery, gender is commonly manifested in the clothing, accessories, ornamentation, and body poses and gestures of the figures, as well as in the objects they hold. The interplay of these attributes not only informs on the gender and status of the figures individually when depicted alone, but also the formation of gender and gender-­status relationships when multiple figures are visible together. As a cultural construct, gender can change its expression and manifestation over the course of an individual’s life, or even in different social contexts. For the preconquest

Late Postclassic Nahuatl speakers of central Mexico, gender was unstable and constantly subject to change by natural and supernatural forces (Klein 2001, 184, 237–­238). Gender could mix and change within a single individual, resulting in “gender ambiguity” where gender boundaries were blurred to the extent that it was impossible to assign a single gender to the individual (Klein 2001, 189–­190). Gender-­ambiguous individuals did not possess all genders, or even one gender, but rather were an incomplete or imperfect gender because they were a male or female in possession of traits of the other gender (Klein 2001, 189–­190). This is in contrast to “gender duality,” seen among the Classic Maya (see Joyce 1996, 2001), in which an individual possesses entirely male or female traits that are either expressed simultaneously or alternated, but not partial or mixed (Klein 2001, 186, 189). Gender ambiguity represented crisis and brought misfortune to society because these individuals were in opposition to social and cosmic order (Klein 2001, 190–­193). However, as a bodily manifestation of chaos and evil, gender ambiguity could be harnessed and used to restore order and prosperity in the future through the symbolic or actual removal of gender ambiguous figures during rituals (Klein 2001, 184–­185, 195). Parents as well as society as a whole also sought to stabilize the gender of children so that upon marriage they would assume the proper gender roles of one of the socially accepted genders (Klein 2001, 236–­237). Socialization as children grew determined their gender, not their biological sex (Klein 2001, 237–­238). Significant gender transformations also have been recognized to coincide with different periods of biological development, which are often tied to the reproductive life cycle and represent the transition from childhood through adulthood to old age ( Joyce 2000a; Lesick 1997). Gender distinctions between “biological maturity,” the completion of puberty, as well as “social maturity,” achieving a marital union, can be marked (Beaumont 2000, 47; Houston et al. 2006, 50). Among the Aztec of late Prehispanic central Mexico, boys and girls did not complete the gradual gendering process until they made the transition to adult status ( Joyce 2002, 82–­83; for a detailed discussion see Joyce 2000a). For males, this occurred upon taking captives in war, and for females, by giving birth to a child ( Joyce 2002, 82–­83). Different hairstyles worn by Aztec females signaled changes in their marital status (Berdan and Anawalt 1997, 146). Unmarried girls wore their hair down and simple, often cropped, throughout childhood (Berdan and Anawalt 1997, 153). Once married, a woman’s hair was pulled up, divided, and folded into “two hornlike tufts” at the top of her head (Berdan and Anawalt 1997, 146). Figurine studies among early populations in southern Mexico also have revealed that hairstyles were indicative of women’s transition between different gendered statuses (Flannery and G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Marcus 1998, 38), although there is cultural variation in the interpretation of different styles. Elaborate hairstyles appear to have been exclusive to young women of a marriageable age in this area, while married women wore only plain hairstyles (Flannery and Marcus 1998, 38). Shared worldview, symbolism, deities, ritual practices, and architectural types with the greater Mesoamerican tradition suggest that the cultural groups of Late Formative west Mexico were influenced by their closest neighbors (Beekman 2003a, 2003b, 2010; Day 1998; Graham 1998; Witmore 1998). It is likely that Mesoamerican influence extended to rules, roles, behaviors, and physical characteristics used to signal group and individual identity, including gender. Attributes similar to those used to convey gender in Mesoamerica also are visible in the human imagery from Late Formative west Mexico. Ceramic figures depicted individually, in pairs, and in diorama models display various garments; headdresses/hairstyles; jewelry/adornments; body paint/tattooing and scarification; as well as objects held in their hands. These attributes have been added to the figures using multicolored paints, incised designs, and additional pieces of clay. Repeated use of several specific body poses and gestures also are seen in the figures. Considerable variation in the attributes of the west Mexican figures suggests these artistic details also were used to signal gender and other social information in this area of Mesoamerica. Of the three forms of ceramic figural sculpture that depict human imagery from Late Formative west Mexico, paired male-­female figures, commonly referred to as “marriage pairs,” offer the most comprehensive glimpse into the sociopolitical structure, by reflecting detailed and broadly held perceptions of gender contextualized within accepted social relations. Individual figures, while they are elaborately detailed, lack a gendered context, and diorama models may show the interaction of multiple figures but subdue extensive individual decoration in order to emphasize the overall event. The intentional joining or association of the two figures together into the male-­female pair combines two objects into a single subject of focus, one social actor, not an independently acting male and female (Hendon et al. 2014, 156). Since the two figures are expressed as single social unit, their attributes and social significance can be considered in conjunction with one another. Attention can be directed toward artistic details linking the figures, including shared adornments, clothing, and objects, as well as specific bodily gestures used to unite the figures (Hendon et al. 2014, 73). The paired context of the figures, however, does not mean that individual examination of each figure cannot offer information on the differences between the two. Differences in attributes between the two figures indicate that differentiation is also made between the individuals (Hendon et al. 2014, 73). 110

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Through statistical analysis of figure attributes visible on stylized ceramic pairs, it is possible to address emic perceptions of gender within given geographic areas of western Mexico. Panregional comparison of biological sex-­ attribute associations among these stylistic variants is used to evaluate gender differences across regions of varying degrees of centralization. Gender appears not to have been uniform in west Mexico during the Late Formative, but rather divided into two distinct areas. Within central Jalisco, a region defined by the Tequila valleys, their immediate surrounding areas, and a small portion of southeastern Nayarit, gender identity was defined by power and reproduction, while in areas outside this region gender was tied to sex and reproduction. The complex gender identities and relations, formed by a combination of biological and social elements, within central Jalisco indicate that the joining of the two figures in the ceramic pairs is much more complex than a male-­ female marriage couple. Distinct imagery in each area suggests pairs served different social purposes during elite mortuary ritual. Additionally, gender ideology revealed through this analysis informs on sociopolitical organization in west Mexico during the Late Formative. ARCHAEOLOGY OF CENTRAL JALISCO

During the Late Formative (100  bc–­a d 200) shaft-­and-­chamber tombs were intensively used throughout western Mexico. They have “been found in the lake and river basins of the mountainous volcanic region forming part of the Sierra Madre Occidental, which describes a wide arc from the Rio Grande de  Santiago in the State of Nayarit, across central and southern Jalisco, to the Rio Coahuayana in the southern border area of Colima and Michoacan” (Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, 61) (figure 3.1). Shaft-­and-­chamber tombs also have been identified north of Puerto Vallarta (Mountjoy and Sandford 2006) and in the Bolaños River valley, which extends from southern Zacatecas into northern Jalisco (Cabrero García 1989). There is extensive variation in the shaft-­and-­chamber tombs, not only in their composition, construction, and size, but also in the goods associated with them, some of which might be attributable to distinctions being made between lower-­and higher-­status burials (Beekman and Galván Villegas 2006, 260). The presence of more elaborate tombs, circular architecture called guachimontones, ballcourts, settlement hierarchies, and an overall higher density of archaeological materials have been used as evidence to suggest that the shared mortuary practices related to the shaft-­and-­chamber tombs of western Mexico were concentrated in the valleys surrounding the Tequila volcanoes in central G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Figure 3.1. West Mexico. The lightly shaded regions indicate the distribution of the Late Formative shaft-­and-­chamber tombs associated with the figural sculpture that were included at the time of this study. This area no longer represents the entire universe of tombs or figures, which are now known from Guanajuato and southern Zacatecas. The darkly shaded region indicates the portion of West Mexico, referred to here as Central Jalisco, where gender ideology is most complex during the Late Formative. The five opaque regions show the location of larger modern-­day lakes. Credit: map by author, based on Cabrero (1989), Holsbeke and Arnaut (1998, 209), Kan et al. (1989, 11), Mountjoy and Sandford (2006), von Winning (1974).

Jalisco (Beekman 2000, 2008; Weigand 1985, 2000). Shaft-­and-­chamber tombs within the Tequila valleys tend to be larger, deeper, and more complex than those throughout the remainder of west Mexico during the Late Formative (Beekman 2007). These elite burials are usually multichambered, contain 112

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multiple interments, include imported high-­status goods, and exist within central communities associated with ballcourts and guachimontones (Beekman 2007, 2008; Weigand 1996). Guachimontones are a circular form of public architecture unique to west Mexico that are composed of a circular stepped platform at the center of a plaza ringed by an even number of rectangular structures (Weigand 1985, 1996). These complexes served as loci for rituals and perhaps domestic activities of the Late Formative populations, and are distributed hierarchically across the landscape (Beekman 2016, 66–­68; Weigand 1985). This, in conjunction with variations in tomb wealth, size of surface architecture, and scales across ceremonial centers, suggests the presence of competitive lineage-­based chiefdoms (Butterwick 1998, 2004), increased political centralization (Beekman 2000, 2008), as well as a state-­like form of organization in the Tequila valleys during the Late Formative (Weigand 1985, 2000). HUMAN IMAGERY IN LATE FORMATIVE WEST MEXICO

Individual and paired figures, of both solid and hollow construction, make up the majority of human effigies from western Mexico, and portray persons of various ages in a diverse range of roles, including mothers, warriors, food preparers, musicians, ritual leaders, and ballplayers, who are distinguished by their adornments and accoutrements (see Beekman, chapter 2, this volume for examples of individual figures). Figures are depicted holding children, animals, food, balls, musical instruments, and religious paraphernalia, and display diversely decorated garments and body paint and tattooing, as well as other adornments such as headdresses, necklaces, leg and arm bands, and ear and nose rings. The attention to detail in the construction and decoration of these figures, which extends to incising individual strands of hair, teeth, and nails on their toes and fingers, is exceptional. Ceramic diorama models illustrate scenes ranging from small-­scale religious activities involving three or four individuals to entire communities participating in large-­scale ritual events, including ballgames (Day 1998), pole-­climbing ceremonies (Beekman 2003a, 2003b), mortuary feasting (Butterwick 1998, 2004), and burial rituals (see Beekman, chapter 2, this volume for examples of models). These larger constructions subdue extensive individual decoration, perhaps in order to emphasize the overall social event, but identifiable and clearly decorated adornments and accoutrements, including clothing, headpieces, jewelry, tattooing, and objects held by the figures, are retained in many of the depictions. Females marked by protruding breasts, swollen pregnant bellies, and/or carefully modeled genitalia, and males with visible phalluses, are represented G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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in all forms of ceramic imagery. Although some males are nude entirely or just below the waist, many wear clothing and are identified as males by the absence of prominent breasts paired with either a scooped codpiece placed over the groin area or a loincloth. Females are almost always depicted with skirts and also are identified by the presence of this garment. Ambiguously sexed figures also are common in the imagery. These figures are identified by the absence of the primary and secondary sex characteristics of males and females. The lack of these defining sex attributes is clearly visible as these figures are often portrayed nude or nude from the waist down (see Furst 1998, figure 7). With the exception of the cape, ambiguously sexed figures do not usually display clothing characteristic of males or females. They also are sometimes depicted as dwarfs and/or hunchbacked individuals, which have been interpreted as representing shamans (Furst 1998). Ambiguously-­sexed figures are assumed to be adults because they do not possess traits of children, and can be depicted with items of status used by adult males or females, such as rattles, drums, conch shells, and vessels. They are most commonly depicted as individual figures, and are never found in the context of the paired figures. Occasionally, ambiguously sexed figures can be identified in the diorama models. Traditional style distinctions for the ceramic figures were based on broad-­ scale stylistic differences loosely tied to the modern states of Nayarit, Jalisco, and Colima (von Winning 1986, 7). However, due to the large degree of variability in figure design and construction and the geographic distribution of the figures, this older typology has limited utility in defining the numerous figure types. More recent classifications, codified in the Art Institute of Chicago volume, Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past (Townsend 1998), have acknowledged and attempted to address these issues by subdividing the styles into smaller substyle designations based on more-­minute stylistic similarities between the figures. Presently, eleven substyles are recognized throughout west Mexico, including Ixtlán del  Río, Lagunillas, San Sebastián, Ameca-­Etzatlán, El Arenal Brown, San Juanito, Tala-­Tonalá, Zacatecas, Tuxcacuesco, Coahuayana, and Comala. During the Late Formative, ceramic effigies likely played a role in the competitive mortuary practices of lineage elites and were probably prominently displayed during ritual feasting for the dead, mortuary processions, and the final interment of the deceased (Beekman 2000; Butterwick 1998). This is evidenced in the ceramic diorama models recovered from the shaft tombs that depict elaborate scenes of mourning and/or preparation of the dead, mortuary feasting, groups processing a body for burial in a tomb, and interred individuals beneath the floors of houses. Lineage-­based competition is suggested by variations in labor invested in tomb construction and tomb wealth (Beekman 114

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2000, 393); the regular reuse of tombs by members of the same lineage as indicated by osteological evidence from Huitzilapa (López Mestas and Ramos de la Vega 1998); and selective association of shaft-­and-­chamber tombs with surface structural complexes, composed of lineage-­owned houses as indicated by variation in the construction (in both materials and techniques) of contemporaneous structures within a single complex, as well as by variation in artifacts associated with these structures (Beekman 2008). Current chronological sequences for central Jalisco suggest political authority was being established within the region between 100 bc and 200 ce (Beekman and Weigand 2008). The ceramic figural sculpture associated with the shaft-­and-­ chamber tombs dates to this period and reflects the sociopolitical change. The ceramic figures of the Late Formative offer the earliest visual representations of populations in west Mexico. There is some human imagery from people in the region in the time spanning this period and the Late Postclassic documentation of the Tarascans in the Relación de Michoacan, including the Cerro Garcia figurines from the Late Classic period and figures in the Early and Late Postclassic codex-­style pottery. Detailed accounts and illustrations of west Mexican groups also are rare between European contact and prior to anthropologist Carl Lumholtz’s (1898, 1900, 1902, 1904) chronicle of the cultural traditions of the region in the volumes of Unknown Mexico, and artist Adela Breton’s watercolor landscapes and short articles on the early people and ruins in the area during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It was not until the mid-­1900s that imagery of the west Mexican cultures began to appear in such sources as those of Donald and Dorothy Cordry, who photographed and recorded Mexican cultures, including the Huichol of Nayarit (Cordry and Cordry 1968). The lack of cultural continuity in west Mexico from the Late Formative to the present makes it difficult to find direct descendants with whom to compare the imagery of the ceramic figures, and comparison between the groups that inhabited west Mexico does not always lead to similarities. The search for analogs must then turn to cultural groups within close geographic proximity to this region, whose members were likely to have influenced, and been influenced by, west Mexican cultures. MESOAMERICAN INFLUENCE IN WEST MEXICO

Mesoamerican influence in west Mexico has been present in the region since the Early Formative period (Beekman 2010, 79). Rivers, including the Rio Lerma and the Rio Balsas, have been identified as a means for communication between west Mexico and Mesoamerica during prehistoric times (Beekman G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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2010, 45). Shared ceramic forms and vessel decoration at the west Mexican sites of Capacha and El Opeño with those at the site of Tlatilco in the Basin of Mexico provide evidence for Mesoamerican links via the Rio Lerma during the Early and Middle Formative periods (Beekman 2010, 60). Similar depictions of females with nude upper bodies and short skirts in the ceramic imagery from Middle Formative Tlatilco (see Bernal-­García 2006, 151, figure 6.4), and Late Formative west Mexico also support a connection between west Mexico and the site of Tlatilco during the Formative period. Trade with Mesoamerica for luxury goods such as jade during the Middle Formative is noted at sites found in the highlands of Jalisco and Michoacan (Beekman 2000, 391, 392; Beekman 2010, 60). Shared Mesoamerican worldviews (Beekman 2003a, 2003b; Witmore 1998), ritual practices (Beekman 2003a, 2003b; Witmore 1998), symbolism (Graham 1998; Witmore 1998), and deities (see Beekman 2010, 43) are also recognized in Late Formative figural sculpture and surface architecture. The Mesoamerican multileveled universe and the ritual and solar cycles conveyed in circular calendrical imagery in Mesoamerican art may be visible in the architectural layout and orientation of the guachimontón complexes (Witmore 1998). The stepped platform may relate to the sky, the plaza may identify with this world, and the shaft-­and-­chamber tombs found beneath many of the guachimontón complexes may make reference to the underworld (Beekman 2003b, 12). Mesoamerican pole-­climbing rituals such as the volador or Xocotl Huetzi ceremonies may have been performed on the stepped platforms at the center of the guachimontón complexes (Beekman 2003a, see figure 11; 2003b; Witmore 1998), as evidenced not only in the depiction of similar ceremonies in the ceramic diorama models, but also by the remains of a single posthole at the center of several of the stepped platforms at the site of Guachimontón (Beekman 2003a, 302; Witmore 1998, 144). Other Mesoamerican parallels are visible in the architectural remains of Late Formative west Mexico, including the presence and use of ballcourts (Day 1998; Weigand 1985; 1991, 76; 2000). Evidence of this can be seen in ceramic figural sculptures of ballplayers wearing game attire and holding the game ball, ceramic dioramas depicting persons actively participating in and attending ballgames, as well as in the structural remains of the ballcourts themselves. Some ballplayer figurines and possible game gear (yuguitos) have been dated to the Early Formative period, suggesting even earlier influence from Mesoamerica for the ballgame, possibly from connections with the Gulf Coast Olmec (Day 1998, 153–­154). To date, the Olmec are the earliest Mesoamerican culture to show evidence of the ballgame. These west Mexican figures and 116

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yuguitos date to 1500 bc, which is roughly contemporaneous with five rubber balls recovered from Features 31–­92, 8–­92, and 21–­89 representing the Manatí A phase (1700–­1600 bc) in the springs at the Olmec site of El Manatí (Day 1998, 153; Ortíz and Rodríguez 1999, 230–­231, 242–­243). Some ballcourts in west Mexico are constructed like others throughout Mesoamerica with the typical I-shaped playing floor; however, others conform to a style more distinct to west Mexico (Taladoire 1979, 34–­37). For the most part, the game appears to have had similar rules and significance, although variations in ballcourt size and the use of open fields in some areas and defined courts in others, indicates that each society within west Mexico selected elements of the ballgame that best met local social needs (Day 1998, 166). Court variations also might reflect the playing of different types of games (Taladoire 1979, 35). Mesoamerican-­ style ballcourts in west Mexico date to the Late Classic period (Taladoire 1979, 37) despite ceramic models from the Late Formative showing similar types of ballcourts. Taladoire (1979, 37) suggests this indicates that ballcourt models continued to be used after the shaft tombs were abandoned, or that the shaft tombs were used into the Late Classic period. Although the ballcourts themselves cannot confirm a Late Formative date, it is clear that the greater Mesoamerican ballgame tradition imparted its influence in west Mexico. Mesoamerican symbols of power also have been recognized in west Mexico during the Late Formative (Graham 1998). Conch-­shell headdresses, like those depicted on Stela 11 at Kaminaljuyu, Guatemala, and on Stela 11 at Yaxchilán, Chiapas (see Graham 1998, figure 6), that mark Late Formative through Classic-­period Maya rulers are seen among elite males in the west Mexican ceramic imagery (Graham 1998, 195–­197). Some of these figures also display other Mesoamerican symbols of power from the Late Formative, including the position of royal ease (Graham 1998, 200, 295, see note 37), as well as other traits and accoutrements common to Mesoamerican rulers at the time, such as nose beads (Graham 1998, 200). The presence of Mesoamerican cultural markers in west Mexico suggests groups in this region were influenced by their closest neighbors, and there is no reason to believe that this did not extend to the construction and expression of identity, including gender. SYMBOLS OF IDENTIT Y IN MESOAMERICA

Physical attributes including garments, ornamentation, gestures, and accoutrements, used to mark individuals for sex, gender, and other forms of status and identity in Mesoamerica, are visible in a wide range of sources. These G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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include text and pictorial documentation from sixteenth-­century Spanish conquistadors and missionaries ( Joyce 2002, 81); material culture and assemblages associated with burials (G. McCafferty and S. McCafferty 2003; S. McCafferty and G. McCafferty 1994); and indigenous artistic depictions of human imagery in figural sculptures ( Joyce 1993, 2002), monuments ( Joyce 1996), and codices (Anawalt 1981, 1998; Troike 1982). Within these different contexts, males and females are shown engaged in variety of activities alone and in the company of others. Objects held by figures or found in association with them reflect specific gender roles and social positions held by the individuals ( Joyce 1993, 261; G. McCafferty and S. McCafferty 2003; S. McCafferty and G. McCafferty 1994). Figures identified as male tend to be associated with weapons and religious paraphernalia, such as shields, axes, staffs, and musical instruments ( Joyce 1996, 179; S. McCafferty and G. McCafferty 1994, 145) that reflect their roles in warfare, hunting, and ceremonial activities ( Joyce 1993, 260, 261). Female figures usually are involved in productive or reproductive tasks ( Joyce 1993, 260). They are depicted pregnant, nursing, or caring for small children or infants ( Joyce 1993, 259, 261; 1996, 188; 2002, 89), and also are associated with spinning and weaving implements, including weaving battens, combs, picks, spindle whorls, and spinning bowls (S. McCafferty and G. McCafferty 1994, 148; G. McCafferty and S. McCafferty 2003, 42), as well as food-­processing tools, cookware, and containers of food ( Joyce 1993, 261; 1996, 188). Women are commonly depicted kneeling, which emphasizes their role as producers of food and cloth because weaving, grinding corn, and tending the hearth are performed in this position (Brumfiel 1996, 158–­159; von Winning 1974, 53). The kneeling pose also is thought to be indicative of pregnancy, as this is a position assumed by women when giving birth (von Winning 1974, 66). Females also have been shown to assist males in ritual activities ( Joyce 1993, 261). Throughout Prehispanic Mesoamerica, clothing was used to express identity and status (Anawalt 1998, 235). The Classic Maya believed clothing was a second skin that not only served as practical covering to protect the body, but could also be manipulated to express one’s identity (Houston et al. 2006, 25–­26). Garments commonly signal group identity and are often used as a means of distinguishing gender. The skirt, the quechquemitl, and huipil were female garments, and clothing worn by males was the loincloth (maxtlatl) and hip-­cloth (Anawalt 1981, 209–­211, 213–­215; Cordry and Cordry 1968, 8, 9; Gillespie 1983, 816). Although capes also are considered part of the male costume repertoire, they were worn by both males and females in some regions of Mesoamerica (Anawalt 1981, 209, 211, 213). Different aspects of group and 118

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individual identity also can be signaled through the design attributes of clothing, which include the garment’s construction, color, design, and materials, and the manner in which it is worn (Pancake 1996, 46). These attributes can simultaneously convey locational, social, and personal information about an individual (Pancake 1996, 54). Ethnicity, linguistic region, and community can constitute locational information, while social symbolism can include marital status, age group, socioeconomic position, and ceremonial roles (Pancake 1996, 54). Symbols reflective of personal information display family affiliation, personal aesthetics, technical skills, and self-­expressiveness of individuals (Pancake 1996, 54). Communication through dress included not only the act of wearing the garment but also the composition of the garment itself (Pancake 1996, 46–­47). Social conventions, such as customs and laws, dictated materials used for clothing construction, designs, detailing, and accessories, as well as how, when, and by whom different garments could be worn (Anawalt 1981, 3). Like clothing, ornamentation also informs on identity and status in Mesoamerica (Anawalt 1998). Ornamentation can be subdivided into two categories: external objects that are created and placed on the body, including headdresses and hairstyles, as well as ear, nose, neck, arm, and leg jewelry; and the direct decoration of skin through painting, tattooing, or scarring. The body and all its parts, including skin, hair, and any material extracted or excreted from the body (and their processes of removal), can convey information about identity and status (Houston et al. 2006). The head, as a central focus of the body, provides an important canvas upon which to convey social information. Mesoamerican cultures conceptualized the head and face as the manifestation of the body and a signifier of personal identity (Houston et al. 2006, 68–­72). Headdresses of elite persons among the Aztec and Maya contained imagery identifying personal names, as well as other names or identities assumed by the individual that established kinship or connections with the supernatural (Houston et al. 2006, 68–­70). Mesoamerican headdresses also reflect the roles and status of the wearer. The Aztec used different hair treatments to communicate gender and status ( Joyce 2002, 82). Headdress and hairstyles as indicators of gender persist today among the modern descendants of ancestral populations of Mesoamerica (Pancake 1996, 49). Headdresses among the Sacapulas in Guatemala are used to distinguish between different statuses of women, specifically indicating single versus married (Pancake 1996, 49). Cranial deformation or intentional head shaping also has been associated with varying social identities in Mesoamerica, including biological sex and gender ( Joyce 2001, 115). For the Classic Maya, weighty headdresses indicated the “burden of office” and were worn only by high-­status individuals (Houston et al. 2006, 26–­27). G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Examination of ornamentation among the Mixtec revealed that jewelry was not gender specific (S. McCafferty and G. McCafferty 1994, 149). At the Olmec site of La Venta, ear adornments were used only by fully gendered adults ( Joyce 2002, 85). The Classic-­period Maya marked royalty by nose piercing (Houston et at. 2006, 19). Lip-plugs were used to express ethnic identity of the local community at the Postclassic site of Xaltocan (Brumfiel et al. 1994). The skin and all its features, including finger-­and toenails, skin conditions, and added artistic designs, also communicate social information (Houston et al. 2006, 15). Markings on the skin can be permanent, temporary, intentional, and unintentional; however, all identify differences or similarities with other bodies (Houston et al. 2006, 15–­16). Scarring, branding, tattooing, and stretching the skin, as well as aging and nutritional deficiencies, produce an irreversible symbol of one’s identity on their body (Houston et al. 2006, 15–­16). In contrast, painting one’s skin leaves only an impermanent mark that can be easily altered or removed to express or hide one’s identity at will (Houston et al. 2006, 15–­16). Classic Maya used body paint to beautify women and provide camouflage for male warriors (Houston et al. 2006, 22–­23). They added tattoos to the skin in stages to mark different events in one’s lifecycle, including the onset of puberty and sexual maturity (Houston et al. 2006, 19). The Aztecs also used scarification to mark sexual status ( Joyce 2002, 82). Long fingernails and toenails were characteristic of Classic Maya elites, because they exemplified the absence of labor, which would not only be difficult to perform with long nails, but would also inhibit their growth (Houston et al. 2006, 25). Identity and status were commonly expressed through bodily poses and gestures in Mesoamerica. Body poses, gestures, and the placement of the body itself maximize the amount of information that is conveyed in an artistic form without adding additional decoration or materials (Troike 1982, 180). This is particularly important for figurine construction where the canvas is extremely limited. Observation of bodily poses and gestures within their artistic context is not only crucial to determining their social meanings, but is essential to understanding the relationship between figures depicted together (Troike 1982). Small-­scale body variations, in the form of posture and gesture, were used in the Mixtec codices to convey information on the relationship between individuals of different status (Troike 1982). The relative placement of the entire body within a single artistic context indicated idealized complementary gender relationships and gendered spaces in Classic-­period Maya monuments ( Joyce 1996). Females associated with the left and lower position, while males associated with the right and upper position ( Joyce 1996, 174). The right/male and left/female dichotomy within Classic-­period Maya iconography also has been 120

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interpreted as representing a hierarchical relationship of dominance and submission between the sexes (Palka 2002). Drawing from contemporary Maya and other ethnographic comparisons, Joel Palka (2002, 419) suggests Classic-­ period Maya also identified the male-­associated right side, right handedness, and gesturing to the right with “pure, powerful, and superordinate.” In contrast, the female-­associated left side, left handedness, and gesturing to the left signified “weaker, lame, and subordinate” (Palka 2002, 419). The pairing of the dominant right with the submissive left in the imagery created a hierarchical complementarity between the two sides that could be recognized from both the perspective of the outside observer and the actors themselves (Palka 2002). SYMBOLS OF IDENTIT Y IN LATE FORMATIVE WEST MEXICO

Social identities also are physically manifested on the Late Formative west Mexican figures in numerous attributes, including clothing, ornamentation, body poses and gestures, and objects held by the individuals. The following sections summarize the most common symbols of identity present on the figures. Additional details are to be found in Logan (2007). Clothing

The garments most widely displayed by the figures are the shirt, shorts, skirt, and cape (figure 3.2). Other garments, including codpieces, cylinder and half-­ cylinder body-­encasing armor, chest bands/straps, sandals, and ballgame attire such as yokes, hip pads, and arm and knee protectors (Day 1998), also are depicted on some of the west Mexican figures. The male loincloth appears only on figures of the Comala and Tuxcacuesco substyles from Colima. Comala figures also are the only substyle possessing a unique set of elaborate ceremonial costumes with removable headdresses and masks (see Beekman, chapter 2, this volume, figure 2.10). Clothing is decorated in polychrome checkerboard design patterns, collections of randomly placed design motifs, and single solid colors (figure 3.3). It is directly incised into the figure’s clay body, added to the figure with paint, or three-­dimensionally modeled by forming and attaching additional pieces of clay to the figure. Various combinations of these garments are visible in every figure substyle except for the Lagunillas, San Sebastián, and Zacatecas substyles, because figures in these substyles are always portrayed nude. Males among the San Juanito substyle also are consistently shown without clothing, despite the depiction of the skirt on females. Although some nude figures appear to have G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Figure 3.2. Ceramic figural pair of the Ixtlán del Río substyle (ca. 400 bc –­a d 400) displaying the shirt, shorts, cape, and skirt—­the garments most widespread throughout west Mexico during the Late Formative. Credit: pictured in Anawalt (1998, figure 1), by permission of Galerie Mermoz, Paris, expert, Precolumbian art.

clothing painted on their bodies, the clearly visible and prominent depiction of primary and secondary sex characteristics suggests that the coloring reflects body paint and/or tattooing rather than clothing on the figures. Headdresses and hairstyles; ear, nose, neck, arm, and leg jewelry; body tattooing and painting; and scarification comprise the other forms of body ornamentation also visible on the figures. Headdresses and Hairstyles

Figures from all substyles display very short hair or clean-­shaven heads. The absence of hair on the head is prominent among figures of the Ixtlán del Río,

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Figure 3.3. Design motifs identified on the clothing of west Mexican figures. Credit: motifs assembled and drawn by Melissa Logan.

Tala-­Tonalá, and San Juanito substyles, although there are examples of figures with short haircuts, and even one Ixtlán del  Río figure in this dataset with a small tuft of hair in the center of the top of the head (see Weigand and Beekman 1998, figure 13). Likewise, short hair is most common for Lagunillas, San Sebastián, Tuxcacuesco, Comala, Coahuayana, and Ameca-­Etzatlán substyles. Some Ameca-­Etzatlán, San Juanito, Comala, and San Sebastián figures are depicted with tight cap-­like covers over their heads that are added to the figures using small pieces of clay (figure 3.4). A cap might represent a short hairstyle that is seen painted onto other figures in the Ameca-­Etzatlán G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Figure 3.4. Cap-­like head cover on figures in an Ameca-­Etzatlán pair (ca. 200 bc –­a d 300). Credit: cap illustration assembled and drawn by Melissa Logan from Dwyer and Dwyer (1975, catalog no. 41).

substyle. However, it is possible the caps are a type of headdress. The caps also can have a crest from either the front to the back of the head or from the right side to the left side of the head, perhaps representing longer hair pulled up into this shape. Headbands, when added to these figures, are placed over the cap, treating it more like hair than a headdress. Headbands were common in all substyles, but their type and decoration, and the number worn by the figures, varied. Simple single headbands were worn by figures in the Ameca-­Etzatlán, Lagunillas, San Juanito, Tuxcacuesco, Tala-­Tonalá, and Ixtlán del Río substyles. Decorated headbands worn alone or as several stacked on the head also were common to Tala-­Tonalá figures. Ameca-­Etzatlán figures were often shown with multiple headbands worn on the head in the shape of an “X” or an asterisk (*) with one to several medallion-­ shaped objects affixed to the bands (figure 3.4). Among the Lagunillas, headbands were depicted primarily on males. The crossed headband can be seen on one Comala figure in this dataset. Medallions on headbands also occur on a few Ixtlán del Río and Coahuayana figures, and on an even smaller number of figures of the Comala substyle. Twisted headbands are unique to the Ixtlán del Río figures and they appear on many of the figures, even in conjunction with other headdresses. Elaborate headgear was common to the Ixtlán del Río and Comala substyles, although headdresses worn in each area were rather different. Cones, animal 124

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Figure 3.5. Zacatecas pair showing (left) the two-­horn head adornment of males (200 bc –­a d 500). Credit: accession nos. M.86.296.39a–­b, Seated Couple, Jalisco, Proctor Stafford Collection, www​.lacma​.org, by permission of Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles, California.

pelts, and “cat’s paw” headdresses were typical among the Ixtlán del Río figures (figure 3.2; see also Beekman, chapter 2, this volume, figure 2.13). This dataset includes one example of a conical headdress on a Tala-­Tonalá figure similar to those of Ixtlán del Río (see Dwyer and Dwyer 1975, catalog no. 22). Male figures from the Zacatecas substyle always exhibit a unique style of head adornment in which their hair is wrapped into two horn-­like buns on the top of their head (figure 3.5). Zacatecas females are depicted either with smooth, clean-­shaven heads or with black bands of paint on their heads, perhaps indicating shaved stubble, or tattooed or shaved-­and-­painted heads. Two horn-­like protrusions also are visible on a few figures from the San Sebastian and Ameca-­Etzatlán substyles (see Kan et al. 1989, 58a, 82a; Denver Art Museum, 1991.503.1; Dwyer and Dwyer 1975, catalog no.  24); however, the horns are pointed, unlike the Zacatecas figures whose buns are spool-­shaped. One Ixtlán del  Río figure in this dataset exhibited two twisted horns (see Los Angeles County Museum of Art, AC1998.209.10), but again, this style is dissimilar to that seen among the Zacatecas, and even the San Sebastián and Ameca-­Etzatlán figures. Also in this dataset were four figures exhibiting a single pointed horn—­one each from the Tala-­Tonalá (see the British Museum, HN26), San Sebastián (see the Denver Art Museum, 1972, 245), and G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Ixtlán del Río (von Winning and Stendahl 1969, 182) substyles whose horn was placed in the front of the head, and the fourth from the San Sebastián substyle with a horn at the center of the back of the head (see Arte Primitivo Howard S. Rose Gallery, 2005, 1365–­1385). Cranial modification, such as elongation, is present on some of the figures in all of the substyles with the exception of the Zacatecas figures. Many of the figures in the Ixtlán del Río, Ameca-­Etzatlán, Tala-­Tonalá, and San Sebastián substyles exhibit elongated crania. Jewelry

Earplugs, ear spools, earfans (earrings in the shape of inverted, open, folding fans), and multiple earrings, or hoops, are the primary forms of ear adornment found on the Late Formative figures (figures 3.2, 3.4, and 3.5). Figures in all substyles exhibit ears that are not pierced, as well as holes in their earlobes, which might have contained an ear adornment added to the figure that is no longer present. Earplugs are worn by Tala-­Tonalá, Tuxcacuesco, Comala, Ameca-­Etzatlán, and Ixtlán del Rio figures. All Zacatecas figures are depicted with ear spools, as are many figures of the Tala-­Tonalá substyle. Ear spools also are visible on some Ixtlán del  Río and Coahuayana figures. The most common ear adornment for figures of the Ixtlán del Río substyle are earfans, although earfans also occur on some San Juanito and San Sebastián figures. Multiple hoops or rings on the ears are found on the Ameca-­Etzatlán, San Juanito, San Sebastián, and Lagunillas figures. Only figures of the Zacatecas and Tala-­Tonalá substyles exhibit earlobe mutilation or modification. Jewelry inserted into the noses of the West Mexican figures include single and multiple rings, and nose plugs (figures 3.2 and 3.4). Figures of the Ixtlán del Río substyle wear all three types of nose adornment, while the San Sebastián and Lagunillas figures displayed only multiple nose rings. Necklaces are worn by Ixtlán del  Río, Tala-­Tonalá, Lagunillas, and Coa­ huayana figures (Logan 2007, appendix B). Ixtlán del  Río, Ameca-­Etzatlán, and San Sebastian figures were depicted with arm bands (ibid.). Leg bands occur on figures of the Ameca-­Etzatlán and San Sebastián substyles (ibid.). Body Paint, Tattooing, and Scarification

Figures from all substyles exhibit some form of body paint, tattooing, or scarification on their bodies. Paint and tattooing were most common on figures of the Zacatecas, Ixtlán del  Río, and Ameca-­Etzatlán substyles. Decoration

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was present on the faces, torsos, and arms and legs of these figures (see Logan 2007, appendix B). Betty Bell (1974, 152–­157) has argued that distinct patterns on the faces of male and female figures in the Zacatecas substyle are associated with biological sex. The use of tattooing or paint to emphasize the breasts of females is a common theme among the Zacatecas, Ixtlán del Río, and Ameca-­Etzatlán substyles despite the varied use of patterns (figures 3.2 and 3.5). It is likely that gender was conveyed through the emphasis of female sex characteristics. Shoulder scarring, in the form of round raised marks, occurs in multiple rows on figures of the Ameca-­Etzatlán, San Sebastián, Tala-­Tonalá, and Coahuayana substyles. Some Zacatecas and Tala-­Tonalá figures exhibit slits in their earlobes, while several Ixtlán del Río figures are shown with slits in their checks perpendicular to their mouths. Body Poses and Gestures

Repeated use of body poses and gestures are common among the figures of all substyles, especially for females. Females are often depicted in a collapsed or seated kneeling position, and/or with a raised open hand in a stop-­like gesture (figures 3.2 and 3.4). These poses are completely absent among males, who are usually depicted either seated (with a stool, or on the ground cross-­legged, or with legs straight out in front) or standing, positions which are also shared by females. Some males are depicted with their legs up in front in an A-frame position—­all males in the Zacatecas substyle are portrayed in this position.

Items Held by the Figures

A wide array of objects are held by the figures, including balls, staffs, fans or paddles, musical instruments, weapons, pipes, food, children, animals, and vessels (see Logan 2007, appendix B). DEFINING SEX AND GENDER

Statistical analysis was used as the basis for determining sex and gender associations for the figures in the pairs. More than two hundred figural attributes were statistically tested against biological sex using chi-­squares1 to determine traits characteristic of the two basic genders, man and woman. Tests were performed on the entire dataset, individual figure styles,2 and selected styles found within central Jalisco. These various groupings allowed for examination G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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of biological sex-­attribute patterning at different scales, provided a baseline for regional associations, and permitted styles with smaller sample sizes to be statistically tested. Gender was assigned to the figures through consideration of attributes characteristic of men and women and biological sex. Figures possessing one or more traits belonging to only one gender type were considered to be of that gender. The presence of additional gender categories was identified for those figures possessing traits characteristic of both men and women; if a figure’s biological sex was contradicted by the presence of traits characteristic of the gender of the opposite biological sex; and for those figures displaying a unique set of attributes that could not be gendered using male or female traits or sex characteristics (Arnold 2002, 245, 252; Hollimon 1997, 187–­188; Munson 2000, 133). Once gendered, figures were examined with their counterparts and labeled as a specific type of gender pair. Attribute associations, gender types, and gender pairings were evaluated in conjunction with one another and used to address gender perceptions and dynamics throughout west Mexico, and at several more localized levels of analysis, including individual stylistic regions and collective style areas. The degree to which gender indications were shared stood as an indication of the extent of interaction, integration, and/or influence between different regions, and provided a means of assessing organization of the larger sociopolitical structure. In line with the archaeology of central Jalisco, which suggests complex sociopolitical development within the Tequila valleys during the Late Formative, substyles found within this geographic region were combined together for the analysis. These substyles included Ameca-­Etzatlán, El Arenal Brown, San Juanito, and Tala-­Tonalá. Zacatecas, Comala, Coahuayana, Lagunillas, Tuxcacuesco, Ixtlán del  Río, and San Sebastián substyles represent the area outside the Tequila valleys, and were each analyzed individually when sample size permitted. Both the San Sebastián and Ixtlán del  Río substyles could have been incorporated into either grouping for the analysis due to the transitional location of their type sites between the two regions; however, the separation of these sites from the Tequila valleys by a large prehistoric lake suggests the San Sebastián and Ixtlán del Río substyles were more likely associated with substyles outside the Tequila valleys. Infrequent interaction across the vast expanse of the lake might have limited influence from the populations in the Tequila valleys. An outside association for these substyles also was supported by their distribution along the Nayarit-­Jalisco border northwest of the Tequila valleys. 128

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T able 3.1. Substyles by core and periphery Core (within central Jalisco)

Ameca-­Etzatlán

El Arenal Brown

Periphery (outside central Jalisco) Coahuayana Comala

Ixtlán del Río*

Lagunillas

Tala-­Tonalá

Tuxcacuesco

San Juanito

San Sebastián

Zacatecas

* Designates substyle originally considered to be outside the core due to geographic location.

SEX AND GENDER IN LATE FORMATIVE WEST MEXICO

Sex and gender ideologies obtained from this analysis patterned themselves into two regional groups—­a core and a periphery. The terms core and periphery are used merely as a means of distinguishing between the ideologies of the geographic center of sociopolitical change and the outside region. The use of these terms in no way implies a dominant-­submissive relationship between the areas involved. Core is used interchangeably with central Jalisco to describe a region defined by the Tequila valleys, their immediate surrounding areas, and a small portion of southeastern Nayarit (figure 3.1). All areas outside this region are considered part of the periphery. Substyles in the Tequila valleys (identified above) and the Ixtlán del Río substyle reflect the ideology of central Jalisco, while the periphery ideology is represented in all other substyles found outside the Tequila valleys (also identified above) (table 3.1). Although the type site and ceramic ­figure distribution for the Ixtlán del Río substyle is outside of the Tequila valleys, statistical analysis of these figures revealed several similarities with the results obtained for the core substyles, especially for attribute associations with females and figures without visible sex characteristics. Association patterns found for substyles in the periphery were not visible in the Ixtlán del  Río results. It is therefore likely that the populations creating the Ixtlán del  Río figures shared closely in the core’s practices, despite their more distant proximity. The San Sebastián substyle, which also was located in the transitional zone between the core and periphery, exhibited sex and gender patterning like the other periphery substyles examined. Small sample size did not permit the individual analysis of all of the periphery substyles in this dataset. Only the San Sebastián and Zacatecas substyles could be analyzed alone. G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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T able 3.2. Attribute associations for males and females in ceramic pairs from individual substyles outside central Jalisco (Zacatecas style)

Strong

Males

Two-­horn head adornment

Females

Hands on hips

Moderate

Seated with A-frame knees Seated with legs straight in front

(San Sebastián style)

Males

Females

Sitting/Squatting

Straight-­line body tattooing

Gender ideology between central Jalisco and the surrounding area is very distinct. Within central Jalisco there existed multiple genders defined by power or reproduction, while outside central Jalisco the adult male and female genders were defined by sex and reproduction, respectively. Sex and Gender outside Central Jalisco

Adult males and females are the primary genders depicted in the pairs outside central Jalisco (figure 3.5). Nearly all males and females in the evaluated periphery substyles are depicted nude with visible primary and secondary sexual characteristics. Males and females are associated with their own unique set of gender-­specific traits that were not shared between substyles (table 3.2). In the Zacatecas substyle, males strongly associated with a two-­horn head adornment and sitting with their legs bent up to their chest in an A-frame position, exposing their phallus; while females are strongly associated with having their hands on their hips and sitting with their legs straight out in front of them. The seated pose, in general, probably signaled the superior social rank of the males and females in the pairs (Graham 1998, 200). Sitting with both knees raised into an A-frame position is also a pose of high status, especially when associated with males, because it allows them to display their genitalia, and by extension their masculinity and power (Goldstein 1988, 55). For the Classic Maya, adult male gender was tied to sexuality and display of the male body ( Joyce 2000b, 264). In the imagery, male bodies are more exposed than female bodies. Males participating in activities requiring strength and skill are depicted as youthful and virile with attention drawn to their genitalia even 130

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when they are covered ( Joyce 2000b, 264). This idealized representation of male strength (desired by both males and females) was created specifically for viewing by other males, who defined their identity through comparison and the desire to be like these figures ( Joyce 2000b, 279). The horned headdress alone (Furst 1998, 180–­181; 1978, 30; Goldstein 1988, 55), and in combination with crossed arms resting on A-frame knees has been suggested to be characteristic of shaman and shamanistic practices (Holsbeke and Arnaut 1998, 73). However, Alice Beck Kehoe (personal communication, April 20, 2012; also see Kehoe 2008, 125–­131) argues that the protrusions from the head and headdresses on the west Mexican figures, are not “horns” of a shaman, but rather, “hair buns” that signal the elite status of the individuals portrayed in the imagery. Horned headdresses in Mesoamerica also indicate the ruling elite by marking their superior political rank (Graham 1998). Possible meanings associated with both hands placed on the hips are unknown; however, based on the other attribute associations for males and females in this substyle, it is likely that this pose also symbolizes elite status. Moderate associations were found with males and females in the San Sebastián substyle. Sitting or squatting was moderately associated with males, while straight-­line body tattooing was moderately associated with females. Again, the seated position likely is a sign of high rank. Specific information conveyed by straight-­line tattooing is unclear, but might be a mark of elite social status. Visual observation of the Zacatecas and San Sebastián pairs in this dataset also reveals that none of these sex-­specific attributes is seen on figures exhibiting characteristics of the opposite sex. Other figure attributes (including body tattoo/paint designs, body scarring, jewelry, and objects held) were also observed on the Zacatecas and San Sebastián paired figures; however, none of these attributes is strongly associated with males or females, and it is likely that these forms of adornment are indicative of other facets of their identity. Male-­and female-­associated attributes appear only to mark the figures in the pairs as elites. The distinction between males and females is made only with the presence of sex characteristics and not via attributes typical of the roles of men and women in Mesoamerica. The display of the primary and secondary sex characteristics on figures in the area outside central Jalisco suggests male and female gender in this area is tied to biological sex. This is supported particularly for the male gender, which is uniquely associated with body poses displaying the male genitalia. The reproductive importance of the female gender is visible through the depiction of female figures with exposed full breasts (which in the Zacatecas substyle are emphasized with paint or tattooing). Drawing attention to female breasts, a part of their body that is essential for their role as mothers in nurturing G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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healthy children, served as a reminder of the importance of females in the production and reproduction of society (Overholtzer 2012, 69, 79–­80). Minimal markers of status on the figures suggest power was not actively negotiated through this medium. Pairs might represent ancestral male-­female kin unions, perhaps married couples, used by ruling elites to reinforce lineage ties during mortuary ritual. This indicates burial practices outside central Jalisco were relatively private or limited to those related to the deceased, or they were public but not necessarily a source of competition. If power was not actively contested during these rituals, then pairs were probably produced by independent specialists for lineage elites as they were needed. The uniformity in the pairs suggests manufacture might have been limited to a single production unit, such as a family, workshop, or village. Sex and Gender in Central Jalisco

Gender perceptions and social relations appear to be most complex within central Jalisco. The incorporation of hierarchy in the pairs and intense signaling of rank, status, and gender suggests the presence of social stratification in this area. Imagery emphasizes the reproductive and productive power of women, while at the same time recognizing the duality of gender within a single individual. Within central Jalisco three genders were represented—­men, women, and dual-­genders. Female figures within the pairs from central Jalisco are strongly associated with skirts and tattoos emphasizing the breasts (table 3.3). They are also moderately associated with the swollen belly and kneeling body position. Inclusion of the Ixtlán del Río substyle into the analysis revealed an additional moderate association with the handheld cup. These female-­associated attributes closely follow symbols used throughout Mesoamerica to identify the roles of women. None of these attributes associated with females is seen on male figures in this dataset, suggesting that women and their roles are explicitly defined in western Mexico. Women were also weakly associated with earring fans, dotted necklaces, stone (perhaps obsidian) plate necklaces, with their heads facing forward, and with holding objects to the chest. These attributes are not tied to female reproduction and probably exemplify the figures’ positions as elites, rather than define their gender. Women are clearly represented within the pairs by figures displaying female sex characteristics and attributes associated exclusively with females. They are marked by their child-­bearing and life-­giving abilities, as well as their connection to fertility, which is depicted by their kneeling position, emphasized 132

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T able 3.3. Attribute associations for males and females in ceramic pairs from central Jalisco Males

Females

Strong

Skirt

Breast-­emphasis tattooing

Moderate

Weak

Sitting with A-frame knees

Holding object in air with right arm

Sitting

Cape*

Swollen belly

Earring fan

Seated kneel

Stone plate necklace

Cup*

Head facing front*

Kneeling

Dotted necklace

Holding object to chest * Designates additional attribute associations with the inclusion of the Ixtlán del Río substyle.

breasts, and swollen belly (figures 3.2 and 3.4). Smaller figures representing infants are often physically attached to women.3 This intentional and tangible female–­infant link emphasizes the important role of reproduction in defining the female identity. Women also are associated with food preparation as evidenced in the frequent display of female figures holding a cup. The presence of a pot being carried by a female in Prehispanic Honduran imagery inherently implied the importance of women in feeding others and their role in feasting (including all aspects of preparing and executing the event) (Hendon et al. 2014, 155). The ability to reproduce inherently imbues women with power (Dornan 2004, 463). Attributes that represent or reflect female biological processes symbolize their social power (Dornan 2004, 463, 464). Breastfeeding was vital to healthy childrearing, and the depiction of full breasts on topless female figures conveyed the importance of women’s role in reproducing society (Overholtzer 2012, 69, 79–­80). Women’s power was derived not only from the reproduction of kin, but also in the production of goods, such as food, both of which are necessary for the continuation of the family and the lineage (Dornan 2004, 463–­464). Regarded as vital elements for the perpetuation of society, women probably held a higher reproductive status then men. Male figures within the central Jalisco pairs are moderately associated with the sitting position and weakly associated with holding objects in the air with their right hands. A weak association also was recognized between males and capes when the Ixtlán del Río substyle was included in the analysis. Most attributes associated with males in central Jalisco are not typical of symbols used throughout Mesoamerica to indicate the roles of men; however, the seated G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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pose and the cape are used in Mesoamerica to signify elite status. Sitting was considered a “position of authority” and a symbol of rulership (Blomster 2002, 187; Graham 1998, 200). The connection between the seated pose and elites has been identified in Mesoamerican imagery as far back as the Early Formative period on male figurines from the site of San José Mogote in the Oaxaca Valley (Blomster 2002, 187). Capes served as the principal status garment of Mesoamerica from the Early Formative period through the Spanish conquest (Evans and Webster 2001, 153). They were worn by males and females among the Formative-­period Olmec (Evans and Webster 2001, 153; Follensbee 2008, 88–­89; 2009), Classic-­period Maya (Evans and Webster 2001, 153), and the Postclassic Mixtec (Anawalt 1981, 103, 106). Capes also appear on Formative-­ period Tlatilco figurines (Evans and Webster 2001, 153), as well as on male and female figures from Mesoamerican groups of unknown identity recorded in the Borgia Group codices (Anawalt 1981, 154, 160). However, the cape was most intensively used to differentiate between the social classes by Aztec males, who wore a highly specialized cape called a tilmatli (plural tilmatin) (Anawalt 1981, 30). Ascribed and acquired status conveyed by the tilmatli was fluid and could be affected by the choices of individuals (Anawalt 1981, 27). Inherited status indicated by the tilmatli could be lost through conflict with the ruler, and warriors could gain the right to display higher-­status tilmatin by showing courage or making significant contributions in battle (Anawalt 1981, 27–­29). Fiber, length, design motifs, colors, and ornamentation of the tilmatli, as well as how the garment was worn, signaled the wearer’s position in the social structure (Anawalt 1981, 30; 2007, 424). Less-­elaborate and neutral-­colored tilmatin constructed out of common or utilitarian fabrics made from maguey, yucca, and palm fibers were indicative of lower-­class individuals, while higher-­class individuals wore elaborate and bright-­colored tilmatin made of rarer, more desirable fabrics like cotton (Anawalt 1981, 27, 30, 31). Military achievements were signaled by specific design motifs, ornamentation, and length of the tilmatli (Anawalt 1981, 27–­29, 69; Pohl and Hook 2001, 23). Design motifs also conveyed lineage affiliation (Anawalt 1981, 69; 1996). Tilmatin varied from waist-­to ankle-­length. Ankle-­length tilmatin were exclusive to the upper class, while individuals holding lower-­status positions were identified by knee-­and waist-­length tilmatin (Anawalt 1981, 27, 31). Individuals of high status knotted the tilmatli over the right shoulder, and lower-­status individuals knotted it over the left (Anawalt 1981, 30–­31; Cordry and Cordry 1968, 8; Sandstrom 1994, 124). Knotting the tilmatli in front and letting the fabric drape over the back was reserved for select elite (Anawalt 1981, 30). 134

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Figure 3.6. Ixtlán del Río pair showing a man (left) in the seated pose wearing a cape (200 bc –ad 500). Credit: accession no. M.86.296.19, Joined Couple, Nayarit, Proctor Stafford Collection, www​.lacma​.org, by permission of Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles, California.

Men, identified by figures displaying male sex characteristics and male-­ associated attributes, do not have roles tied to their biological sex that are comparable to women and their connection to childbirth in central Jalisco. They are, however, depicted with Mesoamerican status symbols, which suggests that men exercised power rooted in other aspects of their social identity (figure 3.6). The seated pose and the cape appear to have been used by men to signal status; however, these attributes also are visible on women, and figures of other genders. This suggests that these status markers were not exclusive to men, although they were common to them. The significant association of the cape with males also might reflect the use of this garment by men to negotiate and elevate their social position closer to that of women. Whether the cape and the seated position indicate a status men held on their own or whether it was a status they assumed from their counterpart is unclear. The rather small number of men represented in the pairs (approximately 7% of the sample, compared to the 34% of the figures in central Jalisco that represent women) hints at a more peripheral role for this gender. G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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More than half (59%) of the individuals in the pairs embody aspects of both men and women. Two forms of dual-­genders are represented in central Jalisco. The first can be defined by male and female figures, identified by visible sex characteristics, displaying traits of the opposite gender. These figures might indicate males and females who possessed certain social positions or responsibilities of women and men, respectively, or perhaps they reflect gender-­ambiguous individuals. In this dataset, 16 percent of males assumed traits of women and 12 percent of females assumed traits of men. The second dual-­gender4 is represented by figures whose sex characteristics were concealed by clothing. These figures were associated with their own unique set of attributes in addition to sharing traits associated with males and females (table 3.4). Figures without visible sex characteristics were strongly associated with shorts and the codpiece. Moderate associations occurred with balls, shirts, sitting cross-­legged, and holding an object in the air with the right hand. Weak attribute-­associations for the figures without visible sex characteristics included the fan/paddle, cape, cone headdress, “cat’s paw” headdress/ headband, earring fans, dotted necklaces, stone plate necklaces, forward-­facing heads, and holding objects to the chest. Attribute associations with the cape, seated position, and holding an object in the air with the right hand were shared with males in central Jalisco. Female attribute associations shared with these figures included earring fans, dotted necklaces, plate necklaces/pendants, front-­facing heads, and holding an object to the chest. Statistical evaluation of the attributes for figures without visible sex characteristics in the Ixtlán del Río substyle revealed the same unique associations but with differences in the strength of the relationship (table 3.5). The statistical results for these figures suggest they might reflect a true dual-­gendered identity. Identification of a true dual-­gender status, or third gender, involves more than finding individuals who embody aspects of both men and women (Hollimon 1997, 187). These individuals also must possess their own unique set of characteristics not shared with the other genders (Hollimon 1997, 187–­188). Additionally, dual-­genders must represent a normative category in society, for if they do not, it is unlikely they will be visible in the archaeological record (Arnold 2002, 245, 252). Among the Ixtlán del Río substyle is a fully recognizable third gender that not only embodies aspects of men and women, but also possesses a unique set of characteristics unshared by other genders (figure 3.7). The third gender is taken by a large enough percentage (28%) of the figures in the pairs to be considered a regular facet of society. Figures of this gender are identified as biologically male by the absence of prominent breasts paired with a scooped 136

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T able 3.4. Attribute associations for figures without visible sex characteristics in ceramic pairs from central Jalisco Strong

Moderate

Weak

Codpiece

Shirt

Cape M

Shorts

Ball

Fan/Paddle

Sitting cross-­legged

Cone headdress

M

Holding object in air with right arm

M

Fishtail headdress/headband Earring fanF Dotted necklaceF Stone plate necklaceF Head facing frontF Holding object to chestF

M F

= attribute associations shared with males in central Jalisco. = attribute associations shared with females in central Jalisco.

T able 3.5. Attribute associations for figures without visible sex characteristics in ceramic pairs from the Ixtlán del Río substyle Strong

Moderate

Weak

Codpiece

Shirt

Sitting M cross-­legged

Shorts

Ball

Cone headdress

Fishtail headdress/headband

Fan/Paddle

Sitting M with A-frame knees

Head facing frontF

Sitting M/Squatting Holding object in air with right armM M F

= attribute associations shared with males in central Jalisco.

= attribute associations shared with females in central Jalisco.

codpiece placed over the groin area (Butterwick 2004, 29; Gallagher 1983, 106, 107; Kan 1989, 20; von Winning 1974, 35). However, the association of these figures with their own collection of attributes suggests they are different from the “man” gender, which is also recognized as biologically male. This third gender is associated with symbols of status, as well as objects of a religious and ritual nature, including balls, fan-­or paddle-­shaped objects, conical headpieces, and “cat’s paw” head adornments. These individuals might be shamans (Furst 1978, 1998), ballplayers, or warriors with supernatural powers who acted as spiritual intermediaries (Hollimon 1997). When paired with women, who possess a G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Figure 3.7. Ixtlán del Río pair showing a third-­gender figure (right). Credit: drawn by Melissa Logan from Dockstader (1964, figures 4, 5).

direct link with the supernatural through their reproductive abilities,5 these couples portray the height of spiritual power and might represent shamanic pairs. Participation of females and males together in ritual and religious practices appears frequently in human imagery throughout Mesoamerica, and within west Mexico itself (Furst 1998; Joyce 1993, 261). The development of this third gender reflects a locally interpreted variation, and perhaps intensification, of the dual-­gendered status prevalent throughout central Jalisco. Men and women did not pair together, and the predominant pairing of women with dual-­genders hints at a complex gender relationship between the figures rooted in power and reproduction rather than biological sex. Gender hierarchy between individual men and women is suggested by the repeated association of females with reproductive imagery that symbolizes their inherent social power (Dornan 2004, 463, 464). It is suspected that, like men among 138

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Figure 3.8. Example of an adolescent–­adult pair from the Ameca-­Etzatlán substyle. Credit: drawn by Melissa Logan from Westheim et al. (1972, 166).

the Wamira in New Guinea, men within ancient central Jalisco had to work to achieve the reproductive status of women, which was done through attaining a dual-­gendered identity (Dornan 2004, 463; Kahn 1986). Men are inherently unable to create life and therefore, hold a lower reproductive status than women. However, through the possession of masculine and feminine elements a man’s generative ability becomes apparent, making him capable of being joined with a woman to produce children and/or foster a lineage (Dornan 2004, 463; Kahn 1986). Some of the dual-­genders in central Jalisco might reflect males who have assumed female traits, perhaps to make themselves a reproductive whole. Occasionally, women are paired with slightly smaller figures displaying minimal markers of identity (figure 3.8). These figures probably represent adolescents who have not yet reached sexual maturity and are in the process of becoming fully gendered. Adolescents in Classic-­period Maya imagery also are depicted as “miniaturized adults” (Houston et al. 2006, 49). If women have an inherent generative power and dual-­genders embody reproductive unity, then the association of adolescents with these individuals suggests they are pivotal to the gendering process. These pairs might symbolize the transfer of power between generations. Establishing and/or reinforcing the “right to power” would be critical during mortuary ritual for those standing to inherit status or ranking positions from deceased elites. A small number of pairs within this region also portray individuals with seemingly aged faces, hunched body posture, and protruding ribcages emphasized G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Figure 3.9. An aged/emaciated pair from the Ixtlán del Río substyle. Credit: drawn by Melissa Logan from Furst (1998, figure 11).

by tattooing (figure 3.9). These figures might represent elderly and/or emaciated couples. Although these individuals are no longer in their reproductive prime, the local gender ideology is maintained, particularly for female identity. Females are shown with bowls and objects that resemble food, reinforcing their productive power despite age or health that has removed their physical ability to reproduce. The disassociation of these females from children and their depiction with thin, elongated breasts, as opposed to full, swollen ones indicative of fertility and youth, further suggests these figures represent aged or unhealthy individuals. In Classic-­period Maya imagery, aged individuals share similar characteristics, including wrinkled faces, skinny torsos, and limbs with protruding bones, and for females, untoned and pendulous breasts (Houston et al. 2006, 49). Elderly females are paired with third-­genders who 140

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hold to their mouths tubes that extend to pots at their feet, perhaps depicting consumption of maize-­or agave-­based alcoholic beverages (Butterwick 1998, 96–­98). Imagery of intoxication also supports the possibility these pairs represent elderly individuals and/or persons emaciated by ritual fasting. Aged and/ or emaciated pairs appear to convey a production–­consumption relationship that might indicate a type of complementarity. The small number of elderly pairs suggests they served a special purpose in mortuary ritual, perhaps reflecting the culmination of productive, spiritual, and experiential power. Examination of gender ideology in the ceramic pairs suggests that the social category of male was less important relative to class in central Jalisco; however, the social category of female appears to have retained some significance. Female reproduction is a constant theme in the imagery from central Jalisco, and women, for the most part, were defined by their biological processes, although they did possess status symbols associated with male genders. In contrast, men, who can be recognized by their visible sex characteristics, are almost absent in the pairs, and those that are present do not possess a set of traits characteristic of men in Mesoamerica, but rather certain status symbols. The use of the cape by all genders to signal social status might point to the possibility that the category of female also might have been becoming less important with respect to social class, but not as readily as the male category. The dynamic gender relations within central Jalisco suggest that the joining of the two figures in the ceramic pairs is much more complex than a male–­female marriage couple. Both biological and social elements play important roles in the relationship between the two figures and how each figure’s gender and identity is defined. Differing degrees of power depicted between the individuals in the pairs suggest that men and women as individuals did not hold an equal social status. Use of the cape by all genders not only reinforces social differentiation between men and women, but also emphasizes power grades among elites. A wide range of variation in the cape’s construction, design, and color, and its position on the body, suggest this garment was used similarly to other capes in Mesoamerica for signaling social status (Logan 2009, 2012, 2017). Use of the cape in central Jalisco indicates different levels of elite status among all genders, including men. Preliminary statistical analysis of the paired figures revealed associations between the placement of the cape on the body and several of the objects held by the individuals, as well as the placement of the cape on the body and one of the design motifs used to decorate the garment (table 3.6). The former suggests that certain social roles or positions might have been indicated by G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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T able 3.6. Attribute associations for the position of the cape on the body of figures in ceramic pairs from central Jalisco. Cape tied over the left shoulder

Cape tied over the right shoulder

Moderate Rattle

Weak

“Boxed spiral” design element Fan/Paddle

the way the cape was worn, while the latter might point to the possibility that certain kin or lineage groups were tied to these important social roles. Capes tied over the right shoulder were associated with the fan-­or paddle-­shaped objects used by ritual leaders in pole-­climbing ceremonies (figure 3.7, see also Beekman, chapter 2, this volume, figure 2.6, for a model of the pole ceremony). Meanwhile, a musical instrument identified as a rattle was associated with capes tied over the left shoulder (see Logan 2017, figure 4.8c). In this dataset, 80 percent of the figures with a fan/paddle were wearing a cape tied over the right shoulder and 100 percent of the figures with a rattle were wearing the cape tied over the left shoulder. Pole-­climbing ceremonies and musical performances are common themes in the ceramic imagery. Persons participating in pole-­climbing ceremonies in the dioramas can be recognized in the individual and paired figures by the possession of objects, such as the fan or paddle used in these rituals. Musicians also are present throughout many activities. They are visible participants in the pole-­climbing ceremonies, funerary processions, and burials of the dead, as well as at other community gatherings and rituals such as marriage ceremonies. They also are depicted in ceramic models focused solely on musical performance. Their presence throughout the imagery attests to their importance in many elements of social and spiritual life. Parallels between west Mexican and Mesoamerican pole-­climbing ceremonies, identified elsewhere by Beekman (2003a, 2003b), illuminate the importance of these activities for social order, as well as the social value placed on individuals who performed them. It is not surprising to find these social aspects translated into symbolic communication with the cape, which is highly visible and frequent in occurrence among the pairs.6 Variation in clothing designs by region and ceramic substyle suggest they reflect group identity (Butterwick 1998, 95). Common themes in clothing designs are visible on figures of the same substyles, and figures that are grouped together in the dioramas. These designs also are used to decorate the roofs of houses in the dioramas that are thought to be ceramic representations of family-­owned house structures observed in the archaeological record 142

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(Beekman 2008; Butterwick 1998, 95). Continuity of design motifs in these contexts suggests they might reflect kin or lineage affiliation. One design motif, a spiral enclosed in a square (a “boxed spiral”), produced a statistical association with capes tied over the left shoulder when the ceramic pairs from central Jalisco were examined together (see figure 3.3, Spirals). In this dataset, 75 percent of figures wearing a cape tied over the left shoulder were decorated with the boxed-­spiral design motif. Specific meanings conveyed by this design motif, aside from perhaps a general kinship affiliation, have not been identified. However, the boxed-­spiral design motif also has been observed on clothing on figurines from the Guangala-Manteño phase (ad 700–­800) in Ecuador (Anawalt 1998, 240, see figure 19), as well as on Aztec capes (Anawalt 1996, see figures 2, 5, 16). Among the Aztec, this symbol denoted power and established connections to their Toltec genealogical heritage (Anawalt 1996). Although the similarity with the central Jalisco imagery is striking, a direct link between the two design motifs cannot be made. Repeated imagery of status and power in the pairs suggests mortuary ritual was a source of social competition. Figures portray a complex set of gender imagery manipulated by elites to define and negotiate social status. Elites probably commissioned craft specialists to manufacture pairs of superior quality and detail, ensuring that political messages were clear and apparent in the imagery. Variations among the figures within the styles suggest craft production was performed by several different individuals or households. CONCLUSIONS

The establishment of official ideologies, especially related to gender, indicates power might have been concentrating under a single authority in central Jalisco during the Late Formative. The use of a specialized cape as an indicator of social roles provides additional evidence for the development of differential status in the region. Although many of the dual-­gendered figures in the Tequila valleys might only reflect males and females assuming the responsibilities and roles of both men and women, the dual-­genders in the Ixtlán del  Río substyle appear to represent a third gender. This third gender is a locally interpreted variation on the ideology of the Tequila valleys that might reflect an intensification of the dominant ideas. The sharing, and possible intensification of the official ideologies in the Tequila valleys by the makers of the Ixtlán del Río figures suggests sociopolitical change was strongest and/or initiated in this area. Elites in the Ixtlán del Río region might have recognized the power differentials developing in the Tequila valleys and chose to emulate G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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their ideology in an attempt to gain power locally over immediate kin, or to take part in advantages offered by elites in the Tequila valleys (Beekman 2000). Alternatively, the ideology seen in the Tequila valleys might have originated in the Ixtlán del Río region and was later adopted by the populations in the Tequila valleys. Dissimilarities in the gender ideologies between the San Sebastián and Ixtlán del Río figures complicate the temporal and spatial interpretations of sociopolitical organization within central Jalisco. If the makers of the San Sebastián pairs are contemporaneous with the populations represented by the Ixtlán del Río substyle and the other substyles within the Tequila valleys, then they were maintaining a gender ideology independent from all other populations in the surrounding geographic area. If the Ixtlán del Río region reflects the origin of the ideology, then this has interesting implications regarding the relationship between the Ixtlán del  Río and San Sebastián populations, because they are found in roughly the same geographic location. These two populations were both tolerant of their differences in ideology (specifically related to gender) and existed as interacting but independent populations, or the San Sebastián populations were successful in maintaining a different gender ideology in the face of changes around them. Although differences between gender ideology in the Tequila valleys and San Sebastián substyles also suggest the San Sebastián region was not participating in the dominant practices, the implications of these relationships are less severe because these areas are far from each other. If the San Sebastián substyle was sequential, either before or after, the Ixtlán del  Río and Tequila valleys substyles, then this simplifies interpretations a bit. Existing prior to these substyles, the San Sebastián figures would suggest that a unified gender ideology existed throughout west Mexico before social changes began to occur in central Jalisco during the Late Formative. Should the San Sebastián figures have come after the Ixtlán del Río and Tequila valleys substyles, then this suggests the ancient west Mexicans either returned to, or adopted, a different gender ideology following earlier attempts at a more stratified social structure. These contradictions only highlight the more richly varied nature of gender ideology and power in what was once treated as a monolithic west Mexico style. NOTES

1. Associations were deemed statistically significant if the chi-­square p-value was .059 or less with no more than 25 percent of the cells having an expected count of less 144

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than 5. Cramer’s V values indicated the strength of the associations, where 0 to .3 was weak, .3 to .6 was moderate, and above .6 was strong. 2. A minimal sample size of 25 was used for statistical testing. Sample sizes below this value were believed to be too small to yield representative results, and styles with fewer than 25 figures were not included in the individual analysis. 3. Although this analysis showed no significant relationship between women and children, this is a prominent theme throughout the west Mexican imagery, and it is likely that the absence of an association in this testing was the result of sample size or, perhaps, the more frequent depiction of females with infants in the other two forms of ceramic sculpture from the region that were not included in the present analysis. 4. The second dual-­gender in central Jalisco represents 31 percent of the figures in the pairs. 5. Through menstruation and childbirth, women bridge the gap between the natural and supernatural worlds (Dornan 2004, 464, 468). This view is shared by other cultures, including the Maya (Dornan 2004, 468; McAnany 1995). 6. In another study (Logan 2017), the cape was found to be present on 10 percent of the individuals in the paired figures, while it appeared on only 3 percent of individual figures and less than 1 percent of figures in diorama models. The higher frequency of occurrence of the cape among the pairs in comparison with the other two ceramic forms suggests this garment was important for signaling social information, especially in the context of the pairs. REFERENCES

Anawalt, Patricia Rieff. 1981. Indian Clothing before Cortés. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Anawalt, Patricia Rieff. 1996. “Aztec Knotted and Netted Capes: Colonial Interpretations vs. Indigenous Primary Data.” Ancient Mesoamerica 7:187–­206. Anawalt, Patricia Rieff. 1998. “They Came to Trade Exquisite Things: Ancient West Mexican-­Ecuadorian Contacts.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 233–­249. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Anawalt, Patricia Rieff. 2007. The Worldwide History of Dress. New York: Thames and Hudson. Arnold, Bettina. 2002. “‘Sein und Werden’: Gender as Process in Mortuary Ritual.” In In Pursuit of Gender, ed. Sarah Milledge Nelson and Myriam Rosen-­Ayalon, 239–­256. Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press. Arte Primitivo Howard S. Rose Gallery, Inc. 2005. Collections online. Accessed November 2. http://​www​.arteprimitivo​.com. G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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Beaumont, Lesley. 2000. “The Social Status and Artistic Presentation of ‘Adolescence’ in Fifth-­Century Athens, Representing and Perceiving Children.” In Children and Material Culture, ed. Joanna Sofaer Derevenski, 39–­50. London: Routledge. Beekman, Christopher S. 2000. “The Correspondence of Regional Patterns and Local Strategies in Formative to Classic Period West Mexico.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 19(4):385–­412. Beekman, Christopher S. 2003a. “Agricultural Pole Rituals and Rulership in Later Formative Central Jalisco.” Ancient Mesoamerica 14:299–­318. Beekman, Christopher S. 2003b. “Fruitful Symmetry: Corn and Cosmology in the Public Architecture of the Late Formative and Early Classic Jalisco.” Mesoamerican Voices 1:5–­22. Beekman, Christopher S. 2007. Transition and Trajectory: The Late Formative to Classic Shift in the Highland Lakes District of Central Jalisco. Prepared for The End of the Beginning: Explaining the Final Years of the Mesoamerican Preclassic. Electronic Symposium for the 72nd Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Austin, TX, April 28, 2007. Beekman, Christopher S. 2008. “Corporate Power Strategies in the Late Formative to Early Classic Tequila Valleys of Central Jalisco.” Latin American Antiquity 19(4):414–­434. Beekman, Christopher S. 2010. “Recent Research in Western Mexican Archaeology.” Journal of Archaeological Research 18:41–­109. Beekman, Christopher S. 2016. Built Space as Political Fields: Community versus Lineage Strategies in the Tequila Valleys. In Alternative Pathways to Complexity: A Collection of Essays on Architecture, Economics, Power, and Cross-­Cultural Analysis, ed. Lane F. Fargher and Verenice Y. Heredia Espinoza, 59–­7 8. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Beekman, Christopher S., and Luis Javier Galván Villegas. 2006. “The Shaft Tombs of the Atemajac Valley and Their Relation to Settlement.” Ancient Mesoamerica 17(2):259–­270. Beekman, Christopher S., and Phil C. Weigand. 2008. “Conclusiones, cronología, y un intento a síntesis.” In La tradición Teuchitlán: Un síntesis basado en las excavaciones de los Guachimontones y Navajas, Jalisco, ed. Christopher S. Beekman and Phil C. Weigand, 303–­337. Zamora: Colegio de Michoacan. Bell, Betty. 1974. “Excavations at El Cerro Encantado, Jalisco.” In The Archaeology of West Mexico, ed. Betty Bell, 147–­167. Ajijic, Jalisco: Sociedad de Estudios Avanzados del Occidente de Mexico, A. C. Berdan, Frances F., and Patricia Rieff Anawalt. 1997. The Essential Codex Mendoza. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Bernal-­García, María Elena. 2006. “Reclaiming Tlatilco’s Figurines from Biased Interpretation.” In Women and Art in Early Modern Latin America, ed. Kellen Kee Mc-­Intyre and Richard E. Phillips, 149–­180. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill Academic. Blomster, Jeffery P. 2002. “What and Where is Olmec Style? Regional Perspectives on Hollow Figurines in Early Formative Mesoamerica.” Ancient Mesoamerica 13(2):171–­195. British Museum. 2005. Collections online. Accessed November 2. https://​www​ .britishmuseum​.org/​research/​collection​_online/​search​.aspx. Brumfiel, Elizabeth M. 1996. “Figurines and the Aztec State: Testing the Effectiveness of Ideological Domination.” In Gender and Archaeology, ed. Rita P. Wright, 143–­166. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Brumfiel, Elizabeth M., Tamara Salcedo, and David K. Schafer. 1994. “The Lip Plugs of Xaltocan: Function and Meaning in Aztec Archaeology.” In Economies and Polities in the Aztec Realm, ed. Mary G. Hodge and Michael E. Smith, 113–­131. Albany, NY: Institute for Mesoamerican Studies. Butterwick, Kristi. 1998. “Food for the Dead: The West Mexican Art of Feasting.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 89–­105. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Butterwick, Kristi. 2004. Heritage of Power: Ancient Sculpture for West Mexico. The Andrall E. Pearson Family Collection. New Haven, CT: The Metropolitan Museum of Art/Yale University Press. Cabrero Garcia, María Teresa. 1989. Civilización en el Norte de México. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas. Cordry, Donald, and Dorothy Cordry. 1968. Mexican Indian Costumes. Austin: University of Texas Press. Day, Jane Stevenson. 1998. “The West Mexican Ballgame.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 151–­167. Chicago, IL: Art Institute of Chicago. Denver Art Museum. Collections online. https://​denverartmuseum​.org/​collections /​ancient​-­­americas. Dockstader, Frederick J. 1964. Indian Art in Middle America. Greenwich, CT: New York Graphic Society. Dornan, Jennifer. 2004. “Blood from the Moon: Gender Ideology and the Rise of Ancient Maya Social Complexity.” Gender and History 16(2):459–­475. Dwyer, Jane P., and Edward B. Dwyer. 1975. Fire, Earth and Water: Sculpture from the Land Collection of Mesoamerican Art. San Francisco, CA: The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

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Eicher, Joanne B., and Mary Ellen Roach-­Higgins. 1992. “Definition and Classification of Dress: Implications for Analysis of Gender Roles.” In Dress and Gender: Making and Meaning, ed. Ruth Barnes and Joanne B. Eicher, 8–­28. New York: Berg Publishers. Evans, Susan Toby, and David L. Webster, eds. 2001. Archaeology of Ancient Mexico and Central America: An Encyclopedia. New York: Garland Publishing. Flannery, Kent V., and Joyce Marcus. 1998. “The Social Information in Figurine Hairstyles.” In Women’s Ritual in Formative Oaxaca: Figurine Making, Divination, Death, and the Ancestors, ed. Kent V. Flannery and Joyce Marcus, 31–­38. Memoirs of the Museum of Anthropology, University of Michigan, No. 33, Prehistory and Human Ecology of the Valley of Oaxaca, Vol. II. Ann Arbor, MI: Museum of Anthropology Publications. Follensbee, Billie J. A. 2008. “Fiber Technology and Weaving in Formative-­Period Gulf Coast Cultures.” Ancient Mesoamerica 19(1): 87–­110. Follensbee, Billie J. A. 2009. “Formative Period Gulf Coast Figurines: The Key to Identifying Sex, Gender, and Age Groups in Gulf Coast Olmec Imagery.” In Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Social Phenomena, ed. Christina T. Halperin, Katherine A. Faust, Rhonda Taube, and Aurore Giguet, 77–­118. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Furst, Peter T. 1978. The Ninth Level: Funerary Art from Ancient Mesoamerica. Selections from the Gerald and Hope Solomons Collection. Iowa City: The University of Iowa Museum of Art. Furst, Peter T. 1998. “Shamanic Symbolism, Transformation, and Deities in West Mexican Funerary Art.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 169–­189. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Gallagher, Jacki. 1983. Companions of the Dead: Ceramic Tomb Sculpture from Ancient West Mexico. Los Angeles: Museum of Cultural History, University of California Los Angeles. Gillespie, Susan D. 1983. “Reviewed Work(s): Indian Clothing before Cortes: Mesoamerican Costumes from the Codices by Patricia Rieff Anawalt.” American Ethnologist 10(4):815–­816. Goldstein, Marilyn M. 1988. “Gesture, Role, and Gender in West Mexican Sculpture.” In The Role of Gender in Precolumbian Art and Architecture, ed. Virginia Miller, 53–­61. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Graham, Mark Miller. 1998. “The Iconography of Rulership in Ancient West Mexico.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 191–­203. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago.

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Hendon, Julia A., Rosemary A. Joyce, and Jeanne Lopiparo. 2014. Material Relations: The Marriage Figurines of Prehispanic Honduras. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Hollimon, Sandra. 1997. “The Third Gender in Native California: Two-­Spirit Undertakers among the Chumash and their Neighbors.” In Women in Prehistory: North America and Mesoamerica, ed. Cheryl Claassen and Rosemary Joyce, 173–­188. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Holsbeke, Mireille, and Karel Arnaut. 1998. Offerings for a New Life: Funerary Images from Pre-­Columbian West Mexico. Antwerp: Antwerp Ethnographic Museum. Houston, Stephen, David Stuart, and Karl Taube. 2006. The Memory of Bones: Body, Being, and Experience among the Classic Maya. Austin: University of Texas Press. Joyce, Rosemary A. 1993. “Women’s Work: Images of Production and Reproduction in Pre-­Hispanic Southern Central America.” Current Anthropology 34(3):255–­274. Joyce, Rosemary A. 1996. “The Construction of Gender in Classic Maya Monuments.” In Gender and Archaeology, ed. Rita P. Wright, 167–­195. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Joyce, Rosemary A. 2000a. “Girling the Girl and Boying the Boy: The Production of Adulthood in Ancient Mesoamerica.” World Archaeology 31(3):473–­483. Joyce, Rosemary A. 2000b. “A Precolumbian Gaze: Male Sexuality among the Ancient Maya.” In Archaeologies of Sexuality, ed. Robert A. Schmidt and Barbara L. Voss, 263–­283. London: Routledge. Joyce, Rosemary A. 2001. “Negotiating Sex and Gender in Classic Maya Society.” In Gender in Pre-­Hispanic America, ed. Cecelia F. Klein and Jeffrey Quilter, 109–­141. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Joyce, Rosemary A. 2002. “Beauty, Sexuality, Body Ornamentation, and Gender in Ancient Mesoamerica.” In In Pursuit of Gender, ed. Sarah Milledge Nelson and Myriam Rosen-­Ayalon, 81–­91. Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press. Kahn, Miriam. 1986. Always Hungry, Never Greedy: Food and the Expression of Gender in a Melanesian society. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Kan, Michael. 1989. “The Pre-­Columbian Art of West Mexico: Nayarit, Jalisco, Colima.” In Sculpture of Ancient West Mexico: Nayarit, Jalisco, Colima, ed. Michael Kan, Clement Meighan, and H. B. Nicholson, 13–­27. Revised Edition. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Kan, Michael, Clement Meighan, and H. B. Nicholson, eds. 1989. Sculpture of Ancient West Mexico: Nayarit, Jalisco, Colima. Revised Edition. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Kehoe, Alice Beck. 2008. Controversies in Archaeology. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press.

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Klein, Cecelia F. 2001. “None of the Above: Gender Ambiguity in Nahua Ideology.” In Gender in Pre-­Hispanic America, ed. Cecelia F. Klein and Jeffrey Quilter, 183–­253. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Lesick, Kurtis S. 1997. “Re-­Gendering Gender: Some Theoretical and Methodological Concerns on a Burgeoning Archaeological Pursuit.” In Invisible People and Process: Writing Gender and Childhood into European Archaeology, ed. Jenny Moore and Eleanor Scott, 31–­41. London: Leicester University Press. Logan, Melissa K. 2007. “Gender Ideology in Late Formative Western Mexico: A Study of Ceramic Representations.” MA thesis, University of Colorado at Denver and Health Sciences Center. Logan, Melissa K. 2009. Changing Clothes: A Reinterpretation of the Quechquemitl in Late Formative West Mexican Imagery. Paper presented at the 74th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Atlanta, GA, April 22–­­26. Logan, Melissa K. 2012. The Tilmatli Is Not Just for the Aztecs: The Cape, Gender, and Power in Late Formative West Mexico. Paper presented at the Society for American Archaeology 77th Annual Meeting, Memphis, TN, April 18–­­22. Logan, Melissa K. 2017. “The Cape, Status, and Gender in Late Formative West Mexico.” In Dressing the Part: Power, Dress, Gender, and Representation in the Pre-­ Columbian Americas, ed. Sarah M. Scher and Billie J. Follensbee, 134–­174. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. López Mestas Camberos, Lorenza, and Jorge Ramos de la Vega. 1998. “Excavating the Tomb at Huitzilapa.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 53–­69. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Los Angeles County Museum of Art. 2015. Collections online. Accessed August 20. http://​www​.lacma​.org. Lumholtz, Carl. 1898. “The Huichol Indians of Mexico.” Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History 10:1–­14. Lumholtz, Carl. 1900. Symbolism of the Huichol Indians. Memoirs of the American Museum of Natural History, vol. 3, pt. 1. New York: Knickerbocker. Lumholtz, Carl. 1902. Unknown Mexico. London: Macmillan. Lumholtz, Carl. 1904. Decorative Art of the Huichol Indians. Memoirs of the American Museum of Natural History, vol. 3, pt. 3. New York: Knickerbocker. McAnany, Patricia Ann. 1995. Living with the Ancestors: Kinship and Kingship in Ancient Maya Society. Austin: University of Texas Press. McCafferty, Geoffrey G., and Sharisse D. McCafferty. 2003. “Questioning a Queen? A Gender-­Informed Evaluation of Monte Alban’s Tomb 7.” In Ancient Queens:

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Archaeological Explorations, ed. Sarah Milledge Nelson, 41–­58. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. McCafferty, Sharisse, and Geoffrey McCafferty. 1994. “Engendering Tomb 7 at Monte Alban: Respinning an Old Yarn.” Current Anthropology 35(2):143–­166. Mountjoy, Joseph B., and Mary K. Sandford. 2006. “Burial Practices during the Late Formative/Early Classic in the Banderas Valley of Coastal West Mexico.” Ancient Mesoamerica 17(2):313–­327. Munson, Marit K. 2000. “Sex, Gender, and Status: Human Images from the Classic Mimbres.” American Antiquity 65(1):127–­143. Ortíz C., Ponciano, and María del Carmen Rodríguez. 1999. “Olmec Ritual Behavior at El Manatí: A Sacred Space.” In Social Patterns in Pre-­Classic Mesoamerica, ed. David C. Grove and Rosemary A. Joyce, 225–­254. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection. Overholtzer, Lisa. 2012. “So That the Baby Not Be Formed Like the Pottery Rattle: Aztec Rattle Figurines and Household Social Reproductive Practices.” Ancient Mesoamerica 23:69–­83. Palka, Joel W. 2002. “Left/Right Symbolism and the Body in Ancient Maya Iconography and Culture.” Latin American Antiquity 13(4):419–­443. Pancake, Cherri M. 1996. “Communicative Imagery in Guatemalan Indian Dress.” In Textile Traditions of Mesoamerica and the Andes, ed. Margot Blum Schevill, Janet Catherine Berlo, and Edward B. Dwyer, 45–­62. Austin: University of Texas Press. Pohl, John and Adam Hook. 2001. Aztec Warrior: ad 1325–­1521: Weapons, Armor, Tactics. Oxford: Osprey. Sandstrom, Alan R. 1994. “Review: Return to the Object in Anthropological Inquiry; Examples from Latin America.” Latin American Research Review 29(1):119–­131. Taladoire, Eric 1979. “Ball-­Game Scenes and Ball-­Courts in West Mexican Archaeology.” INDIANA 5:33–­44. Townsend, Richard F., ed. 1998. Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past. Chicago, IL: The Art Institute of Chicago. Troike, Nancy P. 1982. “The Interpretation of Postures and Gestures in the Mixtec Codices.” In The Art and Iconography of Late Post-­Classic Central Mexico, ed. Elizabeth P. Benson and Elizabeth Hill Boone, 175–­206. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. VanPool, Christine S., and Todd L. VanPool. 2006. “Gender in Middle Range Societies: A Case Study in Casas Grandes Iconography.” American Antiquity 71(1):53–­75. von Winning, Hasso. 1974. The Shaft Tomb Figures of West Mexico. Los Angeles, CA: Southwest Museum. von Winning, Hasso. 1986. The John-­Platt Collection of Pre-­Columbian Art. Charlottes­ville: The University of Virginia Art Museum. G ender and Paired C eramic F igures in L ate F ormative W est M exico

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von Winning, Hasso, and Olga Hammer. 1972. Anecdotal Sculpture of Ancient West Mexico. Los Angeles, CA: Ethnic Arts Council of Los Angeles. Weigand, Phil C. 1985. “Evidence for Complex Societies during the Western Mesoamerican Classic Period.” In The Archaeology of West and Northwest Mesoamerica, ed. Michael S. Foster and Phil C. Weigand, 47–­91. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Weigand, Phil C. 1991. “The Western Mesoamerican Tlachco: A Two-­Thousand Year Perspective.” In The Mesoamerican Ballgame, ed. Vernon L. Scarborough and David R. Wilcox, 73–­86. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Weigand, Phil C. 1996. “The Architecture of the Teuchitlan Tradition of Mexico’s Occidente.” Ancient Mesoamerica 7(1):91–­101. Weigand, Phil C. 2000. “Evolution and Decline of a Core of Civilization: The Teuchitlan Tradition and the Archaeology of Jalisco.” In Greater Mesoamerica, ed. Michael S. Foster and Shirley Gorenstein, 43–­58. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Weigand, Phil C. and Christopher S. Beekman. 1998. The Teuchitlan Tradition: Rise of a Statelike Society. In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard Townsend, 35–­51. Chicago: The Art Institute of Chicago. Westheim, Paul and Alberto Ruz, Pedro Armillas, Ricardo de Robina, and Alfonso Caso. 1972. Prehispanic Mexican Art. New York: G. P. Putnams’s Sons. Witmore, Christopher L. 1998. “Sacred Sun Centers.” In Ancient West Mexico: Art and Archaeology of the Unknown Past, ed. Richard F. Townsend, 137–­150. Chicago, IL: Art Institute of Chicago.

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4 In December, 2011, speleologists discovered an array of unique earth sculptures in a cave known as the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy in the Sierra Mixe of northeastern Oaxaca, a region of Oaxaca that is practically unknown archaeologically (Ballensky 2012; Brady et al. 2013) (figure 4.1).1 Stylistic evidence and a radiocarbon date show that the sculptures date back to the Late Formative period, about 2,000 years ago, and have survived due to their context in a completely dark, relatively inaccessible cave passageway. Sixty-­five sculptures are reasonably well preserved: 47 represent humans, 15 represent animals (eight jaguars, six monkeys, and an iguana), and three represent ballcourts. Most of the humans and animals are approximately life size; the ballcourts are 3 m or less in length. The sculptures occur in groups on terraces next to a stream that flows through the narrow passageway of the horizontal cave. Paintings on the cave walls are spatially associated with the groups, and a few other artifacts such as ceramics and stone and bone tools are present, but not in direct association with the sculptures. Human bones occur separately at the far end of the cave, along with two groups of red spots painted on the walls. It is clear from some eroded and damaged examples that human bones were not included inside the sculptures. Most striking to the contemporary viewer is the explicit portrayal of naked humans and features of human sexuality and biological reproduction: male

Sexuality and Regeneration in the Underworld Earth Sculptures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­O y, Sierra Mixe, Oaxaca Marcus Winter

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c004

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Figure 4.1. General view in the cave with the stream, terraces, and some sculptures. Credit: photo by Elliot Stahl.

and female genitalia, female breasts, pregnant females, and copulating couples. Whether the depiction of sexuality had erotic overtones for the ancient sculptors and their audience is debatable. However, the emphasis on sexuality and reproduction deep within the cave, that is, the womb of the earth, suggests that the symbolism and whatever rituals, visits, or other activities were performed there in ancient times had to do with regeneration, renewal, and continuity, whether of individuals, families, lineages, or of society as a whole. Caves in general are characterized by a dark zone that makes them uninhabitable for humans and at the same time mysterious and attractive for rituals and ceremonies. In Prehispanic Mesoamerica, and still today in many places in Oaxaca, caves were often considered sacred spaces. The indigenous conception of caves as entrances to the underworld and the home of earth deities forms a foundation for the use of caves as multipurpose ritual venues ideally suited for earth-­based rituals such as rain, fertility, and renewal ceremonies. They also form the basis for reification of Mesoamerican cosmological principles and the embodiment of mythological narratives. (Moyes and Brady 2012, 165) 154

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In ancient times, caves were used in several regions of Oaxaca for burying the dead and for depositing offerings in association with sources of water; some caves are used today for making petitions (Barabas et al. 2005; Fitzsimmons Steele 1987). Caves were used in similar ways in different regions, although the archaeological materials may be distinctive in each case. However, the Cueva de Rey Kong-­Oy is by far the most unusual cave documented to date and no other examples like it have been reported. THE CAVE AND ITS CONTEXT

The Sierra Mixe is a mountainous area in northeast Oaxaca inhabited today, as in the past, by members of the Mixe ethnic and linguistic group (Nahmad 1994). The Mixe region also includes a lowland area farther north, bordering the state of Veracruz. The Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy is located within the territory of San Isidro Huayapam, a town of slightly over 1,000 inhabitants and a political dependency (agencia municipal, in this case) of the municipality of Santa María Alotepec (figure 4.2). The people of San Isidro, like those of most Sierra Mixe towns, are subsistence farmers: they grow corn, beans, squash, fruits such as papaya, bananas, oranges, and limones, as well as coffee as a cash crop. The region has been relatively isolated until recently with the opening of vehicle roads, and has received little attention from archaeologists. Formal archaeological studies in the Sierra Mixe include a recent survey in the Tlahuitoltepec area (Rivero López 2011), a description of one of few known Classic-­period centers, San Marcos Moctum near Totontepec (Gómez Bravo 2004), salvage of a tomb at Chuxnabán (Markens and Winter 2014), and a study of a collection of materials assembled years ago by linguist Walter Miller (Hutson 2014). The Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy is approximately two hours on foot from San Isidro. The entrance, at about 600 m above sea level (the San Isidro village center is at 1,020 m), opens at the base of a high limestone cliff next to the Río Trapiche, an upper tributary of the Río Puxmetacán, which feeds the Río Coatzacoalcos-­Uxpanapa and drains into the Gulf of Mexico. The cave is basically a horizontal passageway (unlike Cueva Cheve or the Huautla caves that are hundreds of meters deep) and for the most part is parallel to and only a few meters higher than the level of the Río Trapiche. The short entrance passageway leads to roomy galleries to the north and west and a narrow corridor to the south (figure 4.3). The North Gallery is approximately 50 m long, 20 m wide, and of variable height. Potsherds scattered on S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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Figure 4.2. Location of San Isidro Huayapam in the Sierra Mixe of Oaxaca, Mexico. Credit: created by Marcus Winter and Ismael G. Vicente Cruz.

the floor include fine brown-­orange paste and white paste ceramics. Specks of carbon appear on the floor. The interior is humid because water filters in through the cave walls. The West Gallery is about 50 m long, 30 m wide, and 10 m in height and is reached by climbing to a shelf about 3 m above the level of the cave entrance. Pottery fragments occur at the base of the shelf and on the gallery floor. Circular stains formed by bat excrement and urine appear on the floor. A bifacial obsidian knife rests in a niche high up on one wall. Other artifacts have reportedly been taken from these spaces, including a carved-­stone effigy removed from near the cave entrance. In recent years the authorities of San Isidro placed a metal gate with padlocks over the entrance to prevent unauthorized visits. The sculptures are particularly delicate and subject to damage by water dripping in the cave, flooding of the stream, urine and excrement dropped by bats clustered on the ceiling, and especially footsteps and other interventions by careless or unwary human visitors. Preparations are under consideration by town authorities in coordination with the National 156

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Figure 4.3. Schematic plan and profile of the cave. Credit: redrawn from the detailed cave survey by Jason Ballensky, Tamara Ballensky, Phillip Rykwalder, Rob Spangler and Elliot Stahl (Ballensky 2012, 12).

Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) to record and protect the sculptures and other remains; meanwhile, the best protection is to maintain the cave off limits and closed to visitors. The South Passageway is sinuous, relatively narrow and about 500 m long. A few artifacts including fragments of pottery vessels and pieces of three large ground-­stone mortars have been left on the floor near the opening to the South Passageway. About 60 m from the cave entrance, the passageway drops down some 6 m to the level of the stream that runs from south to north through the passageway and then turns east (below the passageway) and empties into the Río Trapiche below the cave. The South Passageway varies in dimensions, but is generally about 10–­20 m wide, with a rock ceiling 3–­20 m above the stream bed. The stream has deposited sediments that form terraces, usually on one or the other side of the stream at bends in the passageway. The stream itself is about 2 m wide, and the water is 20–­40 cm deep to the bedrock base; in the rainy season it is deeper and not passable. The terraces are 1–­1.5 m above the stream. At the far south end, the South Passageway narrows and is blocked by piles of rock rubble collapsed from the ceiling and walls, although water filters out through the rubble. Human burials were placed on the rocky shelves in this area and many appear to have been moved around by water action. Two hollow handles of ceramic frying-­pan-­shaped sahumadores were found among the rocks at the far end of the cave, where they may have been left after use S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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in funerary rites, although the bowls of the sahumadores were not seen or recovered. Two groups of evenly spaced circular red spots about 5 cm in diameter, one of 10 and the other of 22 spots, appear on the cave walls above the passageway in the area of the human bones. They may signal the presence of the burials. Approximately 120 m before the end of the cave, a side passage leads perpendicularly off the South Passageway. On the floor are three thin, delicate bone needles, a few small perforated shell ornaments and a distal fragment of an obsidian blade. A negative image of a hand made with red paint occurs on the cave wall nearby. Since red paint elsewhere in the cave only appears at the spots at the far end of the South Passageway, the red paint here along with the artifacts may also indicate presence of a human burial. THE CAVE SCULPTURES

The cave sculptures occur in seven groups on the terraces next to the stream. Walking upstream from the cave entrance and deeper into the cave, one passes by each group; paintings sometimes appear on the rock walls, as if they were announcing the sculptures. Many of the sculptures are positioned with the body perpendicular to the stream, the head in some cases slightly raised and resting on the rocky slope of the cave wall. The sculptures may have been made intentionally to be seen from the stream, or from the edge of the terrace next to the stream. The state of preservation is variable. Some sculptures show red and black paint and possibly burnishing on what may have been original surfaces. Others are eroded and deteriorated due to the humidity in the cave, water dripping from the ceiling, and in some cases flooding by the river. Some sculptures have been completely obliterated, leaving spaces among the extant examples. The torsos, limbs, facial features, and hairdos of the sculptures that represent humans resemble enlarged versions of some Preclassic figurines. An important difference is that each sculpture is unique and may be a portrait of a specific person, not an abstraction. The groups of sculptures are encountered as one walks up the stream and form scenes that may be chapters in a story, analogous to the narrative formed by the danzantes at Monte Albán or the pictographs in the Mixtec historical codices. The paintings on the cave walls and ceiling are generally lineal, black, and sometimes accompanied by images of hands painted negatively, possibly the artists’ hands. The following seven groups of sculptures appear in the cave, from north to south. Individual sculptures are designated by a number that is preceded by an 158

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abbreviation for the group’s name in Spanish. Paintings and ballcourts have separate designations. Group of the Embracers (Grupo de los Abrazados; GAbr)

Group of the Eroded Sculptures (Grupo de las Esculturas Erosionadas; GE) Group of the Animals (Grupo de las Animales; GAn)

Group of the Principal Couple (Grupo de la Pareja Principal; GPP) Group of the Ballgame (Grupo del Juego de Pelota; GJP)

Group of the Woman with Spread Legs (Grupo de la Mujer con las Piernas Abiertas; GMPA) Group of the Jaguars (Grupo de los Jaguares; GJ) Group of the Embracers

This group on the right side of the stream includes four sculptures: a couple embracing and two other women (figure 4.4). The group is announced by paintings on the cave wall just south of the sculptures: representations of a human skull in profile with a sacrificial knife stuck in the nose (painting Abr-­ A), along with two negative images of what appears to be the same hand. The sculptures are eroded and the faces partly damaged, but GAbr-­1 on the left is more robust than GAbr-­2. (Sculptures are numbered and described as viewed from the stream, from north to south.) The legs of GAbr-­2 (a male) appear to be between the legs of GAbr-­1 (a female). The right leg of GAbr-­1 appears to be on top of the body of GAbr-­2. The right arm of GAbr-­1 is visible and the right hand is on the shoulder or arm of GAbr-­2, and his left hand is visible on GAbr-­2’s back. GAbr-­3. Woman with spread legs; a representation of a woven band appears over her forehead, like a braid. GAbr-­4. Woman; this unusually small sculpture measures approximately 90 cm in height.

Group of the Eroded Sculptures

This group of five sculptures on the right side of the stream includes four humans, including a pregnant woman and one seated jaguar. All are eroded and incomplete. S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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GE-­1. Human head; the body is absent but would have extended toward the wall of the cave. GE-­2. Woman with spread legs; she wears a necklace and pendent or pectoral on her chest. GE-­3. Pregnant woman: feet toward the stream. GE-­4. Eroded sculpture.

GE-­5. Small seated jaguar, approximately 50 cm tall; the right ear and left canine are clearly preserved. Group of the Animals

This group comprises nine sculptures on the left side of the stream: two humans, three jaguars, and four monkeys. A painting (GAn-­ A) of what appears to be a trophy human head on the wall of the cave announces this Figure 4.4. The embracers sculpture. group (figure 4.5). It is 30 cm high and Credit: photo by Matt Oliphant. shows a human skull with round eyes, exaggerated teeth, and vertical lines representing hair. Trophy heads in Formative Oaxaca are often shown upside down on figurines. Real heads, probably of dead enemies, were commonly taken by the Mixteca during the Formative and perforated for suspension, as, for example, the skulls of the Altar de los Cráneos at Huamelulpan (Gaxiola 1984: 51–­52). Sculptures GAn-­1 through GAn-­3 are close to the stream; GAn-­4 to GAn-­9 are farther back, near the cave wall. GAn-­4 through GAn-­7 are in a row next to one another, in extended positions. GAn-­1. Seated jaguar; approximately 50 cm in height. GAn-­2. Jaguar oriented with its face toward the stream and holding a human prey, GAn-­2A (figure 4.6).

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GAn-­3. Woman in extended position, face up with her head toward the stream. May represent a jaguar’s prey. GAn-­4. Monkey with erect penis. GAn-­5. Possible monkey. GAn-­6. Monkey.

GAn-­7. Possible monkey with distinctive circular eyes; it may be masturbating.

GAn-­8. Jaguar devouring its prey, sculpture GAn-­9.

GAn-­9. Human, jaguar’s prey, in extended position with legs toward the stream.

A gray-­black obsidian projectile point appears in the space between GAn-­2 and GAn-­3.

Figure 4.5. Trophy head painting. Credit: photo by Matt Oliphant.

Figure 4.6. Jaguar and prey sculpture. Credit: photo by Elliot Stahl. S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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Group of the Principal Couple

This main group of sculptures on the right side of the stream is in the center, with three groups to the north and three to the south. Nineteen sculptures are preserved, and spaces exist where others were present but have been lost to erosion by water seepage out of the cave walls or by flooding of the stream. Many sculptures in this group are partly eroded, although the two principal figures are quite well preserved. Three sculptures represent men, nine represent women, and seven are of indeterminate sex. Most notable in this group are two sculptures much larger and more elegant than any of the other human representations in the cave, designated here the Principal Couple. GPP-­11 represents a woman and GPP-­12 a man; they lie next to each other with the woman immediately to the man’s right (figure 4.7). Both are larger than life size. The man is 2.45 m tall and the woman is 2.10 m tall, and both have arms and legs three or four times thicker than normal human limbs. The woman wears a necklace of small beads tight around her neck. She has prominent breasts and exaggerated labia. Tattoos or a decorated woven garment are visible on her left shoulder. The man has a prominent penis and is shown as a ballplayer, holding a ball in each hand. His right arm is bent at the elbow and raised above his head, as if positioned to throw the ball. His left arm is extended at his side. In both cases the ball is exposed and the hand is behind it. The man wears what appears to be a jaguar-­head mask or he is simply portrayed with a jaguar face with prominent upper canines and round eyes (figure 4.8). Two large ears behind his head show parallel lines along the edges as if to indicate fur. His shoulders are tattooed or he wears a thin decorated cape similar to that of his consort. He also wears a tight-­fitting jacket or bands on his chest that are partly eroded and not completely clear. He has sandals on his feet with decorations or ties, in contrast to his consort’s bare feet. Other figures are displayed to either side of the couple, as if lined up in approximately the same posture and parallel to the principal couple. Some, if not all, may represent family members. Painting GPP-­A is of a bald human head in profile with a vertical line through the eye, a possible representation of the deity known as the Flayed One, who is documented in Oaxaca as early as the Danibaan phase (500–­300 bc). The painting introduces the group, along with painting GPP-­B, another human head in profile, in this case wearing a buccal mask, similar to that worn by the Zapotec deity Cociyo (figure 4.9). Beneath GPP-­B are some thin lines, probably from worn or eroded paintings. Negative hands and additional lines also occur in this area on the walls behind the sculptures.

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Figure 4.7. The principal couple. Credit: photo by Elliot Stahl.

Figure 4.8. Head of the principal male with jaguar features. Credit: photo by Matt Oliphant.

Figure 4.9. (a) Painting of head in profile and (b) drawing of a buccal mask on a Zapotec effigy vessel. Credit: (a) photo by Elliot Stahl, and (b) drawing by Leonardo López Zárate.

GPP-­1. Woman in face-­up position; holding hands with GPP-­2.

GPP-­2. Human lying face down; the individual has a braid down the back.

GPP-­3. Woman lying on her left side. Sculpture GPP-­3A, a frog or a jaguar, appears above her head.

GPP-­4. Pregnant woman; a bundle, possibly a fetus or a baby, appears between her legs, as if she were giving birth. This is unclear due to erosion.

CJP-­A. An I-shaped ballcourt with slightly rounded corners; positioned beyond the feet of GPP-­5. Woman with braids that show black paint. The terrace is wide here and this sculpture is behind some of the others.

GPP-­6. Woman with red paint on her cheeks; the head rests on the base of the cave wall.

The sculptures just described appear to be more crudely made than some of the others, in part because they are eroded. The water from the stream has sometimes overflowed its banks and flooded the terrace. After sculpture GPP-­ 6 is a 4-­m space, undoubtedly filled originally by other sculptures (three sculptures would fit easily), and then additional sculptures appear. GPP-­7. Human being: eroded.

GPP-­8. Woman; her left hand touches her vagina. GPP-­9. Woman; arms raised.

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GPP-­10. Woman; pregnant and with exaggerated nipples. Near the feet of this sculpture are two small sculptures: GPP-­10A on the left side is a woman with a baby and GPP-­10B on the right side is another figure. Additional small sculptures appear in this area but are eroded. They may represent the children of the women in the row of extended figures, GPP-­7 through GPP-­10. GPP-­13. Relatively small sculpture; legs spread.

GPP-­14. Small sculpture behind GPP-­13 and GPP-­15.

GPP-­15. Woman with legs spread.

GPP-­16 and GPP-­17. These are of medium size and possibly represent children or youths since they lack breasts. The faces are unusually well preserved.

GPP-­18 and GPP-­19. Also small or medium in size and eroded. The sculptures end here, precisely where the terrace sediments stop. Some sculptures have probably been lost at the edge of the terrace next to the stream. In fact, the extant small sculptures at the edge of the stream are not as well preserved as the large ones since the water has passed over and eroded them. These small figures probably represent children associated with the adults, and seem to be in a position of movement in contrast to the static adults. Group of the Ballgame

This group on the left side of the stream includes at least six sculptures: four men, one woman, one person of indeterminate sex, and a large ballcourt. The sculptures are in a row and additional sculptures probably continued to the north because the terrace continues but they have been erased by flooding. GJP-­1. Man lying face up; his right arm is at his side with his hand on his genitals.

GJP-­2. Man (?); his right arm is placed next to his side with his hand on his genitals. The heads of GJP-­1 and GJP-­2 are missing due to erosion.

GJP-­3. Man (?).

GJP-­4. Woman; black paint on her hair.

GJP-­5. Man. Copulating with the woman represented by GJP-­4. The man’s legs are beneath the woman’s legs. The man has a high headdress but it is eroded, as is his face. GJP-­6. Man.

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Figure 4.10. Ballgame sculpture. Credit: photo by Matt Oliphant.

The sculptures are in a row. Near the feet of GJP-­6 is the representation of a ballcourt (CJP-­B) that measures approximately 3 m in length and is oriented parallel to the stream (figure 4.10). The ball court has a typical I-shaped layout except that the ends of the playing field are rounded. (It will be interesting to know in the future if some ballcourts at archaeological sites in the region show this architectural design.) The interior has sloping side walls (taludes) that end in banquettes. It has two narrow stairways, one on the side toward the wall of the cave that represents the access from the exterior to the top of the ballcourt wall, and the other at one end that represents the access from the top of the wall down onto the playing court. A small human figure sculpted on the talud appears to be running, as if he were playing the game. By his side is another figure, and others are shown lying on the top of the ballcourt wall. The cave ceiling above CJP-­B is relatively low and shows the most varied group of paintings in the cave. Painting GPA-­A shows the Zapotec-­style hill sign with the representation of a spotted rabbit on top of it (figure 4.11). The hill glyph is known from Zapotec writing and in the Valley of Oaxaca appears commonly with a symbol or name for the place above it. In this case it should be the Hill or Mountain of the Spotted Rabbit; a real place with this name has not (yet) been located. This is the first example recorded of the use of a place 166

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glyph in the Sierra Mixe. The place glyph is common in Late Preclassic Zapotec iconography in the Valley of Oaxaca, and may indicate the presence of Zapotecs in the cave or contact with Valley Zapotecs. At the base of the hill glyph a lance appears, which could indicate conquest and subjugation. For example, in the Postclassic Nuttall Codex many place signs appear pierced with lances or arrows, indicating conquest. A possible water glyph with two lines, possibly an eroded bar signifying the numeral 5 ( Javier Urcid, personal communication, January 2015), occurs to the left of the hill glyph. Other paintings on the ceiling include a negative hand with splayed fingers painted twice and below it the representation of a human skull.

Figure 4.11. Painting of spotted rabbit and place sign. Credit: photo by Matt Oliphant.

Group of the Woman with Spread Legs

The five sculptures in this group on the right side of the stream include one male and four females. The most notable sculpture, GMPA-­3, represents a woman with her legs spread, possibly giving birth (figure 4.12). This sculpture is life size and GMPA-­4 and GMPA-­5 are smaller. GMPA-­1. Man (?); in extended position parallel to the stream; eroded.

GMPA-­2. Woman (?); was perpendicular to the stream, probably also in extended position; face up, but only the head is preserved. GMPA-­3. Woman with legs spread; possibly represents a birth. The figure is face up, with the body extended, perpendicular to the stream—­the same as the next two sculptures.

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Figure 4.12. Sculpture of a woman with her legs spread. Credit: photo by Elliot Stahl.

GMPA-­4. Woman; right arm raised but incomplete.

GMPA-­5. Woman; right hand on her thigh, possibly touching her vagina but the sculpture is eroded. Group of the Jaguars

Eleven sculptures are present in this group on the left side of the stream, including humans, jaguars, an iguana, and a ballcourt (CJP-­C), all in a line next to one another. GJ-­1. Woman; wide face, arms raised and feet toward the stream. GJ-­2. Crouching jaguar; head toward the stream (figure 4.13).

GJ-­3. Woman; arms raised and a little closer to the stream than the other sculptures.

GJ-­4. Woman, small stature, possibly a dwarf. Face and braid well preserved. Feet toward the stream but the sculpture is at a diagonal in relation to the others of this group. GJ-­5. Jaguar; also in diagonal position; head toward the stream.

GJ-­6. Animal; possibly a jaguar or a man, facing the cave wall. Located behind GJ-­5. 168

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Figure 4.13. Jaguar sculpture. Credit: photo by Elliot Stahl.

GJ-­7. Jaguar; body parallel to the stream.

GJ-­8. Probably a human; perpendicular to the stream; eroded.

GJ-­9. Crouching jaguar; body perpendicular to the stream and face toward the stream.

CJP-­C. Ballcourt; oriented with the long axis parallel to the stream. GJ-­10. Hermaphrodite with penis and breasts; perpendicular to the stream; arms at the sides and feet toward the stream.

GJ-­11. Man with erect penis; perpendicular to the stream; feet toward the stream.

GJ-­12. Human head; the rest of the sculpture is not preserved. Probably had a body perpendicular to the stream with feet toward the steam. GJ-­13. Man with legs spread apart. He wears a wide striped belt or jacket, similar to that of GPP-­12. The head is missing, possibly indicating decapitation.

GJ-­14. Iguana with crest, in extended position with legs extended. Oriented parallel to the stream with the head toward sculpture GJ-­13 (figure 4.14). S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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Figure 4.14. Crested iguana sculpture. Credit: photo by Elliot Stahl.

Additional sculptures of this group probably existed to the south of GJ-­14, but have been lost to erosion. This is the last group of earth sculptures. THE REY KONG-­O Y

The cave name refers to the culture hero, Rey Kong-­Oy (or Cong-­Hoy), widely known and venerated among the Mixe. Versions of his life and exploits vary from town to town. Most relate that a poor peasant couple foraging in the woods found two large eggs, which they took home. Out of one was born Kong-­Oy and out of the other his sister, a seven-­headed serpent. Kong-­Oy grew quickly and became unusually large. He traveled great distances from his home in search of food for his mother, as far as Oaxaca City and the southern Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Once when he rested in El Tule, his wooden staff became the famous Tule tree, a huge 2,000-­year-­old cypress (40 m high and 10 m in diameter) and a major tourist attraction in the town of Santa María del Tule 10 km east of Oaxaca City. Kong-­Oy defended his people in wars against their Zapotec neighbors. Cultural anthropologists Alicia Barabas and 170

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Miguel Bartolomé (1984) describe several versions of the legend and found references to Kong-­Oy as far back as colonial times in the writings of Fray Francisco de Burgoa (1934), a Dominican priest who in the 1600s lived in and wrote about Oaxaca. Barabas and Bartolomé attribute the myth to Mixes who during Postclassic (ad 800–­1521) or colonial times were reacting to threatened takeover of their territory. The authors note that many people in the Mixe region believe that Kong-­Oy took refuge within their town limits and thus many caves and other landmarks are named for him. We cannot be sure that the legend does not go back much further into the past, but if Barabas and Bartolomé are correct, the legend and its protagonist postdate the sculptures and the principal use of the cave. The mythical personage is also known and mentioned among the Zapotecs, who call him Rey Condoy, or Burned King, because in their own version they set fire to Zempoatepetl, the Mixe sacred mountain, and the king escaped and took refuge in a cave. The sculptures in the San Isidro cave described here do not have attributes that clearly identify them as Kong-­Oy, although sculpture GPP-­12 would be the obvious candidate. THE CHUXNABÁN ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE

The Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy did not exist in isolation. Approximately one hour on foot downriver from the cave is the town (agencia municipal) of San Juan Bosco Chuxnabán, a political dependency of the municipality of San Miguel Quetzaltepec. Chuxnabán is also the largest archaeological site reported thus far in the Sierra Mixe. It is located on a relatively flat area—­uncommon in the Sierra Mixe—­at the juncture of the Río Verde and the Río Trapiche. The site covers approximately 1.5 km2 and has several mound groups including, at the center, a large, high acropolis-­like platform with mounds and a ballcourt on the top. Additional mounds exist to the east of the acropolis and around a bedrock outcrop at the far eastern end of the site overlooking the river junction. Four ballcourts have been identified at the site, three in the main area and another in a separate mound group about 500 m northwest of the acropolis. The latter may have been a separate community, perhaps one of those represented in the cave. The present-­ day town of Chuxnabán is built on the site and some Prehispanic structures have been destroyed to obtain building stone and flatten areas to create living spaces. Late Formative and Classic-­period pottery has been found at the site. A Late Classic tomb, Tomb 1, excavated in 2007 by Robert Markens and assistants (Markens and Winter 2014), contained five S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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large bifacial obsidian knives as well as 16 ceramic vessels and many greenstone beads. A community museum in the town displays archaeological materials found in the tomb as well as artifacts donated by townspeople. In the Late Formative, Chuxnabán may have been a small urban center of several hundred people, analogous to the early urban centers in the Mixteca like Monte Negro, Yucuita, or Huamelulpan. The artisans who produced the cave sculptures may have used assistants for preparing and carrying the correct mixture of sand and silt, for providing torches for light, and for supplying food for workers in the cave. This is the kind of activity, and the sculptures are the kind of product, usually associated with early urban centers in Oaxaca and not with smaller village communities. Another Late Formative site in the area is Juquila Mixes, about 15 km in a straight line to the southeast and probably on one of the main routes from Chuxnabán to the southern Isthmus. Moctum is another significant large site in the Sierra Mixe, near Totontepec, about 33 km in a straight line northwest of Chuxnabán. Moctum has several mounds, a plaza delimited by mounds, and a ballcourt. It was probably built and occupied during the Classic period, contemporaneously with the later occupation at Chuxnabán. CHRONOLOGY

Several lines of evidence indicated that the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy sculptures correspond to the Late Formative period. This has now been confirmed by the following radiocarbon date on a piece of carbonized recovered from a damaged and exposed area of the sediment used to construct the ballcourt (sculpture CIP-­C) in the Group of the Jaguars. yy

Beta-­527199. Conventional radiocarbon age 2100 ± 30 BP = 150 ± 30 bc. Calibrated age at 95.4% probability = 197–­47 bc.

Although relatively few ceramics were found in the cave, the complete jars and some of the bowl fragments are similar to ceramics from the southern Isthmus of Oaxaca. The ceramics of the Sierra Mixe region have not been documented or studied, with the exception of material in a collection from the Juquila Mixes site (Hutson 2014), which includes some Goma-­phase (300–­100  bc) and a lot of Kuak-­phase (100  bc–­a d 100) ceramics. Goma and Kuak pottery from the Isthmus is considered to be associated with the Mixe ethnic and linguistic group. The representations of humans in the cave are similar stylistically, though not in size, to some Late Formative hand-­modeled baked-­clay figurines from 172

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Oaxaca and other places. The hairdos, bead necklaces, and facial features such as eyes, nose, and mouth are similar to examples on Goma-­phase figurines from El Carrizal near Ixtepec in the southern Isthmus of Tehuantepec. A few figurines from El Carrizal have tattooing on the shoulders, like GPP-­11 and GPP-­12. A major difference, however, is that the sculptures seem to be portraits of specific individuals—­each sculpture is different and they occur in groups, as if they represent real people—­and are not generalized like many types of figurines. It is also clear that the sculptures in the Cueva del  Rey Kong-­Oy differ stylistically from Classic-­period figurines from the southern Isthmus. No Classic-­period figurines are well documented from the Sierra Mixe; some examples from the southern Isthmus look like Jaina-­style figurines from Campeche and others are flat, mold-­made figurines. Neither of these types is similar to the cave sculptures. The paintings in the cave, such as the profile head with buccal mask (GPP-­ B) and the possible trophy head (GAn-­A), may also be Late Formative (Winter et al. 2014). The emphasis on the ballgame and the presence of the small models of ballcourts coincide with the time of initial appearance of ballcourts in highland Oaxaca, specifically the Nisa phase (100  bc–­a d 250) at Monte Albán, and probably San José Mogote and Dainzú as well. The idea of constructing and using ballcourts may have been transmitted to the Zapotecs from the Isthmus via people in the Sierra Mixe. ETHNIC IDENTIFICATION

The most parsimonious interpretation is that members of the Mixe ethnic and linguistic group sculpted the figures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy and built and lived in what is now the Chuxnabán archaeological site. The cave and the site are in the heart of the Sierra Mixe region and there is no reason to believe that Mixes have not occupied this area for over 2,000  years. As noted above, the earth sculptures show stylistic elements in common with Late Formative ceramic figurines from the southern Isthmus of Oaxaca, a region also occupied by Mixes since the Early and Middle Formative. Linguistic studies show that proto-­Mixe separated from proto-­Zoque at approximately 1800  bc, and then at approximately 400  bc the proto-­Mixe began to differentiate into dialects or variants (Wichmann et al. 2008), precisely when urban centers formed and languages diversified in other parts of Oaxaca. The Sierra Mixe may have been colonized from the Isthmus at this time, and permanent settlements established, including Chuxnabán.

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REPRODUCTION AND REGENERATION

Humans in ancient Oaxaca and Mesoamerica in general are depicted in all shapes and sizes, from small ceramic figurines and larger ceramic sculptures to huge carved stones in two or sometimes three dimensions. The human body most often serves as a palette, elaborately decorated with textiles, jewelry, feathers, animal body parts, and paint to show an individual’s identity and status (Orr and Looper 2014). Some Formative figurines from Oaxaca depict naked females but they usually lack indications of genitalia and may have been made as dolls to be clothed. The Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy sculptures, in contrast, show sexual organs, men with erect penises, women with legs spread and exposed vaginas, copulation, pregnancy, and possibly birth. The sexuality does not seem to reference eroticism or promiscuity, but rather what are commonly accepted elements, at least in Western thinking, of biological reproduction. This differs, for example, from the Peruvian Moche sex pots, movable objects placed in elite burials, that depict anal and oral sex, sometimes exaggerated organs, but not vaginal penetration. Even so, they may reference reproduction (Weismantel 2004). The earth sculptures imply a preoccupation with fertility, reproduction, and regeneration, which in turn is reasonable from the standpoint of present-­day Mixe cosmovision. According to Juan Arelí Bernal Alcántara of Totontepec (personal communication, March 2015), the San Isidro cave is known locally in Mixe as Kondokytëk’ aak, which means “The entrance to the door that leads to the house of the lord of fertility, riches, prosperity and the regeneration of life and death.” In this sense the cave is a Mixe manifestation of the widespread Mesoamerican concept of the mountain of sustenance (e.g., Barabas 2009; Markens 2013). Bernal Alcántara refers to Mixe as a stomach-­centric language because a person’s disposition or moods (estados de ánimo) are in the stomach. This is another dimension of bodies—­bodies as representations of, or metaphors for, the world. The cave as womb has a more profound, transcendent meaning. The cave is the stomach (estómago) of the mountain, the essence of the mountain. The cave is the womb of the mother earth (matriz de la madre tierra), associated with the abdomen and the stomach. According to Bernal Alcántara, the word for “cave” in Mixe means “womb of the mountain” (matriz or vientre de la montaña), precisely where the regeneration of human beings takes place. In addition, in the Sierra Mixe every large mountain (but not small ones) has an essence (esencia) or a being (ser grande). This seems different from, for example, the Zapotec use of deities, such as Cociyo (Rain-­Lightning God), the Xicani (Fire Serpent), or the Wide-­Billed Bird (Sun God) represented on carved 174

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stones or as effigy vessels and invoked in specific rituals. Interestingly, analogous gods do not appear in the San Isidro cave. Bernal Alcántara (2013, 232), referring to Rigoberto Morales Reyes (2013), writes: In Mixe religion and cosmovision, the supreme deity is as known Jëguëën-­ Tëjëëw which means Father and Mother. Jëguëën is the god and the primogenitor, the basic element of the cosmos, while Tëjëëw is the goddess and female primogenitor and source and origin of all life as well as the end of life, or death, since she is the mother of the gods and of men.

It may be that no iconic representation existed for these beings. The activities carried out in ancient times with the sculptures may have involved what ethnographer Périg Pitrou (2011) describes as co-­activity between the human participants and the entity known as “the one that makes live” (aquel que hace vivir). The meaning of the sculptures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy is best understood in Mixe terms and in reference to the cave as the womb of the mother earth. The montaña sagrada in later Mesoamerican iconography is the locus of plenitude, abundance, and sustenance, the place of life. The womb is the house of the baby (önük tëjk in Totontepec Mixe) ( Juan Arelí Bernal Alcántara, personal communication, October 2017). The Mixe beliefs are not unique. For example, James E. Brady (1988) notes that modern ethnographic studies in the Maya area show that sexuality and caves are linked and that caves are places where procreation took place. The mountain of sustenance concept is widespread in Mesoamerica (Markens 2013) and the link between caves and sexuality may be as well. JAGUARS AND BALLCOURTS

The jaguar and ballcourt sculptures also mesh with this perspective. Jaguars are related to the theme of fertility and reproduction, as shown by the copulation between a human and a jaguar. Humans and jaguars can exist as one: Sculpture GPP-­12 wears a jaguar mask or maybe has a jaguar head, and it has a jaguar tail. The same individual is dressed as a ballplayer and holds a ball in each hand, thus manifesting the connection human-­jaguar-­ballplayer. Jaguars, still present in Oaxaca in the wild, are respected and feared for their stealth, strength, and ferocity. Jaguars, caves, and procreation or sexuality are associated in Mesoamerican art and iconography as early as Olmec times, approximately 1200 bc. A painting in Oxtotitlán Cave, Guerrero, shows S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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an Olmec man copulating with a jaguar (Grove 1970), while two sculptures from sites near the Olmec center of San Lorenzo (Tenochtitlan Monument 1 and Loma del Zapote Monument 3) show possible human–­jaguar copulation (Cyphers 2004, 219–­221, 239–­241), although not all specialists agree with these interpretations. The were-­jaguar, a major Olmec supernatural, is widely considered part human, part jaguar. The Sierra Mixe and the Gulf Coast Olmec have linguistic roots in the same Mixe-­Zoque language family. The representations in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy may be directly related to the earlier Olmec traditions and beliefs. (On a clear day, Zempoaltepetl, about 150 km to the southeast, is visible from San Lorenzo. This great mountain undoubtedly caught the attention of the Olmecs and was probably visited and explored by them, leading to its conceptualization as the Mixe sacred mountain.) It is possible that the animals sculpted in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy represent people shown as their animal companions or tonals instead of humans. Mixe children shortly after birth receive a tonal, or companion spirit, usually an animal, although natural phenomena are other possibilities (Hoogshagen 1994). Shaman or religious specialists exist among the Mixe today and are capable of changing form or becoming their nahual. In this state they can communicate with the nonhuman powers and intercede with them on behalf of their peers. Transformation is evident on Olmec figurines that show a man becoming a jaguar (Furst 1968). The principal male figure, GPP-­12, in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy, may represent a shaman, part-­man, part-­jaguar, who was also a community chief and powerful ballplayer. In the Late Classic at Monte Albán and elsewhere in Oaxaca, the jaguar was the primary insignia of political and religious leadership. Stela 1 at Monte Albán shows a seated ruler dressed as a jaguar. At Dainzú, Tomb 5 shows a jaguar head carved on the lintel and legs and feet carved on the doorjambs, so that the jaguar image frames the entrance to the tomb, like the entrance to a cave. In the case at hand, jaguars were also significant as animals present in the San Isidro area of the Sierra Mixe when the area was colonized. Damp caves were preferred habitats for jaguars, though no direct evidence of live jaguars has been recognized in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy. A Mixe perception of the jaguar is described by Bernal Alcántara (2013, 232) based on Rigoberto Morales Reyes (2013) of Quetzaltepec: The jaguar in Mixe cosmovision is the lord of the animals and of the darkness, a deity cold and humid, perhaps a bit feminine because he is also an incarnation of Mother Earth, who generates life from within, from her interior, in a humid, dark and warm environment. In exchange, she demands death and sacrifice as 176

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payment for providing abundance on the earth’s surface and for the maintenance of other forms of life. Exchange is paid for with life itself, with blood as the conduit, which is sprinkled to fertilize the ground and give it life at planting time for the growing of the corn field and at harvest time, not to mention being mixed with the seeds before planting. (Bernal Alcántara 2013, 232; translation from the Spanish, MW)

The ballgame in Mesoamerica is sometimes associated with reproduction. The ballgame between the Hero Twins described in the Popol Vuh (Recinos 1952), takes place in the underworld (perhaps a metaphor for a cave) and is part of the Mayan creation myth. The Cueva del  Rey Kong-­Oy may be a Mixe expression of the same thing, that is, an underlying, widespread Mesoamerican mythic explanation of creation passed down verbally over time and thus expressed differently by the distinct ethnic and linguistic groups. The ballgame among the Olmecs may be a common root for both the Maya and Mixe cases. The actual rubber balls recovered at the Olmec site of El Manatí are similar in size to the two held by sculpture GPP-­12 in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy (Ortiz and Rodríguez 2000). THE MONTE ALBÁN DANZANTES AND THE DAINZÚ BALLPLAYERS

Other Late Formative examples of groups of human beings displayed together occur at the Zapotec sites of Monte Albán and Dainzú in the Valley of Oaxaca (Urcid 2014; Urcid and Joyce 2014). The approximately 300 danzantes actually include several different groups, but since most were removed from their original positions in ancient times, the sequence is lost, as is also true of the Dainzú ballplayers, at least those in the basal wall of Building L. The Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy sculptures are different because they are not movable. In the case of the danzantes, the monument went out of use, the wall was dismantled, and the stones were removed and reused. The same thing happened at Dainzú: the wall seen today was put back together using some stones fallen from the wall, which, in any case, may have included carved stones from various original sets. The representations of ballplayers’ heads on the cliff above the main site are in their original position because they are carved into the native rock. In both cases, the danzantes and the Dainzú ballplayers, at least one leader is shown and distinguished from the other individuals. These reflect chiefdom-­ level societies in which a paramount chief had the stones carved as a commemorative monument, glorifying his achievements and showing his power by

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illustrating the numerous people, relatives, family members, or others who cooperated with him and whom he controlled. The danzantes look like individuals, and some have what appear to be their names carved as symbols next to their faces. Danzante D-55 may be a leader, as he is shown with two jaguar heads in front of his face and he has several glyphs carved on his chest and between his legs. Another leader, possibly the person who commissioned the construction of the original Danzantes Wall, may be indicated by the symbols on Stela 12, the carved stone at the beginning of the danzantes narrative. The Dainzú carvings of ballplayers appear less individualistic. The ballplayers are shown in different positions but do not seem to have carved elements that could distinguish them by name. If the players were familiar to the viewers, however, that may not have been necessary. In both cases the carved stones probably form a narrative, a story or a history. Since they date back to the Late Formative, precisely when the urban centers or small cities were forming for the first time in Oaxaca, it is reasonable to suppose that the narratives related their founding. Another group of carved stones with representations of humans comes from three small archaeological sites, each with a ballcourt and a few mounds, in the municipality of Santos Reyes Nopala in the Sierra Sur region of Oaxaca (Arnaud Bustamente 2003). Years ago, the stones were removed from the sites and concentrated in the town center, and then later were cemented into the walls of the new municipal building. Most of the carvings represent men, many with their eyes closed and their arms crossed over their chests in a posture indicating that they are dead. In some cases, a lower portion of the stone was left uncarved and served as a tenon to anchor the stone in the ground. Three stones in the corpus of 32 studied by archaeologist Laura Arnaud Bustamante (2003) depict men with their eyes open, holding a sacrificial knife in their hands, possibly community chiefs. Deities are not represented and calendar names and other symbols occur only in a few cases. The stones may commemorate local leaders, their allies, and some of their victims, sacrificed after a ballgame. The repetition of figures is a feature that the Nopala corpus has in common with the Monte Albán danzantes, the Dainzú ballplayers, and the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy sculptures. No excavations have been done at Nopala that might help to date the monuments. They may be Late Classic, like other monuments from Oaxaca’s Pacific coast region, although they differ from the Late Classic Río Viejo monuments that depict rulers in profile with name glyphs. The sculptures in the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy lack representations of gods or deities, although a Cocivo mask appears on the painting GPP-­B. This is also the case with the danzantes, the ballplayers and the Nopala stones. A Cociyo 178

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Figure 4.15. Human bones at the south end of the cave. Credit: photo by Matt Oliphant.

(lightning god) sign appears on the headgear of some of the Dainzú ballplayers, and some religious symbols occur with Danzante D-55, but in general, these sets of stones do not emphasize symbols that might suggest ceremonies to appease or petition specific deities. From our viewpoint, the scenes seem to be historical and secular. This may seem strange if the sculptures are about reproduction, but the context provides a religious and spiritual element or aura. CONCLUDING REMARKS

The human bones at the far end of the Cueva del  Rey Kong-­Oy (figure 4.15) may represent 10 to 15 adult individuals, but have not been studied. Some bones are broken and many have been moved around, probably by water action in the end of the cave. Some of the bones appear in concentrations that may represent individuals, not articulated but at least buried as a unit, possibly brought into the cave as bundles. The most parsimonious account is that the bones are contemporaneous with the sculptures, but this has not been proven. Assuming this is the case, however, how are the bones related to the sculptures? One possibility is that they correspond to people from Chuxnabán. There are too few bones to account for all adult members of the community, so perhaps they are the bones of chiefs or leaders and their consorts. S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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Contemporaneous burials from the El Carrizal site near Ixtepec in the southern Isthmus included adults placed in simple graves dug into the earth near the houses and buried in flexed or semiflexed positions, placed on their sides and accompanied by offerings of ceramic vessels that probably contained food. The absence of offerings with the Cueva del  Rey Kong-­Oy burials remains to be explained. It also is possible that the burials were desecrated, and the bones and offerings broken and dispersed, in a manner analogous to the dismantling of the scenes of carved stones, but then why were the sculptures left intact? Another possibility is that they are the bones of people sacrificed in the cave. How the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy sculptures were used and who they represent remain to be determined. They may have figured in ceremonies involving a walk through the cave and the recounting of a narrative. Independently, or perhaps at the same time, sexual reenactment, whether pantomime or real, may have been performed. In any case, the sculptures appear to represent real people who may or may not have been alive when the sculptures were made, but eventually ended up as commemorated ancestors, probably the founders of Chuxnabán and nearby communities, invoked in the telling or reenactment in the present of a story designed to assure a prosperous future. The recounting of the narrative thus linked the past with the future. As Alicia Barabas has noted (2009), foundation narratives are common in Oaxaca communities today; the Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy sculptures, the Monte Albán danzantes, the Dainzú ballplayers and the Reyes Nopala stones may all be distinct Prehispanic expressions of community origins. The Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy juxtaposes life and death, two fundamental aspects of human existence. Death is represented by the human bones at the end of the South Passageway, possibly of honored forebears or possibly of sacrificial victims. Life is represented by the earth sculptures and their sexuality as symbols of renewal and regeneration. The human bodies are present in the cave as past and as future. The 2,000 years that separate the ethnographic present from the time when the figures were sculpted renders our interpretations questionable. Future studies of the cave and its contents and its context may help clarify some of the enigmatic aspects of Prehispanic Mixe cosmovision. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many individuals have kindly shared observations, illustrations, and photographs of the cave and the sculptures, thereby contributing directly or indirectly to this article: Tamara Ballensky, Jason Ballensky, Elliot Stahl, Phillip

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Rykwalder, Rob Spangler Javier Pérez Guerrero, Nancy Pistole, Matt Oliphant, and Stacie Marie King. I have also benefited from comments and ideas about the cave from my friends and colleagues Juan Arelí Bernal Alcántara, Robert Markens, Alicia Barabas, Perig Pitrou, Brigitte Faugère, Eric Taladoire, and the late Víctor de la Cruz, though I accept responsibility for the interpretation in this text. For their assistance in preparing illustrations I thank Pablo Mateos, Ismael G. Vicente Cruz, José Leonardo López Zárate, and Jorge Bautista. Finally, I thank the authorities of San Isidro for their support and for their interest in protecting the cave and its contents: for the period 2011–­2013, Víctor Jiménez Ruiz (Agente Municipal) and Aristarco Zamora Reyes (Presidente del Comisariado de Bienes Comunales); for the period 2014–­2016, José Luis García Urbina (Agente Municipal), Adrián Vásquez Martínez (Secretario de  la  Agencia Municipal), Alfonso Reyes Zárate (Presidente del Comisariado de Bienes Comunales), and Jacinta Urbina Pérez (Secretaria de del Comisariado de Bienes Comunales). NOTE

1. In recent times, prior to the speleologists’ visit in 2011, no one seems to have ventured far enough into the South Passageway to discover the earth sculptures. During their 2011 visit, Jason Ballensky, Tamara Ballensky, Phillip Rykwalder, Rob Spangler, and Elliot Stahl mapped the cave, Tamara Ballensky recorded the sculptures, Elliot Stahl photographed the sculptures and other artifacts, and Javier Pérez Guerrero of San Isidro provided logistical support. Tamara Ballensky subsequently (2012) published an article on the cave and the sculptures in the National Speleological News that included the map and many of Stahl’s excellent photographs. The Ballenskys told me about the discovery and in May, 2013, I visited the cave, accompanied by speleologists Nancy Pistole and Matt Oliphant and archaeologist Stacie Marie King from the United States and Javier Pérez Guerrero, Donato Martínez Juárez, Heriberto García, and Roberto Sánchez from San Isidro. We made additional observations and Matt Oliphant took more photographs. REFERENCES

Arnaud Bustamante, Laura. 2003. “Análisis iconográfico de las piedras grabadas de Los Santos Reyes Nopala, Juquila, Oaxaca.” Licenciatura thesis, Escuela Nacional de Antropología e Historia, México, DF. Ballensky, Tamara. 2012. “Secrets of Coescuelandoy: Discovering Oaxaca’s Ancient Mud Sculptures.” National Speleological Society News 70(9):6–­13. S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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Barabas, Alicia M. 2009. Dones, dueños y santos. Ensayo sobre religiones en Oaxaca. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia/Miguel Ángel Porrúa. Barabas, Alicia M., and Miguel Bartolomé. 1984. El Rey Cong Hoy: Tradición mesiánica y privación social entre los mixes de Oaxaca. Centro Regional de Oaxaca: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Barabas, Alicia M., Marcus Winter, María del Carmen Castillo, and Nallely Moreno. 2005. “La cueva del Diablo: Creencias y rituales de ayer y hoy entre los zapotecos de Mitla, Oaxaca.” Cuadernos del Sur 11(22):21–­33. INAH, CIESAS, UABJO, Oaxaca. Bernal Alcántara, Juan Arelí. 2013. “El Jaguar en la Cosmogonía y Cosmovisión Mixe.” In El jaguar en Oaxaca, ed. Alfonso Aquino Mondragón, Víctor de la Cruz, Miguel A. Briones Salas, Antonio Sánchez Vásquez, and Marco A. Huerta García, 232–­239. Oaxaca: Gobierno del Estado. Brady, James E. 1988. “The Sexual Connotation of Caves in Mesoamerican Ideology.” Mexicon 10(3):51–­55. Brady, James E., Tamara Ballensky, and Elliot Stahl. 2013. A Preliminary Discussion of the Cueva del Rey Condoy Mud Sculptures. Paper presented at the 78th annual meeting of the Society of American Archaeology, Honolulu, HI, April 3–­­7. Burgoa, Francisco de. 1934 [1674]. Geográfica descripción de la parte septentrional del Polo Ártico de la América, y Nueva Iglesia de las Indicas Occidentales. Two volumes. México, DF: Archivo General de la Nación. Cyphers, Ann. 2004. Escultura Olmeca de San Lorenzo Tenochtitlán. México, DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas/Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Fitzsimmons Steele, Janet. 1987. “Blade Cave: An Archaeological Preservation Study in the Mazatec Region, Oaxaca, Mexico.” Unpublished Master’s Thesis. Department of Anthropology, University of Texas, San Antonio. Furst, Peter T. 1968. “The Olmec Were-­Jaguar Motif in the Light of Ethnographic Reality.” In Dumbarton Oaks Conference on the Olmec, ed. Elizabeth P. Benson, 143–­174. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Gaxiola González, Margarita. 1984. Huamelulpan: Un centro urbano de la Mixteca Alta. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Gómez Bravo, Noemí. 2004. Móctum: Antigua grandeza de un pueblo mixe. Oaxaca: Fonca. Grove, David C. 1970. The Olmec Paintings of Oxtotitlan Cave, Guerrero, Mexico. Studies in Pre-­Columbian Art and Archaeology, No. 6. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Hoogshagen, Searle. 1994. “Lo sobrenatural mixe y el cristianismo.” In Fuentes etnológicas para el estudio de los pueblos ayuuk (mixes) del estado de Oaxaca, ed. Salomón Nahmad, 359–­376. Oaxaca: Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social Oaxaca and Instituto Oaxaqueño de las Culturas. 182

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Hutson, Scott. 2014. “Artefactos Prehispánicos de la Sierra Mixe.” In Panorama Arqueológico: Dos Oaxaca, ed. Marcus Winter and Gonzalo Sánchez Santiago, 267–­278. Arqueología Oaxaqueña 4. Oaxaca: Centro Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Markens, Robert. 2013. “El Jaguar y la Montaña Sagrada: La Base del Poder en la Civilización Zapoteca, Valle de Oaxaca.” In El jaguar en Oaxaca, ed. Alfonso Aquino Mondragón, Víctor de la Cruz, Miguel A. Briones Salas, Antonio Sánchez Vásquez, and Marco A. Huerta García, 196–­201. Oaxaca: Gobierno del Estado. Markens, Robert, and Marcus Winter. 2014. “La Tumba 1 de Chuxnabán, Quetzaltepec, Mixes.” In Panorama Arqueológico: Dos Oaxaca, ed. Marcus Winter and Gonzalo Sánchez Santiago, 279–­291. Arqueología Oaxaqueña 4, Oaxaca: Centro Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Morales Reyes, Rigoberto. 2013. Jëguëëñ-­Tëjëëw: El Padre y la Madre Primogenia, la Suprema y Única Deidad. Manuscrito. Unpublished manuscript. Moyes, Holley, and James E. Brady. 2012. “Caves as Sacred Spaces in Mesoamerica.” In Sacred Darkness: A Global Perspective on the Ritual Use of Caves, ed. Holley Moyes, 151–­170. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Nahmad, Salomón, ed. 1994. Fuentes etnológicas para el estudio de los pueblos ayuuk (mixes) del estado de Oaxaca. Oaxaca: Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social Oaxaca and Instituto Oaxaqueño de las Culturas. Orr, Heather, and Matthew G. Looper, eds. 2014. Wearing Culture: Dress and Regalia in Early Mesoamerica and Central America. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Ortíz, Ponciano, and María del Carmen Rodríguez. 2000. “The Sacred Hill of Manatí: A Preliminary Discussion of the Site’s Ritual Paraphernalia.” In Olmec Art and Archaeology in Mesoamerica, ed. John E. Clark and Mary E. Pye, 75–­93. New York and London: Yale University Press. Pitrou, Périg. 2011. “El papel de ‘Aquel que hace vivir’ en las prácticas sacrificiales de la sierra mixe de Oaxaca.” In La noción de vida en Mesoamérica, ed. Perig Pitrou, María del Carmen Valverde Valdés, and Johannes Neurath, 119–­154. México, DF: Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y Centroamericanos/Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Recinos, Adrián, translator. 1952. Popol Vuh: Las Antiguas Historias del Quiché. México, DF: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Rivero López, Angélica. 2011. “Arqueología de la zona Ayuuk (Mixe).” In Monte Albán en la encrucijada regional y disciplinaria. Memoría de la Quinta Mesa Redonda de Monte Albán, ed. Nelly M. Robles García and Ángel Iván Rivera Guzmán, 565–­583. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Urcid, Javier. 2014. “Otra Narrativa de Jugadores de Pelota en Dainzú.” In Panorama Arqueológico: Dos Oaxacas, ed. Marcus Winter and Gonzalo Sánchez Santiago, S exuality and R egeneration in the U nderworld

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43–­56, Arqueología Oaxaqueña 4. Oaxaca: Centro Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Urcid, Javier, and Arthur Joyce. 2014. “Early Transformations of Monte Albán’s Main Plaza and Their Political Implications. 500 bc–­a d 200.” In Mesoamerican Plazas: Arenas of Community and Power, ed. Kenichiro Tsukamoto and Takeshi Inomata, 149–­167. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Weismantel, Mary. 2004. Moche Sex Pots: Reproduction and Temporality in Ancient South America. American Anthropologist 106(3):495–­505. Wichmann, Søren, Dimitri Beliaev, and Albert Davletshin. 2008. “Posibles correlaciones lingüísticas y arqueológicas vinculados con los olmecas.” In Olmeca: Balance y perspectivas. Memoria de la Primera Mesa Redonda, Volume II, ed. María Teresa Uriarte and Rebecca B. González Lauck, 667–­683. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México/CONACULTA/Fundación Arqueológica del Nuevo Mundo. Winter, Marcus, Tamara Ballensky, Jason Ballensky, and Javier Pérez Guerrero. 2014. “La Cueva del Rey Kong-­Oy.” In Panorama Arqueológico: Dos Oaxacas, ed. Marcus Winter and Gonzalo Sánchez Santiago, 293–­320. Arqueología Oaxaqueña 4. Oaxaca: Centro Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia Oaxaca.

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5 The transition to urban life in Mexico’s central highlands implied multiple modifications in the social architecture of Late and Terminal Formative settlements. Usually, the structural shifts that accompanied the urbanization process have been addressed in terms of increasing degrees of separation between commoners and elites and the development of ideologically motivated monumental building programs that required collective action (e.g., Carballo 2012, 2013, 2016; Froese et al. 2014; Uruñuela et al. 2009). And yet, as George Cowgill (2004, 528) advocates, a broader understanding of citification also requires us to examine the role of the community-­based associations that were rooted in everyday human interaction and served as an integrating force in growing centers whose populations were becoming increasingly specialized and hierarchical. Here we consider how a corpus of Early Classic figurines recovered from Cholula might be understood as a product of these bottom-­up organizations that link families to their societies (Cowgill 2004; Smith 2010). The simplest and perhaps most frequent process that emerged to cope with increasing population size in early cities was segmentation (Dumond 1972), the spawning of smaller social worlds that resembled the spatial and relational configurations that individuals were previously familiar with, that is to say “rough approximations of the traditional community transplanted to the urban setting” (Orleans 1973, 116). Elizabeth Stone (1987, 3, 130) notes, for example, that migrants to newly

Costumes and Puppets among Cholula’s Early Classic Figurines and the Formation of Social Worlds Gabriela Uruñuela and Patricia Plunket

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c005

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founded or expanding medieval Islamic cities sought to reproduce village life within the urban context by gravitating around an important family or kernel institution that could provide assistance and help buffer the newcomers against risk. Somewhat different modern examples include Miami’s Little Havana, London’s Brick Lane or “Banglatown,” and the Quartier Asiatique, which concentrates much of Paris’s Southeast Asian population. Archaeological evidence for these kinds of social worlds is perhaps best visualized as residential neighborhoods where face-­to-­face interactions structured daily life and grounded identity. Such neighborhoods have been addressed in relation to the apartment compounds of Teotihuacan (e.g., Arnauld et al. 2011; Manzanilla 1996; McClung and Rattray 1987; Rattray 1993; Robertson 2001; White et al. 2004; Widmer and Storey 1993), but few if any authors have sought to consider this question for Cholula, another great Classic-­period city in Mexico’s central highlands. This omission, however, is warranted, since the remains of the ancient site lie buried beneath the modern-­day occupation, and thus the most straightforward ways of identifying evidence of these mid-­ level associations—­spatial clustering and artifact distributions (Smith 2010, 137)—­require data that are beyond our reach. What other approaches might we use to recognize the presence of suprahousehold community organizations in Prehispanic Cholula? In order to suggest a possible avenue of investigation, one based on certain kinds of figurines, we briefly consider the initial period of large-­scale urbanization in the city. During the first century ad, refugees from natural disasters and intercommunity conflicts, in addition to economically motivated migrants, appear to have contributed significantly to the rapid demographic growth that was already underway in young cities like Cholula and Teotihuacan (Carballo and Pluckhahn 2007; Gorenflo 2006; Plunket and Uruñuela 2006). They came from villages, towns, and major centers, bringing with them a certain diversity in perspectives and potential while at the same time draining human resources from the hinterland. By the second century ad, Teotihuacan had over 80,000 inhabitants (Cowgill 2004, 535) and Cholula perhaps one-­third that number. The rapid influx of newcomers was key to the formation of a new type of community as these transplanted groups struggled to integrate themselves into the rapidly changing social environment and as leaders sought to regulate and capitalize on a swelling workforce (Uruñuela et al. 2009). In both modern and ancient contexts, migrants tend to rely on their existing social networks, settling at first with family or friends, and hence they play a fundamental role in the development of urban neighborhoods (Smith 2010, 151; Smith et al. 2015, 184–­186). Logic suggests that those who chose to relocate 186

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in Cholula during the latter decades of the first century ad, mostly environmental refugees whose villages had been devastated by a major eruption of the Popocatepetl volcano, brought with them as much of their preexisting life as they could, and that during the years that followed, they, as well as many later immigrants attracted by the centripetal force of the burgeoning city, helped convert the community into a “mosaic of social worlds” (Timms 1971, 1), each with its own particular histories, expressions, and traditions. At the same time, those diverse social worlds were being integrated by the rising aura of a ceremonial center that was continually remodeled and expanded to better reflect the power and achievements of each new administration. In the first half of the third century, Cholula was erecting the fourth stage of its Great Pyramid, the Edificio Escalonado 1. This nine-­level platform, with a unique and unprecedented design in which each of its tiers was entirely covered with steps on all fronts, was an enormous 34.5-­m-­high structure measuring 214 m by 272 m at its base. According to Florencia Müller (1973), at this time Cholula covered around 6 km2, which, using Michael Smith’s (2005, 412) low-­and medium-­density projections, perhaps translates to between 20,000 and 30,000 inhabitants. We don´t have the data necessary to provide a more precise estimate, but the construction of this building used tons of limestone that had to be carried in from about 9 km away instead of the locally available adobe and tepetate blocks employed in the previous versions of the pyramid, an effort that reflects a formidable material investment and the participation of thousands of workmen. The Escalonado 1 almost doubled the size of its immediate predecessor; assuming that the existing technology did not undergo any radical improvements, and if the labor force that could be diverted from basic productive activities and channeled into the construction of state-­sponsored monumental architecture represented a more or less stable percentage of the citizenry, could this indicate that the population of Cholula had also doubled its size? If so, immigration must have played an important role in such a large and rapid demographic increase, adding many new members to the settlement’s already heterogeneous social fabric and intensifying the need for integrative measures to successfully meld them into the community. It is in this context of neighborhood formation that we now turn to the Early Classic figurines from Cholula. We argue that many of these were produced and used at this intermediate scale of suprahousehold affiliation, in conjunction with those “kernel institutions” that bound urban families into their social worlds, and not within the domestic setting or in direct association with the institutionalized ceremonialism and ritual of the central authority. In light of our inability to identify the spatial configuration of Cholula’s Costumes and P uppets among C holula’ s E arly C lassic F igurines

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Figure 5.1. Map of the Puebla-­Tlaxcala valley. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

neighborhoods, we instead examine two themes that provide some insights about the citification process: (1) how figurines reflect changes in the social dynamics of emerging urbanism between the Late/Terminal Formative and the Early Classic; and (2) what meanings are embedded in the costumes, attributes, and postures of some of these miniature human images. FORMATIVE VERSUS EARLY CLASSIC FIGURINES

As in other parts of Mesoamerica, the Formative figurines from Cholula and neighboring sites like Colotzingo, Coapan, and Tetimpa (figure 5.1) were for the most part young, standing females. Only a few of them are pregnant, but their breasts are clearly indicated as well as sometimes their navels and pubic areas; they are typically nude, but they display a fair degree of variation in headdresses, hairstyles, and jewelry (figure 5.2). Males were less common subjects of representation, and they are usually identified by their lack of sexual markers and are shown in both upright and seated poses (figure 5.3). 188

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Figure 5.2. Middle through Terminal Formative female figurines from Cholula and its environs. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

Figure 5.3. Late and Terminal Formative male figurines from Tetimpa. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

Joyce Marcus (1998, 17–­23) has discussed how these kinds of early Meso­ american images might be interpreted. Based on the ethnography of African villages and Chinese lineage organization, she suggests that in those types of societies figurines were made by women in domestic settings and were used in household rites to honor and petition deceased family members who had recently joined the ancestors. She argues that female figurines predominate in this ritual style because men, especially in the Chinese case, could be depicted and honored in different ways at extrahousehold locations, primarily ancestral lineage halls; thus, males are a minority within the figurine corpus. Throughout Mesoamerica, however, small female figurines become Costumes and P uppets among C holula’ s E arly C lassic F igurines

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less common at the transition between the Formative and the Classic, and, as Marcus (1999, 88–­92) suggests, this might be a function of the increasing social complexity of state-­level organizations that favored men over women and suprahousehold institutions over the domestic venue. This process might well explain the nature and distribution of the figurine collections from Puebla-­Tlaxcala. In contrast to the scarcity of masculine representations in the miniature imagery of this area during the Formative, Early Classic figurines are more often male. Female forms (figure 5.4), now in the minority, become flat and static, and they are no longer shown nude, but instead they appear with highly standardized clothing and adornments. Conversely, male bodies are now modeled in the round, with greater attention to anatomy, and they are attired with a wide variety of outfits, distinctive hairstyles, masks, and ornaments, especially feathers (figure 5.5). How might this increasing diversity in masculine imagery operate within the mounting social complexity that accompanies urbanization? Is it associated with a significant change in the function and use of the figurines themselves? These are broad questions that we will not attempt to answer here. Instead, we focus on a more specific theme: how some of the new types of figurines can contribute to our understanding of the developing social worlds in the Early Classic city of Cholula. CHOLULA’S EARLY CLASSIC FIGURINES

To address this theme, we examined a collection of figurines recovered from seven Early Classic midden deposits located about 1 km east of the Great Pyramid of Cholula on the campus of the Universidad de las Américas Puebla (UDLAP) (Hernández et al. 1998; Mauricio 2010). Unlike many accumulations of trash, these remains were not generated by the daily chores of the individual households that occupied this area; instead, they contain animal bones (dogs, deer, rabbit, and turkey) and significant quantities of ritual objects such as drinking vessels, incense burners, “Tlaloc” jars, pottery masks and miniatures, flutes, figurines, and obsidian artifacts—­projectile points and small flaked pendants—­that suggest a nondomestic origin and use (Hudson 2011; Mauricio 2010; Mauricio et al. 2007). These broken and discarded items were used to backfill extensive mining scars (pits measuring between 3 m and 12 m in diameter and 0.80–­1.15 m deep, each containing between 11,363 and 54,500 fragments of diverse objects), which resulted from the extraction of the massive amounts of the sterile volcanic substrate known as tepetate that was used in the construction of monumental architecture as Cholula began to build 190

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Figure 5.4. Early Classic female figurines from the mining-­scar deposits on the UDLAP campus. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

Figure 5.5. Early Classic costumed and masked male figurines from the mining-­scar deposits on the UDLAP campus (Group A): (a and b) figurines wearing feathered body suits; (c and d) masked, potbellied figurines; (e and f ) fanged figurines with bulging eyes. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

its ceremonial center towards the end of the first century ad (Uruñuela et al. 2009). During the third century the material used to build the Escalonado 1 was the imported limestone, so these mines probably lost their importance, Costumes and P uppets among C holula’ s E arly C lassic F igurines

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and thus they were filled in at this time, as indicated by two radiocarbon dates (Beta 146576 cal ad 250 and Beta 146578 cal ad 230). The good condition of the materials in these pits, as well as the absence of internal stratigraphic divisions indicate that each deposit did not accumulate slowly over time from successive disposal episodes; furthermore, since fragments of the same objects were found in different features, it indicates that some of the pits were filled with the debris from a single event. The inventory of the articles in each cavity is in general terms very similar, probably corresponding to the discarded items from feasting activities. However, some of them seem to reflect distinct festivities: one pit included large quantities of a particular type of drinking vessel that was absent in the other features, while five other pits contained abundant anthropomorphic censers and some quadruped figurines that did not appear in the pit with the drinking vessels. It might be possible that these castoff items were gathered from various locations within the city, but considering the quantity and density of the material, the abundance of complete or semicomplete pieces (Mauricio 2010; Salomón et al. 2006), the profusion of service wares, the plethora of special vessels and figurines, and the presence of “symbolic” (nonfunctional) projectile points (Hudson 2011), a more parsimonious explanation is that they correspond to suprahousehold ritual paraphernalia used at and discarded from special events carried out in a single location in the nearby ritual center of the city. The refuse from the seven deposits includes 2,581 figurines of varying size, either as independent objects or as parts of small censers that perhaps were used in commemorative rites for esteemed ancestors (figures 5.6 and 5.7). The collection comprises many different types of figurines—­some of which are highly elaborate and finely finished—­but here we focus on two rather crudely made groups that appear in the same features that have the censers, and that may reveal an aspect of ritual production that is rarely addressed in the archaeological literature regarding these items: storytelling. The first group (A) is formed by six costumed and/or masked personages that combine human and animal features (see figure 5.5); their attire indicates that they most likely are males. Two of them wear feathered body suits and might be early representations of warrior sodalities akin to the much later “eagle knights” of the Postclassic period (see figure 5.5). The other four are more heterogeneous, and merge human and animal features, although the animal attributes vary from one to another. Two portray a standing human-­ like potbellied body with a masked zoomorphic head, large ears, an elongated snout, and impressive fangs, and both wear long necklaces (see figure 5.5). The remaining two also have standing anthropomorphic bodies, but they wear 192

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Figure 5.6. Early Classic censers from the mining-­scar deposits on the UDLAP campus. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

Figure 5.7. Broken effigies from Cholula’s elaborate Early Classic censers. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket using photos from the Archive of the Coordinación de Apoyo Arqueológico, UDLAP

Figure 5.8. Quadruped figurines from the mining-­scar deposits on the UDLAP campus (Group B): (B1) humans and (B2) monkeys; the bottom row shows the grooves on the ventral surface. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

loincloths, and their masks have bulging eyes in addition to huge fangs (see figure 5.5). This imagery is quite different from that found among the corpus of Late Formative figurines from Cholula and its hinterland. The second group (B) is more numerous, with over 30 examples. These are quadrupeds, 6–­7 cm long and 4 cm high, most of which have lost their extremities and heads, and they can be subdivided into two sets, B1 and B2 (figure 5.8). Members of the first set (B1) wear a loincloth or maxtlatl, and the few cases that still conserve the head always have a human face with incised slanted eyes and a snub nose, and they sport a halo-­like headdress. The quadrupeds of the second set (B2) are nude, and the remaining heads clearly portray monkeys; their bodies either have tails or scars where these appendages were broken off. 194

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Figure 5.9. Non-­quadruped monkey figurines from Early Classic Cholula. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

Both human and monkey quadrupeds share one curious feature. Running from front to back along the center of their ventral surface is a semicircular groove or channel that was made after the clay body was modeled (see figure 5.8). Since no other figurines display this attribute, and it is lacking even among other zoomorphic quadruped figures, we conclude that it was not part of the production process. Instead, it might have served to support the object upon a slender horizontal rod so that the piece could be manipulated from a short distance, thus indicating that these objects might have been actors in miniature theatrical productions. Representations of monkeys are not uncommon among Early Classic Cholula figurines. Their potbellies, their punched circular eyes, their rounded brows, and their peaked heads make them easy to recognize (figure 5.9). One or both hands often rest upon the belly, and the tail wraps lazily around the lower abdomen. The quadruped versions lack the plump belly, and their thicker-­than-­usual tails stand upright, alert and posed for action; the diagnostic facial and cranial traits, however, are retained. The use of figurines to compose ritual scenes dates back to the first half of the Formative (see Marcus 2009). The ballplayers from Tomb 3 at El Opeño (Oliveros 1988, 197, fotografía 1), La Venta’s Offering 4 (Drucker et al. 1959, figure 38), and the arranged figurine group in House 16 at San José Mogote Costumes and P uppets among C holula’ s E arly C lassic F igurines

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Figure 5.10. Mobilization of grooved (a) human and (b) monkey quadruped figurines. Credit: illustration by Patricia Plunket

(Marcus 1998, 182, figure 13.11) are three early examples, while the celebrants in the funerary tableau buried beneath the residential patio above Tomb 103 in Monte Albán (Paddock 1970, 150, figure 151) provide a later case. But all of these are static arrangements. Teotihuacan’s articulated puppet figurines, which become popular during the Xolalpan phase (ad 350–­550), added the possibility of movement to create dynamic narratives, but Cholula’s grooved quadrupeds perhaps offer an earlier, less complex mode of mobility in which the whole figure, not the individual parts, was set in motion (figure 5.10). Puppetry has been defined as the theater of manipulated objects (Ghosh and Banerjee 2006, 22). Inge Orr (1974) notes that in the Asian tradition, the animation of inanimate actors in theatrical presentations often were carried out in conjunction with celebrations of birth, marriage, and death, but they also were part of suprahousehold religious events like temple inaugurations or anniversaries and annual shrine festivals. They took place in the courtyards of these religious buildings, and in some cases the productions were thought to be “effective in warding off evil spirits and epidemics, avoiding drought and bringing rain” (Orr 1974, 71). Throughout southern Asia, traditional puppet theater was—­and is—­basically religious, presenting time-­honored myths and legends, in addition to the retelling of historic narratives (Orr 1974, 74). The communal aspect of puppet plays, which are linked to temple and shrine festivals in addition to lifecycle events that surely involved more than 196

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the immediate family, suggests that, if indeed the group B figurines we discuss here were miniature animated performers, then it may follow that they and the other discarded items in the mining pits on the UDLAP campus represent refuse gathered from suprahousehold settings after festival events. Thus, we suspect that they may have been produced at or for the “kernel institutions” that rooted both the local population and the migrants into the “mosaic of social worlds” that was forming in the emerging urban environment. Although these kinds of figurines are very scarce in other Cholula collections, we found that grooved quadrupeds only portray the two parties we have described: men and monkeys. The drama they enacted may not have required additional activated characters, although it is possible that other nonmobile figures, liked the costumed and masked personages of group A, were required for staging the ancient narrative. We cannot establish a link between these and the quadrupeds except to observe that both sets of images, each in its own way, appear to imply conflict. The zoomorphic features of the costumed figures recall the predatory animals upon which warrior ideology was predicated in most Mesoamerican societies. Furthermore, the muscular stance of the quadrupeds, and in particular the monkeys’ upright tails, may denote confrontational poses intended to evoke the belligerent attitudes of monkeys and humans involved in some mythical battle; interestingly, the postures are remarkably similar to the initial stances taken by Sumo wrestlers (figure 5.11). Although these and other Classic-­period figurines that seem to represent soldiers and combat might have been just toys, the ceremonial nature of the other objects recovered in association with them from the UDLAP campus deposits challenges this interpretation. The characteristics that distinguish the B1 and B2 figurines from each other are well marked and consistent, but their crude workmanship indicates that all of them were probably considered highly disposable items. Moreover, in spite of their relatively compact form, their appendages are usually broken off from the body. It may not have been worthwhile to invest much time and labor in objects that were destined to be broken, perhaps in a performance that included some form of combat or perhaps because, as ritually activated objects, they were destined to be ritually decommissioned after the staged dramatization. DISCUSSION

Primary contexts for the types of objects found in the mining pits on the UDLAP campus are hard to identify in the existing literature on Classic-­period Costumes and P uppets among C holula’ s E arly C lassic F igurines

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Figure 5.11. Japanese sumo wrestlers posed in the same fighting stance as the Group B figurines from Cholula. Credit: illustration by Gabriela Uruñuela

Cholula. Most of our information comes either from the excavations in and around the Great Pyramid or from salvage and rescue work on the UDLAP campus or under the city streets (e.g., Caskey 1988; Marquina 1990; Marquina, ed. 1970; Mauricio 2010; Mountjoy and Peterson 1973; Müller 1978; Noguera 1954a; Suárez 1985; Uruñuela et al. 2009, 2013). Unfortunately, much of this work remains unpublished, but we can provide a few observations about where the types of artifacts that occur in the UDLAP deposits have been found. Censers like those from the mining features are known from Early Classic archaeological contexts at the Great Pyramid. One was concealed in an offering box in the Open Patios (Müller 1978, 194, lámina 41, no. 1; Salazar 1968), and Eduardo Noguera (1954b, 36 and 40, figure 7) reported another that was excavated at the base of the long, narrow flight of stairs on the eastern side of the north face of Los Chapulines (Structure 2), the first monumental stage of the Great Pyramid that was built at the close of the first century ad. Noguera also mentions finding fragmented anthropomorphic censers on top of the stucco floor of the northeastern corner of the later Structure 5 of the Pyramid, the Edificio Escalonado 2, dated around ad 250. In addition, Jorge Acosta (1968) 198

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reported a figurine head, apparently from one of these censers, in a pit excavated into the last floor of Structure 4-­A, the earliest known building on the east side of the Patio of the Altars; this intrusive feature, which was filled with charcoal, also contained other ritually discarded objects, including ear spools, beads, and figurines made of greenstone, and white-­chert projectile points. The only other instance of this type of censer that we know of is a large fragment from a Classic-­period burial on the UDLAP campus. In general, however, these items seem to have been used and placed as offerings at the Great Pyramid and the buildings that surrounded it as early as the end of the first century ad, and from then on at least until the fourth century. The special drinking vessels that are so abundant among the ritual items used to fill in one of the mining pits on the UDLAP campus appear in the third century ad mural of a lively drinking festival, known as Los Bebedores, that embellishes the walls of a building complex on the south side of the Great Pyramid (Salomón et al. 2006; Uruñuela and Plunket 2012). Suárez (1985) documented their presence in a burial in the Open Patios, and Caskey (1988) described a large cache of these vessels, in conjunction with one or more burials, just south of the Patio of the Altars on the grounds of the Hotel Villas Arqueológicas. However, they are not common grave goods. Cholula’s “Tlaloc” jars are not known from primary contexts within the city, and in fact, the only vessel of this type found in primary context was located in a tomb in Los Teteles de Ocotitla in the neighboring state of Tlaxcala (Vega 1981). Miniature pottery vessels occasionally occur in burials, but to our knowledge, figurines—­in addition to obsidian projectile points and flaked pendants—­are scarce or absent from these contexts during the Classic period. If, as we proposed above, the materials discarded in the mining pits came from communal ceremonies, the figurines we have discussed here were not part of domestic practice, but rather reflect activities that took place outside the home. Yet, their crude manufacture and small size suggest that their animated performances were intended for intimate public settings and not large audiences. As in Asian societies, the transmission of oral tradition using puppet theatre may have been part of many of the festivities sponsored by shrines or neighborhood organizations. We might ask, then, where this mid-­level ceremonialism took place. Both Ignacio Marquina (1970, 39) and Noguera (1937, 5) were well aware that, in spite of certain stylistic details, Cholula’s Great Pyramid was not like any of the platforms of Teotihuacan, and that the last building stage enclosed numerous structures that were built around and against the base of the main mound. Recent and still ongoing remapping of the various construction stages Costumes and P uppets among C holula’ s E arly C lassic F igurines

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(Uruñuela et al. 2009, 2013) has shown that the first monumental version of the structure, Los Chapulines, which was designed as an acropolis with wide terraces at different elevations, was surrounded by various smaller platforms. Each successive construction stage continued to provide several large, elevated terraces on each face and smaller platforms around the base. What were these different terraces and surrounding buildings used for? The architectural evidence is highly fragmented and discontinuous, and we have yet to identify any traces of the structures that these terraces might have supported, but the division of the ceremonial architecture into so many broad open spaces might possibly indicate that these areas were occupied by permanent or temporary shrine structures used by neighborhood organizations. An alternative location for these activities concerns the small surrounding platforms. Elsewhere (Uruñuela et al. 2013, 100) we have suggested that the iconographic program of Los Chapulines, which consists of alternating human skulls and insects from the dark underworld painted on the black tableros that enhance the north façade of the top two levels, represent an anonymous assembly of ancestors. Not only would this imagery have served to create solidarity in the increasingly heterogeneous city but it also identified the sacred center where the community of the revered dead could witness and sanction the ceremonies of the living. Perhaps the small stone-­faced platforms that surrounded this and later versions of the Great Pyramid were built for subordinate levels of solidarity and the rituals associated with the diverse social worlds within the city. Hence, we suggest that either the terraces or the peripheral platforms were the venues where the trash we have recovered from the UDLAP deposits was generated; those spaces needed to be cleaned after each festivity, and the mining area in the vicinity represented a perfect and nearby place to dispose of the refuse. Although the figurines we have presented here may at first glance seem of little consequence, we would argue that in fact they reveal an emerging religious complexity associated with the beginnings of urban life in Cholula during the centuries framing the Formative–­Classic transition. Their disposal along with significant amounts of ceremonial items and their possible use in storytelling might indicate that these tiny actors are diagnostic of a new ritual level centered on the celebration of rites outside the home, rites that functioned to propagate the myths and stories that served to provide communal identity. We envision that these suprahousehold organizations centered the lives not only of the initial refugees as these displaced groups transitioned into Cholula’s emerging urban environment during the latter part of the first century ad, but also of a continuing stream of economically driven migrants who helped build and expand the city’s civic center in the coming centuries. 200

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Smith, Michael E. 2005. “City size in Late Postclassic Mesoamerica.” Journal of Urban History 31:403–­434. Smith, Michael E. 2010. “The Archaeological Study of Neighborhoods and Districts in Ancient Cities.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 29:137–­154. Smith, Michael E., Ashley Engguist, Cinthia Carvajal, Katrina Johnston-­ Zimmerman, Monica Algara, Bridgette Gilliand, Yui Kuznetsov, and Amanda Young. 2015. “Neighborhood Formation in Semi-­Urban Settlements.” Journal of Urbanism 8(2):172–­198. Stone, Elizabeth C. 1987. Nippur Neighborhoods. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization No. 44. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Suárez, Sergio. 1985. Un entierro del Clásico Superior en Cholula, Puebla. Centro Regional de Puebla, Cuaderno de Trabajo 6. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Timms, Duncan. 1971. The Urban Mosaic: Towards a Theory of Residential Differentiation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Uruñuela, Gabriela, and Patricia Plunket. 2012. “El mural de Los Bebedores de Cholula: ceremonias de embriaguez.” Arqueología Mexicana 114:40–­43. Uruñuela, Gabriela, Patricia Plunket, and Amparo Robles. 2009. “Cholula: Art and Architecture of an Archetypal City.” In The Art of Urbanism: How Mesoamerican Cities Represented Themselves in Architecture and Imagery, ed. William L. Fash and Leonardo López Luján, 135–­171. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Uruñuela, Gabriela, Patricia Plunket, and Amparo Robles. 2013. “Building the Tlachihualtépetl: The Social and Ideological Foundations of the Great Pyramid of Cholula, Mexico.” In Constructing, Deconstructing, and Reconstructing Social Identity: 2000 Years of Monumentality in Teotihuacan and Cholula, Mexico, ed. Saburo Sugiyama, Shigeru Kabata, Tomoko Taniguchi, and Etsuko Niwa, 95–­106. Aichi: Cultural Symbiosis Research Institute, Aichi Prefectural University. Vega, Constanza. 1981. “Comparaciones entre Los Teteles de Ocotitla, Tlaxcala y Teotihuacan a través de materiales cerámicos.” In Interacción cultural en México Central, ed. Evelyn C. Rattray, Jaime Litvak, and Clara Díaz, 43–­53. México, DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. White, Christine D., Michael W. Spence, Fred J. Longstaffe, and Kimberley R. Law. 2004. “Demography and Ethnic Continuity in the Tlailotlacan Enclave of Teotihuacan: The Evidence from Stable Oxygen Isotopes.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 23(4):385–­403. Widmer, Randolph J., and Rebecca Storey. 1993. “Social Organization and Household Structure of a Teotihuacan Apartment Compound: S3W1:33 of the Tlajinga Barrio.” In Prehispanic Domestic Units in Western Mesoamerica, ed. Robert S. Santley and Kenneth G. Hirth, 87–­104. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press. 204

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6 Despite the importance of Teotihuacan during its apogee and its strong influence on contemporaneous and later cultures such as the Classic Maya, Toltecs, and Mexica, relatively little is known about the supernatural beings venerated in Teotihuacan religion and represented in its ceramics, sculpture, and painted walls. This chapter addresses the nature of the divine at Teotihuacan as expressed in representations of the rain god, referred to by scholars as the Teotihuacan Tlaloc or storm god (figure 6.1). Due to his distinctive features, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc has historically been an axis upon which investigations into Teotihuacan religion and artistic representation pivot. However, misidentification of this being has hindered these investigations, and I argue that this problem is unresolved; several supernatural beings that are commonly considered aspects of the rain god only superficially resemble the deity and bear no demonstrable traits that clearly link them to rain, agricultural fertility, or other phenomena under the purview of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc. Therefore, in order to make inferences about supernatural power at Teotihuacan and how it was conveyed and invoked in artwork, it is necessary to define more precisely the characteristics of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc. Defining the specific features that constitute the Teotihuacan rain deity brings the contributions that Teotihuacan made to rain god symbolism in Mesoamerica, and how people used and interacted with images of the divine into clearer focus.

Unmasking Tlaloc The Iconography, Symbolism, and Ideological Development of the Teotihuacan Rain God Andrew D. Turner

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c006

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Figure 6.1. Mural fragment portraying the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, possibly from Techinantitla. Credit: after García Moll (2006, pl. 1). THE NATURE OF TEOTIHUACAN REPRESENTATION AND DIVINIT Y

Early identification of the rain god in the artwork of Teotihuacan was possible due to formal similarity to known examples of the Late Postclassic Tlaloc of the Mexica and other Nahua groups represented in stone sculpture, ceramics, and Prehispanic and early colonial manuscripts. The Late Postclassic Tlaloc appears with eye rings or “goggles,” prominent fangs, and typically an upper lip that curls upward at the corners, resembling a handlebar mustache (figure 6.2). In 1880, Charnay discovered a stone relief in the form of a curling lip surmounting four straight fangs and a forked tongue (see figure 6.6d) in a structure off the Street of the Dead at Teotihuacan. He christened the monument the “Cross of Tlaloc,” believing the object to be “an abbreviation of the face of Tlaloc” (Seler 1998, 181). This identification was significant in two regards: it claimed that an antecedent of a Late Postclassic deity was present at Teotihuacan, and that deities could be represented pars pro toto by only their essential features. By the mid-­twentieth century, further excavations at Teotihuacan and the discovery of murals in which the rain god figured prominently led scholars to conclude that Tlaloc was the single most important deity at Teotihuacan. Subsequently, images of a variety of beings with goggles, fangs, or nose ornaments that resemble a fanged maw, or who poured or were surrounded by liquid, were considered representations of the rain god or priests devoted to his cult (see Armillas 1991; Caso 1942, 1966). In 1974, Pasztory published The Iconography of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, an influential monograph that called into question the identification of several 206

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Figure 6.2. Late Postclassic representations of Tlaloc: (a) detail of Codex Borgia (page 67); (b) detail of Codex Laud (page 4); (c) detail of relief-­carved sculpture from Castillo de Teayo, Veracruz; (d) Tlaloc vessel from Templo Mayor.

of the beings previously considered to be rain gods or rain-­god priests. She provided a more refined classification scheme that differentiated between two types of Tlaloc: Tlaloc A, which she considered to be crocodilian in nature and more similar to the Late Postclassic Tlaloc, and a beastly Tlaloc B, which exhibits jaguar traits. As a result of her work and subsequent scholarship, such iconic examples of Teotihuacan art as the Jade Tlalocs of Tetitla, the mosaic U nmasking T laloc

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masks carried on the tails of plumed serpents on the façade of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, and the colossal sculpture from Coatlinchan that stands in front of the Museo Nacional de  Antropología in Mexico City can no longer be counted among portrayals of Tlaloc (see Berlo 1992, 130–­132; Pasztory 1974, 1–­6; Taube 1992). Current scholarship continues to debate the features that constitute representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc (see Cowgill 2015, 223–­224), but Pasztory’s A/B scheme still serves as a basis for most studies. While this chapter argues that the collection of features that define the Teotihuacan Tlaloc requires further refinement, most contemporary researchers would agree that goggles and a prominent fanged mouth are not exclusive to the rain deity, but are nonetheless among the essential features found in normative representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc. As Tlaloc was demoted from his dominant position at Teotihuacan, many images that had been considered representations of the rain deity became reclassified as the “Great Goddess,” which was subsequently advanced as Teotihuacan’s paramount deity (see Berlo 1983, 1992; Pasztory 1972, 1992, 1997). The Great Goddess was overemphasized in much the same way that Tlaloc had been by the prior generation of scholars, and has recently come under renewed scrutiny (Cowgill 1997, 149–­151; 2015, 226–­228; Paulinyi 2006). Other studies demonstrate that Teotihuacan religion was based on a larger pantheon (see Séjourné 1976; 2002; Taube 2009; von  Winning 1987). One may surmise that frustrated attempts to understand the nature of social organization among Teotihuacan’s populace led scholars to impose monarchical rule onto the supernatural realm. Another problem that led to the overidentification of Tlaloc and the Great Goddess is methodological in nature, manifest in a lack of clearly defined parameters that delimit what does and what does not constitute a representation of a particular deity. As a further hindrance to the interpretation of Teotihuacan artwork, animals, humans, and deities are often not readily distinguishable (Pasztory 1997, 223–­225). A mural fragment that seemingly portrays a naturalistic scene of two animals, commonly identified as coyotes, killing a deer (figure 6.3a) illustrates this point. Upon closer inspection, the predators slay the deer by the decidedly non-­naturalistic method of heart extraction. Clara Millon (1988a; 1988b, 121) suggests that the predator–­prey relationship mirrors that of a sacrificer and captive, and notes that in other instances, similar beasts are portrayed as anthropomorphized warriors clutching weapons and wearing goggles (figure 6.3b). Fully anthropomorphic figures may be similarly clad as warriors, with goggles and weapons (figure 6.3c). The scenario is further complicated by anthropomorphic figures, typically interpreted as priests, who don zoomorphic 208

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Figure 6.3. Zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figures from Teotihuacan: (a) “Coyotes and Deer Mural”; (b) zoomorphic warrior from the Patio Blanco, Atetelco; (c) goggled warrior; (d) costumed figure, Tepantitla, Room 2, Mural 3. Credits: (a) after C. Millon (1988a, fig. V.II); (b) after von Winning (1987, volume 1, VII, 3c); (c) after Caso (1966, fig. 37a); (d) after photograph by the author.

costumes (figure 6.3d). Anthropomorphic animals, animals with supernatural features (such as plumed serpents and the so-­called net-­jaguar), and anthropomorphic beings with costumes, face paint, and ornamentation populate the artwork of Teotihuacan, effectively blurring distinctions between natural and supernatural. U nmasking T laloc

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Relatively few deities have been securely identified at Teotihuacan, likely owing to the difficulty in discerning humans from gods. A solar deity wearing a macaw costume and distinctive stepped facial markings was recently identified by Taube (2005), who linked its depictions to Classic Maya representations of a similar being (see also Chinchilla Mazariegos 2010; Paulinyi 2014). Classic Maya imagery provides viewers with more clear distinctions between humans and deities; Maya deities are generally anthropomorphic in form, but have supernatural physical features such as distinctly shaped eyes and pupils, and exaggerated noses and dental morphology. Other notable physical distinctions among Maya deities include such features as the serpent foot of K’awiil and the sinuous pointed cranium of the Maize God. Although the rain god with his fanged maw is among the few known exceptions, it appears that Teotihuacan deities are more similar to those of Late Postclassic Highland Mexican traditions, which are typically human in form, but distinguishable by specific costume elements and facial markings. Frustrated by efforts to interpret imagery and skeptical of the direct historical approach, which relies on continuity between past and ethnographic present imagery and symbolism, Kubler (1967) posited an ambitious linguistic model for understanding Teotihuacan iconography. He attempted to define motifs in terms of grammatical function rather than to ascribe meaning to them. While this specific model did not gain much traction, echoes may be seen in the semiotic approach used by Langley (1986, 1992), and later adopted by Pasztory (1992, 1993, 1997), which parses out Teotihuacan iconography into signs and sign clusters that are considered to function as individual units of general meaning, even outside of the context of a larger image. This approach is also much indebted to Charnay’s assertion that the combination of a mouth, fangs, and forked tongue was visual shorthand for the rain god (Seler 1998, 181). Although he did not write specifically about Teotihuacan art, Gell’s (1998) paradigmatic work on the agency of images stands in stark contrast to linguistic and semiotic models that assume that the primary function of artwork is communicative or didactic. For Gell, the relationship between art object and viewer is social and interactive. He deemphasizes the semiotic value of art (see Gell 1998, 66), arguing instead that images, especially those that represent supernatural beings, are imbued with person-­like awareness and intentionality. Through divine imagery, humans can interact more directly with supernatural powers that are otherwise immaterial, inaccessible, or disbursed. Gell’s framework applies particularly well to concepts of divinity and divine representation among ancient and contemporary Nahua groups (see Bassett 2015, 134–­136). Teotl, which can be loosely translated as “god,” and teixiptla, a 210

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localized embodiment of teotl, are important concepts for understanding the nature of divine power and how it is represented in material objects among Late Postclassic Highland Mexican cultures. Hvidtfeldt (1958) brought these concepts to the attention of scholars, and Townsend (1979) applied them to the interpretation of Mexica art. According to both authors, Mexica religion was based on numinous impersonal forces inherent in nature and similar to the Polynesian concept of mana. While Hvidtfeldt’s and Townsend’s views on the nature of Highland Mexican deities were contentious, investigation into the nuanced meanings of teotl and teixiptla has recently been reinvigorated by scholars approaching the topic from a variety of analytical viewpoints including metaphysics (Maffie 2014), ethnolinguistics (Bassett 2015), and ethnohistory (Dehouve, chapter 11, this volume). Teixiptla is used to describe the sculptures of wood, stone, and dough, as well as the costume assemblages and paraphernalia, and even the “impersonators” of deities themselves that served as material manifestations or channels of otherwise immaterial divine forces. One form of teixiptla, whether made of amaranth dough or flesh, was not considered to be more important than another (Hvidtfeldt 1958, 94). Importance seems to have been placed on how costume elements and other embellishments were arranged in order to constitute a suitable teixiptla, which serves as a visible “skin” for divine powers. Aesthetic and didactic considerations certainly factored into the production of Nahua and Mexica images of the divine, but from an emic perspective, a properly arranged teixiptla was an embodiment of teotl with which supplicants could interact in much the same way that Gell describes. Although similar conceptions of the relationship of imagery to divine forces have not been adequately explored at Teotihuacan, considerations of the potential animacy of Teotihuacan imagery could provide important insights into the nature of divine representations. As one of the most distinctive deities at Teotihuacan, and one with clear non-­Teotihuacan antecedents and descendants, the rain god is an ideal subject through which to explore these notions, although given the considerable residual intellectual “baggage” from prior schools of thought, his imagery and attributes first require further clarification. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TEOTIHUACAN TLALOC

Debate over appropriate nomenclature for the Teotihuacan rain deity reflects shifting attitudes toward the notion of cultural continuity in Mesoamerica and the depth of similarity between Classic and Late Postclassic rain gods. Believing that there must have been a dramatic shift in religious beliefs from U nmasking T laloc

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Classic to Postclassic, Kubler (1967, 11–­12) argued that the deities of Teotihuacan were not directly associated with Postclassic deities, and referred to the Classic-­period entity as the “rain” figure. In effort to untangle conceptions of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc from the Late Postclassic version of the deity, René Millon (1988, 100) employed the term “storm god,” (rather than “rain god”) on the basis of the lightning bolt frequently held by the deity. Exercising similar caution, current scholars generally prefer “storm god” over “Tlaloc.” Others (e.g., Nielsen and Helmke 2017; Wrem Anderson and Helmke 2013) acknowledge that several traits beyond similar physical appearance link Classic and Late Postclassic rain deities, but consider the name “Tlaloc” to be misleading since it has not been proven that Nahuatl was spoken at Teotihuacan. While the physical characteristics of rain deities in Highland Mexico show basic continuity from the Early Classic through Late Postclassic periods with minor changes in appearance, it is justifiable to avoid the assumption that “like” form implies “like” meaning. However, in consideration of the demonstrable shared traits linking the Classic-­period iteration of the deity and his Late Postclassic counterparts that extend well beyond rain and storms, I find that the “storm god” designation undermines a number of salient continuities that in part distinguish Highland Mexican rain deities from their foreign counterparts, and prefer instead to refer to the deity in question as the “Teotihuacan Tlaloc.” Regardless of which language or languages were spoken at Teotihuacan, the Nahuatl term “Tlaloc” best encompasses the several characteristics shared by the rain god of Teotihuacan and those of Late Postclassic Highland Mexico, which include associations with mountains, world directions, and warfare. The Late Postclassic Tlaloc was a being associated with the earth and mountains. The Nahuatl name does not derive from rain, but rather from tlalli, meaning “earth.” According to Durán (1971, 154), Tlaloc means “Path under the Earth or Long Cave.” Sullivan (1972, 216) translates Tlaloc as “he who is made of earth,” or “he who is the embodiment of the earth.” Alternatively, the name may derive from “something covered with earth” (Karttunen 1992), or even “wine of the earth” (Brinton 1882, 123–­124). Regardless of the exact translation, Tlaloc’s name hints at a general Mesoamerican belief that mountain caves are the ultimate source of celestial water that cycles from the earth’s interior. Mexica art and ritual vividly illustrate Tlaloc’s relationship to mountains. For example, at the end of the dry season, the Mexica ruler and three of his allies performed a procession and rituals in front of an image of the rain god on the summit of Mount Tlaloc, to the east of Tenochtitlan (Durán 1971, 155–­159; Townsend 1992). In similar fashion, mountains are a focus of rain-­bringing ritual and pilgrimage among contemporary Nahua of northern 212

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Veracruz (Sandstrom 2005). Pages 24, 32, and 35 of the early colonial Aztec Codex Borbonicus show Tlaloc enthroned within a mountaintop temple, and on page 7, Tlaloc stands beside a mountain that gushes water from its base. Teotihuacan art and ritual practice indicate that the Teotihuacan Tlaloc was also considered an entity associated with the earth, and mountains may have been a focus of rain-­god veneration. Mountains, rather than clouds, rivers, or springs, are depicted as a source of water in Teotihuacan iconography (Trobriner 1972, 107–­110). Teotihuacan rain gods are portrayed in mountain interiors and in a watery underworld, and in the Tepantitla murals, Tlaloc appears in a cave as a “fountain of water and seeds” (Paulinyi 2009, 178). Teotihuacan-­style paintings at Cerro Delgado (Apostolides 1987, 191–­193), one of the two peaks that constitute the site of Chalcatzingo, suggest that, like the earlier Olmecs, Teotihuacanos may have also considered the site a source of water and a focus of rain-­related ritual. Petroglyphs depicting the rain god that have recently been found on top of Cerro Xoconoch, just south of Teotihuacan (Helmke et al. 2013), indicate that the Teotihuacan Tlaloc was venerated on mountaintops. Evidence of Teotihuacan presence has also been found at Mount Tlaloc (Townsend 1999, 29), suggesting that veneration of Tlaloc on the peak long predates the Mexica. Mesoamerican rain gods, including Chahk of the Maya, Cocijo of the Zapotecs, and Tlaloc, tend to be quadripartite beings associated with different world directions and colors (Nielsen and Helmke 2017; Schaafsma and Taube 2006, 234; Wrem Anderson and Helmke 2013, 169–­172). Pages 27 and 28 of the Late Postclassic Codex Borgia illustrate Tlaloc’s four-­or rather five-­part nature vividly, with each page depicting four different colored renditions of Tlaloc, each associated with a world direction, framing a central Tlaloc and forming a quincunx pattern. The pages link each directional Tlaloc to distinctive weather patterns and their effects on crops. In Late Postclassic highland traditions, the four tlaloque, diminutive assistants of Tlaloc, brewed rain inside of mountain caves (Nicholson 1971, 414–­416), and the four Triple Alliance rulers who ascended Mount Tlaloc for ceremonies probably represented directional tlaloque (Schaafsma and Taube 2006, 241). The Teotihuacan Tlaloc was also a quadripartite deity of directions and perhaps colors. Directional Tlaloc symbolism is rendered apparent in a Teotihuacan-­style mold-­stamped tripod vessel from the Tiquisate region of Guatemala, which shows a central Tlaloc holding a pair of lightning bolts surrounded by four smaller, directional tlaloque (Hellmuth 1975, 55). At Teotihuacan, directional rain-­god symbolism appears in three-­dimensional space in Burial 2, a dedicatory offering made during a third-­century ad U nmasking T laloc

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expansion of the Pyramid of the Moon. In the offering, which included objects of greenstone and obsidian, and the skeletons of an adult male and several animals, five Tlaloc effigy vessels were placed in the corners and the center of the chamber, mirroring the quincunx arrangement of directional Tlalocs as seen in the Tlaloc pages of the Codex Borgia (Sugiyama and López Luján 2007, 129–­130). The offering not only denotes the Teotihuacan Tlaloc as a directional entity, but may also convey the notion that rain originates within the earth’s interior, if the Pyramid of the Moon is to be understood as a symbolic mountain. Wrem Anderson and Helmke (2013) have recently argued that, like his later and contemporary counterparts in other cultures, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc was also multipart deity associated with specific colors, cardinal directions, and distinctive meteorological or agricultural phenomena, as similarly illustrated on pages 27 and 28 of the Codex Borgia. For instance, the authors link the yellow Tlaloc at Teotihuacan to the pouring of water, a green Tlaloc to young maize, and a blue Tlaloc to the act of sowing (Wrem Anderson and Helmke 2013, 189). Lending support to this hypothesis, a procession of rain gods in different colors excavated in the Anteroom of the Gods in the Techinantitla compound (R. Millon 1988, 100–­103) also suggests that the Teotihuacan Tlaloc may have been a color-­directional deity. In addition to providing the rain necessary for crops, Highland Mexican rain deities were bellicose beings. The nature of the Aztec manifestation of Tlaloc as a martial deity is evident in his enshrinement in the Templo Mayor in the heart of the imperial capital Tenochtitlan along with the Mexica militaristic tutelary god, Huitzilopochtli. Lightning, thunder, and storms are broadly compared to warfare in Mesoamerica. As a deity that brings the fructifying benefits of rain as well as the destructive effects of storms, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc was a dual-­natured god of war. The serpent-­like lightning bolt wielded by the Teotihuacan Tlaloc (figure 6.4c) was a powerful projectile weapon (Paulinyi 1997). The goggles worn over Tlaloc’s eyes are also worn by warriors, which probably likewise denotes him as a militaristic deity (Taube 2000a, 274), rather than denoting an affiliation with Tlaloc among the warriors. PRIOR CLASSIFICATION SCHEMES FOR THE TEOTIHUACAN RAIN GOD

Despite shared similarities between the Teotihuacan Tlaloc and his Late Postclassic counterparts, there are some potential pitfalls inherent in the use of Late Postclassic representations of Tlaloc to understand the Teotihuacan Tlaloc. For instance, Pasztory (1974, 6–­7) uses Tlaloc, as he appears in the 214

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Figure 6.4. The Teotihuacan Tlaloc (Tlaloc A): (a) detail of Tlalocan Mural, Tepantitla; (b) detail of Zacuala, Portico 3, Mural 3; (c) detail of Tetitla, Corridor 21, Mural 1; (d) detail of Totimetla, Portico 2, Mural 1; (e) detail of Battle Mural, Cacaxtla. Credits: (a) after photograph by the author; (b) after Caso (1966, fig. 6d); (c) after photograph by the author; (d) after Taube (2009, fig. 2c); (e) after Matos Moctezuma (1987, 89).

Codex Borgia (figure 6.2a), as a “typical Late Post-­Classic example” by which to evaluate representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc. Upon examination of representations of Tlaloc in Late Postclassic sculpture and codices, it is apparent that there is considerable variation in the appearances of rain gods (figure 6.2). While Late Postclassic representations portray him as an anthropomorphic being with eye goggles, a curling upper lip, and a mouth full of long fangs, the forms of these elements differ. In some instances, the fangs are straight, U nmasking T laloc

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while in others they are curved, and the number of fangs varies. Imperial Mexica art often portrays the mask as composed of a pair of serpents that intertwine on the bridge of the nose (figure 6.2d). Others have a curling element that projects upward in front of the face (figure 6.2b, c). In other words, there is no “typical” Late Postclassic representation of Tlaloc, and representations of Tlaloc vary through time and among different cultures. Analysis of Late Postclassic rain gods provides a valuable source of information, but the Teotihuacan Tlaloc must also be understood on its own terms within the context of Teotihuacan art. As previously mentioned, Pasztory’s (1974) classification scheme alleviated much of the confusion surrounding the identification of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc by attempting to clearly define the deity’s essential traits and narrow the range of beings classified as the rain god. She distinguishes between examples that have two large fangs, a five-­knot headdress, vessels in their hands, and occasionally a water lily protruding from the mouth, referred to as Tlaloc A (figures 6.4, 6.5), versus a type lacking those traits and having three or four large, straight fangs, and a bifurcated tongue, referred to as Tlaloc B (figure 6.6a–­d; Pasztory 1974, 7–­10). The notion that the Teotihuacan rain god could be divided into two image clusters based on features such as fang morphology has since come under scrutiny. Langley, for example, does not consider such differences significant, stating that “the Storm God is in fact a single deity, the variations in whose depiction merely emphasize different aspects of his persona or vocation” (1992, 248–­249). Pasztory, following Langley, later backed away from her Tlaloc A/B distinction, stating “this division is illusory because many intermediate forms exist” (1997, 86). Cowgill (2015, 223) has recently advanced a new method for the classification of Teotihuacan deities based on what he calls a “polythetic core entity (PCE),” which is a cluster of definable features that is not necessarily present in all examples, but most of which are shared by representations of a particular deity. He believes examples that Pasztory had divided into Tlaloc A and B clusters represent aspects of the same rain deity, and defines the Teotihuacan storm god PCE as a human figure with an unhumanly large and curled upper lip, fangs protruding from the upper jaw, a reduced or absent lower jaw, a snub nose, prominent rings around the eyes . . . a large split tongue, large green ear spools, and male attire. He often holds an undulating lightning serpent in his right arm or in his mouth, or a flower depending from his mouth. Some images of the Storm God emphasize beneficent aspects and are linked to water, gentle rain, and flourish216

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Figure 6.5. The Teotihuacan Tlaloc and lightning bolts; (a) mural fragment; (b) detail of painted and stuccoed vessel. Credits: (a) after Pasztory (1974, figure 21); (b) Teotihuacan site museum, after photograph by the author. ing crops, while others have a more threatening aspect and are linked to violent lightning storms and war. (Cowgill 2015, 223–­224)

I maintain that Pasztory’s (1974) original Tlaloc A/Tlaloc B distinction is meaningful, and I add that rather than defining different aspects of the same deity, it likely denotes at least two distinct entities altogether. Tlaloc A is the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, whereas Tlaloc B represents another entity or group of entities with similar features. Tlaloc B, for example, does not appear as “a human figure” (to use Cowgill’s phrasing), and Tlaloc A does not appear with “a large split tongue.” Additional differences are outlined below. These distinctions are critical for understanding the nature of representation at Teotihuacan, Teotihuacan’s contributions to Highland Mexican rain-­god symbolism, and how Teotihuacanos conceptualized and interacted with supernatural beings. Tlaloc A

Pasztory (1974, 7–­10) defines the basic features of Tlaloc A (figures 6.4, 6.5) as goggled eyes, a prominent lip with two curved fangs protruding from the corners, a headdress with five knots, and in some instances, a water lily that emerges from the mouth. Tlaloc B (figure 6.6a–­d) shares goggles with Tlaloc A, but differs in that it has a long forked tongue (rather than a water lily), usually three or four fangs, an upper lip that consistently curls upwardly at the corners (commonly referred to as a bigotera, or “moustache”), and it does not wear the five-­knot headdress. Sometimes the five-­knot headdress of Tlaloc A is topped with a circular object that may be a mirror (figures 6.4d, 6.5a). In one set of U nmasking T laloc

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murals, the headdress differs, but includes trilobe ornaments that drip water and are likely rainclouds (figure 6.4b). In most profile examples, the prominent upper lip of Tlaloc A curls under a single protruding fang, but the upper lip occasionally curls upwardly like that of Tlaloc B. Post-­Teotihuacan representations of Tlaloc tend to sport the bigotera, and it is not clear whether the distinction in lip morphology at Teotihuacan is chronological or based on artistic preference, as mural chronology is poorly understood. The body of Tlaloc A is anthropomorphic in form and, in a number of representations, he carries a smoking lightning bolt (figures 6.1, 6.4d, 6.5b), a maize stalk (figure 6.4b), or one or more “Tlaloc jars,” water vessels that bear his likeness (figures 6.1; 6.4a, c; 6.5b). Lightning, maize, and jars of liquid are features consistent with the Teotihuacan Tlaloc’s identity as a rain deity, and also appear with the Late Postclassic Tlaloc (figure 6.2b, c). The meaning of the water lily that protrudes from the mouth of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc is elusive, but may relate to the deity’s ability to cycle terrestrial water through the sky, or be akin to the flowery speech scrolls that extend from the mouths of other figures (figure 6.3d). Like Tlaloc of the Mexica, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc is a bellicose deity, underscoring the dual nature of rain and storms as both potentially fertile and destructive. As previously mentioned, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc’s lightning bolt is akin to a spear, and in a mural fragment from the Tetitla compound, he holds a spearthrower loaded with an undulating lightning bolt with a spear point (figure 6.4c). In another example, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc holds a lightning bolt in his right hand and a round shield in his left (figure 6.4d). In the Battle Mural of the Epiclassic site of Cacaxtla (figure 6.4e), a representation of Tlaloc consistent with the appearance of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc holds a weapon and appears behind a warrior in a vivid scene of warfare and sacrifice. Nielsen and Helmke (2017, 142) discuss a scene on a Teotihuacan-­style vessel that portrays human figures adorning what they describe as “a bundle or armor stand of the Storm God” with a fanged nose ornament, ear ornaments, a headdress, and a mirror, while the Teotihuacan Tlaloc looks on. Although the ornaments on the bundle do not directly resemble the attire of the rain god, they do appear on warriors, further linking the Teotihuacan Tlaloc to militarism. Based on a single example from the Tepantitla compound, which shows a profile Tlaloc head surmounting what she perceived to be a segmented reptilian body (figure 6.5a), Pasztory (1974, 18) considered Tlaloc A to be reptilian in nature. Although acknowledging that it appeared more ophidian, she dubbed Tlaloc A the “Crocodile-­Tlaloc,” because it lacked a forked tongue, unlike her Tlaloc B. Klein (1980, 178–­179) interpreted the body of the Tepantitla example as that of a larval insect. Following Pasztory, von  Winning (1987, volume 1, 218

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69–­70) argued that, rather than a crocodile on the Tepantitla representation, Tlaloc A’s traits were more reminiscent of a serpent, and he suggested that the ophidian Tlaloc possessed some characteristics of the Plumed Serpent. While Pasztory’s Tlaloc A category clearly circumscribes normative representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, it is difficult to determine with certainty that the deity is reptilian in nature based on a single example. The double row of scrolling volutes on the “body” of the example from Tepantitla does not appear to be a series of reptilian scales, but instead resembles the method of denoting clouds, smoke, and froth in Teotihuacan artwork. The sinuous horizontal form surrounded by volutes is identical to lightning bolts held by the Teotihuacan Tlaloc in other representations (figures 6.1, 6.4d, 6.5b). This detail, along with the drops that fall beneath its head, is consistent with other Teotihuacan Tlaloc imagery, and therefore there is little basis for assertions that the Teotihuacan rain god has explicit crocodile or serpent characteristics. Tlaloc B

Pasztory’s Tlaloc B category (figure 6.6a–­d) is far more problematic than Tlaloc A. Although full reassessment is beyond the scope of this chapter, a few critical points require mention. In addition to differences in the fangs and upper lip, and the presence of a forked tongue, Tlaloc B appears frontally, and does not usually give any indication of a body. Goggles, similar ear ornaments, and vaguely similar mouths are the features that Tlaloc A and B share. Two supernatural beings that appear in Ancient Egyptian iconography illustrate the potential methodological misstep inherent in the assumption that beings that share similar physical features share similar associations, or must be aspects of the same deity: Taweret and Ammut are both composed of hippopotamus, crocodile, and lioness features, but differ in arrangement; the former is a benign protective deity and the latter is a terrifying devourer of human flesh (Wilkinson 2003, 28). Despite physical similarities that encompass three of the most fearsome animals in Egypt, Taweret and Ammut were entirely distinct entities that embody their powers in a diametric fashion. Pasztory (1974, 19) and von Winning (1987, volume 1, 94) note that in depictions, Tlaloc B is related to warfare and heart sacrifice. Rather than the five-­knot headdress worn by Tlaloc A, Tlaloc B occasionally wears the “tassel headdress” that Clara Millon (1988b) links to Teotihuacan warriors (figure 6.6a). Given their appearance on warriors (figure 6.3b, c), it is clear that goggles alone are not an exclusive diagnostic feature of the rain deity. Rather, the mutual appearance of goggles on warriors, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, and members of the Tlaloc U nmasking T laloc

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Figure 6.6. Fangs, bigoteras, and forked tongues: (a) detail of plano-­relief vessel; (b) detail of mural from Atetelco; (c) detail of “Black Tlaloc” mural from San Sebastián; (d) “Cross of Tlaloc” sculpture; (e) detail of painted and stuccoed vessel lid. Credits: (a) after Covarrubias (1957, fig. 22); (b) after Pasztory (1974, fig. 9); (c) Museo Beatriz de la Fuente; (d) Museo Nacional de Antropología; (e) Tecoaque-­Zultepec site museum.

B category likely indicates that all of these beings are associated with warfare. Another crucial point is that Tlaloc B examples do not appear with lightning bolts or symbols of rain and agricultural fertility typical of Tlaloc A. In consideration of the lack of the contextualizing elements that make the linkages between Tlaloc A examples and later central Mexican rain deities explicit, it is questionable whether Tlaloc B is actually a manifestation of Tlaloc. Since their discovery, so-­called Cross of Tlaloc sculptures have been considered abbreviated versions of the Teotihuacan rain god, who is implicitly 220

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essentialized as having the bigotera, three or four straight fangs, and a forked tongue (figure 6.6d). Langley (1986, 1992) calls this form the “Storm God Insignia.” According to Langley (1986, 14), the Storm God Insignia “is one of the diagnostic features of the deity and, when found disembodied in heraldic insignia or as a discrete sign, is generally considered to indicate affiliation with him.” The problem with this interpretation is that upon examination, this mouth assemblage differs considerably from the typical downwardly curled upper lip, rounded incisors and pair of curved protruding canines, and water lily combination that usually appears on the Teotihuacan Tlaloc/Tlaloc A, and it is by no means clear that these forms were interchangeable. The similarity of the mouths of Tlaloc B examples to those of Late Postclassic representations of Tlaloc (figure 6.2a–­c) has led scholars to assume a continuity in form and meaning, but the merging of these two mouth forms appears to be a post-­Teotihuacan development. Within the context of Teotihuacan art, the Tlaloc B–­style mouth generally does not appear on forms of the Teotihuacan rain god that have clear associations to rain and agriculture. Furthermore, the Cross of Tlaloc/Storm God Insignia assemblage appears on a being that is clearly not the rain god. A Teotihuacan-­style vessel from Zultepec, located a short distance from the metropolis, portrays the head of the War Serpent (see Taube 1992, 2000a, 2012) with a curling lip, straight fangs, and forked tongue in the same form as those present on examples of Tlaloc B and the Cross of Tlaloc (figure 6.6e). Not only does this call into question the notion that the Teotihuacan Tlaloc was represented in pars pro toto form as a mouth, fangs, and forked tongue, but it also suggests that Tlaloc B might be more closely aligned to the War Serpent, which sometimes appears with goggled eyes (see Taube 2000a, 273). TLALOC JARS

The Old Fire God and the rain god are the two Teotihuacan deities that have direct antecedents that predate the city (Carballo 2007; Pasztory 1997, 162–­166; see Billard, chapter 7, this volume). Late Formative rain-­god vessels from Amecameca, Ayapango, San Juan Tehuixtlan, and Tlapacoya are among the earliest known representations of the central Mexican rain deity (Barba de  Piña Chán 1956; Schaafsma and Taube 2006, 256–­257). Figure 6.7a illustrates an example from Tlapacoya in which the ancestral form of Tlaloc has bulbous eyes rather than goggles, and large, plump lips in place of the fanged maw. An undulating lightning bolt denotes the entity as a rain deity. The earliest known excavated example of a Tlaloc effigy vessel with a mustache-­like U nmasking T laloc

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Figure 6.7. Tlaloc jars and bundles: (a) jar from Tlapacoya; (b) Tlaloc jar from Grave 4 of Xolalpan; (c) Tlaloc jar; (d) detail of figure 6.1; (e) detail of mural from Cacaxtla, Structure A, north jamb; (f ) ceramic figurine; (g) figurine from Tula. Credits: (a) after Schaafsma and Taube (2006, fig. 14a); (b) after Linné (2003 [1934], fig. 40); (c) Museo Beatriz de la Fuente; (e) after Matos Moctezuma (1987, 109); (f ) after Scott (2001, pl. 129); (g) Museo Nacional de Antropología.

upper lip comes from a Tzacualli-­phase (ad 50–­150) deposit beneath the Pyramid of the Sun at Teotihuacan, although it still retains its bulbous eyes (Carballo 2007, 62; R. Millon and Drewitt 1961, 14, figure 15; von  Winning 1976, 150). However, goggled eyes seldom appear on Tlaloc jars at Teotihuacan (Bracamontes Quintana 2002, 104, cited in Carballo 2007, 62). Likely owing to their initial development outside of the context of Teotihuacan state ideology and continued use in both domestic and state ritual, Tlaloc jars differ from painted representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, but are nonetheless identifiable with the rain god based on shared characteristics and associations. Tlaloc jars from Teotihuacan (figure 6.7b, c) generally have a globular body with a restricted neck that bears a modeled representation of a stylized face, usually with two curved fangs (but sometimes no fangs) protruding from a pronounced upper lip, a prominent brow, round, bulging eyes, and flanges on either side that have ear ornaments resembling those of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc as they appear in murals. The vessels often have diminutive modeled limbs, one of which sometimes holds an undulating lightning bolt, and the front of the rim typically has three vertical tabs that form a headdress. Tlaloc jars sometimes appear with a water lily beneath the mouth, but more often a horizontal bundle, which Langley (1986, 237) refers to as “Bow A,” appears as a pendant (figures 7b,c; see also figures 5a, 7f ). Occasionally a series of semicircular forms, which Caso (1966, 256) considered a rain glyph, appears beneath Bow A (figure 6.7c). Liquid flows from Tlaloc jars in mural paintings, and the jars more closely resemble the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, with the typical eye goggles, ear ornaments, and fanged mouth (figures 6.1; 6.4a, c; 6.5b; 6.7d). Painted depictions, however, lack limbs and have headdresses that more closely resemble those on their ceramic counterparts, with a central triangular projection flanked by two outwardly curving volutes. The representation of Tlaloc as a jar of liquid continued after the collapse of Teotihuacan (figures 6.2d, 6.7e), but they typically appear as Tlaloc’s face on the body of the vessel. Late Postclassic Tlaloc jars found in offerings at the Templo Mayor (figure 6.2d) may have been made in direct emulation of Teotihuacan Tlaloc imagery, as they lack the bigotera and have a pair of prominent canines. A NEW CLASSIFICATION SCHEME

Although Pasztory’s (1974) Tlaloc A/B scheme was an important step forward in understanding the complexity of rain-­god imagery in Teotihuacan art, there remains a need for a revised system that more closely considers the context in which rain-­god imagery appears and minimizes the inherent ambiguity U nmasking T laloc

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that other scholars and Pasztory herself later perceived within the general category of “storm god.” The features of Tlaloc B differ significantly from those of Tlaloc A, and unlike Tlaloc A, Tlaloc B does not appear with lightning bolts, rain, jars of liquid, or maize, which were associations also held by Late Postclassic manifestations of the rain god Tlaloc. Tlaloc B’s associations are less clear, but in one instance, the so-­called “Black Tlaloc” (figure 6.6c) appears on top of burning bundles. It may be that the Teotihuacan Tlaloc and Tlaloc B exist in a diametric relationship, the former associated with water and earth, and the latter a being of fire. It appears, however, that Tlaloc B may be more closely aligned with the War Serpent, but Tlaloc B may in fact encompass several distinct beings. Goggles and/or Tlaloc-­like fangs were features of various deities in Late Postclassic central Mexico, including primordial earth spirits that appear on page 30 of the Codex Borgia (see Boone 2007, 181–­183), a variant of Tlaltecuhtli (see Henderson 2007, 42–­45), a poorly understood Mexica fire deity (see González López et al. 2018), and Tlalchitonatiuh, the solar deity that descends into the earth (figure 6.9e). Parsing out the problematic Tlaloc B category is a task for future research, but there is currently little reason to consider it has an aspect of the Teotihuacan rain god. I propose a revised two-­part classification scheme for the Teotihuacan rain god: the Teotihuacan Tlaloc (formerly Tlaloc A) constitutes one category, and Tlaloc jars the other. The features of Tlaloc jars vary, but they are explicitly linked to the Teotihuacan Tlaloc in painted scenes. They may represent diminutive directional manifestations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, akin to the tlaloque of the Late Postclassic. The Teotihuacan Tlaloc’s features are more consistent, and he appears with an anthropomorphic body and often with a lightning bolt, Tlaloc jar, maize, and/or water lily emerging from his mouth. Evidence of “essential” features of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc may appear on a painted floor of the La Ventilla compound at Teotihuacan. Seven of the 42 glyphic symbols that appear in the Plaza de los Glifos represent the head of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc (figure 6.8; see Cabrera Castro 1996, figure 8; Taube 2000b, 13–­15; 2011, 81). Additional variable symbols in the form of a hand clutching a deer antler (figure 6.8a), a flame on the brow (figure 6.8b), a knotted bundle (figure 6.8c), a rosette (figure 6.8d), lower legs and flames (figure 6.8e), an elaborate headdress (figure 6.8f ), and a quincunx in front of the mouth (figure 6.8g) comprise glyphic compounds. Goggled eyes, a prominent upper lip that curls under a protruding canine, a circular ear ornament with a square or trapezoidal pendant, and a five-­knot headdress (shown with two to three knots in profile) are features shared by the La Ventilla symbols and examples of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc. These features, with the exception of the upper lip that occasionally 224

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Figure 6.8. Compound symbols with the head of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc from the Plaza de los Glifos, La Ventilla, Teotihuacan. Credit: Cabrera Castro 2006: (a) fig. 1, (b) fig. 40, (c) fig. 31, (d) fig. 30, (e) fig. 33, (f ) fig. 32, (g) fig. 37.

takes the form of the upwardly curled bigotera, are consistently present in representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc and appear to constitute his basic core features. By narrowing the range of imagery that represents the Teotihuacan rain deity, it is possible to approach a better understanding of Teotihuacan’s contributions to Mesoamerican rain-­god symbolism and how Teotihuacanos understood the role of art and their relationship to this particular deity. TEOTIHUACAN’S CONTRIBUTIONS TO RAIN-­G OD SYMBOLISM

The modifications made by Teotihuacan artists to representations of the rain god reflect important conceptual and ideological changes to rain-­god symbolism that were perpetuated in later traditions. Rain gods with bulging U nmasking T laloc

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eyes and a prominent mouth appear modeled three-­dimensionally on vessels in Late Formative central Mexico (figure 6.7a). At Teotihuacan, the body of the rain deity becomes the actual form of the vessel (figure 6.7b, c). This change suggests a stronger relationship between the deity’s outer appearance and the inner liquid substance contained within the vessel. Warriors’ eye goggles, along with spearthrowers and shields, first appear in painted representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, suggesting that militarism became part of the rain god’s persona at Teotihuacan. While storms are thus likened to the tumult of warfare, the reciprocal effect is that Teotihuacanos “naturalized” state-­sponsored violence in much the same way that the Coyote Mural (figure 6.3a) presents heart sacrifice as a natural act. With a visible head and a rounded, limbless body, Tlaloc jars held by the Teotihuacan Tlaloc in painted representations strongly resemble mortuary bundles (figures 6.1; 6.4a, c; 6.5b; 6.7d; Schaafsma and Taube 2006, 256). Several studies (e.g., Headrick 1999; McBride 1969; Taube 2000a, 306) have demonstrated that the display and cremation of mortuary bundles was an important aspect of Teotihuacan ceremonialism. A limbless figurine from Tula that is covered with a mantle of feathers suggests that the Toltec Tlaloc could also be represented as a mortuary bundle (figure 6.7g). A Teotihuacan figurine excavated by Linné (figure 6.7f ) shows the face of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc with the Bow A pectoral, and a large, rectangular form often called the “Manta Compound.” The Manta Compound is linked to fire-­making, and represents a rectangular vertical fire drill surrounded by flammable strips of paper and other materials (Coggins 1987, 446–­460; Fash et al. 2009, 208–­209; Langley 1992, 272; Taube 2000a, 292; von Winning 1979, 21). The placement of the Manta Compound on the Tlaloc figure suggests a mortuary bundle destined for cremation. The Bow A pectoral, which von Winning (1979) relates to a bundle of flammable material, appears on other deceased figures. Sugiyama and López Luján (2007, 135–­136) draw attention to jade pectorals in similar form that were worn by deceased individuals excavated in Burial 5 of the Pyramid of the Moon, which they further relate to similar pectorals worn by deceased members of the royal line on Copan’s Altar Q. Curiously, Bow A also appears beneath the strap handles of “copal bags” carried by certain figures, including the rain god, in Teotihuacan art and at Cacaxtla (figures 6.3c, 6.4b, 6.9a). While the relationship to these bags and Tlaloc jars is unclear, both objects are bundled, contain important offerings, and connote ritual burning. Furthermore, Pasztory (1974, 7) considers the trilobed headdress that commonly appears on Tlaloc jars to be a stylized “year sign.” While this identification is debatable, Taube (2000a, 275–­280) has found that the trapeze-­and-­ray 226

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“year sign” is composed of flammable material. If the headdress that appears on Tlaloc jars is indeed a “year sign,” it further indicates that Tlaloc jars were akin to mortuary bundles. The goggles, ear ornaments, and exaggerated fanged mouth of the Teoti­ huacan Tlaloc have a masklike appearance, and indeed later central Mexican cultures conceptualized the rain god’s face as a mask (Schaafsma and Taube 2006, 258). On a ceramic sculpture excavated at Epiclassic Cacaxtla (see Brit­ ten­ham and Nagao 2014, 59–­60; Jiménez Ovando 1995, 125–­128), the face of the rain god splits to reveal an additional human face underneath (figure 6.9a). In similar fashion, on a Late Postclassic anthropomorphic brazier of unknown provenience (figure 6.9b), the eye goggle and bigotera cover half of the face, revealing a human face beneath a Tlaloc mask. This brazier may find a parallel in another from Late Postclassic Tlahuac (figure 6.9c), which show a Tlaloc mask lifted above the brow of an otherwise human figure that holds a stylized lightning bolt and an ear of maize. This figure closely resembles priests from the Ochpaniztli festival as they appear in the Codex Borbonicus (see Couch 1985, 72), who wear small Tlaloc masks above the brow (figure 6.9d). In the Tonalamatl Aubin, the solar deity Tlalchitonatiuh appears as a cylindrical bundle with an affixed Tlaloc mask (figure 6.9e). Rather than rain, the Tlaloc mask (perhaps conveying a linguistic value of tlalli, “earth”) in this instance likely references the earth into which the solar deity descends. Mexica Tlaloc jars also often give the impression of a jar with an attached Tlaloc mask (figure 6.2d). The practice of deity impersonation was an important facet of public ritual among ancient Mesoamerican cultures. By donning certain paraphernalia, a ruler or other ritual practitioner’s identity merges with that of a supernatural being, rather than becoming subsumed by it, and thus the “impersonator” channels and mediates divine power by serving as a physical manifestation of it. In regard to Classic Maya deity impersonation, Houston (2006, 146) refers to this phenomenon as a “concurrence” of identities, as opposed to a displacement, since both identities remain intact but occupy the same physical body and costume array. In painted representations, Classic Maya artists usually overcame the challenge of how to portray scenes of identity concurrence (as opposed to mythological scenes) by presenting the human ritual practitioner with a thin mask in profile “X-ray” view, leaving the mask-­wearer’s face visible, and by providing an explanatory text (Houston et al. 2006, 271–­272). Teotihuacan artists, on the other hand, do not provide such clear distinctions between deities and ritual practitioners who temporarily served as manifestations of specific divine powers. However, the nature of divine representation U nmasking T laloc

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Figure 6.9. The face of Tlaloc as a mask: (a) ceramic sculpture from Cacaxtla; (b) detail of censer; (c) censer from Tlahuac; (d) detail of Codex Borbonicus (page 30); (e) detail of Tonalamatl Aubin (page 16, showing Tlalchitonatiuh). Credits: (a) after Brittenham and Nagao (2014, fig. 3); (b) Yale University Art Gallery, after photograph by the author; (c) Museo Nacional de Antropología, after photograph by the author.

at Teotihuacan provides strong evidence of deity impersonation. Like later Central Mexican traditions, Teotihuacan deities are often portrayed as anthropomorphic in form with specific accoutrements, attire, and facial markings that would be relatively easily replicated as costume elements and face paint in 228

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public ritual. The transformation of the Late Formative central Mexican rain deities that appear on jars into the Teotihuacan Tlaloc suggests that public ritual impersonation may have been a driving force behind changes to the deity’s appearance. Thus, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc dons a specific headdress and ear ornaments, the prominent lips become a fanged maw on an otherwise human face, and the bulging eyes become goggles. In addition to iconic features that lend themselves particularly well to masked impersonation, certain qualities of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc and his modes of representation suggest that concepts similar to teotl and teixiptla may have been present at Teotihuacan. The appearance of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc as a masked bundle in the form of a rain jar also suggests that conceptions of Teotihuacan divinities may have run parallel to those of the later Nahua and Mexica. Olivier (2006) notes that among the Mexica, sacred bundles, or tlaquimilolli, were among the most important and carefully guarded cult objects (see also Bassett 2015, 162–­191). According to the Leyenda de los Soles, the gods of the Mexica were physical, living beings who sacrificed themselves in order to animate the newly made fifth sun at Teotihuacan (Bierhorst 1992, 148–­149). Mendieta (1980, 79) indicates that sacred bundles were subsequently made of the clothes that they left behind. Bundles contained bone, ash, and other objects considered to have belonged to the gods, but are closely related to the teixiptla in that they serve as a physically present manifestation of teotl. The resemblance of Tlaloc jars to sacred bundles suggests that Teotihuacanos may have likewise considered the deities to be deceased, but accessible through sacred bundles or their simulacra. Gell (1998, 118–­120) notes that the reciprocal act of seeing an idol (his term) and being seen by an idol is a key point of interaction in the religious veneration of images and another means through which they have personhood. In other words, the physical presence of an otherwise immaterial force is not purely for the benefit of the devotee who wishes to see it; the deity also witnesses the act of devotion. Dehouve (chapter 11, this volume) points out that the teixiptla mediates not only the act of seeing between teotl and devotee, but also hearing and speaking. Could it be coincidental that the eyes, mouth, and ears of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc are the most distinct and strongly emphasized of his physical features, through goggles, fangs, and large ear ornaments? It is also worth noting that with the frequent appearance of long speech scrolls issuing from the mouths of figures (figures 6.3b–­d, 6.4b), Teotihuacan mural paintings were intended to be not only seen, but also heard. The similarities between Teotihuacan notions of divine power and how it manifests in images and Nahua concepts of teotl and teixiptla do not U nmasking T laloc

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necessarily imply that Nahuatl was spoken at Teotihuacan. In fact, similar ideas may be widespread across Mesoamerica. Houston (2014, 83) notes that k’uh, a Classic Maya term that refers to a divine essence or “transcendent quality” is roughly equivalent to the concept of ií of the Mixtec and teotl. Late Classic Maya lords are frequently portrayed with k’uh-­imbued royal blood offerings falling in streams from their hands (see Stuart 1988). One may infer that this imagery runs parallel to the fertilizing streams of seeds and shells that flow from the hands of figures in Teotihuacan artwork (figure 6.3c). As previously noted, the handles of the “copal bags” often held by these figures are attached to the same Bow A symbol that appears as a pectoral on Teotihuacan Tlaloc jars. Whether or not such bags actually held copal remains a mystery, but the contexts in which they appear and the similarity of formal elements may imply that the contents of Tlaloc jars were considered divine fertilizing liquid, perhaps the physical substance of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc himself. CONCLUSION

The two-­part classification scheme that I propose, which divides representations of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc into anthropomorphic forms that appear in painted representations and jars in the form of the rain god, alleviates much of the confusion surrounding the Teotihuacan rain deity and its relationship to later manifestations of this being. The appearance of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, as I have defined it, is consistent within Teotihuacan art, displaying goggles, a five-­knot headdress, and a prominent mouth with two protruding canines, while additional auxiliary features such as lightning bolts, maize, and Tlaloc jars clarify his associations with the fructifying and destructive nature of rain, agricultural fertility, and warfare. Goggles first appear on the face of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc, suggesting that the association of warfare with this being was a Teotihuacan innovation. Little is known about the early development of the Teotihuacan mural-­painting tradition, but by the city’s apogee, Teotihuacan painters adhered to fairly strict guidelines, perhaps imposed by rulers, ritual specialists, or by the painters themselves, who may have also been ritual specialists. Tlaloc jars, though present throughout the city’s history, are not as consistent in terms of iconographic features. Possible reasons for variation among Tlaloc jars include their probable use in both state and domestic rituals, and the fact that they developed out of pre-­ Teotihuacan traditions and may thus have a deliberately archaizing or “folk” appearance. Nonetheless, by eliminating the less anthropomorphic Tlaloc B 230

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category from possible depictions, the Teotihuacan Tlaloc is more consistent with later manifestations of the Highland Mexican rain god, both in terms of appearance and attributes. The difficulties involved in interpreting the art of Teotihuacan stem from its dense usage of regularized costume elements and physical features. Each element conveys specific meanings that were translated to the wearer, whether a god, human, ancestor, or supernatural creature. The context in which these elements appear, however, is important, and their semiotic value cannot be understood in isolation. Another important consideration is that Teotihuacan imagery was not purely didactic; as Gell notes, images are imbued with human qualities that transcend the painted or sculpted surface and allow devotees to interact directly with otherwise distant supernatural forces. The use of art objects as mediators and focal points of divine power is consistent with other Mesoamerican artistic traditions. The goggles, fangs, and knotted headdress and other costume elements of the Teotihuacan Tlaloc may be akin to a properly arranged teixiptla, providing a means of access to powers that controlled rain, agriculture, and warfare, whether they appear on a painted wall, ceramic vessel, sacred bundle, or costumed performer. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to thank Alejandra Martínez-­Berdeja, Eric Heller, Karl Taube, and the two anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments and critiques, and Brigitte Faugère and Christopher Beekman for inviting me to participate in the symposium and edited volume. REFERENCES

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7 The Nature of the Old God of Teotihuacan Why Would the Old God Be Represented by an Elderly Human Body? Claire Billard

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An emblematic figure known as the Old God, also considered a fire deity, was known throughout the Prehispanic Mexican highlands (figure 7.1). This geographic area is characterized by lacustrine or alluvial valleys and basins, of which the Basin of Mexico was one of the most important due to its intensive human exploitation. The landscape is also particularly marked by a range of mountains and volcanoes whose activity has impacted this geographic zone many times. The Formative period, characterized by important volcanic activity, saw the appearance of the first representations of the Old God. They were mostly concentrated in the eastern Mexican highlands and became widely distributed until the Epiclassic (figure 7.2). However, it was during the Classic period (ad 150–­650) that this deity would see its apogee alongside the influence of the site of Teotihuacan (figure 7.1), where the Old God seems to have played an essential role. Generally, representations of this figure follow a very specific form known as a brasero-­effigy, composed of a receptacle identified as a brazier and a human representation (figures 7.3 and 7.7). The effigy that carries the brasero was very simply made and primarily characterized by great age, which emphasized the human aspect of this anthropomorphic figure. From these considerations we can ask: what does the specific human iconography of the Old God reveal? What kind of meaning is conveyed by his corporal

Figure 7.1. The Mexican highlands and the location of Teotihuacan. Credit: base map modified after West (1964, 46).

Figure 7.2. Chronology of the Mexico Basin and Teotihuacan valley. Credit: modified after Billard (2009, 8).

Figure 7.3. Formative Old God effigy (Ticoman, volcanic stone, 13.9 × 12 × 11.5 cm). Credit: courtesy of the Division of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural History, 30.0/8315. Photograph by the author.

characteristics, age in particular? And, while most gods of Teotihuacan are portrayed as hybrids of humans and something else, does the human aspect of the Old God contradict a divine nature? We begin this study with some general considerations. Then we focus on an iconographic analysis to gain a better understanding of the god’s intrinsic and extrinsic characteristics. We can then consider the function and the place that the icon occupies, as a first step to the specific meanings of the body of the Old God. Unfortunately, until the end of the Postclassic period, we do not have any written sources that could answer our questions—­a general handicap for the cultures of the Mexican highlands. This emic approach would not be possible with strictly archaeological data and scientific descriptions. But thanks to ethnohistoric chronicles and reports—­works, often by Spanish ecclesiastical authors, that describe Late Postclassic culture at the time of the conquistadors—­we have a great deal of information on the symbolism and thought of Prehispanic cultures. Even if several centuries separate these data from the Classic-­period Old God, many researchers support continuity in Prehispanic thought from the Formative period until the arrival of the Spaniards (López Austin 1997) and even further to contemporary times and among traditional Mexican communities (Preuss 1998, 99–­102; Seler 1998, 240

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97–­98). Of course, we are aware of the risks of this approach. The principal mistake would be to artificially apply Postclassic concepts to older objects and thereby obscure the original meaning. It would be more conservative to follow a strictly formal analysis of form, material, and context,1 but this approach would quickly run its course and the very purpose of this kind of object is to convey meaning and ideas. Therefore, in the second part of this chapter, we pursue a combined ontological and interpretative approach that makes use of ethnohistoric data to better understand the Classic-­period Old God figure. THE CLASSIC OLD GOD: GENERALITIES AND A FOCUS ON THE TEOTIHUACAN OLD GOD

Origin

Due to its early appearance during the Middle Formative,2 the Old God is known to the scientific community as one of the most ancient entities of the Mesoamerican pantheon (see, e.g., Matos Moctezuma 2002; Vaillant 1931, 309). The earliest examples come from the Basin of Mexico (figure 7.2), the Puebla–­Tlaxcala valley, and the Xalapa valley. Fewer than twenty specimens have been discovered, an observation that can be explained by poor preservation and/or the very few Formative-­period excavations in these areas. The images are made of stone or ceramic and generally are very simply made; we have no evidence of wood or other perishable examples but they are a possibility. However, we can observe a pattern of representation that points to an effigy characterized by few iconographic elements, and defined primarily by this association between an anthropomorphic figure and a brasero (figure 7.3). Secondarily, the general cross-­legged position of this effigy and his hunched back appear to be closely followed by specimens in this corpus. Finally, the other iconographic details are rarer even if they occur in some representations. Among them, we can note the wrinkles appearing on a small portion of the Formative-­period corpus, which is to say only four individuals.3 Distribution

After this period of “incubation,” representations of the Old God increase in number, his iconography is further developed, and we can observe a singular concentration in the Classic-­period city of Teotihuacan, even if images can be found across a wider area (figure 7.4). I carried out museum research in Europe (the British Museum, Musée du Quai Branly, and Musée du Cinquantenaire), Mexico (Museo Nacional de Antropología e Historia de México, Ceramoteca T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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Figure 7.4. Distribution of Classic-­period Old God effigies. Credit: base map modified after West (1964, 46).

de  Teotihuacan, Museo de  Querétaro, and Museo de  Xalapa), and North America (De Young Museum and the American Museum of Natural History). Combined with a review of the existing literature, we have to date registered 478 Classic-­period objects4 but only 11 of them were found outside of Teotihuacan.5 Particularly interesting with this latter group of artifacts is the influence of Teotihuacan. Indeed, some of them are certainly imported from the city (see Williams 1992, 144, figure 18), but most of them are copies from a Teotihuacan model (ibid., 145, figure 19; von Winning 1969). The Old God at Teotihuacan: Basic Data

Here we focus on the specific case of the representations of the Old God at Teotihuacan during the Classic period by summarizing basic data from our corpus of study (table 7.1), followed by their analysis. First, we have registered 468 objects. Of this number only 68 were found complete, nearly complete, or capable of being restored to their original condition. Among the 399 fragments, there are a minimum of 164 individuals, and 235 remaining objects. This last group is composed of 172 brasero fragments and 63 body fragments. According to our prior analysis,6 we can reasonably conclude

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a median value for each category, suggesting 57 individuals represented among the brasero fragments, and 21 individuals among the body fragments. So we propose that this corpus includes probably around 310 individuals, an observation that underscores the strong presence of this icon in Teotihuacan. Through these data, we can highlight the large number of fragments composing our corpus. Moreover, the majority of the complete objects were originally found in fragmented condition. Of course, some of this breakage was occasioned by natural damage, especially with the ceramic effigies, but too many stone examples are broken into too many pieces to conclude that they were broken naturally. The study of fracture characteristics often provides clues to interpret the nature of this fragmentation, and we estimate that for the subset of broken stone specimens that we analyzed (27 in total), more than half were intentionally broken and destroyed. Moreover, archaeological data from the Ciudadela excavations have documented not only the destruction of representations of the Old God, but also the scattering of their fragments ( Jarquín Pacheco 2002, 37). This destruction is likely to have occurred through iconoclastic events7 that sought to desecrate the symbols of Teotihuacan’s power (López Luján et al. 2006, 32) and the Old God figure seems to have been a part of this process. Since he was the target of iconoclasm,8 we can reasonably see the Old God as a symbol of the city’s power. Another notable characteristic of this corpus is the ubiquity of the brasero-­ effigy type. Indeed, only 4 percent of the sample represents the Old God in another form, whether as a candle holder, a mask, or a figurine. We can see that the association between the human representation and the brasero was almost a requirement in a representation of the Old God, so we should consider this very significant. There is a relationship or dialogue between these two parts that defines the Old God. We briefly discuss the materials present in this corpus because, beyond the fact that ceramic artifacts are more fragile than the stone ones, the high number of stone Old Gods is truly surprising. Some of them are particularly big and weighty, especially as they are made of volcanic stone (generally basalt or andesite). These characteristics underline their lack of portability, suggesting that these sculptures were part of the monumental iconographic language promoted by the city authorities, whatever form they may have taken.9 Finally, it is regrettable that most objects were not found in archaeological context, a problem that makes analysis difficult. However, we can observe several interesting points regarding the context in which the Old God was found, particularly its presence in both public (or civic) and private (residential) locations. T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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T able 7.1. Summary description of the corpus of Classic Teotihuacan Old Gods Complete

68 / 15%

By condition

By form Total objects 468

By material

Brasero-­effigy 447 / 96% Other Stone

Ceramic

Individuals present

165 / 35%

Unassociated fragments representing an estimated 78 effigies

235 / 50%

Ciudadela

25 / 31%

Center

10 / 12%

Other

11 / 13%

21 / 4%

365 / 78%

103 / 22%

Xolalpan By archaeological context

Known

Unknown

82 / 18%

386 / 82%

La Ventilla Undefined

20 / 24% 8 / 10%

8 / 10%

Our first observation is the strong presence of Old God representations in the Ciudadela (figure 7.5). This architectural group is thought to have been a major expression of political power before its destruction by iconoclasts (Cowgill 2009, 87). Similarly, some Old Gods were discovered in the palace complex of Xalla (Manzanilla 2006, 21) and recently a brasero-­effigy was found on the top of the Pyramid of the Sun (Alejandro Sarabia, personal communication, March 2013) (figure 7.5), the highest and tallest monument of the city. Certainly, the ongoing study of the archaeological context (e.g., the relation between the brasero-­effigy and the highest temple of the pyramid) and the iconographic style of this object will provide a great deal of information about the Old God’s importance in the Teotihuacan pantheon. A second point is that the effigy occurs in architectural groups considered to be household units,10 such as the apartment compounds of Xolalpan, La Ventilla, and many more. These compounds are thought to bring together both domestic and ritual activities (Barba Luis et al. 2007, 62). Regarding ritual practices, researchers state that “each nuclear family may have had a ritual courtyard, but the family group as a whole may have gathered in the most important courtyard of the compound to share particular cult activities” (Barba Luis et al. 2007, 59). 244

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Figure 7.5. Map of central Teotihuacan. Credit: courtesy of Alejandro Sarabia.

It must be emphasized that while a large part of the Old God representations found in these contexts are small models made of ceramic (see, e.g., the study of Sigvald Linné’s excavation by Scott 2001), nonetheless some are made of stone. They can be quite widely distributed and are generally found in the courtyard of household units (Linné 1934, 48) or next to it (some items were found in an eastern room adjoining the courtyard [Manzanilla 2002, 61]). This distinction may reflect the difference between individual (or nuclear family) ritual and the ritual activity of the entire household unit. In total, we can propose that the Old God was a ritual figure in both private-­family and public-­civic contexts. To conclude, we can add that some Old God representations were initially placed on altars or pedestals (Manzanilla 2002, 51) situated in the center of patios or rooms (Linné 1934, 48). These positions were part of the ritual nerve center of these residential units. T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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Iconography, Meaning, and Modality of Representation

As we have already noted, the iconography of the Old God is characterized by an association between a brasero and an anthropomorphic figure, a typical set we call the brasero-­effigy (figure 7.6). This format dominates our corpus and a strong iconographic rationale seems to have been followed by Teotihuacan artisans. Consequently, we can easily discern a pattern of representation testifying to the existence of an iconographic convention, whether it was defined by a specific authority or not. A diagram (figure 7.6) illustrates the pattern of representation widely disseminated in Classic Teotihuacan and comprising the most recurrent features. Situated at the center, the basic form rests on the association between the anthropomorphic figure and a brasero or a simplified version of it (figure 7.7). This is followed by further iconographic features ranging from the most common (facial “wrinkles”) to the least common, corresponding to a grouping of a “half opened mouth” with a “protruding chin” and “two teeth.” As for the iconography and form of the brasero, despite the distinction between a functional brazier and a nonfunctional form, both types occur in the same position above the head. Let us discuss the last element cited—­the brasero. The receptacle borne by the effigy is generally wider than his head and adopts a circular or a trapezoid shape. Braseros are often decorated with geometric symbols on their outer faces. Very often we have observed black marks, the remnants of charcoal, inside these braseros, testifying to their use as incense burners. The broad consensus is that the Old God would have been a fire divinity. Indeed, those last two aspects (geometric symbols and charcoal marks) are thought to be linked with igneous concepts: yy

yy

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The use of the brasero to burn incense, copal or other things presupposes symbolic igneous ritual.11 From our point of view, the shape of the brasero and its usage as a burning place suggests a relationship between these sculptures and volcanoes as mountains of fire. Torquemada’s quote that mountains are “receptacles and braseros of fire / receptáculos y braseros de fuego” (Torquemada 1977, Volume IV, Book 14, chapter 30, 390) expresses the widespread view linking volcanos to braseros in Nahua thought during the Postclassic period, and suggests the existence of a similar concept in Classic Teotihuacan linked with the brasero-­effigy shape. Geometric motifs of rhomboid eyes on the brasero (figure 7.8) have been interpreted as a metaphorical reference to brightness and rays of light (Séjourné 1982, 91; von Winning 1987, 111–­114).

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Figure 7.6. Classic pattern of representation of Old God effigies at Teotihuacan. Credit: after Billard (2009, 69).

Figure 7.7. Old God brasero-­effigy (basalt, 44 × 45 × 34 cm, Classic period, Teotihuacan).

As for the human effigy, the fullest expression is of an old man sitting cross-­legged with a hunched back, his hands on his knees. He is represented wearing ear ornaments and occasionally a loincloth. Regardless of the brasero form and the specific position of his hands—­one is palm up and the other closed in a fist—­this effigy is primarily characterized by the appearance of age. Indeed, we registered four iconographic elements contributing to this characteristic: wrinkles, a half-­opened mouth with two teeth that sometimes are accentuated by a protruding chin, a hunched back, and an aquiline nose. The cross-­legged seated position can be interpreted as another iconographic metaphor for age, but it can be a symbol for authority and power, too. As a Mesoamerican example of this, the Maya king was generally represented adopting this position and sitting higher than other people in painted or sculpted scenes. It is worth emphasizing that through this pattern of representation, we can easily observe the importance and the prevalence of the criterion of age. In simplified objects such as candle holders, we can see the brasero reduced to its igneous function and geometric symbols, while the Old God effigy is generally reduced to a human face with wrinkles. The process can be observed on the Teotihuacan candle holder from the Musée du quai Branly collection (figure 7.8) and on 12 similar Classic-­period objects12 that we have registered to date. These representations are interesting because of their iconographic elegance. Indeed, only two principal aspects are retained: igneous geometric motifs and a simplified human face characterized by old age. Some of them do not even include the typical geometrical motifs of the brasero, but they all focus on the wrinkles, emphasizing the crucial aspect of the age. Thus, the iconography of age seems to have been necessary to represent the Teotihuacan Old God, a characteristic that is also expressed in his name. So why are these representations characterized by age? How is age related to the imagery of fire? Why would the fire god be represented by an old man and what does that mean? THE OLD MAN AND THE FIRE: A SYNTHESIS OF OLD FIRE GODS IN THE MEXICAN HIGHLANDS

We have summarized some basic data and, although they are incomplete, we use the available information from the Late Postclassic along with selected ethnographic data to address several questions.

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Figure 7.8. Old God candle holder (ceramic, 5.4 × 6.6 × 4.8 cm, Classic period, Teotihuacan). Credit: drawing by the author.

Xiuhtecuhtli: The Mexica Fire God

We stay in the Basin of Mexico but shift to a period centuries later, during the Late Postclassic (table 7.2), when the Mexica people formed the Aztec empire based at their capital of Tenochtitlan (figure 7.1). In this culture we find a fire god named Xiuhtecuhtli (“Turquoise Lord”), generally represented as a young and bellicose god in many codex images (figure 7.9). In principle, there is nothing comparable to our Classic Old God. However, many other names were used to designate this fire entity: Huehueteotl, (Códices Chimalpopoca 1992b; Codex Ixtlilxochitl in Batalla Rosado 2002; Codex Magliabechiano 1904; Codex Tudela in Batalla Rosado 2002; León 1611; Ruiz de Alarcón 1629; Sahagún 1970, 1997a, 1997b; Serna 1656; Torquemada 1977, volume III, book 10, chapter 28, 93) Huehuentzin (León 1611, 111v; Serna 1656, 70),13 and Nauhyohuehueh (Sahagún 1970, II, chapter 38, 168) are three of them, but these appellations can be translated respectively as “Old God,” “Honorable Old Man” (or “Old Lord / Señor viejo” [León 1611, 111v]) and “The Old Man of the Four [Directions].” So, we have a fire god who is both young and old. This dichotomy in the definition of our god is characteristic of the Mexica pantheon where the nature of divinities is neither unique nor indivisible (López Austin 1983). There is thus a parallel to our initial description of the iconography, in which we found representations of this igneous god as an old man. We can observe this in the Codex Cospi (figure 7.9), and over 40 representations found in the Templo Mayor may also be images of the fire god in his T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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Figure 7.9. Xiuhtecuhtli as an old man. Credit: drawing after the Codex Cospi (Anders et al. 1994, 3).

Figure 7.10. A “Xiuhtecuhtli-­ Huehueteotl” from the Templo Mayor (basalt, 37 × 21.8 × 20 cm, Late Postclassic, Mexico). Credit: drawing by the author.

elderly aspect (figure 7.10), such that Leonardo López Luján (2005) calls them Xiuhtecuhtli-­Huehuetéotl.14 While these late representations do not make use of the brasero-­effigy form,15 the Aztec fire god can still be compared to the Old God of Teotihuacan inasmuch as it possesses an open mouth with two prominent teeth and a protruding chin. These are not the only motifs that let us connect the two gods. Signs of age are typical of the Late Postclassic representations: half-­opened eyes (figure 7.9) or the lack of eyes (figure 7.10), which suggest blindness. We can note the rarity of wrinkles that appear in representations of Xiuhtecuhtli, in contrast with the Old God. In sum, the Late Postclassic archaeological data indicate that the Aztec god of fire seems to be elderly, just as was his predecessor, but the age is not suggested in the same manner, depending on the chronological and cultural context. Ethnohistoric documentation such as the Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España of Fray Bernardino de Sahagún provides additional information that artifacts do not provide. As we have already said, this source noted the use of other titles related to age like “in teteu innan, in teteu inta” (“the mother of the gods, the father of the gods”) (Sahagún 1970, VI: 19) or Tota 250

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(“Our Father”) (ibid. I: 29). Those two designations combine two principal ideas—­the progenitor aspect and thus the anteriority and seniority of this entity relative to other members of the pantheon. Now we can turn to the meaning of the name Huehueteotl. Often occurring in association with the concept of patriarchy, the word Huehueteotl is commonly translated as “Old God” in sources and even more in the scientific literature. Grammatically, Huehueteotl is composed by the radical teotl, a broad concept relating to power that is generally translated as “god,” and the word huehue, which can signify “old.” However, the meaning of this word can be more ample than a literal translation because it can signify “the one who makes himself very great / el que se ha hecho muy grande” (López Austin 1984, I, 322), thus revealing the respectability and the wisdom of the old man. Further, huehue can be translated as “ancient” (Molina 1880). Thus in Sahagún’s text (1997a, I, chapter 12, 36), an Aztec priest says to the fire, “You are the most ancient god,” giving him a foundational role.16 Even if “old” and “ancient” are two very similar meanings, the second does not express the same idea as the first one. The adjective “ancient” clearly defines the antiquity and remote origin of a thing while the translation of “old” carries more specifically the specific sense of senescence, two notions included in the Nahuatl word huehue. This conception of age can be seen in the works of other chroniclers like Serna (1656, 14) when he tells us that Xiuhtecuhtli was equated after the Spanish colonization to saints like Joseph and Simon, both characterized by their great age. Thus, the Aztec fire god seems to be both ancient (in the sense of foundational) and physically old, an idea well summarized by Torquemada when he says of Xiuhtecuhtli: “His name is also Huehueteutl, old god and ancient [god] / se llamó también Huehueteutl, dios viejo y antiguo” (Torquemada 1977, volume III, book 10, chapter 28, 93). It is worth noting another point made by Spanish writers. The Mexica fire god Xiuhtecuhtli is said to dwell at the center of the universe. Indeed, according to Sahagún’s Historia, Xiuhtecuhtli “is sitting in the navel of the earth” (Sahagún 1970, 19). We could hardly have a more central position. This locational aspect is attested by both archaeological data and Late Postclassic documents. For example, the first page of the Codex Fejervary-­Mayer corroborates this view since we can observe Xiuhtecuhtli occupying the central place on the cosmological map (Codex Fejervary-­Mayer 1971, 1). Moreover, the Xiuhtecuhtli-­Huehueteotl sculptures mentioned above were discovered in the sacred enclosure, the center of Tenochtitlan, and some of them were found in the Great Temple, considered to be the navel of the world,17 a mise en abîme of these objects as occupying the most central place in the Mexica cosmovision. T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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In parallel, we learn from Spanish chroniclers that ancient Mexican people “used to have and worship [the fire] as a god, and not the lesser part of them, because he was present everywhere / tenían y adoraban por dios, y no de los menores, que era general por todas partes” (Motolinía 1988, 84–­85). Torquemada adds: “in every house they worshipped him [the fire] / en cada casa le veneraban” (Torquemada 1977, volume III, livre 6, chapter 28, 93). These points echo our observations about the archaeological context of the Old God of Teotihuacan; he occurred in both public and private spaces and was characterized by the concept of center as signified by objects found in patios and on central altars. “Abuelo”: The Fire God in Ethnographic Data

This link between the fire divinity and age seems not only to have been constant during the Prehispanic period, but it is still present in ethnographic data collected from traditional Mexican communities. According to Huichol and Cora mythology, the fire is an old man,18 often called “Grandfather / Abuelo” (Neurath and Gutiérrez 2003, 301–­302, 304–­305). But this appellation is used by Huichol people in everyday life (Lumholtz 1904, II, 170, 194), and they also referred to fire by the name Tatevalí, which signifies “Grandfather Fire / Abuelo Fuego” (Zingg 1998, 35). The eighteenth-­century Relación de Colima Tecatitlán reveals that the Volcán de Colima was thought to be the god Xiuhtecuhtli-­Huehueteotl (Williams 1992, 65). We learn that the name Colima comes from the verb inflexion ma, “to take,” “to dominate,” or “to conquer,” and from the word colli, which signifies “grandfather,” but in this context it can be interpreted as a common appellation of the Fire God. Thus, according to Schöndube (1994, 249) the name of the Volcán de Colima can be translated as “the dominating Grandfather,” which we can interpret as “the dominating Fire God.”  This underlines the very close association between fire and age. Furthermore, the Otomi from the southern Huasteca region have a fire divinity they call sihta sipi, which we can translate as “Grandfather of fire / Abuelo del fuego” (Galinier 1997, 107). A contemporary Tlapanec prayer for a protective ritual refers to fire by the same word, abuelo, and at the same time specifies the ancient and foundational aspect of fire (Anders et al. 1994, 301). We find again this sense of age in Lumholtz’s observation when he speaks about the Huichol people: “For the greatest of the[ir gods], the Fire, they call him grandfather because he used to exist before the Sun, who they call Father / Al más grande de todos, el Fuego, denominánlo abuelo porque existía antes que el Sol, á quien llaman padre” (Lumholtz 1904, II, 194). 252

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So, fire and this entity are absolutely associated with the age that expresses the antiquity of this element. We can finally add the fact that the dichotomy we have noted in Xiuhtecuhtli’s nature—­an aged god generally represented with a youthful appearance—­seems to survive in Huichol religion. Indeed, according to Lumholtz’s (1904, II, 165) observations from the Jainótega Cavern in Huichol territory, there were two objects representing the fire god: one on the ground surface and the other inside a hole dug below the first figurine. The second idol was older than the first and Lumholtz specifies that “volcanic fire is older than the fire of the sky / el fuego volcánico es más antiguo que el fuego del cielo” (ibid., 28). This opposition between two different kinds of fire could explain these contradictory iconographies of the Late Postclassic fire god. Beyond this, these data confirm the old age and antiquity of the fire entity. FIRE GODS AND POWER: THE CONCEPT OF AGE IN MESOAMERICAN THOUGHT

The Power of an Old Man

Igneous divinities, like the Classic-­period Old God, seem to be linked with age inasmuch as this relationship is attested by archaeological, ethnohistorical, and ethnological data. But can this link be explained? Why would fire be old? Torquemada provides a partial answer. According to him, Xiuhtecuhtli was an old and ancient god because fire was “the most ancient thing that people know” (Torquemada 1977, volume III, book 10, chapter 28, 93). This observation can be understood in many ways. Indeed, from an anthropological point of view, fire should have been one of the first things humans have controlled. Torquemada’s statement is also true from an archaeological point of view, because the most ancient representations of the Old God are from the Formative, making him among the first divinities of the Mexican highlands. Finally, from a mythological point of view, fire seems to have appeared early as he is considered to be the “Father and Mother of the gods, because they were all born next to the hearth / Padre y Madre de los dioses, porque junto à el fogon nacen todos ellos” (Serna 1656, 190), an idea widely shared by traditional Mexican communities.19 But we can justify the importance of age with another explanation. In Aztec society, old men and old women benefited from their status. We can repeat here one of the translations of the word huehue as “the one who makes himself very great.” Indeed, the older people are, the closer they become to the divine, so that they are sometimes considered to be deified.20 Frequently, the age of 52 years—­a period corresponding to a complete cycle of the Mexica calendar—­seems to have been the moment when people became old with an almost mystical aura. T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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This belief comes from a Nahua concept of the tonalli (López Austin 1984, I, 223). The tonalli can be defined as energy21—­the word uses the same root as Tonatiuh, the name of the sun—­that allows natural things to grow and to ripen (ibid.). According to López Austin (ibid.), humans cannot escape from this and they build up tonalli over the course of their lives. It is interesting to note that there is a similar concept in Huichol religion (Perrin 1996, 409). So, old men and old women are people who carry the greatest amount of this energy. As a parallel from the natural world, fire and sun are considered to be the most energetic elements so that sometimes the word tonalli is linked with tleyotl, a word derived from tletl, “fire” in Nahuatl (López Austin 1984, I, 231). This explains why old men in good health are called “owners of fire from the tonalli / dueños del fuego del tonalli” (ibid., 327). Thus, the idea that igneous divinities were once old men may be explained by the relationship between age and tonalli. We can deduce that, as fire is one of the most energetic elements, the fire gods must have been very old. Due to their old age and the warmth they possess, old men and old women are thought to have a kind of power (Olivier 2004, 161). In Mesoamerica as well as in Amazonia (Guilhem Olivier, personal communication, March 2011), we can frequently note the respect or fear that energy causes. Indeed, in Huichol society, they used to believe that the “soul of an old man projects a mysterious and uncontrollable power” (Benzi 1972 in Perrin 1996, 410). Furthermore, rock crystal is thought to be a transformed ancestor and was supposed to be a very powerful object used in rituals or as a fetish (Lumholtz 1904, II, 195–­196; Perrin 1996), and it is interesting to note that the crystals are called grandfather (ibid., 195). Sometimes, fears of the power of great age can be used to justify social isolation or occasional banishment of the elderly. These ideas are well summarized in the Tlapanec legend of “the Old Man from the Mountain / el Viejo del Cerro” (Anders et al. 1994, 285–­286), in which a hunter and his unfaithful wife are punished by “a very old man with long hair and a white beard / un hombre muy viejo con pelo largo y una barba blanca” (ibid., 285). According to our analysis, this powerful entity is certainly an igneous divinity isolated in a cavern among the mountains. “TO TAKE THE FIRE”: CONNECTIONS BETWEEN FIRE AND POWER IN ARCHAEOLOGICAL, ETHNOHISTORICAL, AND ETHNOLOGICAL DATA

Age suggests a great increase in energy, or procuring a kind of power through the accumulation of tonalli, and therefore fire. But the link between age, fire,

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and power is supported by additional evidence. Indeed, López Austin (1984, I, 327, 452) underlines that in indigenous thought the tonalli increases also as a function of one’s office and social role. This idea is still present today among Tzotziles, who believe that the man who cares about important responsibilities has more fire within him (ibid., 460). Inasmuch as governing causes a great accumulation of tonalli—­tonalli being compared to a fire helping in the management of offices—­it is not surprising to note that Mesoamerican fire gods are particularly related to political and civic authorities.22 It is most clearly present in the case of the Late Postclassic divinity, Xiuhtecuhtli. To begin with, the word tecutli—­sometimes written tecuihtli or teuctli—­present in the second part of his name is used to designate a lord or a noble (Molina 1880), thus people in charge of different offices. Here, we can recall the translation of the appellation Huehuetzin as “Old Lord” (León 1611, 111v). But the Mexica fire god is much more than a lord because Xiuhtecuhtli is the tutelary god of the tlatoani 23 (the Mexica governor). Finally, he is the patron god of the fourteenth month of the ritual calendar, Ce Itzcuintli, and supports lords and their rise to the throne (Sahagún 1997a, IV, chapter 25, 244–­245). The speech given during this event describes him as a model of moral authority, a model that was to be followed by the tlatoani (ibid., VI, chapter 9, 319). Moreover, his iconography is often used in royal representations as we can see with the cuauhxicalli of Tizoc (Olivier 1997, 92), a commemorative ritual sculpture in the shape of a large, solid drum. Furthermore, Sahagún’s Historia (Sahagún 1997a, I, chapter 13, 39) says that an effigy of the fire god was made in the image of the lord Moctezuma and changed when the ruler died (figure 7.11). Another way to bolster the connection between fire and power is to look at Late Postclassic Nahuatl vocabulary, in particular the meanings of the word tleyocuilia. It is composed of the verb cuilia, “to take,” in the sense of “to take for oneself,” and with the term tletl, Nahuatl for “fire.” A literal interpretation of this word would be “to take the fire” or “to take fire for one’s self.” But usually tleyocuilia is translated as “to take power from somebody,” a translation that underlines this equivalence we have noted between the igneous element and power. Thus, we can suggest that fire is probably a metaphor for authority and capability, and that the possession of fire, real or symbolic, is an expression for holding power. We sense here the existence of a triumvirate composed of fire, age, and power. For our analysis, it is worthwhile reiterating this equivalency: in Late Postclassic and contemporary societies, age presupposes the tonalli that suggests real, mythic, or symbolic power. López Austin summarizes this T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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Figure 7.11. Moctezuma wearing a Xiuhtecuhtli costume. Credit: drawn after the Codex Borbonicus (Durand-­Forest 1974, 23).

relationship: “Fire, when it came with lucid intelligence, made the elderly man the only person that could hold important offices / El fuego, cuando era acompañado de una inteligencia lúcida, hacía del viejo la única persona que podía estar al frente de cargos de importancia” (López Austin 1984, I, 327) CONCLUSION: LEGITIMIZING POWER

Now it is time to return to the effigies from Teotihuacan and to the questions that began this chapter—­How can we understand the emphasis upon age in the Old God of Teotihuacan? Furthermore, does the human aspect of these figures contradict a divine nature? We started by summarizing our information about this figure to conclude that it represents a man, characterized by old age and carrying a brazier that presents clues that identify this receptacle as a censer decorated with fire symbols. We are therefore confronted with an old man linked to igneous concepts. In Late Postclassic and ethnographic data, fire entities are systematically related to old age or antiquity, and if Teotihuacan can be compared to these later cultures,24 we see that an old man, associated with the symbolic set relating to fire, 256

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can reasonably be considered as a fire god. Thus, unless it is very simply made and without meaningful details, the bodily appearance of the Old God allows us to support this identification—­what appears to be the body of a weak and aged man is certainly an incarnation of the fire god. But this relationship between age and fire leads us beyond this consideration. Indeed, this connection hides another meaning that is only suggested by archaeological contexts and clarified by Late Postclassic data—­the representation of the Old God may be an archetype for the power and authority of the city. Beyond his function as an igneous divinity obviously worshipped everywhere in Teotihuacan, it is probable that the image of the Old God was particularly worshiped by the governing elite as a model. This interpretation contradicts the view that sees the storm god (often called Tlaloc) as the only state god (Barba Luis et al. 2007, 61) (see Turner, chapter 6, this volume). The occurrence of the Old God in prominent archaeological contexts (such as the Pyramid of the Sun, the Ciudadela, the palatial complex, etc.) can be seen as presenting the fire god as a very powerful divinity and an archetype of political, religious, or civic leaders from the ruling class, thereby legitimating their power and position like the Mexica tlatoani would later do. All in all, we consider the Old God to be of wider symbolic import and occupying an opposing and complementary position in relation to the storm god of Teotihuacan. DISCUSSION

As another point of evidence that the concept of tonalli described a nonhuman double, the modern Nahua people from the Huauchinango region believe that the most powerful of all tonaltin (plural of tonalli) is that of fire (Chamoux 1989, 306). Therefore, this strong supernatural being, linked to one individual for all of his life, predisposed him to government activity (ibid.) and in all probability to the higher ranks of the Nahua community (ibid., 308). In parallel, individuals with strong tonalti (tonalchicahuac) are able to transform themselves into supernatural beings linked to their tonalti, and the fire tonalli can become a great ball of fire at night (ibid.). The description of this nahualli and the way it moves across the nocturnal sky (ibid., 307–­308) suggests that it is a comet or a shooting star. But according to Sahagún’s informers (Sahagún 1997b, folio 262v), Xiuhtecuhtli’s nahualli is the xiuhcoatl (“turquoise snake” or “fire snake”), a hybrid creature that is associated with other nighttime manifestations of light (meteors, comets, or shooting stars) (Taube 2000, 289). In the Historia de los mexicanos por sus pinturas (1988, 101–­102), it is said that T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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the god of fire created “fire grass snakes” which became comets. Thus, between ethnographic data on the fire tonalli and Prehispanic information about the nahualli of Xiuhtecuhtli, we can propose that the Mexica fire god was considered to be a governor due both to his xiuhcoatl and to his status as fire itself. Beyond the fact that this hypothesis would support our previous argument, it underlines the hereditary nature of the tonalli (Chamoux 1989, 309).25 A similar conception is shared by the Quiché people (López Austin 1984, I, 456). In fact, returning to the Nahua concept that governing fills people with fire, we learn that great lineal descendants were born “full of fire / llenos de fuego” (ibid.), a phrase that puts into relief this hereditary aspect of power and governance. We can therefore propose that the hierarchical organization of tonalti created “a legitimization of social hierarchies and of power” (Chamoux 1989, 310). So, we can suppose that the relationship to fire tonalli or divinity may have been essential for Postclassic elites to legitimize hereditary power as dominant over other populations and social classes. The relationship we have demonstrated between the Old God and the Teotihuacan elite leads us to ask—­was that concept present in the Classic period and was the Old God witness to a social system based on hereditary power? NOTES

1. In previous work (Billard 2015), we use this ontological approach to describe and analyze a corpus of archaeological objects. 2. In this chapter we focus only on the brasero-­effigy form of the Old God. Some researchers such as García Cook (1981) propose the zoomorphic brasero to be antecedent to the brasero-­effigy. If that is the case, we should ask whether these earlier forms were linked to the Old God or represent some other form of this entity. For the Formative period, however, we restrict our analysis to the better-­understood iconography of the brasero-­effigy. 3. For further discussion, see our analysis of the Formative corpus (Billard 2015, 469). 4. We want to note the possibility that a minor part of this Classic-­period corpus may be from the Epiclassic, as the distinction between this period and the Classic is not well defined. 5. This number will change with our future analyses and interpretations of the complete corpus of Old Gods. 6. According to our research (Billard 2015, 521–­522), the average level of fragmentation leaves three principal pieces per brasero, so we divided the group of 172 objects in three to find an average value. For the other group we found that there were four fragile points in the body of the Old God and we repeated the same calculation. 258

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7. Here, the use of the concept of iconoclasm might be considered inappropriate. That word is employed to characterize acts of violence against icons due to specific Christian doctrines developed in the Byzantine empire during the eighth and ninth centuries. Setting aside this very restrictive definition, we propose that we can use a wider interpretation of this term to describe any violent acts specifically directed towards icons or images. We consider that some of the violence carried out on images at Teotihuacan between the sixth and seventh centuries can be characterized as iconoclastic acts. 8. To go further on this specific topic we can direct the reader to our previous work (Billard 2013). 9. The form of government at Teotihuacan is debated, but we would like to direct the reader to the work of Headrick (2007) for the social organization of the city. 10. These groups are composed of numerous rooms organized around one or more patios, and may have been a residence for one or more families (see the example of the Oztoyahualco compound [Barba Luis et al. 2007, 62]). 11. Marks of cinnabar were found on one Old God representation analyzed by Julie Gazzola, and she proposes the use of this material during igneous rituals (Gazzola 2000, 293). 12. In our corpus (Billard 2015), we have registered one additional candle holder from Ranas (Querétaro). 13. León (1611) writes this as Huehuētzi. 14. The association between these two names can also be found in the Codex Chimalpopoca (Códices Chimalpopoca 1992a, 3). 15. In the Templo Mayor excavations, one brasero-­effigy was found that copies an earlier Teotihuacan example with additional iconographic changes, but most important, the censer portion is nonfunctional (see López Austin 1987 for more details). We may have discovered two brasero-­effigies in the Teotihuacan Ceramoteca that could be Late Postclassic objects. However, our analysis was not definitive; these artifacts seem to have been restricted to Teotihuacan and would be atypical representations of the Mexica fire god. 16. Graulich (1999) thinks that Xiuhtecuhtli is very closely related to the original couple Oxomoco and Cipactonal in Mexica mythology. 17. In the first lines of the Crónica Mexicayotl (Alvarado Tezozomoc 1975, 3), the author speaks of Tenochtitlan by “the blue water and the yellow water / en el agua azul, en el agua amarilla,” a diphrasism (a Nahuatl stylistic device) that can be understood as “in the center” (see Dehouve, chapter 11, this volume). 18. In a myth about the birth of fire, the Cora describe it as “an old man / un viejo” (Neurath and Gutiérrez 2003, 300), while the two Huichol versions of its origin say that he was “an old man . . . The elderly / un hombre viejo . . . El anciano” (ibid., 303) and “he was very old / era viejito” (ibid., 307). T he N ature of the O ld G od of T eotihuacan

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19. See, for example, Neurath and Gutiérrez (2003, 298–­306). 20. We note in particular that the Nahuas translated this idea by the formulation: “His heart is not yet as the others: he was deified” (López Austin 1997). 21. The tonalli is a very complex notion in Nahua thought that groups together many different senses and meanings. We can direct the reader to the work of López Austin (1984), Signorini and Lupo (1989), and Chamoux (1989) for the metaphysical aspect of this concept in contemporary Mexican communities. We recommend Kenrick Kruel (2012) for more on the temporal dimension of the tonalli. 22. For example, we can mention Otontecuhtli and Curicaueri, patron gods, respectively, of the Otomi (but also the Tepanec, Matlatzinca, and Mazahua) and of the Tarascans (a Mexican highland group contemporary with the Late Postclassic Mexica people). Both are considered fire gods and are clearly linked to the leading lineage (Corona Nuñez 1946; Espejel Carbajal 2008; Galinier 1997, 105; Jiménez Moreno 1974, 41; Monzón 2005). 23. He shares this function with Tezcatlipoca (López Luján and Olivier 2009, 44). 24. This is reminiscent of a long-­debated problem as to the linguistic identity of the population of Teotihuacan—­people from a Nahua tradition or an Otomi tradition. In both cases, our proposals are relevant as they both share this vision of an aged fire god. 25. Chamoux (1989, 309) specifies that this was not explicitly stated by Nahua people, but many texts seem to demonstrate the hereditary aspect of the tonalli. REFERENCES

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Torquemada, Fray Juan de. 1977. Monarquía Indiana, Vol. IV, ed. Miguel León-­ Portilla. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. Vaillant, George C. 1931. Excavations at Ticoman. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, volume 32, Part 2. New York: American Museum of Natural History. West, Robert C. 1964. “Surface Configuration and Associated Geology of Middle America.” In Handbook of Middle American Indians. Natural Environment and Early Cultures, volume 1, ed. Robert Wauchope, 33–­83. Austin: University of Texas Press. Williams, Eduardo. 1992. Las piedras sagradas. Escultura Prehispánica del Occidente de México. Zamora: El Colegio de Michoacan. von Winning, Hasso. 1969. Pre-­Columbian Art of Mexico and Central America. London: Thames and Hudson. von Winning, Hasso. 1987. La iconografía de Teotihuacán: los dioses y los signos, Volumes 1 and 2. Estudios y fuentes de arte en México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 47. México, DF: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Zingg, Robert M. 1998. La mitología de los huicholes. México, DF: Secretaría de Cultura de Jalisco/El Colegio de Michoacan/El Colegio de Jalisco.

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8 Epiclassic Figurines of Xochitécatl, Tlaxcala, Mexico Hypotheses on Their Social Lives and Their Ideological Relevance Juliette Testard and Mari Carmen Serra Puche

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c008

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IMAGES, MINIATURIZATION, AND ONTOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES: INTRODUCTORY COMMENTS

As stated by Faust and Halperin (2009, 3) in their book on Mesoamerican figurines, the scale of these artifacts is of great importance. While larger-scale objects allude to civic and religious activities and take a leading role, smaller objects such as figurines can be handled by people. They fit in the palm of a hand, can be hung, fixed, and easily deposited. Furthermore, the proposals of Angé and Pitrou (2016, 408–­409) are particularly pertinent as they highlight the relativity of scale and the process of interaction “between someone who is looking or manipulating and the object being viewed and handled.” In the present analysis, we explore certain aspects of interaction and manipulation of figurines from Xochitécatl. We first discuss the contexts in which they were buried, and then address other aspects of their social lives, considering both their typological and morphotechnical diversity as well as how they constitute striking evidence of socio-­ritual and ideological processes. Since the seventies, the Epiclassic figurines of Xochi­ técatl (figure 8.1) have been studied following an iconographic perspective (Spranz 1973, 1978), strongly related to the issues presented at that time by research into the Mixteca Puebla style (Hernández Sánchez 2005; Nicholson and Quiñones Keber 1994). Systematic excavations at Xochitécatl (Xochitécatl

Project INAH-­UNAM, 1992–­1994) located more than 350 figurines beneath the stairs of the Flowers Pyramid, and Serra Puche established a new thematic classification at that time. In recent work, we (Testard and Serra Puche 2011) have presented different aspects of another typology and have deepened the symbolic perspectives previously proposed by the Xochitécatl Project on the nature of the offerings and the iconography of these peculiar representations. Among the Aztec of the Postclassic period, the image or representation can be understood through the multidimensional Nahuatl concept of ixiptla, which alludes to the material incarnation (as a human, or in lithics, ceramics, or amaranth) of a human or nonhuman being (see Dehouve, chapter 11, this volume). The Maya term bahh suggest a similar concept (Clendinnen 1991, 249–­251; Houston et al. 2006 cited in Brittenham 2008, 268; Testard n.d.a, n.d.b). The status of artisans in these materials seems to reflect the same sentiment: the Nahua potter (zuquichiuqui) literally “teaches the mud to deceive,” which is to say that they give life to inanimate things (Portilla 1985, 227). These few examples support a shared analogical ontology (Descola 2010) across ancient Mesoamerica from the Classic and Postclassic periods, with implications for the analysis of images. Moreover, various scholars consider that life, creation, and artistic processes are strongly and metaphorically related in many societies (Gell 1998; Helms 1993; Pasztory 2005; Pitrou 2016), a perspective also shared in our own studies (Testard 2014b, 202–­207). As Lopiparo and Hendon (2009, 69) note, Mesoamerican figurines have been considered to be images of human beings, created to be buried, offered, or decapitated (Durán 1971, 269, 416). However, as these authors highlight, these proposals tend to focus on the “death” of the figurines and their occurrence in specific archaeological contexts. In our previous analysis (Testard and Serra Puche 2011, 246–­247), we proposed that the Xochitécatl figurines were the ixiptla of Postclassic divinities (Tlazolteotl or Xochiquetzal) buried or sacrificed during rituals to the hills. In this chapter, we explore the possible socio-­ritual uses and manipulation of these representations at times prior to their deposit. The social lives of objects (their biographies or trajectories), from production though exchange/distribution and consumption, have been a theme of great interest in anthropology and archaeology since the publication of Appadurai (1986) (see Angé and Pitrou 2016; Gell 1998; Overholtzer and Stoner 2011). In this essay, we explore aspects of the prior social life of Xochitécatl ceramic figurines through the variability in their forms and their mutual associations in archaeological contexts. In Mesoamerican archaeology and iconography, the methodology most often used is the direct historical approach (DHA). Such a study employs Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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ethnohistoric texts from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to analyze Prehispanic political, social, and ritual issues, with due consideration given to Kubler’s (1969, 1975) objections, which drew attention to disjunctions and renaissance phenomena that interfered with direct comparisons. In this chapter we use selected diachronic data, including later (Postclassic), earlier (Preclassic and Classic), and contemporary (Epiclassic and Late Classic) evidence to propose hypotheses about the functions and uses of the figurines at Xochitécatl. As a first step, we return to the depositional contexts to explore the final episodes of the figurines’ social life. Then we deepen our consideration of the identity of the beings represented, specifically discussing the age, status, and origins of the women depicted, as these elements convey considerable diversity among them. At the same time, the division of types by offering leads us to propose a new understanding of this diversity. We suggest that Postclassic and contemporary offerings provide clues to the semantic meaning of Xochitécatl’s diversity by applying the concept of discursive units. The different social roles represented in the sample allow us to interpret the sets, or multifigurine scenes, used in socio-­ritual contexts of initiation, before the figurines were sacrificed and deposited beneath the Flowers Pyramid stairs. Finally, the morphotechnical differences in the sample offer perspectives on performative and manipulation processes. DEPOSITIONAL CONTEXTS: RITUAL PERSPECTIVES ON XOCHITÉCATL’S FIGURINES OF “DEATH”

During the Epiclassic, Xochitécatl formed a common settlement with the Gran Basamento of Cacaxtla (figure 8.1) in which the famous murals were discovered. These are the Battle Scene (substructure of Building B), the Bird and Jaguar pair (Building A), the Venus Temple pair, the Old Merchant, and the Glyphic Bench and the Animals Mural of the Red Temple (Brittenham 2008; Foncerrada de  Molina 1993; Testard 2014b, 445–­513; Uriarte Castañeda and Salazar Gil 2013). The Flowers Pyramid was built during the Formative period (between 600 bc and ad 100) but reused during the Epiclassic (ad 600–­900). At that time, its orientation was modified so as to align with Building A of Cacaxtla and the Malinche volcano (Serra Puche 2000, 15–­16), known in the past as Matlacueye “the one with the blue skirt” (Serra Puche et al. 2004, 218). Archaeoastronomy provides essential information on the celebrations that may have taken place in the ceremonial center during Prehispanic times. Every September 29, the sun is aligned with the top of the volcano and the Flowers 268

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Figure 8.1. Selected Mesoamerican sites mentioned in the text. Credit: Map drawn by Juliette Testard.

Pyramid. In the Mexica tonalamatl or ritual calendar, this date corresponds to the beginning of the thirteenth month, Tepeilhuitl, literally the “Feast of the Hills,” during which figurines were manipulated and five ixiptla were sacrificed to the hills or to the deities related to them (Broda 1971, 300 et seq.; Sahagún 2001, II, 130; Serra Puche et al. 2001, 82). In the description of the feast reported by Durán, the goddess Xochiquetzal was among these deities. Seven offerings were placed underneath the steps of the Flowers Pyramid between ad 632 and 774 (Serra Puche and Durand 1998, 21; Serra Puche, Carmen, and Lazcano 1997, 92). The offerings were deposited in earthen fill and piled one on top of the other (Serra Puche 1998, 104; Serra Puche et al. 2001, 73, 77). The deposits contained figurines, ritual ceramics (censers, “killed” ceramics, and miniatures), prismatic blades, and representations of several divinities. The last category include the storm god, proto-­Ehecatl, the so-­ called Fat God, and the Old God (table 8.1). The figurines total 458 individuals, with 367 being anthropomorphic in form, including complete pieces and fragments. Offerings 2, 3, and 5 have the greatest number of pieces. The occurrence of fragments (whose proportion of the total sample is unknown) can be explained by their deposition in the stairway fill, as the Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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T able 8.1. Synthetic table of content of the offerings at the Flowers Pyramid. The amounts include complete pieces and fragments (compiled after Serra Puche and Beutelspacher 1996). Offering number

Coordinates

2

1

N5E13

Context

Badly damaged area. Possible collapse

Layer

Depth

Number of objects Artifacts

II

80 cm

41

N6E10

I

220 cm

97

3

N5E15

II

80 cm

140

4

N5E15

Infantile individual

II

150 cm

23

5

N5E15

II

80–­100 125 cm

6

N5E15

Beneath stucco floor, with an infantile individual, atop an earthen bench.

II

80–­100 10 cm

7

N5E15

II

120 cm

22

Zoomorphic representations: 2 Divinity representations: 2 (Proto-­Ehecatl and Storm God) Other figurines: 33 Ceramic vessels: 4 Figurines: 95 Zoomorphic representations: 2

Zoomorphic representation: 1 Divinity representations: 1 (Fat God) Other figurines: 85 Miniature ceramic vessels: 7 Figurines: 20 Ceramic vessels: 3

Divinity representations: 1, Old God Other Figurines: 110 Ceramic vessels: 6 Miniature ceramic vessels: 7 Prismatic blade: 1 Figurines: 3 Ceramic vessels: 5 Prismatic blades: 2 Figurines: 19 Ceramic vessel: 1 Prismatic blade: 1 Projectile point: 1

nature of the deposit may have influenced their preservation. But we should also take into account that figurines were intentionally broken or “sacrificed,” as reported throughout Mesoamerican history. The act of burying complete pieces may be considered indicative of a desire for continuity and memory, 270

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while burying fractured items, whether broken or burnt, was considered a characteristic of a ritual process of termination, showing symbolic or literal violence (Lopiparo and Hendon 2009, 66). “Killed ceramics” (cerámicas matadas) are reported from several Xochitécatl offerings and are frequently found in contexts of termination rituals (Stross 1998). In addition, two of the offerings (4 and 5) include infants, likely to have been sacrificed as indicated by cut marks also reported in other funerary contexts of the pyramid (Burials 7, 10, and 20: Serra Puche and Lazcano 2002) and alluding to the practice of dismemberment. In the Aztec world, child sacrifices are closely related to cults to the hills and to rain. According to Broda (1971, 268–­269, 272–­276), this type of sacrifice would be repeated during the year until people felt that enough water had fallen. WOMEN OF XOCHITÉCATL: AGE, SOCIO-­R ITUAL STATUS, AND CULTURAL IDENTIT Y

Female figurines are very frequent in Mesoamerica (Faust and Halperin 2009, 8). Follensbee’s study (2009, 110) of gender in Olmec iconography illustrates an important aspect. Most of the large representations are associated with males, while stone figurines show mostly female representations or are associated with this gender. Follensbee notes that other tendencies can be identified for later periods (especially Late Classic or Postclassic). Maya monumental sculpture includes an important percentage of female representations in sites such as Palenque (10%) or Yaxchilan (21%). On the other hand, the Mixtec codices also represent an important percentage of female representations (e.g., 22% in the Nuttall Codex). It seems that there is a major shift towards female imagery in the Epiclassic (Late Classic in the Maya area) (Testard 2014b, 901–­921). While in the famous figurine corpus studied by Séjourné (1966) at Classic p ­ eriod Teotihuacan, only 310 feminine images out of 22,467 were reported from the Yayahuala and Tetitla sectors (Séjourné 1966, 212, 228), the great majority of Epiclassic figurines at Xochitécatl are identified as female or clearly related to maternity. Several elements point to a recurring gendered ideology in the civic-­ ceremonial contexts at the site. Artifacts linked with female domestic activities in the Postclassic period have been located in the same building; 500 malacates, or spindle whorls, were found in the same stratigraphic level as the offerings, although not directly associated with them, and fragments of Formative metates (grinding stones) had been reused in the façade (Serra Puche 1998, 104, 118). Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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Figure 8.2. Different types of quechquemitl among Xochitécatl’s figurines: (I) short peaked, (II) elaborated set, (III) quadrangular, (IV) rounded, (V) triangular. Credit: adapted by Testard from images courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

As for the figurines themselves, the recurrent presence of quechquemitl allows their identification as female beings—­54 percent of the figurines shown wear this clothing (figure 8.2).1 The Nahuatl term quechquemitl comes from quechtli, nape of the neck, and quemi, which means “to put on a covering or a cape.” It refers to an exclusively feminine piece of clothing, made up of two rectangles of cloth, assembled in such a way that they form a V with the neck. Another characteristic of the Xochitécatl figurines is their clear allusion to maternity. Two types are related to this status: women carrying child(ren) (11% of the sample) (figure 8.3) and pregnant women (figure 8.4). In Xochitécatl, pregnant women are not only shown with protruding bellies (4 examples) but also with “host figurines” (more than 3% of the sample) (figure 8.5). Host figurines were found in the Teotihuacan sample (Séjourné 1966), but date back to the Formative period (Tate 2012, 38, 113). Molded with an open space in the chest, they contain little figurines, mostly rigid, that can allude to infants or adults (Bonnafoux et al. 2011). In addition, those figurines with their hands on the belly (5% of the sample) may also allude to pregnancy. Taking into account the total number of types that refer to maternity, we arrive at 21 percent, which is a considerable quantity if we remember that 17 percent of the total sample is fragmentary (primarily heads). In our prior analysis, (Testard and Serra Puche 2011) we have developed a typology using a sample of 246 pieces (tables 8.2 and 8.3). It is composed of 272

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Figure 8.3. Woman with child, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­547420, MNA, Toltec Room. Photography: Testard; courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

Figure 8.4. Pregnant woman, Offering 3, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH 10-­546000, Xochitécatl Museum Site. Photography: Testard; courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

Figure 8.5. Pregnant woman, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­0546022, MNA, Toltec Room. Photography: Testard; courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

T able 8.2. Typology of Xochitécatl figurines (Testard and Serra Puche 2011, 220–­221). Group

A Headband

B Circle headdress

Type

A1

D Blood flower headdress

Flat Molded / Headband

Subtype

Alone

With child

n

13

2

A2

Modeled and molded / Headband

A3

Modeled and molded / Headband TB3c

Standing

A4

Modeled / Headband TB2

Alone

5

A5

Modeled / Headband

Alone

10

B1

Flat Molded / Headdress TC1d

B3

Modeled and molded host / Headdress TC1d

B2

B4

C Flower headdress

Morphotechnical characteristics

Sitting

With child With child

Flat Molded / Headdress with circles

Modeled and molded rattle / Headdress TC1d

B5

Modeled and molded / Headdress with circles

C1

Flat Molded / Flower headdress

D1

Flat Molded / Blood flower headdress

B6

C2

D2

D3

Modeled / Headdress with circles

Modeled and molded / Flower headdress

Modeled and molded / Blood flower headdress

Modeled / Blood flower headdress

6

30

3 2

3

20

33 9

10

3

6

41 7

9

8

1

E Feather Headdress

E1

Flat Molded / Feather headdress

F Pleated headdress

F1

Flat Molded / Pleated headdress

F3

Modeled / Pleated headdress

1

Modeled

4

I1

Modeled / Anthropomorphic headdress

2

J1

Others

7

G Exposed breasts H Zoomorphic

I Anthropomorphic J Others

Total

E2 F2

Modeled / Feather headdress

Modeled and molded / Pleated headdress

G1

Flat Molded

H1

Modeled / Zoomorphic headdress

G2

2

4

1

1

1

2

246

T able 8.3. List of headdresses of Xochitécatl figurines (Testard and Serra Puche 2011, 222–­231). Group

A Headband

Type

Code

Fitted with stripes with V on forehead

TB1b

Fitted with stripes

TB1a

Hemispherical with striped band

TB2

Band

Band with stripes Net band

B Flower headdress

1 flower over tri-­tipped motif band and upper feather headdress

19

TB4

1

7 1 1

1 flower between 2 ollin and lateral crowns

TF1b

1

1 flower 2 triple bands finished on the sides

TF1d

14

TF3c

10

TF3e

2

TF1c

3 flowers linear composition, trapezoidal form

TF3b

3 flowers linear composition, circles on sides 3 flowers triangular composition

TF3d

3 flowers triangular composition and 2 on the sides 3 flowers alternated with three bands

D Circle headdress

7

TB3c

TF1a

1 flower with 3 petals framed with 2 circles

C Blood flower headdress

3

17

TB3d

Theater striped band

6

TB3a

TB3b

White and red striped band

N

TF3f

Flowers linear composition over rolled band

TF4

1 Blood flower and knots, lateral crowns

TFS1a

1 Blood flower and knots, lateral crowns, double-­feather headdress

TFS1b

1 Blood flower on feather headdress crowned on the sides

TFS1c

1

2

8

1

1

6

2 1

2 Blood flowers, crosses in the center, and double lateral feathers headdresses

TFS2

2

3 Blood flowers and lateral crowns 3 Blood flowers and sprigs

TFS3a

5

Central circle framed by two lines on double band

TFS3b TC1a

Central circle and vertical strips

Central circle, two triple bands crowned on sides

TC1b

Central circle on diagonally striped band, crowns on sides and plume of feathers

TC1c

TC1d

3

1

2

3

37

continued on next page

T able 8.3­— continued Group

Type

D 3 circles crossed alternating with 4 beads between 2 rolled bands Circle headdress 3 circles tied with double thread (continued) Circles on double striped band

1

TC3d

1

TC4b

8

Circles jewelry type

TC4d

5

Circles and wavy band, double feathers headdress

TC4g

1

Feather headdress with center crown

TP1a

4

TP1c

1

Circles on red and white diagonal lines

Concentric circles in “zig-­zag” design on double band

F Pleated headdress

H Zoomorphic headdress

I Anthropomorphic headdress

N

TC3c

Superimposed circles on double band

E Feather headdress

Code

Theater with circles

Feather headdress with crowns on sides

Feather headdress with crowns on sides, rolled double band and beads

TC4a TC4c

TC4e

TC5b TP1b

1

2

2

3

1

Feather headdress with crowns on sides, ollin glyph with three inferior drops

TP1d

1

Central crown on double band

TPl1a

TPl1b

2

Jaguar with serpents

TZ1 TZ2

1

1

Anthropomorphic with goggle eyes

TA1a

1

Central crown

Jaguar butterfly

Anthropomorphic theater with goggle eyes

Total

TA1b

1

1

246

11 groups and 26 types based on headdress morphology. A similar idea has been proposed by Langley (1992, 262–­263), who has underlined the association between groups of signs and headdresses at Teotihuacan. This author suggested that the signs in headdresses conveyed essential information about rank, function, or name, and that they can therefore be interpreted as emblems. Headdresses are thus pertinent diagnostic elements to classify figurines. 276

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Figure 8.6. Articulated figurine, Offering 3, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­545972, Xochitécatl Museum Site. Courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

In our sample, the most frequent types are A3, B2, and C1, or headband TB3C, circle headdress, and flower headdress figurines, respectively, with flat and molded techniques predominating. All figurines of the studied sample correspond to representations of women. However, the typology indicates that they are very diverse, from both morphotechnical and symbolic points of view. From a morphotechnical point of view, molded techniques predominate and flat molded figurines are the most common. However, there are also solid figurines (modeled or molded) and others include mixed techniques, such as modeled and molded. Among these, we find host figurines, rattles, and articulated figurines (figures 8.5, 8.6, and 8.18). In the nineties, Serra Puche (1998, 105–­116; Serra Puche and Durand 1998; Serra Puche et al. 2004) established a thematic classification based on different stages of the lifecycle and several social statuses (see also Cyphers 1993 for similar features in Formative Morelos). This classification includes pregnant women, mothers or women carrying children, old women, female leaders, female orators, richly ornamented women, articulated figurines, and rattles (figure 8.7). This classification clarifies that the human body (and its Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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Figure 8.7. Life cycle of Xochitécatl women. Credit: from Serra Puche (1998, 120), drawing by T. L. González

representations) constitutes a significant metaphor for the understanding of life cycles and the process of transformation in general, as noted by Brumfiel and Overholtzer (2009, 316). Different ages and statuses may also be revealed by the study of hairstyles. In Postclassic Mexica society, hairstyles were distinctive to different stages of female life; among these, bangs are particularly diagnostic. Looking at the Xochitécatl sample, three-­quarters of figurines have bangs. In Postclassic times, the wearing of bangs seems to correspond to single women or virgins due to the fact that “after marriage they would stop cutting the hair that covered their foreheads.” After the first child, women had elaborately styled hair intertwined with cotton yarn, and finishing with two projections—­one on each side of the forehead (cornezuelos). This hairstyle is also related to high social status. On the other hand, Sahagún says that single Otomí women grew their hair long, but would cut it over the forehead (Pihjo 1973, 219, 226–­227, 229). In the corpus, Serra Puche (1998) had already recognized various examples of elderly women (figure 8.8). Follensbee’s (2009, 111) discussion of Olmec 278

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Figure 8.8. Old woman, Offering 3, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­546003, Xochitécatl Museum Site. Courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

iconography teaches us that high status was not exclusive to a particular age, contrary to what was previously thought—­young and elderly women could both access high social rank, whether political or religious. Furthermore, recent research by Peperstraete (2016) shows that women and especially old women (cihuacuacuilli) were among the ritual specialists in Mexica society. Other iconographic evidence includes cultural markers, especially garments that can be understood when compared with other Postclassic data. The headdress band, which represents 27 percent of the Xochitécatl sample, appears to be attire distinctive to the Tlaxcaltecas, as shown by Nicholson (1967). Note that this percentage may be revised as it is currently applied solely to the simple headband without any kind of ornament. Some of the circle or flower headdresses could be considered as headbands too. According to Nicholson, the red-­and-­white twisted headband called aztatelli in Nahuatl is frequently found in the codices of Tlaxcala, and can be considered typical of this region. It also appears in the Zouche Nuttall Codex—­in this case the characters carrying it were interpreted “as Tlaxcaltecas that were part of the south region Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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of Puebla, closely connected to the Mixtecs” (Nicholson 1967, 79). This scholar attributed an antiquity to the headdress that dates back to the Epiclassic period. It includes feathers in the occipital part. Significantly, a variant of this specific headdress appears in the Battle Scene of Cacaxtla (among the winning jaguar characters). It is flat and untwisted with feathers fixed in a frontal disc. The flat variant seems to be earlier than the twisted one registered by Nicholson, since the only archaeological sample that the author was able to review from that period was flat (Nicholson 1967, 81), just as was carried by the figurines in our sample. It also seems to function as an ideogram for tecuhtli or “lord” in the Lienzo de Tlaxcala (Nicholson 1967, 82). On the other hand, an important proportion of belts worn by the figurines shows a net motif (18%). The net motif shows similarities to the petate or “mat” motif, or its Maya equivalent “pu” (Helmke and Nielsen 2011, 11–­12), and with the so-­called serpent-­skin motif. The staggered fretwork (grecas) or xicalcoliuhqui are also related to the serpent skin and originated in Teotihuacan ceramics with multiple variations. This pan-­Mesoamerican motif becomes more common in the Early Postclassic period in Mixteca-­Puebla ceramics and is often associated with the earth deities (in particular Cipactli), hill deities, and by conceptual extension to water divinities. It is frequently seen on Aztec ceramics and it abounds in the pictorial codices (Mondragón Vázquez 2007). In the matrícula de tributos, cotton blankets can be seen with this serpent-­ skin design and seem to indicate that these luxurious blankets are reserved to rulers (Mondragón Vázquez 2007, 109–­110). At the same time, the petate glyph also makes reference to political power and accession. If we infer that garments such as the quechquemitl, or skirt and belt worn by the Xochitécatl figurines are made of cotton (a prestige good in Mesoamerica [Smith 2003]), the staggered-­fretwork motif could also be interpreted as indicative of the high status of these women (figure 8.9). In turn, the triangular quechquemitl is represented in the highest proportion among the figurines (29%), and in considerable variety (figure 8.2). In the Aztec period, it appears to function as a social indicator and it may be that the triangle facing down was used as a glyph to designate (in various combinations) the name of women in the codices (Anawalt 1981, 129). As further evidence of the quechquemitl as an indicator of high rank, three figurines in the sample, one of them wearing a triangular quechquemitl, are sitting on palanquins (figure 8.10). Turning to corporal modifications, the B4 (T-­shaped) dental mutilation type (similar to the ik Maya glyph, see below) is clearly visible among the figurines of the sample. Tiesler Blos (2001, 79) suggests that “the Ik sign depicted 280

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Figure 8.9. “Skin serpent” and xicalcoliuhqui motifs on the lower edge of the skirt of a figurine, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

on Prehispanic dentition appears as support and expression of the dynastic government cult.” From a typochronological point of view, a majority of the sample shows important continuities with late phases of the Teotihuacan tradition (see Séjourné 1966, Group IV, figures 30, 33, 40, 42), with contemporary figurines from Tula Chico and La Mesa (see Mastache and Cobean 1989, 62–­63), and with “Coyotlatelco” examples reported by Gaxiola González (2006, figure 3). But an important proportion of the sample also points to an exogenous style, in connection with south-­central Veracruz and Campeche (figure 8.11). Interestingly, Lesure (2005, 250) and Blomster (2009, 142–­143) have emphasized that different figurine types or styles appearing in a closed context can be a way to express otherness (social, cultural, or ritual). So the reference to exogenous inspiration in our sample can be interpreted in that sense as well. Among the figurines of type A3 a very peculiar posture is found, which consists of the hands raised with palms facing to the front (figure 8.12). This posture occurs among standing figurines as well as sitting ones, and represents more than 8 percent of the sample. It is particularly prevalent among the smiling figurines of Remojadas and Mixtequilla dating to the Classic and Late Classic periods, respectively (ad 100–­300 and ad 600–­900), the Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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Figure 8.10. Enthroned figurine with quechquemitl, Offering 3, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH 10-­546129, Xochitécatl Museum Site. Photography: Testard; Courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

Late Classic being the period of apogee for their use (Medellin Zeñil 1971, 65; Reyes Parroquín, 2014, 136–­138) (figure 8.1). This posture is also characteristic of the Late Classic Campeche Groups A and D (Corson 1976, 108–­109, 173). In the Occidente too, this pose occurs among Ameca-­Etzatlán and other figures (see Beekman, chapter 2, this volume). Moreover, the representation of dental mutilation is also a characteristic feature of the smiling figurines of Central Veracruz and the Maya area. If such dental mutilation is practiced on both central incisors, as previously noted for the figurines before us, it can be identified with the Maya Ik glyph, which also refers to the solar god Kinich Ahau, and to God G or Chaak (Tiesler Blos 2001, 79). Furthermore, differing attire can also emphasize membership in various cultural groups (figure 8.2). The circular quechquemitl constitutes 12 percent of the sample, and the quechquemitl “carrying tips on the sides” belongs to this group. This manner of wearing the garment can be seen on page 7 of the Mixtec Zouche-­Nuttall Codex. According to Anawalt (1981, 129, 311), the circular and short quechquemitl (our types IVc and IVf ) is characteristic of the Borgia Group. Currently, the garment is used among the Mazahua of Iztlahuaca and San Felipe del Progreso in Mexico State. 282

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Figure 8.11. “Campeche A” figurine, Offering 6, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH 10-­545962, Xochitécatl Museum Site. Photography: Testard; Courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

Figure 8.12. Characteristic gesture of Rio Blanco Papaloapan figurines, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­546018, MNA, Toltec Room. Photography: Testard; Courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­ UNAM.

From an anthropological perspective, the Other can designate an exogenous entity, not only in a geographical sense but also to suggest another level of perception and membership in a nonhuman sphere (Helms 1988). As underscored by Lopiparo and Hendon (2009, 69), Mesoamerican figurines occupy an ambivalent place as “humans–­nonhumans.” As noted in the introduction, some of the figurines of our sample were identified as nonhumans related to two Postclassic deities. Spranz (1973, 223; 1978) had previously identified figurines related to Tlazolteotl and Xochiquetzal. Deepening this first general analysis, we established a relationship between the figurines of Xochitécatl and Tlazolteotl, especially by way of the headdress that we have called “headdress of central circle over a diagonal striped band, crowns on sides and plume of feathers” (TC1d) (figure 8.13). Spranz related it to the goddess because it is designed with curved lines, a normative Postclassic representation of white cotton, which is one of the iconographic characteristics of Tlazolteotl (Sullivan 1977, 8). Other evidence seems to converge upon the same identification. The quechquemitl appears to have been a ritual garment, as it was part of the regalia of Aztec female deities (Anawalt 1981, 35; 1982, 41). The garment appears in certain figurines of the Veracruz coast between ad 150 and 300 (Anawalt 1982, 48) and also in the sculptures of the Xolalpan phase at Teotihuacan (figure 8.1). According to Anawalt (1982, 47), the quechquemitl originated in the Gulf region. It is strongly related to Tlazolteotl and Xochiquetzal and, in a more general way, with the divinities that belong to the Teteoinnan or “Mother Earth complex.” Likewise, the ixcuatecpilli hairstyle worn by Tlazolteotl includes bangs (Pihjo 1973, 226–­227) and is very close to the hairstyle mentioned previously and worn by the majority of Xochitécatl figurines. As in the case of Tlazolteotl, Spranz (1973, 1978) first established the relationship between Xochiquetzal and some of the figurines of Xochitécatl by the frequency of flowers in the headdress of figurines. Xochi-­(“flower”) is the root of the name of the divinity that presided over the sexual lives of Mexica women. In several instances, as in the Florentine Codex, the goddess appears with a bouquet in her hands. Note that some Postclassic figurines identified with Xochiquetzal (wearing the double-­feathers headdress) carry infants (Klein and Lona 2009, 352), as is the case in a high percentage of Xochitécatl figurines with the flower headdress. Furthermore, 15 percent of the figurines in our sample have a long lateral tuft of hair, which appears to be a representation of loose hair—­this style is worn by more than half of those women carrying a child, or type B1. This hairstyle may refer to the goddesses Xochiquetzal and Xilonen, who in some cases wore it in this manner, but it also has a symbolic meaning linked to the conceptual similarity to the long hair of mature corn (Pihjo 1973, 205–­207). 284

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Figure 8.13. Xochitécatl figurine headdress in relationship with Tlazoltéotl. Credit: adapted by Testard from Serra Puche (1998, 116).

As suggested by their association with infants, their gestational condition, their physiological aspects, their hairstyles, garments, and cultural body modifications, the Xochitécatl female figurines seem then to correspond to women of different ages and social statuses. Furthermore, while a majority are related to local traditions (headband, Flat Molded type), a portion is explicitly linked with distant cultural areas (arm-­raised gesture, B4 dental mutilation, Campeche figurine type). In turn, some figurines were even connected with a distant level of perception, embodying nonhuman beings, as “mother earth” deities. MINIATURIZATION AND MANIPULATION PRACTICES AMONG THE FIGURINES OF XOCHITÉCATL: DIVERSIT Y, ARRANGEMENT, AND SOCIO-­R ITUAL USES

The diversity of Xochitécatl figurines, from morphotechnical, symbolic, or stylistic perspectives, also seems relevant, as other analyses of the rituals of the Mexica and their contemporaries have concluded that the symbols found on offerings operate like basic units in a writing system (Dehouve 2007; López Lujan 1993, 291). Based on these considerations, we have found it necessary to review the organization of the offerings from the Flowers Pyramid (Testard and Serra Puche 2011, 245). We assume that all the offerings (see table 8.1) result from a single ritual event (although the deposition was sequential) that had taken part between ad 632 and 774. The distribution of figurine types by offering could then suggest a similar semantic relationship in which each type (namely each headdress symbol, see above) plays a different role and complements the others. Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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As shown in figure 8.14, the outstanding types in Offerings 1, 2, 3, and 4 differ.2 In the first deposit, it is that related to the headband (type A3); in the second, the circle headdress (type B2); for the third, the flower headdress (C1); and for the fourth, it is the blood-­flower headdress (D2). Each offering seems then to relate specifically to one of these symbols. Strikingly, despite the fact that the two most abundant offerings (Offerings 3 and 5) share the same outstanding type C1, they are otherwise composed of different figurine groups A, B, C, D, E, F, H, I, J. This analysis of the type distribution allows us to suggest a possible significance to the co-­presence of different types in each of the offerings. If we look at diachronic data on the organization of offerings, those of the Teotihuacan Moon Pyramid (Sugiyama and López Luján 2006) and those of Tenochtitlan’s Templo Mayor (López Luján 1993) seem to reflect a similar organization in regards to the materialization of different levels of the cosmos through a diversity of objects (Nagao 1985). Beyond contemporary contexts, Dehouve (2007) has claimed that both ancient and modern offerings presents normalized contexts of miniaturization, with similar organization and spatial structure. The analysis by López Luján (1993, 262, 291) at the Templo Mayor led him to consider that each offering constituted “a discursive unit.” Relying on this diachronic evidence and interpretative framework, we can speculate as to the symbolic meaning of each object from the Xochitécatl offerings. The pottery, for example, may allude to the underworld by its association with water, just like some zoomorphic representations (frogs, serpents, canines). Representations of divinities would index a higher cosmic level (López Austin 1980, 61), along with some other animals such as birds. Lithic material would be associated with the intermediate level, like the figurines and the infants (Offerings 4 and 5; see table 8.1). As for the great diversity of types by offering, another framework can be considered. Lévi-­Strauss (1962, 203) had reported a mnemonic function to figurines among the Senoufo of Burkina Faso during initiation rites. Returning to Prehispanic Mesoamerica, a recent study of Late Classic (ad 600–­900) Maya figurines expresses the same idea. In this essay, McVicker (2012, 222, 229–­230) proposes that Jaina figurines (figure 8.1) from funeral contexts had been part of complex scenes associated with Maya courtly life. The author suggests that they were used as visual guides to read important mythical narratives and memorize social roles in civic-­religious feasts and celebrations. These scenes are made up of different categories, mainly (1) dignitaries and royals, some enthroned, others standing, (2) courtly people, (3) warriors, (4) ballplayers, (5) religious individuals and scribes, (6) low-­ranking individuals, (7) those 286

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Figure 8.14. Distribution of figurine type by offering (Flowers Pyramid, Xochitécatl).

of non-­courtly status, (8) female domestic roles, (9) and supernaturals. In order to test the relevance of the comparison, we have examined whether similar social groups can be found in the Xochitécatl sample. Dignitaries and Royals, Some Enthroned

Various forms of evidence have been brought together and point to the high status of some Xochitécatl figurines (namely their garments, hairstyle, and dental modification). More explicitly, as mentioned earlier, three of the figurines of our sample are sitting on palanquins. Note that those were part of Offering 3, one of the largest along with Offering 5. Who were these enthroned people? During the Tepeilhuitl celebration, which we discussed at the beginning of this essay, and according to Broda (1971, 303), the sacrifice of individuals was preceded by a solemn procession (paseo de literas) during which various richly dressed women carried the gods’ representations on litters. Can the three figurines on palanquins correspond to the representation of these types of ritual practices?

Warriors

Representation of female warriors has been mentioned in our prior work (Testard and Serra Puche 2011, 241–­243). These women were identified because of the “bleeding flower” glyphs on their headdresses (TFS1a, TFS1b, TFS1c, Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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TFS2, TFS3a, TFS3b), making up 8 percent of the total sample and representing the fourth-­most frequent type (figure 8.14). At this time, it seems to us that the bleeding flower glyph (a flower with a trilobed glyph underneath) is related to the bleeding-­heart glyph known at Teotihuacan, Cacaxtla, and Xochicalco. Recently, Helmke and Nielsen (2011, 25–­28) proposed, following an earlier idea developed by Hirth (1989, 2000), that the bleeding-­heart glyph could allude to a title for warriors specialized in the taking of captives. In the Xochitécatl sample, group D bring together three types (D1, D2, and D3) and corresponds to those figurines with the blood-­flower headdress (n = 18) (figure 8.15). Considering the recent interpretation of the bleeding-­heart glyph in Cacaxtla as a functioning glyph, could Type D figurines represent a specific social group of female warriors? This hypothesis seems especially likely since, in Postclassic times, the flower was associated with sacrificial war: xochiyaoyotl was a specific form of war dedicated to taking captives and xochimiquiztli was the term for death that occurred on the battlefield (Hassig 1988, 10). Besides this group, recall that one of the figurines that we discussed previously represents a woman sitting on a palanquin, carrying a shield in her left hand, a configuration that more explicitly alludes to her possible association with warfare. The female-­warrior theme has previously been discussed for Cacaxtla and among the Late Classic Maya and Postclassic Mixtecs (McCafferty and McCafferty 1994, 2007). In the Mexica world, femininity cannot be separated from war themes because, according to ethnohistoric sources, women tended to participate in them under seemingly opposing guises. Coyolxauhqui corresponds to what Klein calls the “enemy woman” (Klein 1994, 237). On the other hand, and in a belief system defined by duality and ambiguity, the “good woman” also exists. In Mexica ceremonies, ritual battles took place in honor of Tlazolteotl, in which women would fight with brooms to rid political and moral impurities from society. Another female divinity linked to war is Chantico, particularly through her relationship with Xiuhtecuhtli and the atl tlachinolli or concept of sacred warfare (Quiñones Keber 2005, 37). Other Roles Implicated in Rituals?

Within our type A3, 8 percent were also labeled as female orators (mujeres oradoras) because of their upraised arms: we have already discussed their association with the smiling figurines of south-­central Veracruz. The Aztec divinities related to dance, such as Xochipilli (whose feminine counterpart is Xochiquetzal), corn goddesses Chicomecoatl and Xilonen, and the mother goddess Toci adopt similar postures with raised arms (Heyden 1971, 288

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Figure 8.15. Headdresses showing the “bleeding flower” glyph. Credit: from Testard and Serra Puche (2011, figs. 19–­21).

37; McCafferty and McCafferty 1999; Medellin Zeñil 1971, 69) (figure 8.12). Likewise, a figurine (Offering 5) represents a huehue or drum player of indeterminable gender (figure 8.16). Apart from the groups associated with maternity (related to the female domestic role), the other social groups pointed out by McVicker could not be identified among the Xochitécatl examples. Differences in sociocultural structures between Jaina (more broadly, the Maya societies of the Late Classic) and the Epiclassic societies of the Mexican high plateau could explain these lacunae, but they also may also be clarified by comments made by Marcus (Marcus 2009, 27–­28), according to whom the study of multifigurine scenes has to take into account several cautionary statements. Some figurines or the garments from ceramic figurines may have been manufactured using perishable materials. These surely presented basic indicators for the analysis of gender, status, trade, and so on. From a performative point of view, we should note that different sizes (those in our sample range of 5–­25 cm) and morphotechnical types may be indicators of different forms of agency ( Joyce 2009, 413). In her study of Honduran figurines, Joyce (2009, 213) proposes that solid figurines could be worn on the clothing of ritual participants and were only visible to people closer to them, while larger ones (hollow and occasionally with rattles) would have been in Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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Figure 8.16. Huehue drummer, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­545964, Xochitécatl Site Museum. Photography: Testard; Courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

turn visible to the entire audience. Significantly, a very high percentage of the flat molded and solid figurines (11–­16 cm in height) in our sample have two perforations in the middle and very detailed designs (ornaments, dresses, body painting, etc.) (figure 8.17), while the larger (22–­25 cm) hollow and rattle figurines (figure 8.18) show fewer details. Therefore, Joyce’s inferences could be considered as viable alternatives to interpret the functions of the Xochitécatl figurines during another stage of their social lives. The flat molded examples could have been displayed on religious actors’ clothing while the larger representations (types A3, B3, and B4) could have been manipulated for a larger audience or used to play music (see also Beekman, chapter 2, this volume). Finally, we would like to consider another possible function, even if it is difficult to support. Durán (1971, 269) reports that “clay dolls” (muñecas de 290

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Figure 8.17. Figurine showing perforations, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­547438, CATED UNAM, courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

Figure 8.18. Rattle figurine, Offering 5, Flowers Pyramid. Credit: n° INAH: 10-­ 547396, CATED UNAM, courtesy of Xochitécatl Project INAH-­UNAM.

tierra) were some of the artifacts offered to the rivers and water currents by those women who had just given birth. According to Ruiz de Alarcón (1984, 213), the goddess of the waters was called Matlalcueyeqye (sic) or Chalchihuitlicue and we know that the Malinche volcano embodied this goddess (Broda 1971, 260). Then, given that the Flowers Pyramid replicated the volcano (see above), some figurines (especially those alluding to maternity) may have been offered to the volcano as a votive offering to give thanks for their pregnancy and childbirth. SOME CONCLUDING THOUGHTS ON THE BIOGRAPHIES OF EPICLASSIC FIGURINES AT XOCHITÉCATL

Within the broad frame of feminine representation, the seven offerings of figurines from the Flowers Pyramid convey striking diversity from Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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iconographic and morphotechnical points of view, but also from a stylistic perspective (including High Plateau and Gulf styles). The Epiclassic period seems to include a major shift in the social role and position of women. Other iconographic evidence from Cacaxtla (McCafferty and McCafferty 1994) and Xochicalco shows that the feminine sphere occupied a new sector of society by moving from fertility metaphors (characteristic of Formative figurines and the Classic Great Goddess) to representations as leaders, warriors, and ritual specialists (Testard 2014b). In our recent investigations, we suggested that these feminine images could refer equally to biological sex or to constructed gender, as a metaphor for dual power (tlatoani–­cihuacoatl at Tenochtitlan; aquiach and tlaquiach at Postclassic Cholula) or regional alliances (Gillespie and Joyce 1997). In any case, this major shift is also relevant to understanding female figurine offerings at Xochitécatl. The diversity in style, theme, and size of the figurines can be understood by referencing several prior studies, on which we have relied in this chapter. One of the hypotheses presented is that heterogeneous sets at Xochitécatl were the equivalents of multifigurine scenes, reported since the Formative at La Venta (Deposit 4) (Marcus 2009, 29), in Classic Oaxaca (Tomb 103 of Monte Alban; see also Marcus 2009, 39), and among the Late Classic Maya at Jaina (McVicker 2012) or in El Perú Waka (Finemore and Houston 2010 cited in McVicker 2012, 220). These scenes could have held an important role in elite contexts, in the reproduction of social functions. Note that in other architectural and social contexts at Xochitécatl (such as the Nativitas terraces), an important number of female figurines was reported in 2002 (Serra Puche et al. 2003). Nevertheless, among the eight types described for these residential contexts, only one is clearly related to those of the ceremonial precinct that we discussed in this chapter (Testard 2014b, 680). It seems then that the ones offered in the Flowers Pyramid are fundamentally linked to civic-­ceremonial contexts and probably to specific social categories. That leads us to ask whether the types of our sample may have been used in initiation rites in the Gran Basamento of Cacaxtla.3 In addition, Domínguez Covarrubias and Urcid (2013) have recently proposed that the Conjunto 2-­Sub could have been a place similar to the Nahuatl calmecac, that is to say a specific place dedicated to initiation and learning. As Kopytoff (1986, 68) has stated, “we accept that every person has many biographies . . . Biographies of things cannot be similarly partial . . . [They] also offer several possible social biographies.” We have explored many stages in the biographies of figurines at Xochitécatl, corresponding to episodes of exchange/distribution and consumption. These proposals seem fruitful for approaching socio-­ritual processes and collective action. From the perspective 292

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of multifigurine scenes, such as those conducted in the Conjunto 2-­Sub of Cacaxtla’s Gran Basamento, different categories of women may have been portrayed in the various stages of life: single and young women, pregnant women, women carrying children, and elderly women. Moreover, different social roles are present: enthroned rulers, warriors, dancers (and orators), and musicians. By considering the patterning of types across offerings in the Flowers Pyramid at Xochitécatl, we can make the alternative proposal that the figurines (through the symbols on their headdresses) could have served as units of a discourse that (re)created a miniaturized world; that is, they worked as a metalanguage. Through a consideration of their size and morphotechnical characteristics, and in the light of ethnohistorical sources, we also suggested that each category may have had other supplementary uses, whether worn on garments, employed as musical instruments, or presented as a votive offering to supernatural entities. In our previous works on Epiclassic iconography (Testard 2014a, 2014b), we have underlined that the period experienced a major change in anthropomorphic imagery with the integration of naturalistic and expressionist modes inspired by Maya and Gulf iconography and adapted for local purposes and strategies. The diversity of anthropomorphic figurines in the Xochitécatl offerings could refer to the important socio-­ritual transformations that took place at this time and in particular to the political shift in the conception of power and role of the elites. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This chapter has benefited from the support of Xochitécatl UNAM project members who provided access to the collection and offered great experience and understanding about the excavations of the site. We would like to thank Brigitte Faugère and Christopher Beekman, as well as two anonymous reviewers, for their helpful insights. We thank Brigitte and Chris for inviting us to the SAA “Gods Symposium” in 2011 (Sacramento, CA), where we first presented our analysis and for renewing their trust in our researches by publishing this version of the study. Funds for the Xochitécatl figurines study were provided by a Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores del Gobierno de México PhD research grant (2010). NOTES

1. Note nevertheless that an important percentage of the Xochitécatl sample corresponds to the heads alone, which cannot provide information about the type of clothing. Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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2. Note that Offering 6 is not considered here as it contains three figurines, and only one (A2 type) has been included in the study sample. 3. Interestingly, figurines similar to those of Xochitécatl have been described during preventive excavations at the Cacaxtla Gran Basamento (Espinoza García and Ortega Ortiz 1988, 312–­314). REFERENCES

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Kopytoff, Igor. 1986. “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process.” In The Social Life of Things. Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai, 64–­91. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kubler, George. 1969. Studies in Classic Maya Iconography. Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 18. Hamden, CT: Archon Books. Kubler, George. 1975. “History: Or Anthropology: Of Art.” Critical Inquiry 1(4):757–­767. Langley, J. 1992. “Teotihuacan Signs Clusters: Emblem or Articulation.” In Art, Ideology and the City of Teotihuacan, ed. J. C. Berlo, 247–­279. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Lesure, R. G. 2005. “Linking Theory and Evidence in an Archaeology of Human Agency: Iconography, Style and Theories of Embodiment.” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 12(3):237–­255. Lévi-­Strauss, Claude. 1962. La pensée sauvage. Paris: Plon. López Austin, Alfredo. 1980. Cuerpo humano e ideología: Las concepciones de los antiguos nahuas. Vol. 1. México, DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas– ­Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. López Luján, Leonardo. 1993. Las ofrendas del Templo Mayor de Tenochtitlan. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Lopiparo, J., and J. A. Hendon. 2009. “Honduran Figurines and Whistles in Social Context: Production, Use, and Meaning in the Ulúa Valley.” In Mesoamerican Figurines, Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Phenomena, ed. C. T. Halperin, K. A. Faust, R. Taube, and A. Giguet, 50–­74. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Marcus, Joyce. 2009. “Rethinking Figurines.” In Mesoamerican Figurines: Small-­Scale Indices of Large-­Scale Phenomena, ed. C. T. Halperin, K. A. Faust, R. Taube, and A. Giguet, 25–­50. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Mastache, A. G., and R. Cobean. 1989. “The Coyotlatelco Culture and the Origins of the Toltec State.” In Mesoamerica after the Decline of Teotihuacan, ad 700–­900, ed. R. Diehl and J. C. Berlo, 49–­67. Washington: Dumbarton Oaks. McCafferty, Geoffrey and McCafferty, Sharisse. 1994. “The Conquered Women of Cacaxtla. Gender Identity or Gender Ideology?” Ancient Mesoamerica 5:159–­172. McCafferty, Geoffrey, and Sharisse McCafferty. 1999. “The Metamorphosis of Xochiquetzal. A Window on Womanhood in Pre-­and Post-­Conquest Mexico.” In Manifesting Power: Gender and the Interpretation of Power in Archaeology, ed. T. Sweely, 103–­125. London: Routledge Press. McCafferty, Geoffrey, and Sharisse McCafferty. 2007. “Guerreras: el papel de las mujeres en la guerra prehispánica.” Expresión antropológica, Nueva Época 29:32–­39. McVicker, Donald. 2012. “Figurines Are Us? The Social Organization of Jaina Island, Campeche, Mexico.” Ancient Mesoamerica 23:211–­231. Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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Medellin Zenil, A. 1971. “El complejo de las caritas sonrientes.” In Magia de la risa, Octavio Paz, Alfonso Medellin Zenil, and Francisco Beverido, 41–­7 8. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Mondragón Vázquez, A. 2007. “El motivo piel de serpiente y las diosas terrestres.” In Atributos de las deidades femeninas. Homenaje a la Maestra Castillo Tejero, ed. B. B. Ahuatzin and A. Blanco Padilla, 105–­114. Iconografía mexicana, Colección Científica, Serie Antropología 7. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropologia e Historia. Nagao, Debra. 1985. Mexica Buried Offerings. A Historical and Contextual Analysis. BAR International Series 235. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. Nicholson, H. B. 1967. “Royal Headband of the Tlaxcalteca.” Revista mexicana de estudios antropológicos XXI:71–­105. Nicholson, H. B., and E. Quiñones Keber, eds. 1994. Mixteca Puebla: Discoveries and Research in Mesoamerican Art and Archaeology. Culver City, CA: Labyrinthos Press. Overholtzer, L., and W. D. Stoner. 2011. “Merging the Social and the Material: Life Histories of Ancient Mementos from Central Mexico.” Journal of Social Archaeology 11(2):171–­193. Pasztory, Esther. 2005. Thinking with Things: Toward a New Vision of Art. Austin: University of Texas Press. Peperstraete, Sylvie. 2016. “La fonction sacerdotale au Mexique préhispanique (III).” Annuaire de l’Ecole pratique des hautes Etudes (EPHE), Section des sciences religieuses 123:9–­16. Pihjo, V. 1973. “El peinado entre los Mexicas: Formas y significados.” PhD diss., Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. México, DF. Pitrou, Perig. 2016. “Introdução. Ação ritual, mito, figuração: imbricação de processos vitais e técnicos na Mesoamérica e nas terras baixas da América do Sul.” Revista de antropología 59(1):6–­32. Portilla, Miguel Léon. 1985. La pensée aztèque. Recherches Anthropologiques. Paris: Le Seuil. Quiñones Keber, E. 2005. “Female Divinities of Divination in the Aztec Tona­lamatl.” In Painted Books and Indigenous Knowledge in Mesoamerica: Manuscript in Honor of Mary Elizabeth Smith, ed. E. Hill Boone, 27–­41. Middle American Research Institute Publication 69. New Orleans, LA: Middle American Research Institute, Tulane University. Reyes Parroquin, M. J. 2014. “Las figurillas sonrientes: Un estudio diacrónico de su función.” MA thesis, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, México, DF. Ruiz de Alarcon, Hernando. 1984. Treatise of the Heathen Superstitions That Today Live among the Indian Native to This New Spain, ed. Richard J. Andrews and Ross Hassig. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

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Sahagún, Bernardino de. 2001. Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España, ed. J.-­C. Temprano. 2 vols. Crónicas de América. Madrid: Dastin Historia. Séjourné, Laurette. 1966. El lenguaje de las formas en Teotihuacan. México, DF: Siglo XXI. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen. 1998. Xochitécatl. Tlaxcala: Gobierno del Estado de Tlaxcala. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen. 2000. “Identidad en Xochitécatl, Tlaxcala, México.” Estudios de Cultura Otopame 2:17–­25. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, and L. Beutelspacher, eds. 1996. “Proyecto Xochitécatl.” Informe técnico final, Volume 1, 28–­44. Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Fondo Nacional Arqueológico, Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes. Archivo técnico del Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, México, DF. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, and V. K. R. Durand. 1998. “Las mujeres de Xochitécatl.” Arqueología Mexicana 5(29):20–­27. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, and Jesus Carlos Lazcano. 1997. “Xochitécatl-­Cacaxtla en el período epiclásico (650–­950 d.C).” Arqueología 18:85–­101. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, Jesus Carlos Lazcano, and Liliana Torres Sanders. 2001. “Actividades rituales en Xochitécatl-­Cacaxtla, Tlaxcala.” Arqueología 25:71–­88. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, and Jesús Carlos Lazcano Arce, eds. 2002. “Proyecto Arqueológico ‘El hombre y sus recursos en el Sur del Valle de Tlaxcala durante el Formativo y el Epiclásico,’ Sitio Nativitas 2002.” Informe técnico final, Tomo IV, 28–­112. Archivo Técnico del Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, México, DF. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, Jesús Carlos Lazcano Arce, and M. Torre Mendoza. 2004. “Explotación prehispánica en el sur de Tlaxcala: una perspectiva de género.” In Género, ritual y desarrollo sostenido en comunidades rurales de Tlaxcala, ed. Pilar Alberti Manzanares, 199–­226. México, DF: Plaza y Valdés. Serra Puche, Mari Carmen, Jesús Carlos Lazcano Arce, and G. Pérez Rol­dan. 2003. “Proyecto Arqueológico ‘El hombre y sus recursos en el Sur del Valle de Tlaxcala durante el Formativo y el Epiclásico,’ Sitio Nativitas 2002.” Tomo I: Informe téc­nico de análisis de materiales: Figurillas, 28–­112. Archivo técnico del Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, México, DF. Smith, Michael. 2003. “Key Commodities.” In The Postclassic Mesoamerican World, ed. Michael Smith and Frances Berdan, 117–­125. Salt Lake City: Uni­versity of Utah Press. Spranz, Bodo. 1973. “Late Classic Figurines from Tlaxcala, Mexico, and Their Possible Relation to the Codex Borgia Group.” In Mesoamerican Writing Systems, ed. Elizabeth Benson, 217–­225. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection. Epiclassic F igurines of Xochitécatl , T laxcala , M exico

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Spranz, Bodo. 1978. “Die Grabung und das Keramish Inventar.” In Proyecto México de la Fundación Alemana para la Investigación Científica, Investigaciones regionales interdisciplinarias Mexicano-­Alemanas realizadas en la Cuenca de Puebla-­Tlaxcala, XII, Las Pirámides del Cerro Xochitécatl, Tlaxcala, 5–­66. Wiesbaden: Fundación Alemana para la Investigación Científica. Stross, B. 1998. “Seven Ingredients in Mesoamerican Ensoulment: Dedication and Termination in Tenejapa.” In The Sowing and the Dawning: Termination, Dedication, and Transformation in the Archaeological and Ethnographic Record of Mesoamerica, ed. S. Boteler Mock, 31–­39. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Sugiyama, Saburo and Leonardo López Lujan, eds. 2006. Sacrificios de consagración en la pirámide de la luna: exposición en el Museo del Templo Mayor del 6 de abril al 30 de julio de 2006. México, DF: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia / Tempe, AZ: Arizona State University. Sullivan, Thelma. 1977. “Tlazolteotl-­Ixcuina: The Great Spinner and Weaver.” In The Art and the Iconography of Late Postclassic Central Mexico, ed. E. P. Benson and E. H. Boone, 7–­35. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Tate, C. E. 2012. Reconsidering Olmec Visual Culture: The Unborn, Women, and Creation. Austin: University of Texas Press. Testard, Juliette. 2014a. “Transformations des représentations corporelles durant l’Épiclassique mésoaméricain (600 à 900 apr. J.‑C.).” Special issue, Représentations et mesures du corps humain en Mésoamérique, ed. D. Dehouve and V. Darras. Ateliers d’anthropologie 40. http://​ateliers​.revues​.org/​9628. Testard, Juliette. “Pouvoir et altérité. Interactions suprarégionales à l’Epiclassique (600 à 900 apr. J.-­C.) dans le Mexique central (Puebla-­Tlaxcala et Morelos).” PhD. diss., Université Paris 1 Panthéon-­Sorbonne, 2014b. Testard, Juliette. N.d.a. “De piedras y cerámicas matadas: ejemplos epiclásicos de Cacaxtla, Xochicalco y Cholula.” Manuscript in possession of the author. Testard, Juliette. N.d.b. “Secuencias performativas y destrucción ritual de esculturas en Mesoamérica: Algunas hipótesis desde Cacaxtla, Xochicalco y Cholula (México) durante el Epiclásico (600 a 900 d. C.).” Americae, European Journal of Americanist Archaeology. In press. Testard, Juliette, and Mari Carmen Serra Puche. 2011. “Las figurillas epiclásicas de Xochitécatl, Tlaxcala, México: tipología y simbolismo.” Itinerarios 14:213–­250. Tiesler Blos, V. 2001. Decoraciones dentales entre los antiguos mayas. México, DF: Euroamericanas/Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes/ Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Uriarte Castañeda, M. and F. Salazar Gil, eds. 2013. La pintura mural prehispánica en México V, Cacaxtla. México, DF: Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. 300

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9 All the earth is a grave, and nought escapes it; nothing is so perfect that it does not fall and disappear . . . The caverns of earth are filled with pestilential dust, which once was the bones, the flesh, the bodies of great ones who sate [sic] upon thrones, deciding causes, ruling assemblies, governing armies, conquering provinces, possessing treasure, tearing down temples, flattering themselves with pride, majesty, fortune, praise and dominion.

All the Earth Is a Grave Ancestors and Symbolic Burials at Tula Cynthia Kristan-­Graham

Nezahualcoyotl, fifteenth-­c entury king of Texcoco (Brinton 1887a).

These words embody a Mesoamerican sensibility in which ancestors were prominent in both the tangible, living world and after they were interred in the earth. While Nezahualcoyotl’s words embody a royal Mexica perspective, the central place of ancestors in filial and social life also characterized other cultures and socioeconomic levels in Mesoamerica. This was no doubt the case for Tula in the state of Hidalgo, located 80 km northwest of Texcoco and dating several centuries earlier than the Aztecs (figure 9.1a, b). In this chapter, I analyze two sets of related stone sculptures, familiar ones from Tula Grande and older ones from Tula Chico, and suggest that both image sets represent ancestors (figure 9.2a, b). They demonstrate that a similar thematic pattern remained constant through time, that some degree of spatial literacy was integral to understanding their significance, and that materiality can enhance an understanding of the visual arts.

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c009

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Figure 9.1. (a) Map of southern Hidalgo, surrounding states, and major sites discussed. (b) Map of the Tula region and archaeological sites discussed. Credits: (a) drawn by the author, (b) adapted by the author from Healan (2012, figure 2).

Because the imagery represents human figures they are anthropomorphic but not the result of anthropomorphism. THE MEXICA AT TULA

Before turning to a discussion of Tula, it is important to discuss Mexica history at Tula, which also includes notions of ancestry. The Mexica were the earliest excavators of Tula. Jorge Acosta found Black-­on-­Orange Aztec ceramics (Aztec I–­II ceramics, ca. ad 1100–­1350 and Aztec III–­IV ceramics, ca. ad 1350–­sixteenth century) in Tula Grande along with evidence of looting, reuse, and modification of every Tollan-­phase building that he excavated (Ivers 2017 provides a revised chronology).1 The Mexica stripped virtually every Tula Grande building of carved facing stones, bored into Pyramids B and C, removed sculptures from the pyramid tops, and buried caches of ceremonial objects in Pyramid C and Building 3. 302

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The Franciscan friar Bernardino de Sahagún, who visited Tula sometime between 1542 and 1558 (D’Olwer and Cline 1973, 187), wrote about this phenomenon: And Tolteca bowls, Tolteca ollas are taken from the earth . . . Tolteca jewels—­arm bands, esteemed green stones, fine turquoise, emerald-­green jade—­are taken from the earth . . . the Tolteca left many things behind . . . since they could not carry all [when they left], they buried it. The property of these Tolteca is removed; it is to be seen in places. (Sahagún 1950–­1982, 10: 165)

Sahagún (1950–­ 1982, 10: 165–­ 166) explains why the Mexica desired to live in Tula and search for treasures there: in the Late Postclassic period it was considered to be Tollan, home to Quetzalcoatl (“Feathered Serpent”), who according to ethnohisFigure 9.2. (a) Reliefs, Hall 2, Building toric sources was a culture hero, ruler, 3, Tula Grande. (b) Reliefs, Main and/or deity. The sources that refer Pyramid, Tula Chico. Horizontally posed to Quetzalcoatl, his home at Tollan, figures from both Tula Grande and Tula the Toltec occupants, and their posChico have feather headdresses, some in sible travels to the east are not directthe form of a corona. Credits: (a) redrawn ly relevant to this study, since Nichby the author from Acosta (1957, figures olson (1957, 2001) demonstrated that 33–­ 34), (b) redrawn by the author from countless sources differ on matters Daniel Correa Baltazar in Jiménez both small and large about QuetGarcía (2008, drawings 8–­9). zalcoatl and Tula. Hence, a striving to find confirmation of ethnohistory in archaeology is a risky endeavor (see Carrasco 1983; Davies 1977; Florescano 1999; Gillespie 2011; and Kristan-­ Graham and Kowalski 2011 regarding the entanglement of ethnohistory, history, art history, and archaeology, and for discussions of Tollan and the Toltecs).2 A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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The Mexica desired to legitimate their newcomer status to the lake region of modern Mexico City by emulating the art of Tula, which they thought was Tollan, locus of Mesoamerican political legitimacy and city of the Toltecs, whom they considered to be consummate artists (Umberger 1987). The monumental figures carved on the pillars that now stand atop Pyramid B comprise one example. Half of the 16 figures have single glyphs near their heads, which are similar to coeval glyphs at Chichén Itzá and other Epiclassic and Postclassic sites. All typify a system of so-­called international signs that consists of logographs or word-­writing in which signs represent ideas directly and thus transcend true literacy (Berlo 1989; Kristan-­Graham 1999, 2001). Some Tula glyphs parallel those of later Mexica rulers, including Cuauhtemoc (“Falling Eagle”), Itzcoatl (“Obsidian Serpent”), and Xolotl (“Hunchback”) (figures 9.3 and 9.4).3 I have long wondered whether, in addition to the Mexica practice of modeling monuments on Tula prototypes, the Mexica also based royal names on Tula name signs. Other plausible instances of Mexica architecture and sculpture that embody Tula influence are discussed later. In the following discussion, Tula Chico and Tula Grande are discussed in reverse chronological order to mirror the manner in which information became available and informed modern ideas about Tula. TULA GRANDE

The well-­known civic-­ceremonial center at Tula is called Tula Grande. It dates to the Tollan phase (ca. ad 900–­1200), which is roughly equivalent with the Early Postclassic period, when it was the capital of a polity that exercised political, economic, and ritual authority in central Mexico between Teotihuacan and the Aztecs. “Grande” denotes the areas’ larger size of 16 km2 in contrast to the earlier and smaller 4 km2 Tula Chico. Tula Grande includes plazas, ballcourts, and domestic and public buildings; Ballcourt 2, Pyramids C and B, and Buildings 3, J, and K frame the Tollan-­phase Tula Grande plaza, and a small altar occupies the center of the plaza. A skull rack in the western section of the plaza may have been a later addition according to ceramic chronology (Healan 2012, 11; Matos Moctezuma 1972) (figures 9.5 and 9.6). The center of Tula Grande is “typified by symmetry and regularity, exhibits perhaps the most strongly formal plan of any Mesoamerican city” (Smith 2008, 145). Although it turns away from Teotihuacan’s single-­avenue plan to one whose central plaza is more allied with basic Mesoamerican principles, some similarities with Teotihuacan are evident. As at Teotihuacan, buildings that bordered the Tula Grande plaza are aligned 17˚ east of astronomical north. 304

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Figure 9.3. Figures with name glyphs (on their heads) on pillars, Pyramid B, Tula Grande, and (below them) name glyphs of Aztec leaders. One of Xolotl’s names is “Hunchback” yet in most manuscripts, his name glyph is that of a dog, as under the first figure. (See note 3.) For the second and third figures, respectively, note the similarities of their name glyphs with the names of Aztec leaders Obsidian Serpent/Itzcoatl and Falling Eagle/ Cuauhtemoc. Credit: drawings by the author. Figure 9.4. Pillar from Pyramid B, Tula Grande. A partial drawing of this pillar is in figure 9.3, top center. Credit: photograph by the author.

The placement of the largest architectural anchors of the main plaza parallels the northern end of the Street of the Dead: the larger Pyramid C faces west like the Pyramid of the Sun, and the smaller Pyramid B faces south like the Pyramid of the Moon (Mastache et al. 2009, 294; Pasztory 1997, figure 3.1). At Tula Grande the most visible imagery are the 4.5-­m-­high atlantids, pillars, and feathered-­serpent columns that now stand atop Pyramid B. Acosta A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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Figure 9.5. View, Tula Grande facing north: (from left) Building 3, Pyramid B, and Pyramid C. Credit: photograph by the author.

Figure 9.6. Plan, Tula Grande. Credit: drawing by Nikolai Lyutskanov, redrawn from Mastache et al. (2002, figure 5.8).

(1944, 46) found most of these sculptures, in fragmentary condition, in the Late Postclassic trench dug into the pyramid’s north side. Four other atlantids may have originally stood atop Pyramid C. Other sculptures including small jaguars, standard bearers, and chac mools, are in the Pyramid B Vestibule and Building 3. The coatepantli or Serpent Wall is north of Pyramid B. Processional reliefs are attached to bench faces in Buildings 3 and 4 and the Pyramid B Vestibule. Most of these reliefs represent human males that have been identified as rulers, warriors, merchants, and priests (see de la Fuente et al. 1988 and Jiménez García 1998 for catalogs of Tula sculpture). Of particular interest are the reliefs that once embellished the interior of Building 3. After Tula was abandoned at the end of the Tollan phase, for reasons that are not clear, the building was burned and the transformation of adobe to fired brick gave the structure its nickname “Palacio Quemado” or “Burnt Palace” (Healan 2012). The building consists of a colonnaded foyer that faces the Tula Grande plaza, three large halls, six smaller rooms, and another colonnaded foyer that faces the plaza between the coatepantli and Ballcourt 1. Halls 1 and 2 had built-­in benches and protruding altars, columns and pillars that once supported roofs, and a central sunken area with drains (Hall 3’s state was too destroyed to yield much information) (figure 9.7). I have suggested that the hall’s basic plan recalls Tollan. Many ethnohistoric sources describe Tollan as a lake surrounded by reeds: the impluvia resemble a lake in the middle of surrogate reeds in the form of pillars (Kristan-­Graham 2011). About 20 reliefs of horizontally posed figures were found in Building 3. Nine survive in their entirety, seven from Hall 1 and two from Hall 2 (de la Fuente et al. 1988, 157–­158, 160–­162, figures 106, 108, 109; Jiménez García 1998, figures 55–­61, 67–­68, 71) (figure 9.2a, b). Acosta found the reliefs and fragments in the debris of Halls 1 and 2. Their size, subject matter, and the fact that processional reliefs remained on some benches eliminated them from consideration as bench decoration. Acosta surmised that the reliefs once adorned the upper walls and fell during the fire that destroyed much of the building (Acosta 1956–­1957, 91, 96, 112).4 The fairly regular dimensions of the reliefs, within a few centimeters of an average 50 cm width and 90 cm length, indicate they were placed in similar locations (de la Fuente et al. 1988, 157–­158, 160–­161; Jiménez García 1998, 153, 156, 161). Similar fragmentary reliefs in Tula Grande fit these dimensions ( Jiménez García 1998, 169, 172).5 All of these figures strike a variety of poses: some are prone while others are supine, and a few are in sprawled poses. Hereafter figures in these poses are called “horizontal figures.” Many are in active poses with weapons thrust out and opened eyes, and thus seem to be fallen but not dead. They are all male A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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Figure 9.7. Plan: Building 3, Tula Grande. Credit: drawing by Nikolai Lyutskanov, redrawn from Healan (1989, figure 3.4).

and wear elaborate costumes with individualized plumed headdresses, regalia, sandals, cotton armor, and jade jewels. Because the attire of Mesoamerican rulers often combined the trappings of both political office and military rank it is not possible to identify the figures as either rulers or warriors. There is little doubt that the figures represent elites, as are processional figures in the Pyramid B Vestibule that have been identified as merchants (Kristan-­Graham 1993) and apparent rulers or chiefs in Buildings 3 and 4 (Acosta 1956–­1957; de la Fuente et al. 1988; Kristan-­Graham 1999; Mastache et al. 2002). The horizontal figures in Building 3 can be understood as funerary images of rulers and/or warriors (Kristan-­Graham 1999), based upon a comparison with Fray Diego Durán’s (1964, 172) account of Mexica funerals. Durán notes that in a building next to the templo mayor, temporary wooden portraits of the deceased were placed on walls above altars, and family members placed offerings there during funerals. He describes warrior images adorned with hawk wings and feathered heads so that they could fly before the sun on their daily round. This helps to elucidate the ceramic figures clad in winged costumes discovered in the House of the Eagles north of the templo mayor (Aguilar-­Moreno 2007, figure 8.34). Building 3 and the House of the Eagles 308

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share many features, including location adjacent to a temple-­pyramid, central shallow sunken areas, and benches with processional imagery (Klein 1987, 303–­314, figure 7; López Luján and López Austin 2009, 410, figure 15; Solís 1997). Cecelia Klein (1987) proposes that the House of the Eagles was an elite space for autosacrifice and Leonardo López Luján (2006, 271–­290) suggests that its small scale and dark interior would have been conducive to penance and thoughtful reflection.6 The Building 3–­House of the Eagles comparison suggests that this may be another example of Mexica visual culture having been modeled on Tula precedents, in this case funerary practices and spaces. Other examples of Tollan-­phase horizontal figures embellish the coatepantli and the altar attached to the El Corral Pyramid, north of Tula Chico (Acosta and Romero 1974; Jordan 2013, figures 21–­22). Some individual figures are close analogues of the Building 3 images, and the inclusion of skulls and crossed bones adds funerary aspects. Keith Jordan’s (2013) reading of this sculpture as a commemoration of ancestral rulers and warriors adds more evidence that horizontal figures may be understood as earthly predecessors. The coatepantli features a register of carved serpents with skeletal humans behind the serpent bodies (figure 9.8). Jordan derives much of his evidence from ceramics of Chalchihuites and Malpaso cultures of Zacatecas, with which Tula shared significant features of architecture and planning, such as colonnaded halls with sunken patios in main plazas (Kristan-­Graham 2011). His analysis of horizontal figure imagery reaches back to the Monte Alban Danzantes and interweaves other Oaxacan, north Mexican, central Mexican, and Mayan visual programs ( Jordan 2013, 262–­265, figures 13–­16, 26–­30). In addition, his iconographic analysis demonstrates that the serpents often accompanying horizontal figures in Mesoamerican art signify elite or royal status ( Jordan 2013, 262–­268).7 The Building 3 horizontal figure reliefs also parallel some of the figures represented on the Pyramid B pillars, which are discussed above (figure 9.9). Some of the figures carved on pillars and in relief wear costumes that are quite similar. Because in Mesoamerica attire often was a key to identity, it is possible that the same individuals are represented. Location and pose indicate that figures might have been represented sequentially, in standing postures that the public could view, and in horizontal poses in a more private setting that likely served funerary purposes.8 The architectural context of Building 3 helps to elucidate ancestral references. Scholars suggest that the building may have been used for administration (Guevara Chumacero 2004; Matos Moctezuma 1981, 29; Sterpone 2007, 48), human sacrifice (Mastache et al. 2002, 117), autosacrifice (Klein 1987), accession (Koontz 2015), council meetings, or elite dwelling (Diehl 1983, 65). Moreover, A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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Figure 9.8. Detail, section of the coatepantli, Tula Grande. Credit: photograph by the author. Figure 9.9. Representative pair of figures from Tula Grande with corresponding features outlined in bold. Left: figure from a Pyramid B pillar; right: horizontal figure from Hall 1, Building 3. Shared traits include a headdress with small, tufted feathers; a nose bar; a round ear spool with pendant feather; a rounded pectoral with strands of material; a kilt in the shape of a Venus sign, and plain, wide leggings. Both figures also have standard martial gear illustrated at Tula, including cotton armor, a “fending stick,” and arrows. Credit: redrawn by the author from Jiménez García (1998, figure 61).

Halls 1 and 2 echo some basic features of domestic buildings at Tula, including square plan and talud-­tablero benches and altars. Especially close analogues are in the Tollan-­phase Corral and Canal Localities. At the Canal Locality, located 1.5 km northeast of Tula Grande, the West, Central, and East Groups are arranged around courtyards with central altars. The Central Group courtyard features a sunken courtyard and central altar with a talud profile. It is the focal point of the house group, since all houses face it (Healan 1989; Mastache et al. 2002, 159) (figure 9.10). Ten stone carvings of human skulls probably were once attached to the altar, and probably symbolize death and/or ancestors, given the Mesoamerican pattern of ancestor burial in domestic space (Healan 1989, 126, figures 9.18–­9.20). The West Group Courtyard and its altar are similar in form, and the burial in the altar may be that of an ancestor (Healan 1989). The El Corral Locality, near the El Corral Pyramid, is a smaller, simpler version of a Teotihuacan apartment compound, with multiroom apartments surrounding a patio. Because the El Corral Locality has larger interiors and superior-­quality construction than house groups, it probably was a residence for higher-­status families (Mastache et al. 2002, 155–­156, figure 6.6). One family would have lived in each apartment, which clustered around a central courtyard (Mandeville and Healan 1989, 197). Except for the lack of sunken floors, the Corral Locality is similar to Building 3 and other Tula Grande structures that feature colonnaded halls, patios, and altars with talud-­tablero profiles. Considering the parallels between Building 3 and domestic architecture, the former may have been conceived, in part, to highlight how the polity functioned symbolically as a lineage. Rites and other activities in Building 3 might have been seen as analogous to kin rites that occurred in domestic settings, and which helped to perpetuate lineage and state (Kristan-­Graham 2015). Just as courtyards were the symbolic and ritual anchors of domestic units, the semiprivate halls in Building 3 were appropriate settings for images of honored deceased that might have helped to unite the polity. The many precedents for equating houses with ancestors include the widespread Mesoamerican practice of interring relatives beneath house floors. At Teotihuacan, principal patios in apartment compounds contained both higher-­ and lower-­status burials. The latter are typically found below patio floors while the former are usually placed in foundation walls or altars that contained offerings (Cowgill 2003; Linné 1934, 54–­59; Rattray 1992). A high-­status burial often accompanied the early construction phase of an apartment compound, as if it were a requirement for a kin-­based construction. Because high-­status burials far outnumber lower-­status ones, it is assumed that they were part of an ancestor cult (Manzanilla 2002, 57–­60; Sempowski 1992; Widmer and Storey 1993, 101). A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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Figure 9.10. Plan, Central House Group courtyard, Canal Locality, Tula Grande. Credit: drawing by Nikolai Lyutskanov, redrawn from Healan (1989, figure 9.17).

Often such similarities in visual culture are attributed to influence and elite interaction, which, however compelling, often cannot be proven. However, at Tula there is evidence for actual interaction with Teotihuacanos. During the Classic period, the site of Chingú, 9 km east of Tula, was a large Teotihuacan outpost devoted to lime procurement for construction projects in the Basin of Mexico (Barba et al. 2009; Díaz 1980; Mastache and Cobean 1989). Chingú evinces Teotihuacan influences in the form of talud-­tablero building profiles, public buildings that parallel that of the Ciudadela, and residential buildings that recall apartment compounds (Díaz 1980). In addition, Classic-­period settlements within a few kilometers of Tula indicate ties with Teotihuacan via apartment compounds, talud-­tablero building profiles, and ceramic figurines. The phenomenon of embedding ancestral references in architecture, or what I term architectural veneration, thus is evident at Early Postclassic Tula. While symbolic references to ancestors have not been matched by actual burials in Building 3, a multilayer cache in Hall 2 may mark a symbolic death, according to Karl Taube (n.d.; Getino Granados and Figueroa Silva 2003, figure 5). An offering in a 41-­cm circular pit cut through the plaster floor contained a turquoise and pyrite mirror, ear spools, fan coral, and other shell artifacts (Acosta 1956, 104; Taube n.d.). Below this, an earlier offering contained five levels that included a pyrite mosaic mirror, a Spondylus-­shell necklace, a Spondylus-­shell tunic (Bernal 2012, figure 95), 18 Spondylus shells, and a base of fan coral (Taube n.d.; Mastache et al. 2002, figure 5.39). Taube’s analysis of the caches considers the ideas of fire, the sun, and centrality, yet his ideas about 312

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Teotihuacan are most relevant here. The 18 Spondylus shells reference Temple of Quetzalcoatl façade elements and the 18 individuals wearing warrior garb that are interred in the building. Other parts of the offering are comparable to a Teotihuacan warrior bundle, and a mirror over a tunic may refer to a goggle-­ eyed rain deity. More important than specific points of comparison is Taube’s idea that the earlier offering in Hall 2 represents the symbolic, ritual burial of Teotihuacan. As mentioned above, the hall’s general plan that parallels a central house patio with talud-­tablero bench profiles recalls Teotihuacan, and this may be another instance of Tula memorializing that earlier, central site. Ancestor veneration was also a central feature of Maya society. The Maya house anchored filial, ritual, and political life to the past. Ancestor veneration was central to the lineage, as land rights were passed generationally through the trappings of ritual and special-­purpose architecture. Emergent elites, too, embraced ancestor symbolism (McAnany 1995). Such practices were powerful structuring principles for kin groups living near or in the lineage compound of their ancestors, which through time became sacralized. Inhabiting ancestral houses and performing ancestor rituals assured that the Maya were in the constant presence of their predecessors. While compounds or clusters of residences may parallel the organization of a lineage, lineage may also structure or mirror social relations. Maya houses can be “understood as a locus for the enactment of claims to group continuity through the curation, transformation, and renewal of that group’s material and immaterial property” (Gillespie 2002, 73). In sum, Halls 1 and 2 in Building 3 at Tula Grande are semiprivate settings that recall the form of domestic architecture where ancestors were interred. Reliefs of horizontal figures also accord with Mesoamerican ancestral imagery. The same is true for the earlier Tula Chico. TULA CHICO

Tula Chico is on an artificial terrace on a promontory north of Tula Grande. It dates to the Epiclassic period, ca. ad 650–­850; radiocarbon dates cluster between ca. ad 520 and 770 (Healan 2012, 80, table 1). According to the scenario that Mastache and Cobean refined over several decades, the early Tula Chico populace was multiethnic, including peoples from Chingú, other Teotihuacan-­ related sites in the region, and arrivals from north Mexico (Cobean 1982; Healan and Stoutamire 1989; Mastache and Cobean 1989, 51, 56; Mastache et al. 2009; Yadeun 1975). Evidence includes red-­on-­buff Coyotlatelco ceramics, a diagnostic marker for Epiclassic Tula. Coyotlatelco ceramics may be a syncretic response to the “preexisting Teotihuacan ceramic tradition with a A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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nonlocal tradition possibly introduced by migrating populations, although more indirect forms of interaction also could have been responsible” (Healan 2012, 81). There is also significant evidence that peoples from the Bajío had sustained interaction with the Tula populace and/or migrated to the region (Beekman and Christensen 2003; Fournier 2006; Manzanilla 2005), a hypothesis supported by the quantities of obsidian from Ucareo, Michoacan, at Tula Chico and coeval sites (Healan 1997, table 1). The Tula Chico plaza is the main point of comparison with Tula Grande. Parallels include the general plan in which pyramids, colonnaded buildings, and ballcourts frame the central plaza, which is ca. 75 m from east to west (Healan 2012, 77; Mastache et al. 2009, figure 19; Matos Moctezuma 1974) (figure 9.11). However, the plans are actually quite distinctive. At Tula Chico, two large pyramids are adjacent to each other and bear little resemblance to the arrangement of Pyramids B and C at Tula Grande.9 Moreover, Tula Chico lacks almost any reference to Teotihuacan. There probably was little strategic advantage to quoting that site, which declined and collapsed at the time that Tula Chico was settled (Beekman and Christensen 2011). In contrast, Teotihuacan symbolism at Tula Grande may be connected with memory and political ambitions. Regardless of plan, reliefs of horizontal figures are one unmistakable point of continuity between Tula Chico and Tula Grande (figure 9.2a, b). At Tula Chico, reliefs adorned the exterior of the largest pyramid on the north side of the main plaza and on benches in halls with impluvia that are generally similar to Building 3. Similar relief fragments that date even earlier were found beneath the southwest corner of the plaza (Mastache et al. 2009, 313). Like their counterparts at Tula Grande, these horizontal figures wear armor and ornate costumes, carry weapons, and one figure has a glyph near his head. The carving style is also similar; deep, wide troughs cut into the stone distinguish foreground from background. As at Tula Grande, the figures generally have stocky proportions. In addition, the similar architectural contexts of the relief sculpture in question may indicate that, like their Tula Grande counterparts, the horizontal Tula Chico figures represent elites, perhaps even ancestors. The location of reliefs at both sites atop pyramids and/or in plaza-­level buildings parallels spaces in Mesoamerica where ancestors—­both elites and commoners—­were interred. The buildings also evoke sacred mountains and plains in Mesoamerican cosmology. With one exception from Tula Chico, the horizontal figural reliefs do not include glyphs, and thus subject matter and symbolism seem to have been based upon literacy of place rather than linguistic literacy. Although human burials 314

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Figure 9.11. Plan, Tula Chico. Credit: https://​commons​ .wikimedia​.org/​wiki /​File:​Plano​_de​_Tula​ _Chico​.png

were not found in such spaces at either Tula Grande or Tula Chico, it is worth considering, given funerary and ancestral associations, whether the imagery itself can be understood as symbolic burials. In this sense, Nezahualcoyotl’s words that “all the earth is a grave” seem an accurate description for parts of Tula Grande and Tula Chico. Because no post-­Epiclassic material was found at Tula Chico, scholars once believed that it was abandoned and residents relocated to Tula Grande. Structures on the north and east sides of the main plaza show evidence of burning and deliberate destruction (Cobean and Suárez 1989). Explanations for this devastation range from internal dissent to events described in some ethnohistoric sources, such as Quetzalcoatl’s downfall (Mastache and Cobean 1985). The latter interpretation uses ethnohistory uncritically and seems to be a reductive manner to explain a confusing situation that involved real people and A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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events, especially in light of Nicholson’s cautions discussed above. Given the presence of the nearby Tollan-­phase Canal Locality and El Corral structures, it seems that Tula Chico remained unused while its environs witnessed later growth. It has been suggested that Tula Chico was left as hallowed, ancestral ground (Mastache and Crespo 1982) or remained untouched as a reminder of destruction that arose from internal conflict (Healan 2012, 82). STONE AND SYMBOLISM

Some aspects of the Tula Grande and Tula Chico sculptures transcend style, subject matter, and chronology, traditional categories of analysis. Often stone sculpture is understood chiefly as a vehicle for imagery without regard for its geological properties, and this can silence the stone. When viewed as a physical object that often is placed precisely for viewing and performance, sculpture embodies issues beyond imagery (Rodríguez-­Corral 2013, 283, 302). To tease out other dimensions of the sculpture in question, I analyze stone vis-­à-­vis physical properties, appearance, and “natural symbolism.” Tula Grande’s monumental sculptures are carved from basalt, a finely grained dark volcanic rock that forms the high plateaus between Tula and Pachuca (Segerstrom 1962, 95, 118). The monumental atlantids, pillars, and columns from Pyramid B vary in color from light brown to dark gray. Because it is harder than other stones, many ancient sculptural traditions (including Indian, Roman, and Neolithic Europe) used basalt for its dark color and capacity to be finely polished (Le Maitre 2002, 30–­100; Penny 1993, 24–­30, 228). Basalt was created in prehistoric lava flows, which is evident in some natural basalt formations in the Tula region. Farther away, 20 km southwest of Tula in the state of Mexico, the Peñas de Jilotepec include standing rocky formations that range in form from thin and vertical to globular; striations on cliff faces create the appearance of vertical fluting (http://​aquiesmexico​.blogspot​.com /​2015/​05/​las​-­­penas​-­­de​-­­jilotepec​-­­estado​-­­de​-­­mexico​.html). In Hidalgo, basalt prisms 30–­50 m high are situated at Huasca de  Ocampo, 116 km northeast of Tula (figure 9.12). The vertical formations recall quarried and dressed stone pillars. Those situated amidst waterfalls might be equated with fertility. At Huapalcalco, near Tulancingo, 128 km east of Tula, a mountainside with vertical grooves is the backdrop for a Classic–­Epiclassic pyramid. Although the edges of the vertical basalt formations are more rounded than at the previous site, the stone curtain nevertheless resembles a string of individual stone statues (Acevedo Sandoval et al. 2002, figure 77). The latter two sites are near Pachuca, the location of obsidian mines that Tula may have controlled. It is 316

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Figure 9.12. Prismatic basalts, Huasco de Ocampa, Hidalgo. Credit: photograph by Diego Delso (delso.photo, License CC-­BY-­SA).

likely that miners, merchants, and other travelers were familiar with these natural formations. Given natural basalt formations in the Tula environs that recall sculptural forms, pillars and other vertical sculptures might have been understood as descending from natural geologic configurations. It is not unusual for art to simulate and recast nature, with the resulting art embodying a sort of “natural symbolism.”10 In Mesoamerica, analyses of bones (Stross 2007; Houston et al. 2013), rock, caves, and water strongly suggest such a scenario, as does materialization, the “mutually constitutive relationships between people and the material world” (Overholtzer and Robin 2015, 2; see also DeMarrais et al. 1996; Rodríguez-­Corral 2013). For example, water lily symbolism in Classic Maya art likely derived from natural phenomena, as this plant grows only in clean A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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water, and its presence in reservoirs and aguadas signals the purity of the water. In some instances aquatic symbols may recall political control of water and associated rituals (Lucero 2006, 117; see also Walker and McGahee 2006). At Tula, geological symbolism is augmented by a comparison with later Aztec art. An Aztec warrior hairstyle illustrated in the ca. 1542 Codex Mendoza, temillotl (“pillar of stone”), denotes high status. Folio 2r represents the founding of Tenochtitlán. Nine figures wear this architectonic coiffure while another has his hair pulled back to identify him as a priest. Conquest scenes on the same folio also represent warriors with this hairdo (Berdan and Anawalt 1997, 4–­5). Folio 62r also illustrates warrior training; Figure 9.13. Example of temillotl a seasoned warrior wearing the temillotl (“pillar of stone”) hairstyle. Credit: instructs a youth. The gloss “Tequinua redrawn by the author from Codex [tequiqua]” identifies the figure as “a Mendoza 62r in The Public Domain brave man in war” (Bernal and Anawalt Review, https://​publicdomainreview​ 1997, 172) (figure 9.13). This accords with .org/​collections/​codex​-­­mendoza​-­­1542/. Sahagún’s statement that a brave warrior is like a stone pillar. Aztec stone-­pillar supports are plain and Tula imagery does not seem to include the “pillar of stone” hairstyle. In light of the Mexica esteem for Tula, is it possible that this warrior coiffure alludes to the Tula pillars? Returning to geology, reliefs of horizontal figures at Tula Grande and Tula Chico are made from limestone, another local material. Mountains composed of limestone are found throughout Hidalgo, and Tula Grande is sited on a limestone ridge. Chingú, discussed above, was located near a key limestone deposit. Carved limestone reliefs are found at Tula Grande, Tula Chico, and La Mesa, an Epiclassic site ca. 14 km east of Tula Grande (Healan 2012, 76; Mastache and Cobean 1989, 58, 60). Compared to basalt, limestone is soft, easy to quarry, and easily scratched; some Building 3 reliefs show evidence of flaking and breakage. However, the relative ease of quarrying and carving limestone made it a material popular for numerous small sculptures. 318

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Rock and earth are fundamental construction materials that can embody ideas about nature and society. As part of the landscape, they imply stability because they are tangible and visible (Earle 2001, 108). Stone can be alluring, especially regarding texture, haptics, and glittery mineral composition. Dressed and embellished stone can embody other notions, including the communal labor necessary for quarrying, transporting, and carving; human transformation of nature; and the social networks that facilitated such results (Ingold 2011). Cynthia Robin emphasizes the importance of earth and stone as landscape, building materials, and symbols at the Late Classic Maya farming community of Chan, Belize (800 bc–­a d 1200): Limestone bedrock and soil matrix were literally the earth beneath Chan’s farmers’ lives. Earth and stone were also materialized on a daily basis through construction and production across the community. They were the foundation of the community both in terms of their being the primary substances of Chan’s natural landscape and through their utility in developing community, identity, and society at Chan. Stone and earth embodied places, buildings, production, and daily lives. (Robin 2015, 45)

Likewise, Hutson and Davies (2015) note similar processes in northern Yucatan. Their discussion of the “sociality of stone” addresses everyday interaction between people and stone constructions in the form of causeways and buildings. Working, transporting, and living with stone can help shape perceptions, actions, and dispositions of individuals and groups. Although Robin, and Hutson and Davies, do not focus on ancestors, they do discuss this issue in their analyses of small Maya communities. CONCLUSION

I have argued that sculpted pillar and reliefs from Tula Chico and Tula Grande represented ancestors. Parallels in style, subject matter, and placement atop pyramids and in rooms with impluvia are remarkable even though the sculptures were made in different time periods. This suggests that some figural imagery remained constant when population shifted from Tula Chico to Tula Grande at the end of the Epiclassic period. Ancestral referents intersect with the pervasive tradition of ancestor veneration in Mesoamerica. The architectural contexts of the reliefs in question equate with spaces where polity and family ancestors were interred. Specifically, Building 3 at Tula Grande evokes the basic plan of courtyards in Teotihuacan apartment compounds. Whereas ancestral burials have been A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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found at Teotihuacan, no such interments are present in Tula. Perhaps Tula buildings that were adorned with ancestor imagery may be symbolic ancestor burials. The so-­called architectural veneration of Teotihuacan evident at Tula is paralleled at the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan. There, the House of the Eagles and details of elite funerals parallel aspects of Building 3 and Mexica elite names and the “pillar of stone” warrior hairstyle follow precedents in the Pyramid B pillars. Aztecs had the opportunity to see these examples when they occupied the abandoned Tula Grande, which they identified as Tollan, a font of political and artistic heritage. Finally, unlike many Mesoamerican art traditions, Tula’s imagery focuses on the social world of people rather than on religion and cosmology. References to nature therefore were not overt and may have been perceived in natural materials such as stone, the most common building and artistic mediums at Tula. Stone not only appeared naturally in the form of pillars, but it may have been understood as ever present, durable, quarried from the same earth where relatives were buried, and fertile when found near water—­all of these connotations befit the ancestors carved in stone. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Christopher Beekman, Mark Graham, and two anonymous reviewers for comments; any errors are mine. Karl Taube graciously gave me an unpublished manuscript that was integral to this chapter. Nikolai Lyutskanov drew figures 4b, 5, and 8a, which originally were published in Kristan-­Graham 2011. A FAMSI grant allowed the author to photograph Tula. My sincere thanks to Brigitte Faugère and Christopher Beekman, who invited me to participate in the SAA session that is the genesis for this book, and for guiding the manuscript to completion. NOTES

1. Jorge Acosta of the Instituto Nacional de  Antropología e Historia (INAH) excavated and reconstructed Tula from 1940 through 1956. Later, Eduardo Matos Moctezuma directed INAH’s Proyecto Tula that began in 1968 and that was nearly coeval with the 1969–­1972 University of Missouri project that Richard Diehl oversaw. The projects mapped, surveyed, and excavated the region. Dan Healan (1989, 2012), Osvaldo Sterpone (2007), Robert Cobean and Guadalupe Mastache (Cobean and Mastache 2003; Mastache and Cobean 1989), Patricia Fournier and Victor Bolaños (2011), and others (Guevara Chumacero Ruiz 2004; Solar Valverde 2006) have continued work at Tula and its environs. 320

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2. The common conflation of Tula and Tollan may be due to English translations of Sahagún’s Nahuatl text in the Florentine Codex (Sahagún 1950–­1982, 10: 165; 1975). Sahagún distinguished tulla and tullan as separate places and in very specific contexts in his original Nahuatl text: Quetzalcoatl and his eventual downfall occur at tullan while Quetzalcoatl the priest inhabits tulla. In contrast, Arthur J. O. Anderson and Charles E. Dibble’s English translation of the manuscript uses only the word Tula in reference to both Tula and Tollan. No doubt the Mesa Redonda at which Wigberto Jiménez Moreno (1941) identified Tula as Tollan, and subsequent publications that equated the site of Tula with Tollan, influenced the translation of both place names as Tollan. Many scholars adopted Jiménez Moreno’s ideas (see Chadwick 1971; Séjourné 1954), yet most ignored the cautions of Daniel Brinton (1887b) and Eduard Seler (1960–­1961, 2: 21–­23), who argued for a clear separation between the mythic Toltecs and the ancient populace of Tula in Hidalgo (see also Davies 1977). Tollan is now understood in more nuanced terms. A carved glyph of reeds or tules at Tikal (Stuart 2000, 502–­504, figure 15.27a) and a painted one at Teotihuacan (Headrick 1996, 80–­81) indicate that Teotihuacan may have been comprehended as a Tollan or “reed place” on the basis of its size and power. Political capitals that blanketed Meso­ america probably functioned as lesser Tollans. Tula, Cholula (known as Tullam Cholollan), and other capitals with prefixes –­tol or –­tul as part of their names could claim that they were Tollans and therefore loci of ancestry and political legitimacy (Boone 2000, 376–­37; Davies 1977, 27; Kristan-­Graham 2015; Schele and Mathews 1998, 38–­39). 3. The Chichimec leader Xolotl is illustrated in pictorial manuscripts and mentioned in chronicles of the Aztecs and other groups in the lake region of Mexico City. His name has many translations, including “hunchback,” “dwarf,” “advisor,” or “highness” (Alvarado Tezozomoc 1975, 503–­505; Anales de  Cuauhtitlan 1975, 40), and was a title or honorific for the position of supreme Chichimec political authority. The Tula pillar with the hunchback name-­glyph also includes sound scrolls, though they emanate from the hands rather than the mouth. This is not dissimilar to the Nahuatl title tlatoani, or “great speaker.” The hunchback glyph at Tula may signify Xolotl even though his name glyph in pictorial manuscripts, which postdate Tula, is a dog (Lee 2008, figure 2.5). Although the sources vary about precise details, Xolotl and his descendants are associated with Texcoco, Azcapotzalco, and Tenayuca. The Tula name-­glyph may have tempered the later prestige of this Chichimec ruler, as apparently Texcoco took “advantage of the Chichimec Xolotl in order to justify their political dominance, they also linked themselves to the Toltec Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl in order to establish their cultural and religious preeminence” (Lee 2008, 63). 4. Osvaldo Sterpone’s analysis of Tula stratigraphy and Acosta’s unpublished notes and illustrations present another scenario for the building’s demise. Acosta, like other scholars of his time, was probably guided by the commonly held belief that the Mexica A ll the E arth I s a G rave

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were responsible for Tula’s abandonment at the end of the Tollan phase. He thus searched for the building’s initial construction and final destruction, yet did not follow actual stratigraphy. According to Sterpone (2000, 13), a close reading of Acosta’s work indicates that poor maintenance, rather than a fire, caused the building’s destruction. The roof collapse may have caused the relief sculptures to fall, and roof debris seems to have protected the reliefs and ca. 200 ceramic vessels from a later inferno. Regardless of whether the fire was accidental or intentional, some of the “looting” discussed above occurred before the fire. Two archaeomagnetic clay samples collected from postholes that were burnt during the fire date to ca. 1140 (Wolfman 1990, 292), implying an earlier end to the Tollan phase than previously thought. 5. Fragments of horizontal reliefs were found near Pyramid C (de la Fuente et al. 1988, 153, 155–­156, 161–­162, figures 104, 105, 110; Jiménez García 1998, figure 75, 77, 80) and other Tula fragmentary reliefs have unknown provenances ( Jiménez García 1998, figures 83, 84, 89). 6. Klein (1987) argues that Building 3 and the House of the Eagles were used for autosacrifice. Reliefs in both buildings include depictions of bloodletting implements (Acosta 1956, 1957), and chemical analysis of the second building stage of the House of the Eagles, ca. 1469, confirmed the practice of autosacrifice (López Luján 2006, 260–­262). 7. Two unusual balustrade reliefs found at a small structure near a railroad at Tula are in recumbent poses reminiscent of chac mools, with foliage sprouting from their abdomens (de la Fuente el al 1988, 165–­168, figure 113–­113a). The pose and subject are similar to imagery from the mural in the back wall of the North Temple of the Great Ball Court at Chichén Itzá. In the Chichén mural the foliage is more verdant, yet both the Tula and Chichén images may be understood as symbolic of fertility, the latter within the context of an accession ritual (Schele and Mathews 1998, figure 6.51). 8. Name glyphs identify some of the pillar figures, but the horizontal figures in Building 3 are not associated with writing. 9. The exact chronological relationship between Tula Chico and Tula Grande remains unclear, since an Epiclassic occupation lies beneath Tula Grande (Sterpone 2007). 10. Natural symbols refers herein to symbolism based on material culture and natural phenomena, not to Mary Douglas’s (1996) study of symbols, religion, and cosmology. REFERENCES

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10 Whether depicted as a ruler, a priest, a warrior, or an anthropomorphized supernatural being, the human body is an extraordinary way to inquire as to the Prehispanic conventions of representation, and the cultural conceptions they conveyed. In this chapter, we study the case of the representation of the human body in Aztec pictorial art. We attempt to characterize its specificities and discuss the possible significance of the representational choices made by Aztec painters. Aztec anthropomorphic representations are usually credited with being more naturalistic than those of the predecessors and neighbors of the Aztecs, both in their proportions, which are often more realistic, and in the depiction of details. As far as the works can be reliably dated, we address the evolution of these representation practices over time. Pictographic codices and, above all, mural painting shall interest us here. Specialists have often neglected Aztec murals, because very few of them reached us and, moreover, they are often badly preserved. Nevertheless, they are of major importance in our discussion. Indeed, recent discoveries widen the corpus and allow an evaluation of the hypotheses previously presented by researchers. The murals of the Great Temple or Templo Mayor of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, benefiting from a well-­ known archaeological context, have a great importance, and they are here analyzed in detail. Then, their comparison with codex painting will allow us to bring new elements to the problematic definition of the Aztec

Representing the Human Body in Postclassic Central Mexico A Study of Proportions and Their Evolution in the Aztec Pictorial Tradition Sylvie Peperstraete

DOI: 10.5876/9781607329954.c010

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pictorial style. Though not our primary purpose here, we resort occasionally, for comparative material, to polychrome bas-­reliefs, because they are stylistically close to the bidimensional pictorial representations. At first sight, we are struck by the sometimes considerable variations from one painting to another: this lack of homogeneity is discussed to refine and qualify some of the observations made in the first attempts to define the Aztec pictorial style. Certain of those elements of the definition evoke characteristics common to all the pictorial arts of Prehispanic central Mexico. Regarding the element considered most typical of Aztec art—­that is, the greater naturalism of the anthropomorphic bodies—­we can speak only to a tendency, and moreover an unevenly adopted one, given that the proportions and the details of the paintings vary according to the relative space available for the figures. Finally, in spite of this pragmatic approach, observing the emphasis the painters made on the ornaments figured on the bodies, as well as the body parts chosen to receive these attributes, allows us to discuss the significance of their representational choices. DIFFICULTIES WITH DEFINING THE AZTEC PICTORIAL ST YLE

Whereas the results of a series of excavations in Tula (Acosta 1942–­1944, 1945, 1956, 1957, 1961, 1964) revealed early on that Toltec art had an important influence on Aztec sculpture, it was Vaillant (1953, 147) who first asserted that Aztec pictorial art found its origin in the Mixteca–­Puebla style and iconography. Later, Nicholson (1966) attempted to define Mixteca–­Puebla style and iconography. According to him, the most representative figures are solar and lunar disks, earth and sky bands, the Venus star, stellar eyes, skulls (often represented with crossed bones, hearts, and cut hands), skeletons, war symbolized by the atl ­tlachinolli glyph and/or a shield with arrows and a banner, flowers, jade glyphs, shells, water, flames, xonecuilli, and day glyphs. Among the zoomorphic motifs, we find mainly feathered and fire serpents, jaguars, deer, butterflies, rabbits, and scorpions. The divinities are often anthropomorphic and accompanied by clearly recognizable attributes (Nicholson 1966, 256). As for the style, the colors are flat, brilliant, often symbolic, with black outlines framing areas of color with an almost geometrical precision (Nicholson 1966, 255). Nicholson (1982, 246–­247) also pointed out that various substyles existed according to regions and periods. The Aztec style, which would be characterized by a greater naturalism, was one of these substyles in his first study (Nicholson 1966, 259–­260). In a more recent article written with Quiñones Keber, Nicholson asserted that the differences between Mixteca–­Puebla and 332

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Aztec arts were sufficient to classify them distinctly, despite their narrow links (Nicholson and Quiñones Keber 1994, xi). Nevertheless, apart from these few elements, it is still very difficult to formulate a precise definition of the Aztec pictorial style. We have to admit that, besides the gaps in the available material and the fact that the paintings are often difficult to date with precision, there is significant stylistic variability within the Aztec artistic canon, hence Nicholson’s hesitations in classification. In his pioneering study, Donald Robertson (1959) tried to contrast the style of early colonial Nahua manuscripts from Central Mexico with European art. He studied colonial manuscripts realized in an indigenous manner, recognized their variability, and suggested characterizing different schools for Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, and Texcoco. Limits of the Available Material

The Prehispanic codices and murals that have reached us are rare. On the one hand, we know of no definite Prehispanic codex from the Basin of Mexico. We have to work either with colonial manuscripts, such as the Codex Borbonicus or the Codex Magliabechiano, or with manuscripts from the nearby valley of Puebla, such as the codices of the Borgia Group (on Aztec and Mixtec codices, see Boone 2000). On the other hand, rock and mural paintings are often fragmentary and much damaged. For example, the murals of Ecatepec (du Solier 1939; Villagra Caleti 1971, 154) and those of Malinalco (García Payón 1946; Solís Olguín 1995, 34; Villagra Caleti 1971, 153–­154, figure 30) have completely faded away since their discovery. Furthermore, these murals were the subject of few publications. The Mexico-­Tenochtitlan murals are the most interesting ones, both because of their number and because of their situation in the heart of the ceremonial center of the Mexica capital, in a well-­known archaeological context. These murals are situated, respectively, in the Phase II Tlaloc sanctuary of the Great Temple (López Luján 1993, 71; López Luján et al. 2005, 37–­38, figure 8), in the “House of Eagles” (López Luján et al. 2005, 36–­37, figure 7; 2006), on the outer walls of the Teotihuacanoid temples (Gussinyer 1970; López Luján 1989; Matos Moctezuma 1990; Matos Moctezuma and López Luján 1993; Olmedo Vera 2002, 73–­96), the “M” and “N” edifices (López Luján 1993, 85), and on the ballcourt (Barrera Rivera 1999, 27–­28; Matos Moctezuma et al. 1998, 17). We can add the murals discovered in Mexico-­Tlatelolco: the “Altar de  Cráneos” (Caleti 1971, 154–­155, figure 33), the “Calendar Temple” (Guilliem Arroyo 1991, 1998), the “L” Temple (López Luján et al. 2005, 33, note 87), the pyramid of Tenayuca (Fernández 1935; Villagra Caleti 1971, 152–­153), R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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and Popocatepetl (Piho and Hernández 1972). In the Puebla region, murals have been found in Tizatlan (Caso 1927; Noguera 1929; Villagra Caleti 1971, 151–­152), Ocotelulco (Contreras Martínez 1992, 1994; Peperstraete 2006; Pohl 1998) and Tehuacan Viejo (Sisson and Lilly 1994). It is interesting to point out that the iconography of these murals is exclusively religious. Apart from the ritual scenes, themes of everyday life are not represented in the murals recovered to date. The murals represent the deities to whom ceremonies are dedicated, or their attributes, and humans are represented only as god impersonators, priests, penitents, or sacrificial victims. Sometimes, only the most significant remains of the sacrifice are represented: hearts, skulls, bones, hands, or the symbols of autosacrifice: thorns and zacatapayolli (a ball of grass or dry herbs, in which were embedded instruments for autosacrifice). However, the religious focus of archaeological remains may be due to the conduct of excavations predominantly in ritual spaces, rather than in mundane, secular ones. Chronology Problems

In addition to the problems inherent to the poverty of the material at one’s disposal, the researcher investigating the Aztec pictorial style is also often forced to work with overly general chronological data, hence the difficulties in reconstituting the stylistic evolution of the paintings. It is generally impossible to date precisely either the Prehispanic codices or the murals. With only a few exceptions, archaeological context delivers too wide a chronological range, and stylistic dating is especially tricky because of the Aztec imitation of antiquities—­we cannot use an archaic aspect to presume an ancient date of manufacture. The Aztecs were, indeed, conscientious imitators of the Toltecs and Teotihuacan right up to the Conquest—­the Teotihuacanoid temples of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, for example, correspond to Phase VI of the Great Temple, that is, one of its most recent phases. Not to mention that, as Umberger (1987, 69) has noted, it is sometimes very difficult to distinguish a conscious reference to the past from a survival resulting from a chain of replications. Furthermore, sometimes we cannot differentiate a genuine antiquity from an Aztec copy, especially in the case of copies of Toltec works. The reason for these imitations may be that the Aztecs needed to legitimize their political dominion (Pasztory 1987, 460)—­to imitate is to assert oneself as successor of the Toltecs. In particular, the Mexica viewed some ancient figures, such as the rain god Tlaloc, as personifying the continuity from the past into the present. Let us note that even if the intentions of the Mexica 334

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were linked to the place being imitated, they did not necessarily understand completely the forms that they copied—­the degree of understanding varied for each culture and object (Umberger 1987, 69). For example, in the case of the Teotihuacanoid temples of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, the imitations were more evocations of the past than faithful copies of antiquities. Ancient architectural and ornamental features were merged with those fashionable at the time of the construction of the edifices (see Matos Moctezuma and López Luján 1993). Umberger (1987, 76) studied this phenomenon for the copies of sculptures in the round. They are close to their models in their poses, proportions, and attributes, but they also present characteristic features of late Aztec aesthetics—­convex surfaces contrasting with flat surfaces, a planar projection, widened hands, and the detailed portrayal of the sandals, hands, and feet. The only exceptions to this problematic chronological context are the murals of the Great Temple of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, for which we have a rather well-­ known archaeological context, as well as the mural decorating an inner wall of Structure III at Malinalco, which can be approximately dated between 1501 and 1521, according to ancient sources on construction of the site (see García Payón 1946, 24). These murals are thus invaluable for our discussion. Stylistic Variability

Besides the problems previously evoked, a supplementary and important complexity is that there was no homogeneous Aztec style (see Robertson 1959). For example, the style of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan alone was very eclectic (Robertson 1986, 184; Umberger 2007, 169–­171), not to mention Aztec works outside of the Basin of Mexico (Umberger 2007, 174–­194). Concerning more specifically the pictorial tradition, researchers speak sometimes of “codex style” (the expression is also applied to polychrome ceramics and murals whose motives are reminiscent of the codices), but the concept is too vaguely defined as there is, in fact, no style unique to all the codices. Quiñones Keber (1994, 145) attempted to clarify the definition by drawing comparisons to specific codices, a task that often turns out to be problematic. So it is often asserted that the murals of Tizatlan resemble the codices of the Borgia Group, but researchers are divided as soon as they are asked to identify a specific codex (Nicholson 1966, 154). Thus, while stylistic variability can also be meaningfully explored as an important source of data, it also brings a lot of complexity, as we address in the following discussion.

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THE FIRST STUDIES

In spite of the numerous difficulties that confront researchers, some pioneering authors have tried to establish a basis for a definition of the Aztec pictorial style, occasionally resorting to comparison both with colonial codices realized in the indigenous tradition and with Prehispanic sculpture, particularly the polychrome bas-­reliefs, to compensate for the limits of the available material. In particular, we must review the work of Donald Robertson (1959, 1970), Henry B. Nicholson (1966, 1982, 1985), and Elizabeth H. Boone (1982, 1985). The hypotheses of these researchers were made before the discovery of most of the murals in the archaeological zone of the Great Temple of Mexico-­ Tenochtitlan; having summarized them briefly, we will also consider their work in the light of recently discovered murals. Characteristics Common to the Pictorial Arts of Prehispanic Central Mexico

Aztec pictorial style possesses general characteristics common to all the pictorial arts of Prehispanic central Mexico. It is thus useful to summarize them before addressing the question of its specificities. In Prehispanic central Mexico, pictorial art is bidimensional. Perspective or oblique views intended to suggest depth were never used, and artists preferred combinations of frontal views, profile views, and rotation of the image plane. Even simple overlapping is avoided. Space is often undefined: figures seem to float in space without a ground line (Robertson 1959, 16), although one may sometimes be suggested by the lower frame of the image. George Kubler (1984, 111) asserts that the layout of the figures can indicate their relative placement, with lower positioning suggesting closer, and higher suggesting farther away from the viewer. The spatial organization of the images can also indicate a temporal progression. The accidental, the fortuitous are banished, hence the absence of landscape, unless it contributes to an understanding of the scene (Graulich and Petit 1989, 399). Colors are uniform and flatly applied inside the outlines, which are simple frames (Robertson 1959, 16). The Prehispanic line’s purpose is to clarify the forms with an outline of consistent width, that is to say, the possible width variations of the outline are not significant and do not tend to show tridimensionality. Robertson (1959, 65) contrasts this with the European line, which creates an illusion through changes of thickness and continuity. The Prehispanic palette is limited and often symbolic (Nicholson 1985, 146). The color most often found in all Mesoamerica since the Preclassic is red, because it resisted

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Figure 10.1. Detail from Codex Nuttall. Credit: author’s adaptation after Codex Nuttall (1902, pl. 89).

time, it was abundant, its cost was moderate, and because of its symbolism of blood, the sacrificial liquid and precious thing par excellence (Boone 1985, 181). The human body (see figure 10.1) consists of unities, adding one to the other and almost interchangeable (Robertson 1959, 17), as distinct from European art where it forms a whole. Beyond its schematic aspect, Mesoamerican art is very analytical. Often the components of a figure are simplified and then reassembled without real interaction. They used symbolic features such as the pars pro toto. In images with multiple figures, there is more juxtaposition than interaction (Graulich and Petit 1989, 399). Boone (1982, 157) compares the bodies with armatures wearing clothes and attributes. In a culture such as Teotihuacan, bodily representation is so standardized that it is the clothing and attire that serve to identify the characters, their office, or their rank (Headrick 2007, 86–­89). Moreover, the body often disappears almost completely under costumes, ornaments, and attributes (Pasztory 2005, 146). This artistic device, as Brigitte Faugère (2014) recently pointed out, results in images as an assembly R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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of concepts, revealing analogist thinking. The figures are static and hieratic, and their range of movement is restricted (Fuente 1993, 27). There are combinations of profile views (the head, the legs, and arms) and of frontal views (the torso and the eye). There are few examples of any distinction between the right and left arms or legs, and the undifferentiated, impersonal facial features are interchangeable, with only age sometimes indicated (Robertson 1970, 80). It is in fact necessary to add the glyphic name of a person, or some distinguishing attribute, to make him or her recognizable, because artists depict the general, not the specific. The points of connection are absent or hidden—­there is no neck, nor shoulder. The arms extend directly from the torso, and the clothes hide the pelvis. It is the attributes and their inherent symbolism that are important, and they are represented from their most significant perspective (Robertson 1970, 86). Aztec Specificities

In comparison with the arts that preceded it in central Mexico, Aztec art distinguished itself by its greater naturalism. Nicholson (1971a, 119, 123) observed this characteristic in Aztec body representations, but only in the details, such as suppler outlines or the distinction between the left and the right feet. Various parts of the body are better connected in comparison with the bodies of the Mixtec and the Borgia Group codices, which serve only as an armature for the attributes of the character and are stiff and tense, especially when we compare them to small figures (Boone 1982, 158). The mural of Structure III of Malinalco (García Payón 1946, 19) is a perfect illustration of Nicholson’s and Boone’s observations (see figure 10.2). It shows three armed men, in profile view, one leg behind the other, represented on a wide horizontal band. The closest comparison is to the warrior reliefs on the platform of the temple of Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli at Tula, with warriors in profile view with their weapons. As at Tula, the Malinalco characters wear hip aprons. The body and facial painting of the warriors of Malinalco correspond partially to those of the atlantes of Tula, whose feet are adorned with stripes (Acosta 1942–­1944, 136). However, a clearly Aztec style characterizes Malinalco. The naturalism is expressed through the differentiation between the left and the right feet of the three warriors. And even if the right arms are clumsily drawn—­the spears seem to cut two arm fragments linked by chance—­the arms are connected to shoulders, a very rare feature. Furthermore, Boone (1982, 163–­164) observed that the body proportions of the Aztec characters were closer to reality. These characters look taller,

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Figure 10.2. Mural of Structure III of Malinalco. Credit: author’s adaptation after García Payón (1946: 19).

because the size of their heads in relation to the size of their whole bodies is proportionally smaller than in the Mixtec and Borgia Group codices. The head–­body ratio is situated between 4.71 and 7.35, whereas in the Mixtec and Borgia Group codices, the averages range from 3.03 to 4.11 (Sisson 1983, 653). In Teotihuacan the characters seem even more massive, the average ranging from 2 to 3 (Testard 2014). The average is 4.71 in the Codex Borbonicus, with some figures up to 5.57, but the dating of the Codex Borbonicus is debated. Boone (1982, 164) prefers to use indubitably Prehispanic comparative material: the reliefs of the Tizoc Stone (4.71) and the murals of Structure III of Malinalco (6.30) (see table 10.1). She concludes that this tendency, although not general, is sufficiently attested to constitute a characteristic feature of Prehispanic Aztec art. RECENT DISCOVERIES

Since the studies of Robertson, Nicholson, and Boone, many new Aztec murals have been discovered. Two paintings belonging to the archaeological zone of the Great Temple of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan are of primary interest to us here: the Cinteotls inside the sanctuary dedicated to Tlaloc from Phase II, and the priest procession in the House of the Eagles from an archaeological stage corresponding to Phase V. Indeed, they represent anthropomorphic R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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T able 10.1. Head:body ratios measured by Boone (1982) and Sisson (1983). Mixtec Group and Borgia Group codices

Averages from 3.03 to 4.11

Reliefs of the Tizoc Stone

4.71

Malinalco mural

6.30

Tizatlan murals

Codex Borbonicus

Maximum: 3.56

Average: 4.71, maximum: 5.57

beings and thus allow us to compare them to the definition of the Aztec pictorial style proposed by the abovementioned researchers. As we are going to argue, their observations are generally confirmed but there are also quite surprising exceptions, which we discuss and try to explain. The Cinteotls of Phase II

The internal faces of the pilasters of the sanctuary dedicated to Tlaloc, from Phase II of the Great Temple of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, display similar paintings whose characters face each other. The north figure measures 1.66 m × 1.47 m, and the South figure 1.76 m × 1.43 m (Santaella 1982, 302). The character of the south pilaster is best preserved (see figure 10.3a, b). He represents a god or his impersonator, standing in profile view, with his arms outspread and stretched out in front of him—­a position very common in codices such as the Codex Borbonicus or the Codex Borgia—­and his legs positioned one in front of the other. His head is dipped forward, like in some manuscripts such as the Codex Borgia (Emily G. Umberger, personal communication 2009). A double black line broken in the middle divides the yellow face vertically into two parts. This line and the color are characteristic of the maize god Cinteotl. In the codices of the Borgia Group, the most distinctive element is similarly a double black line broken at the height of the eye. The black line also appears, but simplified, in the Codex Borbonicus. The leg and wrist ornaments—­blue, red, and white with pendants—­are reminiscent of those worn by Tlaloc in the Codex Borbonicus. A blue strip and a red strip decorate the bottom of the loincloth, similar to the loincloth of the Chac Mool before the sanctuary, and that of Tlaloc in the Codex Borbonicus. These elements thus allow identification of the painted figure as Cinteotl, wearing Tlaloc ornaments. Its placement on the Tlaloc side of the pyramid is a supplementary argument in favor of its identification as the maize god in the sanctuary of the rain god—­the role of Tlaloc as a promoter of the harvest is well known (Nicholson 1971b, 414). The figure holds objects difficult to identify. According to the north-­pilaster 340

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Figure 10.3. Mural representing Cinteotl on the south pilaster of the sanctuary dedicated to Tlaloc, Phase II of the Great Temple of Mexico-­ Tenochtitlan: (a) photograph and (b) drawing. Dimensions: 1.76 m × 1.43 m. Credits: (a) photo by Michel Graulich, (b) author’s drawing after López Luján et al. (2006, figure 46).

figure, where this part of the drawing is better preserved, he holds a xiquipilli or copal bag in his lower hand. We are tempted to see the extended object that the character holds in his upper hand, with an undefined horizontal element on the bottom, as the handle of a censer. The character on the north pilaster faces Cinteotl; their attitudes are similar, as are some of their attributes. Besides the pilasters, the inner walls of the Sanctuary of Tlaloc were also painted, but at the present time only traces remain—­probably feathers as part of a plume. They resemble the plume of feathers represented behind the legs of the Cinteotl of the south pilaster. A white, blue, and red strip is located to their right. It is doubtless the back of the loincloth, identical to that of Cinteotl. At the extreme right of the painting is the back leg of a character, where we can still distinguish part of the calf ornament. It is possible that a procession of these characters (probably wearing ornaments similar to those represented on the pilasters) made their way from inside the sanctuary towards the entrance. The position of the legs of the figures is similar to that of Malinalco. Here too the characters seem to walk, but it may be only a stylistic fiction allowing R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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both legs to be visible; soles are stuck on the ground line, provoking an impression of staticism. If the forward-­leaning position of the body and the radiating composition correspond to specific figures of the Codex Borgia, and if the iconography of the mural is similar to that of this codex, the proportions of the characters are more slender—­the head is 5.15 times the total height of the figures, while the average for the Codex Borgia is less than 4. Thus, although these paintings date from a period much more ancient than that of the major refinement of the Mexica art (López Luján et al. 2005, 38), it seems that they nevertheless confirm the hypothesis of greater naturalism in the proportions of the characters on behalf of the Aztec artists, compared with their neighbors of the Mixteca–­Puebla region. On the other hand, the feet are undifferentiated: they are two right feet. The Priest Procession of the House of the Eagles

Let us now examine the priestly procession painted on the wall of the portico of the east wing of the House of the Eagles (see figure 10.4a, b). It dates from Phase 2 of this edifice, which corresponds to Phase V of the Great Temple. The mural is painted over a clay coating that is itself painted in red. It is 50 cm high by 70 cm wide and consists of 21 figures in profile view, each figure measuring 10 cm high (López Luján et al. 2005, 36). There is no horizon line. The characters are arranged in four superimposed horizontal rows. The first and the second have five subjects, among which four face northward and the fifth face southward, while the third and the fourth rows consist of five and six individuals, respectively, all facing northward. The characters walking northward make their way towards an edifice (ibid.). All wear a xicolli or sleeveless jacket, and they hold objects connected to blood and copal offerings: the upper hand holds a pair of maguey thorns, and the lower hand holds a copal bag. They carry on their back a yellow tobacco gourd flanked by long hanging elements, vaguely reminiscent of the gourds of the codices. The extreme geometric aspect of the characters and their squat proportions are surprising; the mural corresponds to Phase V of the Great Temple, and it seems nevertheless less accomplished than the Phase II murals, so it seems that we have here a notable exception to the supposed greater naturalism of the Aztec style, and it is especially significant as Phase V is one of the most recent. The proportions of the six best-­preserved subjects vary indeed between 2.71 and 3.33, with an average of 3.01, thus closer to the values of the Mixteca–­Puebla codices than to those of the Codex Borbonicus, the Tizoc Stone, the mural of Malinalco, or the murals of Phase II (López Luján et 342

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Figure 10.4. (a) Mural of the House of the Eagles (phase 2 of the edifice, corresponding to the phase V of the Great Temple of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan). (b) Detail of the mural. Credits: (a and b) author’s drawings after López Luján (2006, II, 335).

al. 2005, 38). But here, the characters are very thick, while in the codices they are thinner. They are also much more geometric. Their bodies are trapezoidal, while their arms and legs are rectangular, and their hands are squares with lines delimiting their nails. The position of the arms of the figures, outspread and stretched forwards, is common in the codices. The foreheads of the figures are small and partially masked by the headdress, the bridge of the nose is long R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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and very angular, while the tip of the nose and the eyes are round. The lower jaw is slightly prominent; the mouth is opened and we do not see teeth. This mural is thus different from codex painting, but it is also different from the other Aztec murals, which are not so simplified and geometrical, and whose proportions are more slender. This representation thus lacks the greater naturalism supposed to characterize Aztec art; furthermore, our figures have two right hands and two left feet (López Luján et al. 2005, 38). DISCUSSION

How can we explain the surprisingly geometric and squat figures of the procession painted in the House of the Eagles? It is indeed much later than the Cinteotls of Phase II of the Great Temple. Is it an intentional archaism, to match the edifice’s benches decorated with polychrome reliefs, clearly inspired by Toltec models—­or even involving Toltec-­material reuse? But the style of the mural cannot be connected to any Toltec work. Furthermore, the proportions of the Toltec bas-­reliefs are generally slender and a quick glance at the proportions of the figures represented on works whose relative date of production is known allows us to recognize that we cannot establish a consistent relationship between the stretching of the figures and any chronological progression (see table 10.2). We may add to the comparison three pieces linked to certain and precise absolute dates: a proportion of 4.71 for the bas-­reliefs of the Tizoc Stone (1481–­1486); 4.40 for the Dedication Stone (1487) (Boone 1982, 164); and 5.2 for the Teocalli of Sacred Warfare (1507) (see figure 10.5a–­c). Two observations are imperative. On the one hand, the hypothesis of a tendency towards more realistic proportions is confirmed. Although there are exceptions to the overall tendency, the average proportions are clearly greater than those of the Mixteca–­Puebla paintings. On the other hand, we note that the increase in proportions is not constant and can vary considerably from one medium or one work to another. How can we explain these variations? Bruce Byland (cited in Sisson 1983, 653) suggested that the different proportions in the Borgia Group of codices could reflect the relative size of the codices rather than stylistic features, but the fact that the Codex Vaticanus B with its small format has the figures with the most important proportions invalidates this hypothesis. Nevertheless, this idea remains very interesting, with qualifications: the proportions depend not only on the size of the codex or the mural, but rather of the room dedicated to the character in relation to the whole painted surface. A figure drawn within a small part of a painting will tend to be “compacted” in this space and will thus have 344

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T able 10.2. Proportions of the figures represented on works whose dates of realization (in relative chronology) are known. Date

Works

Toltec period Phase II of the Great Temple of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan

Phase III

Phase V

Phase VII

▪ Atlantes in the round and low relieves of the platform of Temple B at Tula ▪ Bas-­reliefs of the vestibule of Temple B Murals representing Cinteotl in the sanctuary dedicated to Tlaloc Sculptures representing the pulque gods

▪ 6.30–­6.50 ▪ 2.90 5.15 5.50

▪ Reliefs of the benches in the House of the Eagles ▪ Mural representing a priestly procession in the House of the Eagles ▪ Eagle Warriors in ceramic

▪ 3.00

Codex Borbonicus

4.71–­5.57

Malinalco mural

End of the Prehispanic period or beginning of the colonial period

Figure Proportions

▪ 2.71–­3.33 ▪ 7.00 6.30

squatter proportions than another that is depicted on a larger part. Studying the Teotihuacan murals, George Cowgill (2009, 23) has already pointed out the role played in this respect by the constraints of the organization of the architectural medium into registers. Then, one must also take into account the specific tendencies of the culture being investigated. As Juliette Testard (2014) notes, in Teotihuacan the massive proportions of the figures still result more from Teotihuacan’s own characteristics than from technical constraints. The differences of proportions from one work to another could thus be explained by a stylistic tendency, combined with the relative space available for the figure. Table 10.3 summarizes the available information on the dimensions of the murals and the proportions of the figures. We can observe that, the Cinteotls of Phase II have proportions of 5.15 while the proportions of the figures of the House of the Eagles vary between 2.71 and 3.33, and the Cinteotls occupy all the painted surface of 1.43 m × 1.76 m, whereas the 21 figures of the House of the Eagles procession, hardly over 10 cm high, are literally piled up on a total surface of 70 cm × 50 cm. The latter’s squat proportions thus seem due above all to their reduced size and to the small room reserved for them in relation to the whole painting. The penultimate figure is even more reduced, because of an ornament situated where his feet should have been, and even more than the others he gives the impression of being “crushed.” In R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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contrast, the figures occupying more space having more slender proportions. The very slender Mimixcoa of Malinalco, like the Cinteotls, occupy the majority of the painted surface, and the proportions of the Tizatlan figures also vary according to the relative place granted to them. The same phenomenon is noticed in the Codex Borbonicus, in which the proportions vary between 4.71 and 5.57 (Boone 1982, 164). It even seems that this principle of proportions (varying according to the space attributed to each figure in relation to the total work surface) can also apply to the Mixteca–­ Puebla codices, as well as to the Tol­ tec polychrome bas-­ reliefs. So in Tula, the proportions of the Toltec works are quite slender, except for the polychrome benches. Now the much-­reduced height of these benches in comparison to their Figure 10.5. (a) Tizoc Stone (detail), (b) length also led the artists to Dedication Stone (detail), (c) Teocalli of Sacred compact the figures. Although Warfare (detail). Credits: (a–­c) photos by Sylvie the available ratios provide Peperstraete. only average values (we need more detailed measures), this hypothesis lets us explain certain surprising observations on proportions. The simplification of the details of the figures of the House of the Eagles might also be credibly explained by the small surface, relative as well as absolute, reserved for them by the artist. As for the geometric outlines, they seem to be typical of mural painting. The figures of all the other Aztec murals, such as the Phase II Cinteotls or the Mimixcoa of Malinalco, also present stiffer 346

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T able 10.3. Proportions of the figures of the murals with regard to their dimensions. Figure Proportions

Phase II Cinteotl

5.15

Procession in the House of the Eagles

2.71–­3.33

Malinalco

6.30

Tizatlan

3.56 for Altar A, slightly less for Altar B

Space occupied by the figures in relation to the entire painted surface

Mural Dimensions

Figure Height

0.7 m × 0.5 m

10 cm

Cramming in a small space

Entire height of the wall

Not specified

Entire height

1.43 m × 1.76 m

Not specified

Entire height

1.12 m × 0.37 ▪ Altar A: ▪ Altar A: Entire height m approximately 25 cm ▪ Altar B: ▪ Altar B: slightly approximately less than 1/2 12 cm

outlines than those of the codex figures. It is important to note that besides being a technique of pictorial representation, mural painting is an architectonic technique: it delimits and qualifies the space both in a material and a liturgical sense, giving it dimension and meaning (Magaloni–­Kerpel 1994, 19). Murals were conceived to be integrated on, or into, an edifice or a monument. They were thus adapted to the place they had to decorate; the artists looked for an ornamental rhythm and thus stylization as well as simplification of motifs were desired. Figurative elements such as conches, eyes, skulls and crossed bones, masks of Tlaloc, and so on, were frequently isolated, stylized, and treated as a frieze, becoming ornamental motifs. In this respect, mural painting was sometimes closer to polychrome ceramic and to textiles than to codex painting.1 Repeating a motif or alternating variants of it, the artists created rhythm, symmetry, and balance in the composition. Processions, which constitute the major part of Mesoamerican representations of the human body that we know from mural painting, were much desired for that reason. The figures make their way towards a central point that can be another figure, a container with offerings, a temple, or an access. Finally, from an emic point of view, the Aztec representations of anthropomorphic bodies, more naturalistic in their proportions and their details than those of the Mixteca–­Puebla culture, certainly indicate a different relation with the human body and therefore a different relationship with the surrounding R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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universe, probably following different ontologies. What are the implications of these representational choices? In representing a body, an artist is forced to select certain parts for emphasis and to omit others. In the case of the Aztec characters, the decrease of the size of the head in relation to the whole body does not, however, mean a decline in its importance: more than its size, it is the special care brought to its depiction, and the number and the diversity of the ornaments that it displays (Vauzelle 2014), that say a great deal about what it represented for the culture that produced it. As Alfredo López Austin (1980) clearly showed, the parts hosting the three animistic entities, situated respectively in the head and in the chest, had the greatest importance in the eyes of the Nahuas. And it is these parts of the body that receive the greatest subdivision and the greatest variety of ornaments, whereas the lower part of the body was very minimally decorated (Vauzelle 2014). A brief look at all our figures confirms this without ambiguity. Body adornments, whether costumes, ornaments, or attributes, act as markers of status and identity, indicating rank, class, or fields of activity for deities or their personifications. In displaying such symbols, some parts of the body receive emphasis while others become simple armatures for these symbols. CONCLUSION

Newly discovered Aztec murals, particularly those in the ceremonial center of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, where they benefit from relative dating, bring a great deal to the study of the Aztec pictorial style, especially regarding the representation of the human body. At first sight, we are struck by the stylistic variety and we are tempted to assert that we cannot draw any convergent features from these paintings, each having its marked individuality and style. But on the contrary, and in spite of the sometimes considerable variations from one painting to another, these works allow us to refine and to qualify the definition of the Aztec pictorial style proposed by Robertson, Nicholson, and Boone in their pioneering studies. On one hand, those elements of the definition that evoke characteristics common to the pictorial arts of Prehispanic central Mexico (bidimensional indefinite space, outlines of constant thickness framing areas of flat colors, etc.) are completely confirmed by the recently discovered murals. On the other hand, it is possible to specify and to qualify the elements considered as typical of Aztec art: that is, the greater naturalism of the anthropomorphic bodies, both in their proportions and in the depiction of details. It is necessary to qualify the assertion as to which Aztec images should be more slender. Some of them, such as the procession in the House of the Eagles, do not exceed the 348

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proportions of the Mixteca–­Puebla codices, and have even lower ratios. So we can speak only to a tendency, and moreover an unevenly adopted one. The proportions vary according to the absolute and relative space that the figures occupy in relation to the complete painted surface. Doubtless, the relative importance of the figures also plays an essential role (e.g., hierarchical perspective). Moreover, some works are imitations of ancient imagery, further preventing us from considering proportions as a reliable criterion to distinguish between the Aztec and the Mixteca–­Puebla traditions. It would, however, be necessary to confirm this hypothesis—­or to counter it—­by confronting it with the largest number of measures possible, whether in the codices, or on the murals, or in the polychrome bas-­reliefs. As for the depiction of details, it is necessary to specify that a greater naturalism is more evident in codex painting than in mural painting, the last being naturally more ornamental, because the themes are chosen according to the possibility of their adaptation to the space to be painted, and are thus more simplified and stylized. What are the implications of these propositions? Clearly, the representational choices convey significance. In mural painting, the proportions of the human body could be more pragmatic than symbolic, the artists being compelled to adapt themselves to the space they were supposed to paint. Nevertheless, the emphasis on detail and on the number and the diversity of the ornaments received by the head and the chest is evident. These body parts, hosting the three animistic entities, had the greatest importance in the eyes of the Aztecs, and their adornments acted as markers of status and identity. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to express her gratitude to Frances F. Berdan and Emily G. Umberger, as well as to the two anonymous reviewers who read a previous version of this chapter and gave their wise advice, which greatly helped her to improve her work. All the remaining errors are, however, completely attributable to her. NOTE

1. Future research on Aztec mural painting might thus benefit from comparisons with ceramic designs, especially as they have been extensively studied (see, e.g., Hernández-­Sánchez 2004, 2005, 2008). However, concerning specifically the anthropomorphic figures, very few of these “codex style” ceramics feature human bodies in full, hence our comparisons here with the codices rather than ceramics. R epresenting the H uman B ody in P ostclassic C entral M exico

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11 Upon the arrival of the Spaniards, the Aztecs occupied central Mexico. In a strict sense they were the inhabitants of the city of Mexico-­Tenochtitlan, but here the term “Aztec” is used in a generic sense to refer to the Nahuatl-­speaking city-­states on the central Mexican plateau. Each of these many cities had several figures to whom the term “lord” (tecuhtli) was applied and they occupied a place in a hierarchy at the top of which was the sovereign (tlahtoani) of Tenochtitlan and his allies of the Triple Alliance. Based on texts written in the Latin alphabet in Nahuatl, this chapter aims to show those emic representations that allowed the Aztec lords, at the center of a “sacred kingship society” (Dehouve 2006, 2016),2 to incarnate the body politic and enter into contact with the gods of the universe. The personages who held the titles of tecuhtli and tlahtoani correspond to my definition of “sacred king”—­a figure who occupied the center of society and the world, charged with promoting collective prosperity by ritual means (Dehouve 2016, 52). I refer to the holders of these two titles as “kings,” although these titles were applied to figures of different ranks in cities or sectors of cities of unequal importance (ibid., 47–­52). It would be a mistake to apply our Western concept of individual to these kings. Following Mauss (1985; 2002), the concepts of personhood and self can be treated as human mental categories that are shaped through specific historic processes of a society and that thus constitute an object of sociological study. It is only recently

The Notion of Substitution in Aztec Kingship 1 Danièle Dehouve

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that the notion of human per se—­that is, of the human person identified with an awareness of self or psychological consciousness—­has been adopted. In most societies studied by anthropologists, personhood and self take on original forms with regard to “their rights, their religions, their customs, their social structures, their mentalities” (Mauss 2002, 7). Research over the past twenty years has established a distinction between body and person, separating them analytically in order to better relate them to one other. Accordingly, today it is no longer possible to study one without the other. Following Strathern and Lambek (1998, 6), Gillespie (2008, 80–­81) has referred to the “dialectical relationship between the body and the person,” defined as “an embodiment of persons and a personification of the body.” Put in another way, on the one hand the person and his or her social relations take the form of a body and on the other, the body is shaped by the act of being a person. A question can be posed from these statements: is it possible to establish a relationship between types of body art and the political systems in which they develop? This hypothesis was proposed by Steiner (1990) with regard to the ornaments worn by the chiefs and big men in Polynesia and Melanesia. Grounded in the postulate that dress constructs the individual as a social actor, this anthropologist suggests that the choice of ornaments is related to the type of power structure. Polynesia is characterized by a centralized system of chieftainships in which the chiefs use tattooing to inscribe the insignias of their rank; indelible body markings go hand in hand with the stability of the hierarchy of their positions. In Melanesia, the fluid power of the big men, who owe their status to their individual capacities that are constantly being contested over the course of their life, is consistent with ephemeral body painting and ornaments. Can we apply this reasoning to Aztec society? Centralized and structured like a pyramid, the Aztec kings and their entourages occupied clearly defined positions. Consequently, following Steiner, one would expect tattooing to be the most highly developed corporal art. This, however, is not the case. There are few references to tattooing in Sahagún. It is mentioned with regard to Otomi women who “painted their breasts in the flesh itself by cutting it with a blade.”3 Sahagún also states that men had three burnt areas (quemaduras) on their fists, representing the stars belonging to the Constellation Orion, known as mamalhuatzi, from the name of the wooden stick used to light the fire (Sahagún 1956, VII, chapter 3, 434). Thus, tattooing and burning appear to have been indelible marks associated with stable sexual identities. On the contrary, when signs of status (of the king and dignitaries) and ritual ornaments (representations of gods, priests, and sacrificial victims) were involved, wearing costumes and use of body painting were the rule. Kings, 356

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priests, and sacrificial victims assumed different identities and constructed identifications in flux by temporarily attiring their bodies with the relevant embellishments. They thus became ixiptla. This term was translated as “Abbild ” in German by Seler and as “image” or “impersonator” in English by Dibble and Anderson (Hvidtfeldt 1958, 81), “deputy” or “representative” (its synonyms), and as “imagen,” “semejanza,” “personificador,” and “sustituto” in Spanish. Due to its central role in ritual and politics, the notion of ixiptla has been mentioned by many researchers. However, previous to Bassett’s (2015) recent detailed treatment of the topic, the only in-­depth study of the subject was that of Hvidtfeldt (1958). The notion had two fields of application, the first of which was with regard to religious and sacrificial practices. In this context, the ixiptla represented a deity and constituted a support that could be of a material (statues and objects) or human (priests and sacrificial victims) nature. Once enveloped in the attire of a god, the support became the god’s impersonator or substitute. The second field of application of the notion was in the exercise of power. The king was the ixiptla of certain gods and, in turn, he had his own ixiptla who acted as his representatives or ambassadors. Generally speaking, these are the notable ritual uses of ixiptla that have caught the attention of researchers. This article is about the use of the concept in the domain of power, which has been rarely dealt with. Ixiptla is a Nahuatl word composed of three terms: i-ix(tli)-­xiptlah(tli): i, “his, her, its,” ix(tli), “eyes” or “face,” and xiptlah(tli), “covering.” It would be more exact to write ixiptlah, but we will follow the commonly used spelling (ixiptla). The grammatical division of the term presents no particular problems except for the repetition and assimilation of two letters: “i” (i-­ix) and “x” (ix-­xiptlah). This has misled many authors, preventing them from understanding the construction of the word. Ixiptla has been translated as “his (her) impersonator.” Some forms derived from the term are the noun te-­ix(tli)-­ xiptlah(tli) (“impersonator of someone”) and the verbs i-ix-­xiptlah-­ti (“be his [her] impersonator, or to personify someone”) and te-­ix-­xiptlah-­ti (“be the impersonator of, or to personify someone”). In order to understand this compound word, we have to grasp the meaning of each of its component terms, beginning at the end, to follow grammatical usage. XIPTLAH(TLI): THE COVERING

The term xiptlah(tli), which I have translated as “covering,” stems from the particle xip, which is the root of the verb xipehua (“to skin”), and its participle is applied to a skinned animal, an ear of corn which has been stripped of its T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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husk, and a flayed human being. From the same particle comes the name of Xipe Totec, god of ritual flaying of the warriors. It transmits a concept “that corresponds to the idea of skin, covering, bark or exterior” (López Austin 1989, 119–­120) and clearly designates the ritual practice that enables transformation into an impersonator, or someone who personifies something. This process is succinctly summarized by Hvidtfeldt (1958, 140): “It seems mainly to be the raiment and other array of the objects and persons which ‘makes’ them into what is denoted by their cult names.” In other words, it provides them with the personality of a deity (teotl). In its simplest form this array consists of the flayed skin of the sacrificed enemy. In its more elaborate forms, it was the raiment of the gods kept in the temples that metamorphosed the priests who wore them. Thus, on the occasion of religious feasts, the priests were “attired in ornaments that represented each of the gods.”4 A wooden mannequin or an edible figure of amaranth dough could equally personify the god by the simple fact of being covered with his or her insignias. The operation consisted of adornment with a certain exterior or covering that transmitted a reversible identity. As Martínez González (2012, 183, 192) states with regard to the P’urhépecha royalty of Michoacan, the king Curicaueri “became savage” when he wore the skin of the white-­tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) and “civilized” by dressing in cotton clothing. IX(TLI): THE SIGHT, HEARING, AND SPEAKING ORGANS

The reading of the compound word continues with the term ix(tli), which means “eyes” or “face.” However, in order to understand its true meaning in this specific context, it is necessary to apply a method based on the research of “metonymic series” (Dehouve 2007, 85–­92; 2009; 2013b; 2013c; 2014a). I have shown elsewhere that ritual discourses in Nahuatl make use of a cognitive procedure known as “definition by extension.”5 Thus, to designate a woman, the attributes of women are enumerated. An extensive enumeration includes the inventory of all the traits that define women among the Nahuas: the skirt, the blouse and different spinning and weaving implements. The complete list can be summarized and its simplification produces several types of figures: triphrasism (if the list is reduced to three terms), diphrasism (if there are two in the list), and monophrasism (if limited to a single term).6 A woman defined by diphrasism would be expressed as “skirt, blouse” and by the monophrasism “skirt.” The monophrasism is the single term that summarizes the entire list of elements and attributes of the designated entity. The ritual texts in Nahuatl reveal 358

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the existence of the metonymic series in which the monophrasism heads the list. For example, the word “flowers” appears in a large number of texts that mention the privileges of the nobility: nobles received flowers and spent their time smelling their scent. But the true meaning of “flowers” is revealed by the metonymic series composed of “flowers, tobacco, drink, food, clothing, lands, palaces,”7 or in other words, the list of gifts obtained in recognition of their prowess in war. A man capable of taking several captives received several types of prestige goods during banquets (“flowers, tobacco, drink, food and clothing”), as well as lands, “serfs” to work the lands, the right to receive tribute and a seigneurial manor (“lands, palaces”). Consequently, the “flowers” were at the top of the list in which the meaning was found in the whole of the metonymic series of recompenses bestowed on a great warrior. Accordingly, the term ixtli (“eyes”) is the head of the list of a metonymic series including: “eyes, ears, lips, jaws, tongue, word, breath,” as one can deduce by compiling several phases extracted from ritual discourse.8 The first terms designate the organs found on the face (also referred to as ixtli), which serve as vehicles of oral expression of both divine will and the exercise of power. They are the organs that enable “breath and word” (ihiyotl tlahtolli) to be emitted and exhaled. Considering that the supreme king is designed by the term “he who speaks and orders,” they designate power itself. This reading allows us to propose a new translation of ixiptla based on the meaning of the two parts of the compound word: “covering” (xiptlahtli) refers to the fact that one covers oneself with the raiment of a god to become his impersonator or personify him. Ixtli (“eyes” or “face”) is the term that summarizes a metonymic series and designates the capacity to see, hear, and express oneself like a god. Ixiptla can thus be translated as “covering-­organs of sight, hearing, and speaking,” bringing together in this way the two components of the same ritual act consisting of putting on the attire of the god in order to see, hear, and speak like him.9 This interpretation is supported by an analysis of the representations of the ixiptla of the gods made from edible amaranth dough. Reyes Equigas (2005, 107–­109) has explained models of deified mountains with human faces as having been provided with sense organs for them to take cognizance of the offerings presented to them. Furthermore, the mountains “spoke” and heard the messages of men: “The vitality of the tzoalli (amaranth dough) figures is visible not only in their power to establish communication with men, but also because they perceive their acts” (ibid., 109) (figure 11.1). Another type of personification is that of the dressed flint knives. In the excavation of the Templo Mayor in Mexico City, archaeologists have found T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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Figure 11.1. The impersonators of the mountain and rain gods (tlaloqueh) in the form of objects dressed in paper attire and masks. Credit: from Sahagún (1561, plates 3–­14), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve.

buried ritual deposits containing a wide variety of objects, including piles of flint knives. Sophisticated excavation techniques have made it possible to demonstrate that the knives were attired with the raiment typical of certain gods. In the case presented here, the face is represented only by the ear ornaments and the headgear (figure 11.2). Thus, substitution was achieved by means of bodily manipulations, since wearing the clothing with the ornaments of a god was the way of becoming his impersonator or personifying him. And it would be a mistake to continue to distinguish the impersonator on the outside from their interior identity. Outwardly, the ixiptla is attired with the divine raiment but this does not mean that inwardly he retains his own personality intact. On the contrary, far from remaining at the external level of his body, the properties of the personified god penetrate the impersonator and take possession of the sense organs of his face. PIERCING RITUALS

A complete metaphoric and ritual complex was organized around the piercing of the sight, hearing, and speech organs. “You have perforated their eyes, you have opened their eyes” represented a diphrasism of prime importance. 360

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This is represented pictorially in the “birth almanacs” found in the Borgia (láminas 15–­17a), Fejerváry-­ Máyer (láminas 23a–­ 29a), and Vati­ canus B (láminas 33a–­ 42a) Co­di­ces (Boone 2007, 140–­141). There, one can see the gods using a bone ­ piercing instrument to perforate the eye of a child portrayed in the form of a miniaturized body or miniscule head. The mouth of a child could also be pierced (figure 11.3), and more of this will be seen later. Other plates in the Borgia, Vaticanus B, and Madrid Codices depict a man piercing his own eye. According to Baudez (2012, 80–­81), there is evidence of allegorical eye-­gouging from central Mexico to Costa Rica on the southern limits of Mesoamerica. Although the piercing instrument is one of the different bloodletting self-­ sacrifice implements, eye-­ gouging appears to be too exaggerated to refer to an actual mortification practice. All evidence points to its being a metaphor. Anders and Jansen Figure 11.2. A personification of the wind god (1994, 251) have interpreted the Ehecatl Quetzalcoatl in the form of a flint knife scenes in the birth almanacs as dressed in his finery (31 × 14 × 7.5 cm). Credit: the representation of a divine act Ofrenda 125, INAH, Proyecto Templo Mayor, México, Alejandra Aguirre and Ximena Chávez. that opens the eyes of the child, teaching him to see, know, and Courtesy of Templo Mayor Project, INAH. reason. This proposal is totally confirmed by the texts in Nahuatl where “pierce the eyes, open the ears” means “teaching.” The grandfather was called “he who opens ears” (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, X, 4). The master T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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Figure 11.3. The metaphor of piercing of the eyes and mouths of children. Credit: from Codex Fejerváry-­Máyer (plate XXIII), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve.

of the calmecac, the school reserved for the nobility, was known as “he who pierces eyes, who opens ears.”10 This operation included punishment, known as “cold water, stinging nettle.” In other words, acquiring a higher level of knowledge and consciousness required pain and the practice of mortification, which explains why the persons depicted in the codices use a piercing instrument for self-­sacrifice. But the metaphor was not purely linguistic, since it gave rise to a practice used in the ritual initiation of children. Once every four years, during the feast of Izcalli, dedicated to fire, the ears of small children were pierced. This operation was known as “perforating the ears, piercing the ears.”11 It was followed by wakefulness and a dance of penitence suggesting that children were on that occasion subjected to their first penance in life. It should be noted that the kings were also “pierced” during the penitential part of their investiture ceremonies: the septum of the nose, the lips, and the ears were pierced. The metaphor is thus put into practice, but here, not the eyes but the sites of other sense organs were pierced. By perforating parts of the face, the passage of the initiated to a higher level of life, consciousness, and understanding was enacted and literally carried out. 362

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The metaphor of piercing was associated with that of blowing. As Montes de Oca has demonstrated (2000, 330), “blowing” and “piercing” are two actions of the jeweler in making a jewel. In this manner, “blowing” is the equivalent of “creating” or “engendering” and reinforces the meaning of the verb “pierce” analyzed above. Blowing and piercing represent the two metaphors, the association of which can be translated as “giving life,” “giving knowledge.” When a king ascended to the throne, he acquired the capacity to speak in the place of the god and this diphrasism designated investiture in this office, considered to be a new birth.12 As a result of these manipulations of the body, the king allowed the god to express himself through his mouth. This fact was also expressed by means of the diphrasism “become the musical instrument, the flute” of the deity, which meant “serve as his voice” or “lend him his voice,”13 through the support of the double metaphoric movement of authority as voice and voice as music. Put in other terms, the expression meant that the king did not exercise power on his own account, but by means of allowing a god to express himself through his body. The same idea is found in expressions such as “become the lips,” “become the jaws” of the god, and the god “will speak from within him.”14 Piercing rituals were composed of layer upon layer of metaphors. First of all, the very fact of piercing part of the face meant “giving a new knowledge.” Next, the parts pierced referred to the qualities transmitted. As we have seen, in the investiture of a king, the cartilage of his nose as well as his lips and ears were pierced (Muñoz Camargo 1998, chapter VI, 88–­89). The chronicler of the city of Cholula adds another bit of information: the high priests in charge of investing in office all the kings of the different hierarchical levels of the region “pierced their ears, their nose and lower lip, according to the kingdom they ruled.”15 It can be deduced therefrom that each of these body parts was the metaphor of a particular quality: the ears served to hear men, in other words to impart justice and to listen to the gods; the lips allowed the king to respond to the gods and speak in their place,16 and these faculties belong to all kings, even those of a subordinate rank. Piercing the nose was reserved for the highest sovereign (the great Mixtec kings and the Aztec tlahtoani). This can be understood by the symbolic value of the nose as “that which goes first”: the name yaca(tl) “nose” is the root of the verb yacatia “guide” and its derivatives, one of which is the title, tlayacanqui (“he who comes before things”). By piercing his nose, the great king becomes he who went first and guided all the men of his kingdom. Regarding rituals involving birth (figure 11.3), it can be inferred that piercing the eye conferred understanding and piercing the mouth the ability to speak. Finally, the ornaments placed in the perforated parts were also T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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metaphoric constructions in which the materials (precious stones or feathers) and the shape (arrow or bead) were loaded with meaning. The metaphoric meaning that the Aztecs attributed to the perforations in the different parts of the face is close to that applied by the Kayapo of the Amazon Basin. According to a study by Terrence Turner (2012, 491), the Kayapo pierced the ears of children, inserted ornaments in the perforations, and stretched the lobes as a “metaphor for the socialisation of the understanding, the opening of the ears to language and all that implies, which takes place during the first years of infancy.” For their part, all the adult men of the tribe had lip-­plugs to express their ability for public speaking, since it “is the most characteristic attribute of senior manhood, and the essential medium of political power” (ibid.). ROYAL INVESTITURE AS THE MAKING OF AN IXIPTLA

Royal investiture consisted of several substitution rituals whose purpose was to transform the new sovereign into a true ixiptla of the gods. The rituals began with three simultaneous ceremonial acts: donning special attire, piercing of parts of the face, and corporal penance. The same rituals were performed when subordinate lords known as tecuhtli and the sovereigns of the Triple Alliance, named tlahtoani, were invested in office. Depending on the sources and places in question, the changing of array took place prior to or after the nose cartilage was pierced.17 The ceremony began with the lighting of a brazier representing Xiuhtecuhtli, the god of fire, in front of which the new king was dressed in the corresponding attire (figure 11.4). In several cities in central Mexico (Carrasco 1965), the king was covered with a garment belonging to five patron deities—­Camaxtli, Tezcatlipoca, Xipe Totec, and two gods difficult to identify (Topantecutle and Amoxhutle)—­by their respective high priests. The other descriptions do not provide the names of the deities, but it can be assumed that in Tenochtitlan they were Huitzilopochtli and Tezcatlipoca.18 The bones covering the king’s garment (figure 11.5) were actually among the attributes of these gods. The gods of power for whom the king became the substitute were thus the protectors of the cities, mythical sovereigns, and great warriors. It should be noted, in particular, that the sovereign was called on to impart justice, a task that he performed in place of Tezcatlipoca.19 This act was accompanied by the piercing of the septum of the nose. In the cities of central Mexico, the king was supposed to acquire, above all, warrior attributes. It is for this reason that the piercing, purportedly to communicate 364

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Figure 11.4. The ceremony of dressing the tecuhtli in new attire before the fire. Credit: from Codex Magliabechiano (1983, folio 71r), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve.

Figure 11.5. Ceremonies of dressing the Aztec sovereign and his second in garments decorated with bones. Credit: from Códice Florentino (1979, lam. 8, il. 93), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve.

new capabilities as we have seen, was executed with an eagle’s claw and a jaguar’s bone. The pair or diphrasism (eagle/jaguar) metaphorically designated a “warrior.” The piercing instruments thus constituted a “material diphrasism”20 aimed at communicating to the new king the force of the two most powerful predators in the region.21 Beyond the central highlands, the piercing of the septum was practiced throughout Mesoamerica (figure 11.6). Piercing constituted the reenactment of a mythical episode from Chichimec history that closely associated perforation of the septum with the practice of corporal penance.22 In consonance with this primordial experience, the sovereigns also engaged in penance consisting of fasting, wakefulness, bloodletting, and baths, accompanied by the offering of incense and the sacrificing of quails to several gods. The supreme sovereigns of the tlahtoani category engaged in penance for only four days, but at the tecuhtli level the new kings were T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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Figure 11.6. Piercing the nose of a Mixtec sovereign. Credit: from Códice Nuttall (plate 52), according to Caso (1977, I, plate IVf ), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve.

confined to the temple once they were dressed in their new array. At the end of this period, in the company of his family, the new king began a new period of penance lasting one month (Carrasco 1965). When they had finished their penance, the sovereigns went through numerous ceremonies punctuated by changes in attire having symbolic meaning. Accordingly, the tecuhtli-­level king first bathed in a spring representing the goddess Chalchiuhtlicue, “she with the jade skirt.” After having been thrown in cold water four times, the sovereign was dressed in jade-­green attire, signifying that he had acquired the purity of this deity (Carrasco 1965, 138). The king then issued a call to war and, to this end, dressed in the attire of the god of the flaying of the vanquished, Xipe Totec (Carrasco 1965, 138). The tecuhtli-­ level kings went off to war to take prisoners for sacrifice. But in the case of the tlahtoani, “he had the call to war announced so as to conquer some province and assembled his captains and warriors and gave them arms and emblems” (Sahagún 1956, VIII, chapter 18, 475). The number of captives taken during the expedition served as an indication of the king’s capability to nourish the sun and the earth and thereby ensure the welfare of the city. Upon returning from combat, the warrior king was transformed into the conqueror king by means of a change of attire through a play on the successive identifications of the king with his captive and the sun. First, the king was identified with his captive by dressing the latter in new clothing. The king provided the clothing and ornaments brought “from his house” to dress the captive who entered the city and was received as if he were the sovereign himself.23 When the day of the sacrifice arrived, the captive was identified with the sun, again by means of dressing him with special attire: “they dressed 366

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with the insignia of the sun god” (Motolinía 1903, II, 14, 301) before sacrificing him. Thus, the captive first became the image and substitute of the king and then image and substitute of the sun, which, in the final analysis, made the king the ixiptla of the sun. Following the sacrifice of his first prisoner, the king earned the right to attire himself with precious ornaments and gold, which, in my interpretation, could signify the light and splendor of the sun: Here it was the custom that neither lords nor sons of lords could wear gold or silver jewels or precious stones, nor richly woven or painted cloth, nor feathers in headdresses until they showed bravery by killing or taking a captive or captives in war . . . [Following the sacrifice] and from then on the lord could wear and use gold jewels and rich robes, whenever he wanted, especially in the feasts and in warfare and in dances, wearing feathers on his head . . . and tying them in his hair was a sign that he was a brave man.24

One can see here that the investiture of a king set in motion the “piercing-­ ­ dressing-­ penance” triad that allowed passage to a higher level of understanding. The subsequent ceremonies bestowed on the king the purity of Chalchiuhtlicue and they ensured his identification with the sun; in each case, the change of the array was the ritual that conferred on the sovereign his quality of impersonator of the deities. THE KING, IXIPTLA OF THE GODS

Following the sacrifice of the first captive, it was no longer a matter of piercing. Instead, the king would periodically repeat the ritual of dressing with the ornaments and facial painting of the gods. The deities had, in fact, spheres of competence that corresponded to the tasks expected of the king. Accordingly, he could repeat “on demand” the ritual by dressing with the regalia of a god as the occasion arose because he entered the latter’s domain. The most evident case is that provided by Xipe Totec, the prototype of the flayed warrior, who represented the aim of the activities of war: capture, flay, and sacrifice an enemy. Each time he went off to war, the king entered the sphere of competence of Xipe Totec and thus began to dress in several of his fine robes made from feathers and animal skins.25 The splendid attire of the king of Texcoco (figure 11.7) evokes the descriptions of the war regalia. Later, when returning from combat during the feast of Tlacaxipehualiztli (March  4–­­23), the king danced attired in the skin of his principal sacrificial victim (Motolinía 1903, I, 18, 60; Codex Vaticanus A 1979, folio 83v, in Vié-­Wohrer 1999, II, A 50). T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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Figure 11.7. The king of Texcoco, Nezahualcoyotl, in war dress. Credit: from Codex Ixtlilxochitl (1976, folio 106r), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve.

On the occasions of feasts during the 18 months of 20 days each in the annual cycle, the king successively dressed in the attire of the principal deity of each feast (Broda 1978, 235–­250; Graulich 1998, 208). Without presenting a complete picture, it can be recalled that during Toxcatl (May 3–­­22),26 the king personally dressed the sacrificial victim who impersonated Tezcatlipoca, indicating a dual identification with both god and the victim. He danced, dressed as a god, in Hueytecuilhuitl ( July 2–­­21) and Ochpaniztli (August  31–­­September  19). In Quecholli (October  30–­­November  18), the feast of the hunt and the Chichimec past, the king was attired as Mixcoatl, the mythical ancestor of kings and hunters. The year ended with Izcalli ( January  18–­­February  6), feast of the god of fire, when the supreme king danced in the attire symbolizing fire, at the head of a line of all the subordinate kings, all dressed in the same fashion. On that occasion, all the sovereigns of different ranks wore ornaments of turquoise, that precious stone known as xihuitl, the name of which formed part of the title of the god of fire, Xiuhtecuhtli. More precisely, the blue-­green color of the stone designated the color of the live coals, the origin of the flames.27

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Figure 11.8. The five royal impersonators of Huitzilopochtli. Credit: Sahagún (1561, folio 54r, column A), redrawn by Danièle Dehouve. THE SOLIDARY IXIPTLA: FIVE KINGS IN ONE

So far we have considered the king as a single person capable of personifying the deities of power. But this view from texts assembled and “corrected” by the Spaniards does not completely reflect reality. In fact, a passage from one of the most authentic documents registered by Sahagún shows that in practice five royal persons incarnated in solidary fashion the god Huitzilopochtli: “Here were the kings who heard everything, all that was done, those who became substitutes of Huitzilopochtli.”28 The image corresponding to this text is presented in figure 11.8. Scholars have long noted that the Aztec king was accompanied by four “senators” or “coadjutors” (as rendered in Spanish) who assisted him in imparting justice. But the text in Nahuatl indicates that these assistants were not termed the ixiptla of the king, but rather constituted, together with the sovereign, a set of ixiptla of the tutelary god Huitzilopochtli. There were, thus, five kings in one. In this regard, it is a known fact that only the kings could personify Huitzilopochtli. Thus in Texcoco, “aside from the king, no one represented this [god] and, upon his death, was dressed in ornaments similar [to those of the god], and thus attired, they burned his body until it was reduced to ashes.”29 The fact that, collectively, five persons were ixiptla of the god is highly significant. I mention only briefly that, depending on the place, these five persons held different titles.30 In the text in the Primeros Memoriales (Sahagún 1561), the first was held by the king (tlacatecuhtzintli) and the other four by his “senators” (tlacochcalcatzintli, cihuacohuatzintli, Huitznahuac tlacatecuhtzintli, Huitznahuac T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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tlailotlacatzintli). Depending on the source, the titles varied (Dehouve 2013a). What is important is the fact that this organization depicts an arithmetic, geometric, and metaphoric form referring to the principles that organized the universe, consistent with the Mesoamerican worldview. The representation of the five kings (figure 11.8) depicts, in fact, a “cosmogram,” in other words, the image of the universe. This took the geometric shape of a square or a quincunx. Such a view was derived from the observation of the movements of the sun in the horizon over the course of the year. The most evident way to achieve this was to observe the sunrise or sunset on the horizon from a fixed point over the course of the year. On beginning his observation, facing the east at the time of the winter solstice, the observer sees the sun rise to his right. Six months later, during the summer solstice, he will see the sun rise to his left. Later, the sun will begin its “return” to the right of the observer, a return that will be completed at the winter solstice. This experience reveals the existence of two solstice points on the eastern horizon at sunrise and two solstice points on the western horizon at sunset. Accordingly, these four points on the horizon defined the limits of the world inhabited by men. The observation of the four solstice points assumes the virtual existence of a fifth point, that of the observer, at the intersection of the diagonal lines drawn between the solstice points. A square was thus traced (without the fifth point) or a quincunx (with the fifth point), which can also be expressed by the numbers “four” and “five.” This cosmogram was omnipresent in ancient Mexico and also shared by other Amerindian peoples who used the horizon calendar, such as the Pawnee of the Great Plains and the Zuñi of the Southwest in North America, as well as the Inca in South America. It is also known among present-­day Indian populations of Mesoamerica (see Dehouve 2011, chapter V, 77–­96; 2015). The cosmogram constituted an iconic and numerical form that allowed the four solstices to be represented as well as the cycle of Venus and the winds. It formed a sort of diagram that could house any time cycle and it is known that the ancient Mexicans represented their calendar divisions in the interior of quadrangles. Beyond that, the cosmogram was a shape shared by the universe and humans. Accordingly, the city of Tenochtitlan was divided into four quarters (Codex Mendoza 1992, plate 1) and the Aztec market had the figure of a square. By extension, all square shapes were used to represent the universe: the abode of the farmers, the field, the square formed by the piling of firewood to make a fire, and the maize granary (Dehouve 2011, 90–­91). One application of the cosmogram in the representation of the rain and mountain gods is reproduced in figure 11.1. 370

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The cosmogram thus enabled men to compare themselves with the universe. Accordingly, it is not surprising that this shape was represented in the collegiate government of the Aztecs with the king in the center and his four coadjutants on each of the corners of the square (figure 11.8). Considered from this standpoint, the collegiate government constituted a microcosm. This was possible because the king did not govern alone and his person was reinforced by the presence of other personalities. And the notion on which this representation was grounded was that of ixiptla. THE IXIPTLA OF THE KING

Finally, the king had his own impersonators. They were the high dignitaries who replaced him in waging war and imparting justice and who represented him as ambassadors. In Tenochtitlan alone there were more than thirty (Dehouve 2013a) and the four coadjutants of the king were chosen from among this group. The dignitaries were for the most part “lords” (tecuhtli), heads of noble houses (teccalli) who held lands to which agricultural laborers were attached and the right to receive tribute, and who were in charge of the functioning of the political structure of the cities (Carrasco and Monjarás-­Ruiz 1998, 45). But they did not carry out the same function throughout their life: through their prowess in war, they earned the right to receive a higher title. Each change in status was the occasion for a new investiture ceremony. All the high personalities were great warriors who had begun their careers through the capture and sacrifice of four prisoners, giving them access to the title of tequihua, which was bestowed on them when they were invested in office. They subsequently participated in the organization of wars, each according to his rank. The highest placed met in a council of war at the sovereign’s side while the others organized the general mobilization and convoked the warriors of each of the quarters of the city.31 There was no separation of functions and the dignitaries also imparted justice at the side of the king. Chosen from among the bravest warriors, certain of them furthermore carried out the function of executor. Just as the king was known as the “wild beast of Tezcatlipoca”—­in other words, the substitute of the god of justice—­the judges were “the wild beasts of power,” in other words, the impersonators of the sovereign.32 All the dignitaries were called on to substitute for the king as his ambassadors: “The eye, the ear: such was said of the messenger of the supreme king (tlahtoani) or the simple king (tecuhtli) who went to some place to deliver the T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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word of the king.”33 Just as the king was the “eyes, the ears” of the god and the dignitaries were the “eyes and ears” of the sovereign, these same sense organs defined the impersonator. These royal messengers represented the indispensable intermediaries of the proper functioning of the State, as shown throughout Alvarado Tezozómoc’s Crónica Mexicana (2007). They informed the allied kings of the death of the sovereign and the election and enthronement of his successor. They requested materials from the subject cities to build the temples of Tenochtitlan, required dancers for the feasts, and informed their region of the wars to be waged. An event that took place with the first encounters of the Aztecs and Spaniards reveals the application of the notion of substitution. The king sent one of his dignitaries to meet Hernán Cortés in his name. When the noble Tzihuacpopoca presented himself to the conquerors, they asked him: “Are you Moctezuma? He responded: Yes, I am his server, I am Moctezuma. But they said to him: Out of here! Why are you fooling us? Who are you taking us for?”34 This dialogue in Spanish is better understood when we refer to the words spoken in Nahuatl. In fact, “this Tzihuacpopoca represented Moctezuma as his ixiptla.” And to the Spaniard’s question as to whether he was Moctezuma, the dignitary responded: “I am the one who personifies him before you, I am Moctezuma.”35 A SYSTEM OF SACRED KINGSHIP WITH EPHEMERAL CORPORAL ARTS

I have argued here that the notion of substitution was central to the functioning of Aztec kingship. The results of this analysis can be summarized as follows.

1. The term ixiptla referred to a symbolic and ritual complex.

The substitution was achieved in two parts, each of which was built around a ritual with a metaphoric content. The first part consisted of wearing clothing and using corporal painting and the second of having parts of the face pierced. The result was acquiring the identity of the being to whom the ornaments belonged. One dressed to see, to hear, to speak—­in other words, to act as that being and in his place and, it could even be said, to instill him with life. This identity was temporarily achieved, since it disappeared once the garments were removed: even the piercing of the earlobes, the lips, and the nose, which initially seem to be an irreversible action, was meaningful only because 372

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it enabled ornaments to be inserted in the perforations according to the context and the manifested will of identification at a given point in time. Transformation into different types of ixiptla was reiterated on multiple occasions. It provided an indispensable ritual act for the investiture ceremonies that required the use of successive dress and piercing parts of the face. No status could be acquired without investiture and the dignitaries constantly changed status. The king and his dignitaries likewise became impersonators of the gods on the occasion of feasts and rituals, in the course of which they danced, dressed in the raiment of their deities. And they also dressed in clothing according to their occupations of the moment. Briefly, the whole system functioned on the basis of assuming ephemeral and transitory identities through the use of special attire. 2. Kingship was a set of functions filled according to the principle of substitution.

The royal function consisted of two cosmic tasks: war and justice. In order to carry them out in the best possible manner, the king had recourse to substitution rituals. A group of deities was linked to power and each of them possessed his or her own sphere of competence. The king achieved identifications “on demand,” referring to Tezcatlipoca when he imparted justice and to the gods of war (Tezcatlipoca, Huitzilopochtli, and Xipe Totec) upon departure on an expedition. For this reason investiture did not consist of inscribing the body of the king with indelible marks (other than the perforations), but to cover it with several types of ornaments that allowed him to accomplish specific missions. And the rituals of substitution were repeated as often as possible, since they ensured the success of the royal tasks. Brisch (2008) deals with the question of sacred or divine kingships from a comparative point of view and poses the question as to whether their kings were only at times or always divine. The Aztec example shows that the king assumed divine identities in a transitory and non-­permanent fashion and always with regard to a specific task. Accordingly, he belonged neither to the category of gods (because he was not deified), nor to that of men (because, through a process of metamorphosis, he temporarily became a god). This can be clarified by a remark made by Selz (2008, 13–­14, 38), who argues that the binary opposition of “divine” and “human” is of Western origin and is not applicable to ancient Mesopotamia, where kings and priests were literally composed of human and divine elements. Following this historian, a sacred kingship should create a composite royal person. In light of this, it can be concluded that the notion of T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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substitution was the solution chosen by the Aztecs to transcend the categories of human and divine. 3. The deployment of royal functions was based on substitution.

The king was not isolated at the center of the social group. The anthropologist Hocart (1978) has shown that, grounded on the royal person, from persons close to the king and downwards, the whole of society was built (Dehouve 2006, 27). In the examples taken by Hocart from Vedic India and the Fiji Islands, the royal functions were not necessarily carried out by the king alone, but were distributed among different individuals who became “solidary royal persons.” Hocart refers to this process as the “deployment of functions.” In Aztec society, this operation was achieved through the notion of substitution. Substitution, first of all, allowed the person of the king to be multiplied: five persons were collectively impersonators of the tutelary god which meant that there were five kings in one, or one king in five. This multiple identity enabled the royal function to represent the cosmogram of the universe. Furthermore, the king had his own impersonators, between thirty and forty personages in Tenochtitlan who did not represent the sovereign permanently, but only in performing specific tasks.

4. Substitution was consistent with ephemeral corporal arts.

The notion of substitution led the Aztecs to develop a symbolic language of a particular type that specifically concerned “movable” ornaments. Everything in these insignia had a metaphoric meaning: the part of the body that received the ornament, the material of which it was made, its shape, its color, and the motifs with which they were inscribed. These attributes represented a permanent aspect of the system, since each god was identified by specific symbols but adorned in a temporary fashion. These remarks bring us back to Steiner’s (1990) hypothesis referred to at the beginning of this chapter. This anthropologist suggested that fluid systems of power would privilege ephemeral corporal arts and centralized systems with the indelible marks of tattooing. In this regard the Aztec case is paradoxical: it is characterized by a centralized kingship with fixed roles attributed to the king, dignitaries, and the gods. Nonetheless, it privileged body gear that built transitory and multiple identifications. That can perhaps be explained by the fact that Steiner dealt with relatively small-­scale societies. In contrast, in

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centralized states in which offices become visibly more stable than the individuals who occupied them, objects and costumes tend to constitute insignia that can be transferred from one occupant to the next and that symbolize the office independent of any particular individual. Among the Aztecs, although incarnated in a personage, power took the permanent form of the regalia, while the notion of substitution commanded a fluctuating set of representations and rituals that were incarnated in the body of the king and his dignitaries. As can be observed, the topic lends itself to comparative anthropology and the question can be raised as to whether it has a place in the typology of ontologies proposed by Descola (2005, 2010). Situating the “self in face of the other” at the center of the social fabric, this author distinguishes four cultural ways of thinking about the relationship between nature and culture—­naturalism, totemism, animism, and analogism—­the last two of which have been a topic of debate among Mesoamericanists. Animism considers that the world is peopled by human and nonhuman beings with like interior natures, but that are distinguished by their external physical appearance. Animism is found among the Indians of the Amazon, in Arctic North America, Siberia, Southeast Asia, and Melanesia. Analogism is an ontology of atomization and recomposition present in antiquity and the Renaissance in Europe, in West Africa, and in Indian communities in the Andes and Mexico. In Descola’s view, Mesoamerica is characterized by an analogic ontology because the components of the person—­tonalli, ihiyotl, and nagual—­migrate incessantly between human and animals in a process of perpetual wandering. Threatened with anomie by the plurality of the personality of its inhabitants, this world recurred to analogy to create mechanisms of solidarity and bonds of continuity. This classification has been questioned by several specialists who consider the traits listed by Descola for animism to reflect the situation found in Mexico (Millán et al. 2013; Chamoux 2011, 178). Inversely, according to Martínez González (2010, 2012), this definition assumes a distinction between “internal traits” and “physical attributes” (physicality), a distinction apparently absent in Mesoamerica (see Dehouve 2014b). Significantly, the animist and analogic categories, as well as the discussions that ensued from them, are based on the components of the soul of the person and nagualism. In contrast, the notion of substitution of ixiptla is not concerned with the individual in its relations with nonhumans, but rather with the way in which persons and their bodies ensure the functioning of a social and political system, through which, in turn, they are shaped. Accordingly, the symbolic and ritual complex of ixiptla appears as a solution to a problem of the same type dealt with by Kantorowicz (1957) in his classic essay on the corporal T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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duality of the king. It was, in fact, at the time of the process of creation of the modern state in England that jurists in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries invented the fiction of the two bodies of the king, one natural and mortal, and the other, supernatural and immortal, embodying the kingdom as a whole. The principle of substitution, for its part, represents the solution found by the Aztecs to ensure the functioning of a sacred kingship society in which the person and the body of the king are deployed to incarnate society and the world. It can be said that the duality of the body of the king in England and the multiplication (through substitution) of the body of the king among the Aztecs both represented ontological solutions—­concerning the nature of the royal being—­to specific sociopolitical problems. This definition differs from the one adopted by Descola, who uses the term to designate different modes of existence in the world independent of the form of society in which they take place. I suggest that the reason why animist and analogic ontologies are so difficult to apply stems precisely from the scant importance attributed to society in this approach, which seeks to relate the individual directly to natural entities. This, despite the fact that many of the authors cited above have emphasized that the individualistic concept of the person is of recent origin and is not applicable to most of the societies studied by anthropologists. Nagualism appears to lend itself to such an individualistic conception, especially in contemporary Indian Mexico, but it formed part of the exercise of power by the Aztec kings and conferred to them the power of nonhuman doubles. As for the notion of ixiptla, it was fundamentally social, but it is not for this reason that it has disappeared from contemporary Indian communities more rapidly than nagualism. Certain monographs of Indian communities in Chiapas show that the mayordomos embody the saint during their year of service. For example, in Chamula, the mayordomo of the Virgin Mary is addressed as “señora” (Pozas Arciniega 1959, 118). During the annual ceremonies, those responsible for organizing the rituals are surrounded by a crowd of people who help them, represent them, and substitute for them. One particularly suggestive example is provided by Monod-­Becquelin and Breton (2002) in their study of Bajachón in Chiapas. The persons charged with the celebration of Carnaval are surrounded by close kin who assume their role, speak in their place, and dress in their clothes on the occasion of different ceremonies and serve as their substitutes, thus playing a role close to that of the Aztec ixiptla. Furthermore, they are assisted by two men who play the flute and drum and recite the pertinent ritual discourse and who “are literally the movement and the voice of the captain” (ibid., 46). Still others, eighty in number, are assigned to the preparation and serving 376

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of the meals and are known as “the hands and feet” of those in charge of the organization. This corporal terminology shows the extent to which the concept of sacred kingship, built on the social and cosmic deployment of the person and the body of a central ritual figure—­that is, an ontology specific to him—­is still alive in indigenous Mexico. NOTES

1. Translation: David Robichaux, emeritus professor, Posgrado en Antropología Social, Universidad Iberoamericana, México, DF. 2. The terms “sacred (or sacral) kingship” and “divine kingship” were first used by James Frazer and designate a religious and political concept in which a ruler is, above all, endowed with ritual functions. Here I use the term “sacred kingship” to designate those functions, rather than “divine kingship,” which assumes a deified king. 3. “Se pintaban los pechos en la misma carne, cortándola con una navaja” (Sahagún 1956, X, chapter 29, 5–­54, 603). (The Spanish texts from Sahagún have been rendered in English by the translator.) 4. “Aderezados con ornamentos que cada uno representaba a uno de los dioses” (Sahagún 1956, II, chapter XXI, paragraph 16). 5. In logic, the form of thought that expresses totality by means of a listing of the parts is known as “definition by listing” or “by extension.” “By extension of a word, we understand the totality of beings are things designated by that name” (Dictionary Le Petit Robert 1978, “Extension.” Definition taken from Goblot 1918). This form of definition is different from “definition by comprehension” typical of Western languages, a type of definition that recurs to a synthetic and abstract word to express what Mesoamerican languages designate with a series of descriptive terms and listings. 6. Here I draw on a terminology stemming from the Spanish term disfrasismo coined by Ángel María Garibay (1961). He defined it as the union of two terms to produce a third meaning. 7. This list can be deduced from a number of phrases such as “and the rich received flowers, tobacco, loincloths, capes, cloth, clothing, and were rewarded with land, a house,” auh in amiximati oquimahuizoqueh in xochitl, in yetl, in maxtlatl, in tilmahtli, in cuachtli, in quemitl, auh in tlalli in calli in oquimahuizocoh (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 106, in Dehouve 2014a). Translations of Sahagún’s Nahuatl texts by the author. 8. For example: “You have perforated their eyes, opened their ears” in tiquimixcoyoni, in tiquinnacaztlapo (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 41); “You are his lips, his jaws, his tongue, his eyes, his ears” ca tiiten ca tiicamachal ca tiinenepil ca tiix ca tiinacaz (ibid., VI, 52); and “You become the lips of someone, the jaws of someone,” timotetentia, timotecamachaltia (ibid., VI, 41). I add to this list the terms “breath, word,” because they T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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are associated with “lips”; for example, “his breath, his lips, his word,” in amihiyoh, in amotentzin, in amotlahtoltzin (ibid., VI, 144). 9. Though infrequent, it is grammatically correct to translate a composed word in this fashion: for example, ayo(tl)-­tochtli, “rabbit-­turtle,” designates the tattoo. This animal brings together the properties of the rabbit and the turtle. 10. [You come from the house of your father and your mother, but] “the master is no longer your mother. He is the one who rears you, who pierces your eyes, opens your ears, the one who has cold water and stinging nettle in his hand [punishment],” oc huel ie monantzin in tlacazcaltiani, in tlacahuapahuani, in teixcoyoniani, in tenacaztlapohuani, in imac, in icamac cah in alcecec, in tzitzicaztli (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 213). 11. Quinnacazxapotlah quinnacazcoyoniah (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, II, 170). 12. The arrival of a new king is described as follows: “One has blown, perforated the jade, the bracelet, the turquoise. Life has been instilled in him, he is born,” Ca opitzaloc omamalihuac in chalchihuitl in maquiztli in teoxihuitl oyol otlacat (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 17). 13. “They will become your instrument (tlaxonitl), your flute (tlapitzalli),” in monetlaxonia, in motlatlapitzalhuan mochihuazqueh. The translation of tlaxonitl is difficult; Dibble and Anderson (in Florentine Codex 1950–­1982) propose “backrest” and Montes de Oca (2000, 179) “musical instrument.” 14. “You become the lips of someone,” timotetentia, and “You become the mouth of someone,” timotecamachaltia (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 41); “You are his lips, his jaws, his tongue, his eyes, his ears,” ca tiiten ca tiicamachal ca tiinenepil ca tiix ca tiinacaz (ibid., VI, 52); “You will speak within them,” in imìtic titlàtoz (ibid., VI, 41). 15. “Horadaban orejas, narices o labio inferior, según el señorío que tenían” (Relación de Cholula 1985, 131). 16. “The kings who heard everything that was done,” tlahtohqueh in mochi quicaquiyah in ixquich mochihuayah (Sahagún 1561, folio 54r, column A). “You will speak an unknown language with [the god],” ca ticpopolotza in teotl (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 52). 17. For a detailed description, see Dehouve (2016). 18. These two gods were repeatedly invoked in the investiture speeches reported by Sahagún (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI). 19. During the investiture ceremonies the priests introduced the new sovereigns to Tezcatlipoca with these words: “you will use them to represent yourself, they will be in your place, they will be your secret person; you will speak from within them, they will act as your lips . . . those which will become lips of the creator, mother of the gods, father of the gods,” los utilizarás para representarte, quedarán en tu lugar, serán tu persona secreta; hablarás adentro de ellos, te servirán de labios . . . los que se harán labios del creador, madre de los dioses, padre de los dioses (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 52). 20. The linguistic pairs known as diphrasisms are a trait of ceremonial language in 378

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Mesoamerica. I have shown that they can be materially represented in the form of objects and consequently proposed the term “material diphrasism” (Dehouve 2013c). 21. “Horadarle con uña de águila y con hueso de tigre significaba que en las guerras los que tal dignidad y señorío recibían que eran como armados caballeros, habían de ser en la guerra muy ligeros para seguir y alcanzar a los enemigos como águilas, y fuertes y animosos para pelear como tigres y leones” “Piercing him with an eagle claw or a jaguar bone meant that those on whom such an honor was bestowed in such and such a kingdom were like armed knights, would be as quick as eagles in pursuing and capturing their enemies, and as strong and courageous as tigers and lions in combat” (Motolinía 1903, II, 11, 287). 22. “Durante cuatro días los señores ayunaron. Para ello, nuestro padre, nuestro amo, se tendió entre las ramas del mezquite blanco y la gente chichimeca ayunó e hizo penitencia. Cuatro noches y cuatro días pasaron allá haciendo penitencia dolorosamente. Allá les llevaron de beber y de comer el quauhtli (águila), el ocelotl (jaguar)  .  .  . Cuando terminaron las cuatro noches y los cuatro días, Icxicouatl y Quetzalteueyac perforaron las narices de los nobles chichimecas con el hueso del águila y del jaguar” “The lords fasted for four days. In doing so, our father, our master, lay among the branches of the white mesquite and the Chichimec people fasted and did penance. They spent four nights and four days there doing penance with pain. Icxicouatl and Quetalteueyac pierced the noses of the Chichimec nobles with the bone of the eagle and the jaguar” (Historia tolteca chichimeca 1989, 94). 23. “Cuando el señor la primera vez prendía alguno en la guerra, luego despachaba sus mensajeros para que de su casa le trajesen las mejores joyas y vestidos que tenia . . . y vueltos los mensajeros con las ropas, luego componían y vestían al que el señor había preso . . . llamábanle hijo del señor que le había preso, u hacíanle aquella honra que al mesmo señor, aunque no muy deveras . . . y los del pueblo . . . al preso que venía en las andas saludaban todos primero que al señor y a otro ninguno” “When the lord took a captive for the first time in war, he dispatched his messengers to go to his house and bring him his best jewels and clothing . . . and when the messengers returned they attired the captive with them . . . they called him son of the lord who had taken him prisoner and they bestowed upon him the same honor bestowed upon the lord, although not so convincingly . . . and the people . . . greeted the captive who was brought in on a litter before greeting the lord or anybody else” (Motolinía 1903, II, 14, 301). 24. “ca tenian de costumbre que ni los señores ni los hijos de los señores no se poner joyas de oro ni de plata, ni piedras preciosas, ni mantas ricas de labores, ni pintadas, ni plumajes en la cabeza, hasta que oviese hecho alguna valentia, matando o prendiendo por su mano alguno o algunos en guerra . . . [Después del sacrificio] de allí adelante el señor se podía ataviar y usar de joyas de oro y de mantas ricas, quando quería, especial en las fiestas y en las guerras y en los bailes poníanse en la cabeza unos plumajes ricos [ . . . ] y aquel atar de cabellos era señal de valiente hombre” (Motolinía 1903, II, 14, 300, 302). T he N otion of S ubstitution in A ztec K ingship

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25. The first was the classic red Xipe made of feathers from the ajaia ajaia bird (tlauhquecholli), the second was the blue Xipe made of feathers from the Cotinga amabilis (xiuhtototl) (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VIII, 33; Seler 1992, 47–­49). 26. The date of the month of the solar year is taken from Broda (2000, 55) and Dehouve and Vié-­Wohrer (2008, 94). 27. The dance is described in Florentine Codex (1950–­1982, II, 151–­177). 28. Nica[n] cateh in huel yehhuanti[n] tlahtohqueh in mochi quicaquiyah in ixquich mochihuayah. In ixiptlah mochiuhticatcah in Huitzilopochtli (Sahagún 1561, folio 54r, column A). 29. “A éste [dios] no representaba nadie, si no era el rey [que] cuando moría, lo componían de semejantes ornatos, y, con ellos, quemaban el cuerpo hasta hacer ceniza” (Pomar 1986, 56). 30. “tenían en diversos lugares, diversos nombres” (Sahagún 1956, VIII, chapter 18, 473). 31. See, for example, Alvarado Tezozómoc (2007, 509). 32. In itecuacahuan in petlatl in icpalli (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 72), from the term tecuani, “devourer of men.” 33. Teix tenacaz: inin tlahtolli ipan mihtoaya in tlatocatitlantli, ahnozo tecutitlantli: in canapa concahuaya tlahtohcatlahtolli (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, VI, 245–­246). 34. “¿Acaso tú eres Moctezuma? Dijo él: Sí, soy su servidor. Yo soy Moctezuma. Pero ellos le dijeron: ¡Fuera de aquí! ¿Por qué nos engañas? ¿quién crees que somos?” (Sahagún 1956 XII, chapter 12, 771). 35. Inin tzihuacpopocatzin quimixiptlatica in Motecuzomatzin [qui-­ m(o)-­ ixiptla-­ tica] . . . Ca nehhuatl in namotechiuhcauh in niMotecuzoma namo-­te-­chi(uh)(hua)-­cauh, from techiuhqui, “he who engenders,” “he who makes the person,” translated as governor or official (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, XII, 31). See also the expression Moctezuma itechiuhcahuan, “the representatives of [‘those who make up’] Moctezuma” (Florentine Codex 1950–­1982, II, 74). REFERENCES

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Contributors

Christopher S. Beekman, University of Colorado Denver Claire Billard, Independent Scholar Danièle Dehouve, CNRS (Université Paris Ouest), École Pratique des Hautes Études, Paris I–­Panthéon-­Sorbonne Brigitte Faugère, Université Paris I–­Panthéon-­Sorbonne Cynthia Kristan-­G raham, Auburn University Melissa K. Logan, Independent Scholar Sylvie Peperstraete, École Pratique des Hautes Études, Université Libre de Bruxelles Patricia Plunket, Independent Scholar Mari Carmen Serra Puche, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México Juliette Testard, Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique Andrew D. Turner, Getty Research Institute Gabriela Uruñuela, Independent Scholar Marcus Winter, Centro INAH Oaxaca, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia

Index

Abstract, abstraction (style), 158; entities, 12 Acámbaro (town, river valley, site, region), 30, 31, 33, 43, 46–47 Africa, 189, 375 Age, 15, 36–37, 38, 40, 43, 51, 110, 119, 248, 250, 254–255, 268, 271, 279; elderly, 11, 15, 109, 139, 140, 141, 238, 240, 248–249, 250, 251–257, 259n18, 260n24, 277, 279; offspring, 19, 31, 36–37, 40, 42–43, 46, 51–53, 57, 58, 60–61, 68, 109, 113–114, 118, 127, 132, 145n3, 165, 176, 272, 273, 274, 277–278, 284, 293, 361, 362, 364; senescence, 251; youth, 68, 110, 140, 188, 214, 249, 279, 293, 318 Air, breath, wind (ihiyotl), 16, 55, 92, 359, 377n8 Alvarado Tezozómoc, Fernando, 259n17 Amanteca (people), 8 Ameca-Etzatlán (style), 71, 114, 123, 124, 125–128, 129, 139, 282 Amecameca (site), 221 American Museum of Natural History, 74, 240, 242 Amoxhutle (god), 364 Analogism (ontology), 21, 49–51, 60, 96, 267, 338, 375–376 Ancestor, ancestral, 5, 9, 10–11, 17–18, 20, 46, 55, 57, 60–61, 84, 119, 132, 180, 189, 200, 231, 254, 301–302, 311, 314–316, 319–320; and stone, 320; veneration/

worship, 95, 180, 192, 309, 311, 313, 321n2, 368 Animals, 6–8, 11–12, 14, 19, 58, 68–69, 71, 77, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92–96, 97n5, 113, 124, 127, 153, 159–160, 168, 174, 176, 190, 192, 197, 208–209, 214, 219, 268, 286, 357, 367, 375, 378n9; bird, 32, 87, 174, 268, 286; butterfly, 276; canine, 87, 90–91, 286; coyote, 8, 93, 96, 208, 209, 226; deer, 80, 190, 208, 209, 224, 332, 358; dog, 31–32, 68, 93, 94, 190, 305, 321n3; eagle, 90–91, 95–96, 192, 304, 305, 308–309, 320, 322n6, 333, 339, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348, 365, 379n21, 379n22; feline, 87, 89, 90; frog, 164, 286; hawk, 308; hummingbird, 93; iguana, 153, 168–169, 170; jaguar, 14, 77, 90–91, 93, 95–96, 153, 159–160, 161, 162, 163–164, 168, 169, 172, 175–176, 178, 207, 209, 276, 280, 307, 332, 365, 379n21, 379n22; macaw, 210; margay, 90; monkey, 153, 160–161, 194, 195, 196, 197; opossum, 93, 97n5; pigeon, 93; quadruped, 192, 194, 196, 197; rabbit, 166, 167, 190, 332, 378n9; raptor, 91; reptile, 87, 218, 219; scorpion, 332; serpent/snake, 93, 170, 174, 208–210, 216, 219, 221, 224, 257, 276, 280, 281, 286, 303–304, 305, 307, 309, 332

Animism (ontology), 77, 375–376 Animistic centers, 15, 50, 348–349; animistic forces, 49, 50, 56–57, 349. See also air/wind/ breath (ihiyotl); heart (yolia, yollotl); heat (tonalli); shadow Aquatic symbols, 318 Aquiach (title), 292 Archaeoastronomy, 268 Archaism, 230, 334, 344 Architectural veneration. See ancestors Armor, 86–87, 89, 121, 218, 308, 310, 314 Arrows, 364 Art market, 31–32, 35 Artisans, artists (people), 4, 7, 11, 16, 71, 74, 81, 94, 96, 158, 172, 225, 227, 246, 267, 304, 331, 336, 338, 342, 346–349 Astronomical orientation, 304 Atl tlachinolli (sacred warfare), 288; glyph, 332 Atlantes, atlantids, 305, 307, 316, 345 Attire, 14, 116, 121, 190, 192, 216, 218, 279, 282, 308–309, 337, 357–358, 359, 360, 364, 365, 366–369, 373, 379n23. See also clothing; costume; garment; regalia Autosacrifice, self-sacrifice, 309, 322n6, 334, 361–362; symbols, 334; thorns, 334, 342; zacatapayolli, 334 Axe, 118 Ayapango (site), 221 Azcapotzalco (site), 321n3 Aztatelli (red-and-white twisted headband), 279 Aztec (people), 17, 20, 21n1, 58, 93, 97n1, 109, 119–120, 143, 213–214, 251, 253, 267, 271, 301, 304, 305, 318, 320, 321n3, 331–335, 338–339, 342, 348–349, 355–356, 364, 371–372, 374–376; aesthetics, 335; artisans, 16, 331, 342; ceramics, 302; clothing, 143; empire, 90; gods, 93, 250–251, 284, 288; king, sovereign, tlahtoani, 363, 365, 369, 376; kingship, 355, 372–373; market, 370; murals, 16, 331, 339, 342, 346, 348; period, 6, 280; pictorial style/tradition, 331–334, 336, 338, 348–349, 349n1; sacrificial knives, 7; sculpture, 332. See also Mexica Back shield, 86, 89 Bagobo, 78 Bahh (Maya term parallel to ixiptla), 267 Bajachón (town), 376 Bajío (region), 29, 314

390

I ndex

Ballcourt, 44, 62n11, 72, 111, 113, 116–117, 153, 159, 164–166, 168, 169, 171–173, 175, 178, 304, 307, 314, 333; link to jaguars, 175 Ballgame, 44, 62n11, 113, 116–117, 121, 159, 165–166, 173, 177–178 Ballplayer, 14, 74, 113, 116, 137, 162, 175–180, 195, 286 Basalt. See stone Basin of Mexico (region), 13, 33, 61n4, 116, 238, 239, 241, 249, 312, 333, 335 Bas-relief, 332, 336, 344, 345, 346, 349 Batres, Leopoldo, 69, 70 Belize, 319 Belly, 52, 132, 133, 195, 272 Bench, 268, 270, 307, 309, 311, 313–314, 344, 345, 346 Bicephalous, 44, 46, 52, 59 Bidimensional, bidimensionality, 332, 336, 348 Bifurcated tongue, 216 Big men, 356 Bigotera (curved upper lip, lit. moustache), 217–218, 220, 221, 223, 225, 227 Birth almanac. See Tonalamatl Black Tlaloc, 220 Black-on-Orange Aztec ceramics. See Aztec ceramics Blankets, 280, 321 Blind, blindness, 250 Blood, 68, 177, 230, 337, 342 Bloodletting, 322n6, 361, 365 Blouse. See clothing Body: as armature, 21, 337–338, 348; burning, 356; interchangeability of parts, 337–338; parts, 8, 10, 15–16, 174, 332, 349, 363; and personhood, 4, 5, 12–13, 21, 50, 53, 55, 57, 92, 96, 229, 355–356, 369, 373–376; proportions, 15–16, 314, 331–332, 335, 338–339, 342, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348–349; standardization, 337 Body inscription, 15, 356, 373–374 Body modification, 285. See also body painting; cranial modification; piercing; tattooing Body painting, corporal painting, 8, 12, 36, 57, 120, 290, 356, 372 Bolaños River Valley, 111 Bone rasp, 37, 39 Bone, 37, 39, 41, 153, 158, 229, 361, 365, 379n21, 379n22. See also skeleton

Borgia codices. See Borgia Group Borgia Group, 134, 282, 333, 335, 338–339, 340, 344 Bow A (pectoral), 223, 226, 230 Bracelet, 44, 46, 56, 378n12 Brasero. See brazier Brasero-effigy, 238, 243, 244, 246, 247, 250, 258n2, 259n15 Brazier, brasero, 238, 241–243, 246, 248, 258n2, 258n6 Breasts, 113–114, 127, 131–132, 133, 136, 154, 162, 165, 169, 188, 274, 356; breastfeeding, 133 Breton, Adela, 71, 75, 115 British Museum, 125, 241 Bronze Age, 80 Brujo, 98n6 Burial, 10, 17, 19, 32, 35–37, 38, 40, 42–44, 46, 47, 49, 58–60, 62n8, 68–69, 75–76, 83, 94–95, 111–114, 118, 132, 142, 157–158, 174, 180, 199, 213, 226, 271, 301, 311–315, 319–320 Burkina Faso, 286 Cacaxtla: Animals Mural, 268; Battle Mural/ Scene, 21, 215, 218, 268, 280; Bird and Jaguar pair, 268; Building/Structure A, 222, 268; Building B, 268; Glyphic Bench, 268; Gran Basamento, 268, 292–293, 294n3; north jamb, 222; Old Merchant, 268; Red Temple, 268; Venus Temple pair, 268. See also Xochitécatl Cacaxtla-Xochitécatl. See Cacaxtla; Xochitécatl Caches, 83, 199, 302, 312 Calendar Round (52 years, complete cycle), 253 Calmecac, 292, 362 Calpulli, 8 Camaxtli (god), 364 Campeche (state), 173, 281 Campeche figurine, 282, 283, 285 Candle holder, 243, 248, 249, 259n12 Capacha (site, culture), 116 Cape. See clothing Captive, 30, 85, 91, 109, 208, 288, 359, 366–367, 379n23 Carnaval, 376 Castillo de Teayo (site), 207 Çatal Hüyük, 80 Cave, 18, 20, 80, 153, 154, 155–156, 157, 158–160, 162, 164, 166–168, 170–175; painting, 153, 161,

162, 164, 166, 167, 173, 175; as womb, 174–177, 179, 180, 181n1, 212–213 Ce Itzcuintli (calendrical feast), 255 Censers, 192, 193, 198–199, 228, 256, 259n15, 269, 341 Ceramic figures, ceramic effigies, 12–13, 19–20, 69, 75, 94, 108, 110, 114–115, 129, 243, 308 Ceramoteca de Teotihuacan, 241, 259n15 Cerro de la Campana (site), Tomb 5, 11 Cerro de la Cruz (site), 43, 45, 51–52, 59–60 Cerro Delgado (site), 213 Cerro García (figurine style), 115 Cerro Xoconoch, 213 Chac mool, 307, 322n7, 340 Chahk (Maya rain god), 213 Chalcatzingo (site), 213 Chalchihuites (culture), 309 Chalchihuitlicue (god), 291 Chamula, 376 Chan (site), 319 Chantico (god), 288 Charnay, Désiré, 206, 210 Chiapas (state), 117, 376 Chichén Itzá, 304; Great Ball Court, 322n7 Chichimec (people), 321n3, 365, 368, 379n22 Chicomecoatl (god), 288 Chief, 36, 176, 177–179, 308, 356 Chiefdom, Chieftainship, 113, 177, 356 Child sacrifice, 271 Childbirth, 44, 46, 52–53, 59–60, 135, 139–140, 145n5, 291 Chin, 246, 248, 250 China, Chinese, 78, 80, 189 Chingú (site), 312–313, 318 Choker (figurine style). See Munguía (figurine style) Cholula, 14, 19, 185–188, 189, 190, 193, 194, 195, 196–197, 198, 199–200, 292, 321n2, 363, 378n15; Great Pyramid, 187, 190, 198–200; Los Bebedores mural, 199; Open Patios, 198–199; Patio of the Altars, 199; Stage/ Structure 2 (Los Chapulines), 198, 200; Stage/Structure 4 (Edificio Escalonado 1), 187; Stage/Structure 5 (Edificio Escalonado 2), 198; Structure 4-A, 199 Chupícuaro (culture), 10, 15, 29–31, 32, 33, 35–36, 39, 46–47, 49, 51–53, 55–60, 61n1 Chupícuaro (figurine style), 33, 34, 37, 39, 41, 44, 54, 55

I ndex

391

Chuxnabán (site), 171–173, 179–180; Tomb 1, 155, 171 Cihuacoatl (title), 292 Cihuacohuatzintli (title of Aztec senator), 369 Cihuacuacuilli (old women), 279 Cinnabar, 259n11 Cinteotl (god), 339–340, 341, 344, 345, 346, 347. See also Maize God Cipactli (god), 280 Cipactonal (god), 259n16 City-states, 355 Class, 20, 134, 141, 257, 348 Classic period, 14, 17, 30, 91, 93, 96, 115, 117, 120–121, 134, 139–140, 155, 171–173, 186, 197, 199, 212, 238, 240–241, 242, 247, 248, 249, 253, 258, 258n4, 271, 312 Cloak. See clothing Clothing, 3, 8, 12, 20, 51, 60, 81, 94, 108, 110, 113–114, 118–119, 121–122, 123, 136, 142–143, 190, 272, 289–290, 293, 337, 358–360, 366, 372–373, 377n7, 379n23; blouse, 358; cape, 114, 118, 121, 122, 133, 134–136, 137, 141, 142, 143, 145n6, 162, 171, 272, 377n7; skirt, 36, 56, 114, 116, 118, 121, 122, 132, 133, 268, 280, 281, 358, 366; cloak, 91; pants, 56. See also attire; costume; garment; regalia; Tilmatli Club, 79, 86 Coadjutor. See senator Coahuayana (figure style), 114, 123–124, 126–128, 129 Coapan (site), 188 Coatlinchan (site), 208 Cocijo, Cociyo (Zapotec Rain-Lightning God), 162, 174, 178, 213 Codex Borbonicus, 213, 227, 228, 256, 333, 339, 340, 342, 345, 346 Codex Borgia, 207, 213–215, 224, 340, 342, 361 Codex Chimalpopoca, 259n14 Codex Cospi, 249, 250 Codex Fejervary-Mayer, 251, 361, 362 Codex Ixtlilxochitl, 368 Codex Laud, 207 Codex Magliabechiano, 333, 365 Codex Mendoza, 318 Codex Vaticanus B, 344, 361 Codex, codice, 84–85, 118, 120, 158, 215, 249, 271, 279, 280, 331, 333–336, 340, 342–344, 347, 349, 362 Codex style, 115, 335, 349n1

392

I ndex

Codice Florentino. See Florentine Codex Codice Nuttall. See Nuttall Codex Co-essence, 8, 14–15, 69, 91–96, 98n6. See also nahualli; way Colima (state), 14, 19, 52, 60, 69, 70, 72, 73, 78, 85–87, 88, 94, 111, 114, 121, 252; meaning of name, 252. See also Volcán de Colima Colonnaded building, colonnade, 307, 309, 311, 314, 316, 336, 340, 348, 368, 374 Color, 71, 110, 119, 121–122, 134, 141, 213–214 Colotzingo (site), 188 Column, 305, 307, 316. See also colonnaded building Comala (figure style), 70, 77, 78, 79, 88, 114, 121, 123–124, 126, 128, 129 Comet, 257 Commoners, 93, 185, 314 Concurrence, 227 Copal, 6, 230, 246, 342; bag (xiquipilli), 226, 230, 341–342 Copulation, 154, 165, 174–176 Cora (people), mythology, 252, birth of fire, 259n18 Core, 129 Corn, maize, 6, 61, 118, 141, 155, 164, 177, 214, 218, 224, 227, 230, 284, 288, 340, 357, 370 Cornezuelos (hairstyle), 278 Corporal duality of the king, 375–376 Corporal penance, 364–365 Corporal terminology, 377 Cortés, Hernán, 372 Cosmogram, 59, 370–371, 374 Cosmovision, 3, 174–176, 180, 251 Costa Rica, 361 Costume, 20, 21, 44, 78, 81, 85–87, 89–91, 95, 118, 121, 185, 188, 191, 192, 197, 209, 210–211, 227–228, 231, 256, 308–309, 314, 337, 348, 356, 375. See also attire; clothing; garment; regalia Cotton, 86, 134, 278, 280, 284, 308, 310, 358 Coyolxauhqui (god), 288 Coyotl Inahual (god), 8 Coyotlatelco: ceramics, 313; figurines, 281 Cranial deformation/modification, 119, 126 Crónica Mexicana, 372 Crónica Mexicayotl, 259n17 Cross of Tlaloc, 206, 220, 221 Crude (figurine type), 33, 38, 40 Cuauhtemoc (ruler), 304, 305

Cuauhxicalli, 255 Cueva del Rey Kong-Oy, 14, 18, 20, 153, 155, 157, 171–180; Group of the Animals, 159–160; Group of the Ballgame, 159, 165; Group of the Embracers, 159, 160; Group of the Eroded Sculptures, 159; Group of the Principal Couple, 159, 162, 163; Group of the Woman with Spread Legs, 159–160, 167, 168 Cuitzillo El Mezquital–Los Azules (site), 48 Curicaueri (god), 260n22, 358 Dainzú (site), 173; Building L, 177; ballplayers, 177–180, Tomb 5, 176 Dance, 14, 84, 87, 91, 94–95, 288, 293, 362, 367–368, 372–373, 380n27 Danibaan phase, 162 Danzantes. See Monte Albán Dart, 88 De Young Museum, 242 Death, 52, 59, 68–69, 81, 94, 174–175, 180, 196, 268, 288, 311–312, 369, 372; of objects, 267 Decapitate, decapitation, 86, 169, 267 Definition by extension, 358 Dental mutilation/modification, 280, 282, 285, 287 Deposit, depositional context, 10, 17–18, 29, 37, 57, 192, 197, 200, 223, 266–268, 270, 286, 292; ceremonial/ritual, 57, 59, 360; funerary, 10, 17, 35, 37, 42–43, 49, 57–58, 60, 62; midden, 190; mining-scar, 191, 193, 194. See also offering Deputy (ixiptla), 357. See also ixiptla Descola, Philippe, 60, 62n10, 96, 375–376 Dignitaries, 10, 21, 286–287, 356, 371–375 Dioramas, 74, 110, 113–114, 116, 142, 145n6. See also scenes Diphrasism, diphrastic, 259n17, 358, 360, 363, 365, 377n6, 378n20 Direct Historical Approach (DHA), 210, 267 Discursive units, 268, 286 Disfrasismo. See diphrasism Divination, diviner, 76, 93 Divine kingship. See sacred kingship Divine, divinity, 5, 7–10, 12, 15, 18, 49, 61, 205–206, 210–211, 227, 229–231, 240, 246, 249, 252–258, 267, 269, 270, 280, 284, 286, 288, 322, 359–361, 373–374 Domestic contexts, 17, 35, 47–48, 59 Doubles, 50, 59, 257. See also nahualli

Drain, 18, 307 Drinking vessel, 190, 192, 199 Drum (huehue), 80, 114, 255, 289, 290, 376 Dry season, 212 Durán, Diego, 6, 212, 269, 290, 308 Dwarfs, 46, 114, 168, 321n3 Eagle/jaguar, as diphrasism for warrior, 365 Ear, ears, 16, 44, 51, 53, 126, 160, 162, 192, 229, 359, 363–364, 371–372, 378n14; perforating or piercing, 361–364, 377n8, 378n10 Early Chupícuaro phase, 35, 39, 41, 42, 48 Earring, 46, 56, 113, 126; earfan/earring fans, 126, 132, 133, 136, 137; earplug, 37, 39, 41, 126; ear spool, 36, 126, 199, 216, 310, 312; ornaments, 119–120, 122, 126, 218, 219, 223–224, 227, 229, 248, 360 Earth (god or gods), 11, 16, 52, 55, 60, 154, 174–176, 213, 224, 280, 284–285 Earth band, 332 Earth. See tlalli Ecatepec (site), 333 Ecuador, 143 Ehecatl Quetzalcoatl (wind god), 269, 270; personification as flint knife, 361 El Arenal Brown (style), 114, 128, 129 El Carrizal (site), 173, 180 El Opeño, 116; Tomb 3, 62n11, 195 El Perú Waka, 292 Elite, 12, 15, 80–81, 84, 90–91, 95, 111–112, 114, 117, 119, 120, 130–132, 134, 139, 141, 143–144, 174, 185, 257–258, 292–293, 308–309, 312–314, 320; secondary elite, 15 Emic, 4–6, 46, 49, 57, 111, 211, 240, 347, 355 Ephemeral corporal arts, 356, 372–374 Epiclassic period, 13, 17–18, 21, 218, 227, 238, 258n4, 266, 268, 271, 280, 289, 291–293, 304, 313, 315–316, 318–319, 322 Equata cónsquaro (calendrical feast), 84 Estolanos (ceramic), 72 Etic, 4, 6, 12, 32 Eye goggles / eye rings, 206, 215, 217, 221, 223–224, 226–227, 229, 276, 313 Eye/eyes (Ixtli), 7, 16, 32, 38, 39, 42, 44, 46, 53, 55–57, 60, 92, 160–162, 173, 178, 191, 194–195, 210, 214, 223, 226, 229, 246, 250, 307, 332, 338, 340, 344, 347, 357–359, 363, 371; gouging or perforating, 360–361, 362, 372, 377n8, 378n10, 378n14

I ndex

393

Fanged maw, 206, 210, 221, 229 Fangs, 91, 192, 194, 206, 210, 215–217, 219, 220, 224, 229, 231; curved, 216–217, 223; straight, 206, 215–216, 221 Fat God, 269, 270 Feast, feasting, 113–114, 133, 192, 269, 286, 358, 362, 367–368, 372–373. See also specific calendrical feasts Feather, 8, 174, 190, 191, 192, 226, 274, 275, 276, 280, 284, 303, 305, 308, 310, 332, 341, 364, 367, 380n25 Female, 19, 21, 31, 35–37, 38, 39, 40, 41–42, 44, 46, 51–52, 56–57, 59–60, 78, 82, 108–111, 113–114, 116, 118, 120–121, 125, 127–129, 130, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138–141, 143, 145n3, 154, 159, 167, 174–175, 188, 189, 190, 191, 271–272, 277–278, 284–285, 287–289, 292. See also woman Fending stick, 310 Fifth Sun, 229 Fiji Islands, 374 Fire (tletl), 16, 18, 171, 224, 226, 246, 248–249, 251–258, 259n18, 307, 312, 322n4, 356, 362, 365, 368, 370; and volcanism, 15, 18, 246, 252–253 Fire drill, 226 Fire serpent, 174, 332; as nahualli of Huitzilopochtli, 93 Five-knot headdress, 16, 216–217, 219, 224, 230 Flayed One (God), 162. See also Xipe Totec Flaying, 358, 366–367 Florentine Codex, 284, 321n2, 365, 380n27 Fluidity of representation, 16 Flute, 190, 363, 376n13 Food, 76, 113, 118, 127, 133, 140, 170, 172, 180, 359 Forked tongue, 206, 210, 217–219, 220, 221 Formative-period, 16, 20–21, 29, 31, 69, 95, 115–116, 134, 153, 172, 238, 240–241, 258n2, 268, 272 Fragmentation. See termination Frontal view, 219, 336, 338 Furst, Peter, 69, 76–78, 79, 80, 84–85, 87, 88, 91–92, 95–96 Garment, 14, 51, 56, 68, 110, 113–114, 118–119, 121, 122, 134–135, 141, 145n6, 162, 280, 282, 284–285, 287, 289, 293, 364, 365, 372. See also attire; clothing; costume; regalia Gell, Alfred, 4, 210–211, 229, 231 Gender, 19–20, 51, 82, 108–111, 117–120, 127–130, 132, 135–139, 141, 143–144, 271, 289, 292;

394

I ndex

ambiguity, 52, 109, 114, 136, 288; complementarity, 52, 120, 141; duality, 109, 132, 136, 138–139, 143, 145n4, 288; ideology, 112, 129, 141, 144, 271; third gender, 132, 136–137, 138, 140, 143 Genitalia, 46, 113, 130–131, 154, 161–162, 164–165, 168–169, 174 Gesture, 108, 110, 117, 120–121, 127, 283, 285; armraised, 162, 164, 168, 285, 288. See also posture Ghost Dance, 78 Glyph, 93, 166–167, 178, 223–224, 276, 280, 282, 287–288, 289, 304, 305, 314, 321n2, 321n3, 322n8, 332, 338 God G (Chaak), 282 Gods. See specific gods Goma phase, 172–173 Gravid. See pregnant Great Goddess, 208, 292 Greca. See xicalcoliuhqui Greek, 68 Greenstone, 172, 199, 214 Group A figurines, Cholula, 191, 197 Group B figurines, Cholula, 194, 197, 198 Guachimontón, guachimontones, (architectural form), 72, 73, 74, 75, 82–83, 85, 111, 113, 116 Guanajuato (state), 30, 31, 43, 46, 112 Guangala (culture), 143 Guerrero (state), 5, 175 Gulf Coast, Gulf region, 14, 77, 91, 116, 176, 284 Hacienda Guadalupe (site), 71 Haircut, hairstyle, 53, 109–110, 119, 122, 188, 190, 278, 284–285, 287, 318, 320; bangs, 53, 278; ixcuatecpilli, 284; short, 123; temillotl (pillar of stone), 318; tufts, 109, 123, 284 Hallucinogenics, 77, 82 Han China. See China Head cover, 124 Head, heads, 6, 11, 14, 16, 35, 39, 41, 42, 44, 46, 48, 50, 53, 54, 56–57, 76, 81, 86–87, 88, 89, 109, 119, 122–124, 125, 126, 129–130, 132, 133, 136, 137, 158, 160–162, 163, 164, 165, 167–169, 173, 175–178, 192, 194–195, 199, 218, 221, 224, 225, 226, 246, 272, 293n1, 304, 305, 308, 314, 338–339, 340, 342, 348–349, 359, 361, 362, 367, 371; forehead, 15, 44, 56, 59, 159, 275, 278 Headband, 44, 46, 53, 54, 56, 124, 136, 137, 274, 275, 277, 279, 285–286

Head-body ratio, 339, 340, 346, 349 Headdress, 11, 19, 32, 44, 46, 51, 53, 56, 81, 83, 87, 90, 110, 113, 119, 121–122, 124, 130, 165, 188, 218, 223–224, 227, 229, 231, 274, 275, 276, 280, 284, 285, 293, 308, 310, 343, 367; animal, 88, 89, 90; animal pelt, 89, 90, 125; Anthropomorphic, 274, 276; Blood flower, 274, 275, 286, 287–288, 289; cat’s paw (fur-trimmed), 83, 125, 136; Circle, 274, 275, 277, 279, 286; conch shell, 117; conical, 32, 125, 136, 137; Feather, 274, 276, 303; fishtail, 137; Five-knot, 16, 216–217, 219, 224, 230; Flower, 274, 276, 277, 279, 284, 286; Four-horned, 51; horned, 52, 86, 89, 130; Phrygian, 44; pleated, 274, 276; tassel, 219; three vertical tab (trilobed), 223, 226; zoomorphic, 274, 276 Headgear, 14, 86–87, 91, 124, 179, 360. See also headband; headdress; turban Heart (yolia, yollotl), 6, 15, 50, 57, 92, 208, 219, 226, 260n20, 332, 334 Heat (tonalli), 15, 18, 53, 92 Hermaphrodite, 169 Hero Twins, 177 Hidalgo (state), 301, 302, 316, 317, 318, 321n2 Hill deities (gods), 280 Hill or Mountain of the Spotted Rabbit, 166 Hindu marriage ceremonies, 78 Hip apron, 338 Historia de los mexicanos por sus pinturas, 257 Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España, 250 Hopi, 78 Horn, 51, 52, 68, 78, 80–81, 96, 125, 126, 129, 130 Host figurines, 272, 274, 277 House (social unit), 13 Households, 10, 94, 143, 186–187, 189–190, 192, 196–197, 200, 244–245 Huamelulpan (site), 160, 172 Huapalcalco (site), 316 Huasca de Ocampo (place), 316 Huasteca (region), 252 Huauchinango (region), 257 Huehue. See drum Huehuentzin (Honorable Old Man), 249. See also Old God Huehueteotl (Old God). See Old God Huehuetzin, Huehuētzi (Old God), 255, 259n13. See also Old God

Hueytecuilhuitl (calendrical feast), 368 Huichol (people), 5, 10, 60, 78–80, 95, 115, 252–254; birth of fire, 259n18; mythology/ religion, 252–254 Huitzilapa (site), 115 Huitzilopochtli (god), 6, 93, 214, 364, 369, 373, 380n28 Huitznahuac tlacatecuhtzintli (title of Aztec senator), 369 Huitznahuac tlailotlacatzintli (title of Aztec senator), 369–370 Human-nahualli, 92 Hummingbird, as nahualli of Huitzilopochtli, 93 Hunchback, 114, 304, 305, 321n3 Hunt, hunter, hunting, 86, 118, 254, 368 Hybrid, hybridity, 8, 11, 87, 92, 240, 257 Iconoclasm, iconoclastic, 243–244, 258n7. See also termination Identity, 14–15, 19–20, 51, 60, 71, 81, 93, 110–111, 117–121, 130–131, 133–136, 139–142, 174, 186, 200, 218, 227, 260n24, 268, 271, 309, 319, 348–349, 358, 360, 372, 374 Ideogram (symbol), 280 Ihiyotl (breath), 16, 50, 359, 375. See also animistic centers Ihiyotl tlahtolli (breath and word), 359 Ií (divine essence), 230 Ik (sign), 280, 282 Impersonator (ixiptla), 19, 357; of the Aztec king, 371–372, 374; of a god or other supernatural, 93, 211, 227–229, 334, 340, 357–359, 360, 367–368, 369, 373–374. See also ixiptla Impluvia, 307, 314, 319 Inca, 370 International signs, 304 Investiture, 362–363, 367, 371, 373, 378n18, 378n19; as making of an ixiptla, 364, 373 Isthmus of Tehuantepec, 170, 172–173, 180 Itzcoatl (ruler), 304, 305 Ixiptla, ixiptlah (mask, covering), 8–9, 14–15, 17–18, 97n1, 267, 269, 357, 359–360, 364, 367, 369, 371–373, 375–376, 380n28, 380n35. See also teixiptla Ixtepec (town), 173, 180 Ixtlán del Río (style), 77, 83, 89, 90, 114, 122, 123–128, 129, 132, 133, 135, 136, 137, 138, 140, 143–144

I ndex

395

Ixtli (eye, face), 359 Izcalli (calendrical feast), 362, 368 Iztlahuaca (town), 282 Jade, 97n2, 116, 207, 226, 303, 308, 332, 366, 378n12 Jaguar warriors, 90–91, 96 Jaina, 60, 173, 286, 289, 292 Jainótega Cavern, 253 Jalisco (state), 19–20, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 75–76, 82–83, 85, 90, 111, 112, 114–116, 125, 127–128, 129, 130, 132, 133, 135–136, 137, 138–139, 141, 142, 143–144, 145n4 Jëguëën-Tëjëëw (Father and Mother God), 175 Jewelry, 20, 51, 75, 110, 113, 119–120, 122, 126, 131, 174, 188, 276. See also bracelet; earring; necklace; nose-ring; ornament; pectoral; pendant Jungian psychology, 78 Juquila Mixes (site), 172 K’awiil (god), 210 K’uh (divine essence, transcendent quality), 230 Kaminaljuyu, 81, 117 Kernel institutions, 186–187, 197 Kilt, 310 King’s two bodies, 376 Kinich Ahau (Solar god), 282 Kong-Oy/Condoy, 170–171. See also Cueva del Rey Kong-Oy Kuak phase, 172 La Mesa (site), 281, 318 La Tapatia (site), 73 La Venta, 91, 120; Deposit/Offering 4, ritual scene, 195, 292 Lagunillas (style), 114, 121, 123–124, 126, 128, 129 Large hollow (figurine type), 35, 41, 56, 58 Las Cebollas (site), 73 Late Chupícuaro phase, 35, 39, 41, 42, 44 Late Comala (figure style), 87, 88 Left (direction), 78, 79, 86, 96, 120–121 Lerma river valley, 31, 35, 48, 61, 115–116 Leyenda de los Soles, 229 Lienzo de Tlaxcala, 280 Lifecycle, 120, 196, 277, 278 Lightning serpent, 216 Lightning, 93, 174, 179, 212–214, 217, 218–221, 223–224, 227, 230

396

I ndex

Limestone. See stone Line thickness, 336, 348 Lip-plug, 120, 364 Lips, 221, 229, 359, 362–363, 372, 377n8, 378n14, 378n19 Literacy, 301, 304, 314 Litter, 76, 79, 287, 379. See also palanquin Logograph, 304 Loincloth. See maxtlatl Loma del Zapote (site), Monument 3, 176 López Austin, Alfredo, 4–5, 7, 17, 31, 49, 50, 52, 92, 254–255, 260, 348 Los Guachimontones (site), 83 Los Teteles de Ocotitla (site), 199 Louvre Museum, 35, 56 Lumholtz, Carl, 115, 252–253 Macrocosm, 7, 18 Madrid Codex, 361 Maguey, 134; honey, 6; thorns, 342 Maize God, 210, 340 Male, 14, 19, 21, 36–37, 39, 40, 42–44, 52, 57, 59–60, 78, 82, 109–111, 118, 120–121, 125, 127–134, 136–137, 141, 153, 159, 163, 167, 176, 189, 190, 191, 214, 216, 307 Malinalco (site), 333, 338, 340, 341–342, 345, 346, 347; Structure III, 335, 338, 339 Malinche volcano, 268, 291 Malpaso (culture), 309 Mamalhuatzi (Orion), 356 Man, men, 12, 42, 51, 61, 127–128, 131–133, 135, 136–139, 141, 143, 162, 165, 167–169, 174–176, 178, 189–190, 197, 248–250, 251, 252–257, 259n18, 318, 338, 356, 359, 361, 363–364, 367, 370, 371, 373, 376, 380n32 Mana, 211 Manipulation, 10, 18, 42, 49, 57, 266–268, 285. See also performance Manta Compound (glyph), 226 Manteño, 143 Maori, 78 Marcus, Joyce, 9, 29, 60, 189–190, 289 Marriage, 19, 78, 85, 109–110, 142, 196, 278; pairs, 110–111, 141 Mask, 9–11, 14–16, 19, 44, 87, 88, 92, 94, 162, 164, 173, 175, 178, 190, 191, 192, 194, 197, 207, 215, 227, 228, 229, 243, 343, 347, 360. See also ixiptla Mat (petate, pu), 280

Material diphrasism, 365, 379n20 Materiality, 301 Maternity, motherhood, 52, 57, 59, 271–272, 289, 291 Matlacueye (the one with the blue skirt), 268 Matlalcueyeqye, (god), 291 Matlatzinca (people), 260n22 Matricula de Tributos, 280 Mauss, Marcel, 355 Maxtlatl (loincloth), 32, 114, 118, 121, 194, 248, 340, 341, 377n7 Maya, 4–5, 10, 13, 30, 58, 68, 77–78, 81, 84, 91, 93–94, 95–96, 109, 117–121, 130, 134, 139–140, 145n5, 175, 177, 205, 210, 213, 227, 230, 248, 267, 271, 280, 282, 286, 288–289, 292–293, 309, 313, 317, 319 Mayordomo, 376 Mazahua (people), 260n22, 282 Melanesia, 356, 375 Memory, 9–10, 20, 270, 314 Menstruation, 145n5 Metamorphosis, 92, 358, 373 Metaphor, 8, 11, 15–16, 57, 61, 78, 98n6, 174, 177, 246, 255, 267, 278, 292, 360–361, 362, 363–365, 370, 372, 374 Metates (grinding stones), 37, 39, 41, 271 Meteors, 257 Metonym, 8, 13, metonymic series, 358–359 Mexica. See Aztec Mexico (state), 282 Michoacan (state), 30, 111, 116, 314, 358 Microcosm, 7, 18, 50, 371 Mictlan, 52 Migrant, migration, 185–187, 197, 200, 314 Militarism, 218, 226 Mimixcoa, 346, 347 Miniature vessels, 46, 270 Miniaturization, 10–11, 29, 31, 52, 58–59, 139, 188, 190, 195, 197, 199, 266, 269, 285–286, 293, 361. See also portable objects; scale Mirror, 217–218, 312–313 Mixe (people), 5, 155, 170, 172–177, 180 Mixe (region), 13, 155, 171 Mixe-Zoque (language), 176 Mixtec codices, 120, 271, 333; Mixteca-Puebla codices, 84, 338–339, 340, 342, 346, 349 Mixtec, Mixteca (people), 8, 120, 134, 160, 234, 363, 366 Mixteca (region), 172

Mixteca-Puebla: culture/style, 280, 332, 344, 347, 349; region, 342 Mixtequilla (style), 281 Mnemonic, 95, 286 Moctezuma, Motecuhzoma, 255, 256, 372, 380n34, 380n35 Mold made, 173 Monophrasism, 358–359 Monte Albán, 173, 176; Danzantes, 158, 177–178, 180, 309; Stela I, 176; Tomb 103, 196, 292 Monte Negro (site), 172 Morelos (state), 277 Mount Tlaloc, 212–213 Mountain of Sustenance, 18, 174, 175 Mountain, 18, 171, 174, 176, 212–214, 246, 257, 314, 318; with sense organs, 7, 359 Mouth, 7, 15–16, 53, 55, 57, 94, 127, 141, 173, 208, 210, 215–219, 221, 223–224, 226–227, 229–230, 246, 248, 250, 321, 344, 361, 362, 363, 378n14 Mummy bundles, 10, 222, 226–227, 229, 231, 313 Munguía (figurine type), 33, 34, 37, 38, 40 Mural, 16, 20–21, 82, 199, 206, 208, 209, 213, 215, 217–218, 220, 222, 223, 226, 229–230, 268, 322n7, 331, 333–336, 338, 339, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348–349, 349n1 Musée du Cinquantenaire, 241 Musée du quai Branly, 241, 248 Museo de Querétaro, 242 Museo de Xalapa, 242 Museo Nacional de Antropología e Historia de México, 208, 220, 222, 228, 241 Music, musician, 12, 74, 113, 142, 290, 293, 363 Musical instruments, 113, 118, 127, 293, 363, 378n13. See also drum; flute; rattle Nagual, nahual, 91, 375. See also nahualli Nagualism, nahualismo, 375–376. See also nahualli Nahua (people), 5, 49–50, 55, 60, 206, 210–212, 229, 246, 254, 257–258, 260n20, 260n21, 260n24, 348, 358 Nahualli, nanahualtin (co-essence), 8, 14–15, 50, 91–94, 257–258. See also co-essence Nahuatl (language), 7–8, 11–12, 15–16, 18, 91–93, 96, 109, 212, 230, 251, 254–255, 259n17, 267, 272, 279, 292, 321n2, 321n3, 355, 357–358, 361, 369, 372, 377n7 Narrative, 3, 12, 17, 19, 68, 74, 86, 95, 154, 158, 178, 180, 196–197, 286

I ndex

397

Natural symbols, 316–317, 322 Naturalism (ontology), 375 Naturalism, naturalistic (style), 12, 332, 338, 342, 344, 348–349 Nauhyohuehueh (Old Man of the Four Directions), 249. See also Huehueteotl Navajas, 83, 97 Nayarit (state), 19–20, 69, 70, 72, 73, 75, 78, 89, 111, 114–115, 128–129, 135 Neanderthals, 80 Near East, 80 Necklace, 37, 39, 41, 44, 46, 56, 87, 113, 126, 132, 133, 136, 137, 160, 162, 173, 192, 312 Net-jaguar, 209 Nezahualcoyotl (ruler), 301, 315, 368 Nisa phase, 173 Non-elite. See commoners Nose (yacatl), 16, 126, 159, 173, 194, 210, 216, 248, 343–344, 363; decoration, 16, 119, 122, 126, 206, 218 Nose bar, 310 Nose bead, 117 Nose piercing, 16, 120, 362–364, 365, 372, 379n22 Nose plug, 126 Nose-ring, 113, 126 Nude, nudity, 12, 16–17, 30, 44, 51, 114, 116, 121, 129, 188, 190, 194 Nuttall Codex, 167, 271, 279, 282, 337, 366. See also Zouche Nuttall Codex Object biography, social life of object, 266–268, 290–292 Occidente (region), 282 Ochpaniztli (calendrical feast), 8, 227, 368 Ocotelulco (site), 334 Offering, 6, 35–37, 39, 40, 41, 42–43, 45, 48, 69, 76, 79, 97n3, 155, 180, 195, 198–199, 214, 223, 226, 230, 267–269, 270, 271, 273, 277, 279, 282, 283, 285–286, 287, 289, 290, 291, 292–293, 294n2; funerary, 17, 36, 59, 213, 308, 311–313, 342, 347, 359, 365. See also deposit Old Fire God, 15–18, 76, 77, 221, 248. See also Old God Old God, 238, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245–246, 247, 248, 249, 250–253, 256–258, 258n2, 258n5, 258n6, 259n11, 269, 270 Olmec (culture or art-style), 14, 77, 95–96, 116–117, 120, 134, 175–177, 213, 271, 278

398

I ndex

Ontology, 3–5, 14–15, 21, 49–50, 77, 96, 241, 258n1, 266–267, 348, 375–377 Orator, 21, 277–288, 293 Orion, 356 Ornament, 8–9, 11, 40, 44, 46, 51, 53, 56–57, 68, 158, 190, 206, 218–219, 223–224, 227, 229, 248, 277, 279, 290, 332, 337, 340–341, 345, 348–349, 356, 358, 360, 363–364, 366–369, 372–374, 377n3 Otomi, Otomí (people), 5, 49, 55, 252, 260n22, 260n24, 278, 356 Otontecuhtli (god), 260n22 Oxomoco (god), 259n16 Oxtotitlan Cave (site), 175 P’urhépecha (group), 358 Pachuca, 316 Palace, 244, 307, 359 Palanquin, 280, 287–288. See also litter Paleolithic, 68, 76, 80 Panofsky, Erwin, 4 Pants. See clothing Pars pro toto principle, 60, 73, 81, 206, 221, 337 Pasztory, Esther, 4, 12, 206, 208, 210, 214, 216–219, 223–224, 226 Pawnee, 370 Pectoral, 160, 226, 230, 310 Peñas de Jilotepec (place), 316 Pendant, 10, 40, 42, 56, 136, 190, 199, 223–224, 310, 340 Performance, 12, 18–20, 68–69, 84–85, 95, 142, 197, 199, 268–289, 316 Periphery, 129 Perishable materials, 6–7, 51, 241, 289 Person, personhood, 4–5, 13, 21, 49–50, 53, 57, 92, 96, 229, 355–356, 375. See also body Petroglyph, 213 Philippines, 78 Piercing, perforating, 16, 360, 363–364, 367, 373; of ears, 372; of eye, 361, 362, 363; instruments, 361–362, 365, 379n21; of lips, 372; as metaphor for learning, 363; metaphorically associated with blowing, 363; of mouth, 362, 363; of nasal/nose septum, 120, 363–364, 366, 372. See also body piercing Piercing-dressing-penance triad, 367 Pilgrimage, 212 Pillar, 304, 305, 307, 309, 310, 316–317, 318, 319–320, 321n3, 322n8

Place glyph/sign, 167 Polythetic core entity (PCE), 216 Popocatepetl (site), 334 Popocatepetl volcano, 187 Popol Vuh, 177 Portable objects, 20, 95, 243. See also scale Porter, Muriel, 32–33, 35–37, 59 Portrait, 71, 158, 173, 308 Postclassic period, 7, 13, 16–18, 30–31, 60, 90–91, 95, 109, 115, 120, 134, 167, 171, 192, 206, 207, 210–216, 218, 221, 223–224, 227, 240–241, 246, 248–249, 250, 251, 253, 255–258, 259n15, 260n22, 267–268, 272, 278–280, 284, 288, 292, 303–304, 307, 312, 331 Posture, pose, 15, 32, 78, 85–87, 88, 108, 110, 118, 120–121, 127, 130–131, 134, 135, 139, 162, 178, 188, 195, 197, 198, 281–282, 309, 322n7, 335; A-frame position, 127, 130, 133, 137; bentknee, 87; cross-legged, 44, 46, 127, 136, 137, 241, 248; horizontal pose, 303, 307–309, 310, 313, 314, 318, 322n5, 322n8; kneeling, 118, 127, 132, 133; raised arms, 288; seated, 11, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 46, 52, 79, 83, 86–87, 89, 125, 127, 130, 133, 134, 135, 136, 159–160, 176, 188; seated on stool, 127 Potbellied, 191, 192, 195 Preclassic-period, 158, 167, 268, 336. See also Formative Pregnant, pregnancy, 11, 31, 51–53, 57, 113, 118, 154, 159–160, 164–165, 174, 188, 272, 273, 277, 291, 293 Priest, 9, 68, 84, 171, 206–208, 227, 251, 307, 318, 321n2, 331, 334, 339, 342, 345, 356–358, 363–364, 373, 378n19 Primeros Memoriales, 7, 369 Principle of substitution, 373, 376 Prismatic blades, 269, 270 Prisoner, 366–367, 371, 379n23 Private contexts, 17–18, 59, 132, 243, 245, 252, 309, 311, 313 Procession, 81, 114, 142, 212, 214, 287, 307–309, 339, 341–342, 344, 345, 347, 348 Procreation, reproduction, 57, 111, 129, 132–133, 138, 141, 153–154, 174–175, 177, 179 Profile view, 159, 162, 164, 173, 178, 218, 224, 227, 336, 338, 340, 342 Prognathic (figurine type). See also Rayo Projectile points, 161, 190, 192, 199, 270

Proportionality, 15–16, 314, 331–332, 335, 338–339, 342, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348–349. See also head-body ratio Puberty, 109, 120 Public contexts, 17–18, 20, 69, 76, 81–83, 94, 113, 132, 199, 227, 229, 243, 245, 252, 304, 309, 312, 364 Puebla (state), 190, 280 Puebla-Tlaxcala (region), 13, 188, 241, 333–334 Pulque gods, 345 Puppets, 19, 185, 196, 199 Quadripartite beings, 213 Quecholli (calendrical feast), 368, 380n25 Quechquemitl (cape), 118, 272, 280, 282, 284 Quemaduras (burnt areas), 356 Querétaro (state), 43–44, 259n12 Quetalteueyac (person), 379n22 Quetzalcoatl (God, Person), 303, 315, 321n2, 321n3, 361. See also Teotihuacan, Tula Quetzaltepec (town), 171, 176 Quiché Maya (people), 95, 258 Quincunx, 60, 213–214, 224, 370 Rabinal Achí, 84, 91, 95 Rain God. See Storm God Rainy season, 157 Ranas (site), 259n12 Rattle, 39, 41, 58, 74, 114, 142, 274, 277, 289–290, 291 Rayo (figurine style), 33, 34, 38, 40 Realism, realistic, 331, 344 Refugee, 186–187, 200 Regalia, 16, 20, 284, 308, 367, 375. See also attire; clothing; costume; garment Regeneration, 153–154, 173–174, 180 Relación de Colima Tecatitlán, 252 Relación de Michoacan, 84, 115 Remojadas (smiling figurines style), 281 Representative (ixiptla), 357, 380n35. See also ixiptla Rhomboid, 53, 55, 246 Río Blanco Papaloapan (figures), 283 Río Coahuayana, 111 Río Coatzacoalcos-Uxpanapa, 155 Río Grande de Santiago, 111 Río Puxmetacán, 155 Río Trapiche, 155, 157, 171

I ndex

399

Río Viejo (site), 178 Rivera, Diego, 76 Rock crystal (quartz crystal), 254 Sacapulas (people), 119 Sacred bundles, 8, 10. See also Tlaquimilolli Sacred kingship, 355, 372–373, 376–377, 377n2 Sacrifice, 8–9, 17, 68, 95, 176, 178, 180, 208, 218–219, 226, 229, 267–268, 270–271, 287, 309, 322n6, 334, 358, 361–362, 366–367, 371, of objects. See also termination Sahagún, Bernardino de, 6, 250–251, 255, 257, 278, 303, 318, 321n2, 356, 360, 369, 377n3, 377n7, 378n18 Sahumadores, 157–158 San Cayetano, 32, 43, 46, 47, 48, 52, 55, 58, 60 San Felipe del Progreso (town), 282 San Isidro Huayapam, 155, 156 San José Mogote, 11, 134, 173, 195 San Juan Bosco Chuxnabán (town), 171 San Juan Tehuixtlan (site), 221 San Juanito (style), 114, 121, 123–124, 126, 128, 129 San Lorenzo (site), 91, 176 San Marcos Moctum (site), 155, 172 San Sebastián: 220; style, 70, 71, 114, 121, 123, 125–128, 129, 131, 144 Santa María Alotepec (municipality), 155 Santa María del Tule (town), 170 Santos Reyes Nopala (municipality), 178, 180 Scale, 19, 50, 56, 58–59, 266. See also miniaturization; portable objects Scarification, scarring, 56, 110, 119–120, 122, 126–127, 131 Scenes (of figurines), 11, 17, 19, 36, 42–43, 46, 52, 55, 57–60, 72–74, 76, 81, 84, 86, 93, 113–114, 158, 179–180, 195, 268, 286, 289, 292–293. See also dioramas Sculpture, 16, 18, 20, 21n1, 69, 82, 91, 97n2, 110, 112, 115–116, 118, 145n3, 153, 154, 156–159, 160, 161, 162, 164–165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171–180, 181n1, 205–206, 207, 208, 211, 215, 220, 227, 228, 243, 246, 251, 255, 271, 284, 301–302, 304, 307, 309, 314, 316–319, 322n4, 332, 335–336, 345 Scythians, 80 Self. See person Self-sacrifice. See autosacrifice Semantic, 268, 285

400

I ndex

Semiotic approach, 210 Senator, 369, titles of, 369 September 29, 268 Serpent. See animals Serpent-jaguar, 93 Sets, 19, 42–43, 51, 58, 177, 268, 292, 301 Shadow (animistic component), 92 Shaft tombs, shaft and chamber tombs, 59, 75, 94, 97n3, 111, 112, 114–117 Shaman, shamanism, 50–51, 68–69, 76–78, 80–81, 87, 91–92, 95–96, 97n1, 98n6, 114, 130, 137–138, 176 Shell, 37, 39, 81, 97, 114, 117, 158, 230, 312–313, 332 Shooting star, 257 Sierra Madre Occidental, 11 Sierra Mixe, 153, 155, 156, 171–174, 176 Sierra Sur, 178 Sihta sipi (Grandfather of fire), 252 Skeleton, skeletal, 10, 37, 39, 214, 309, 332 Skin, 9, 14, 90, 91, 94, 97n5, 118–120, 211, 280, 281, 357–358, 367 Skirt. See clothing Skull, 10, 37, 38, 39, 40, 42–43, 58, 61n8, 159–160, 167, 200, 304, 309, 311, 332, 347 Sky band, 332 Slant eyes (figurine type). See Chupícuaro Sling, 79, 85 Smiling, 281–282, 288 Social actor. See person Social world, 185–187, 190, 197, 200 Solar deity, 210, 224, 227 Solis Dam, 31–32, 36, 46 Solstice, 370 Spear, 79, 84–86, 218, 338 Spearthrower, 79, 85, 87, 218, 226 Speech scrolls, 218, 229 Spindle whorl (malacate), 118, 271 Spinning, 118, 358 Spondylus shell, 312–313 Square, 56, 60, 143, 224, 311, 343, 370–371; as shape of the universe, 370–371 Stability of representation, 16 Standardization, 190, 337 Star, stellar, 257, 332, 356 Static, staticism, 20, 86, 165, 190, 196, 338, 342 Statuettes, 17, 19, 33, 35, 36, 43, 53, 56, 58–59 Stomach, 31, 174 Stone of Tizoc. See Tizoc Stone

Stone, 11–12, 41, 97n2, 132, 133, 136, 137, 153, 156–157, 171, 178, 200, 206, 211, 240, 241, 243, 244, 245, 271, 301, 311, 314, 316, 318, 319–320, 339, 340, 342, 344, 346, 368; basalt, 11, 243, 247, 250, 316, 317, 318; limestone, 155, 187, 191, 318–319 Storm God, 17, 205, 212, 216, 218, 221, 224, 257, 269, 270. See also Tlaloc Storytelling, 17–18, 20, 69, 84, 95, 192, 200 Substitute, 9, 14, 15, 18, 357, 364, 367, 369, 371, 376. See also ixiptla; representative Sunken area or patio, 307, 309, 311 Sunrise, 370 Sunset, 370 Supernatural beings or forces, 7–8, 13, 46, 55, 57, 60, 68, 78, 92–93, 109, 119, 137–138, 145n5, 176, 205, 208–210, 217, 219, 227, 231, 257, 287, 293, 331, 376 Tabachines: ceramics, 73; site, 84, 95n3 Tableau, tableaux, 19, 84, 86, 196 Tala-Tonalá (style), 70, 114, 123–128, 129 Talud-tablero, 311–313 Tarascan (Empire), 115, 260n22 Tatevalí (Grandfather Fire), 252 Tattoo, tattooing, 12, 37, 51, 110, 113, 119–120, 122, 125–127, 130, 132, 133, 140, 162, 173, 356, 374, 378n9 Teccalli (noble house), 371 Tecuhtli, tecuihtli, tecutli, teuctli (lord), 255, 280, 355, 364, 365, 366, 371 Teeth, 15, 53, 55, 60, 113, 160, 246, 248, 250, 344 Tehuacan Viejo (site), 334 Teixiptla, 97n1, 210–211, 229, 231. See also ixiptla Temillotl. See haircut Tenayuca (site), 321n3; murals, 333 Tenochtitlan (site), 212, 214, 249, 251, 259n17, 286, 292, 318, 320, 331, 333–336, 339–340, 341, 343, 345, 348, 355, 364, 370–372, 374; Ballcourt, 333; Dedication Stone, 344, 346; House of the Eagles, 308–309, 320, 322n6, 339, 342, 343, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348; M edifice, 333; Monument 1, 176; N edifice, 333; Templo Mayor (Great Temple), 16, 207, 214, 223, 249, 250, 251, 259n15, 286, 308, 331, 333–336, 339–340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 345, 359, 361; Teotihuacanoid temples, 333–335; Teocalli of Sacred Warfare, 344, 346; Tlaloc Sanctuary, 333, 339–340, 341, 345

Teotihuacan, 4, 10–14, 16–18, 20, 31, 60, 91, 186, 196, 199, 205, 206, 207–208, 209, 210–214, 215, 216, 217, 218–221, 223–224, 225, 226–231, 238, 239, 240–243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249–250, 252, 256–258, 259n7, 259n9, 259n15, 260n24, 271–272, 276, 280–281, 284, 286, 288, 304, 311–314, 319–320, 321n2, 333–335, 337, 339, 345; Atetelco, 209, 220; Ciudadela, 243, 244, 257, 312; La Ventilla, 224, 225, 244; Oztoyahualco, 259n10; Pyramid of the Moon (also Moon Pyramid), 214, 226, 286, 305; Pyramid of the Sun, 223, 244, 257, 305; Street of the Dead, 206, 305; Techinantitla, 206, 214; Temple of Quetzalcoatl, 208, 313; Tepantitla, 11, 209, 213, 215, 218–219; Tetitla, 207, 215, 218, 271; Totimetla, 215; Xalla, 244; Xolalpan, 222, 244; Yayahuala, 271; Zacuala, 215 Teotihuacan Tlaloc, 205, 206, 208, 211–214, 215, 216, 217, 218–219, 221, 223–224, 225, 226–227, 229–231 Teotl (god, divine essence), 7–8, 97n1, 210–211, 229–230, 251, 358 Tepanec (people), 260n22 Tepeilhuitl (calendrical feast), 269, 287 Tepetate, 187, 190 Tequila (region), 111–113, 128–129, 143–144 Tequinua, tequiqua (brave man in war), 318 Tequitl (work), 12 Termination (intentional destruction of objects or buildings), 35, 48, 76, 180, 197, 243, 258n6, 267, 269–271, 315, 322 Teteoinnan (Mother Earth) complex, 284 Tetimpa (site), 11, 188, 189 Texcoco (site), 301, 321n3, 333, 367, 368, 369 Tezcatlipoca (god), 6, 260n23, 364, 368, 371, 373, 378n19 Ticoman (site), 240 Tilmatli, tilmatin. See clothing; cape Tiquisate (region), 213 Tizatlan (site), 334–335, 340, 346, 347 Tizoc Stone, 255, 339, 340, 342, 344, 346 Tlacatecuhtzintli (title of Aztec ruler), 369 Tlacaxipehualiztli (calendrical feast), 8, 367 Tlacochcalcatzintli (title of Aztec senator), 369 Tlahtoani, tlatoani (speaker), 15, 255, 257, 292, 321n3, 355, 363–366, 371 Tlahtolli (word), 16, 359 Tlahuac (site), 227, 228

I ndex

401

Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli (god), 338 Tlalchitonatiuh (solar deity), 224, 227, 228 Tlalli. See Earth Tlaloc, 20, 93, 205–206, 207, 208, 212–216, 218, 221, 223–224, 227–228, 257, 334, 339–340, 341, 345; A, 207–208, 215, 216–221, 223–224; B, 207–208, 216–224, 230; effigy vessel/jar, 190, 199, 207, 214, 218, 221, 222, 223–224, 226, 229–230; Toltec Tlaloc, 226. See also Cross of Tlaloc; Storm God; Teotihuacan Tlaloc; Tlaloc Sanctuary Tlalocan Mural, 215 Tlaloque, tlaloqueh (rain gods), 213, 224, 360 Tlaltecuhtli (god), 224 Tlapacoya (site), 221, 222 Tlapanec (people), 252, 254 Tlaquiach (office), 292 Tlaquimilolli (bundles), 8, 229 Tlatelolco (site), 333 Tlatilco (site), 116, 134 Tlauhquecholli (ajaia ajaia bird), 380n25 Tlaxcala (state), 199, 266, 279 Tlazolteotl (god), 267, 284, 285, 288 Tleyocuilia (to take the fire, to take fire for one’s self ), 255 Tobacco gourd, 342 Toci (god), 288 Tollan phase, 302, 304, 307, 309, 311, 316, 322n4 Tollan, 18, 303–304, 307, 320, 321n2 Toltec, 143, 205, 226, 273, 283, 303–304, 321n2, 321n3, 332, 334, 344, 345, 346 Tonalamatl (birth almanac), 269 Tonalamatl Aubin, 227, 228 Tonalchicahuac (people with a strong tonalti), 257 Tonalli, tonalti, tonaltin, tonal (heat, energy, fire); 15, 18, 50, 53, 56–57, 91–92, 96, 254–255, 257–258, 260n21, 375; hereditary aspects of, 258, 260n25; as term for animal companion or companion spirit, 176, 257. See also animistic centers; co-essence; nahualli; way Tonatiuh (sun god), 254 Topantecutle (god), 364 Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl (person), 321n3 Torquemada, 246, 251–253 Tota (Our Father), 250. See also Old God Totemism (ontology), 375 Toxcatl (calendrical feast), 6, 368

402

I ndex

Transform, transformation, 7, 9–12, 50, 55, 59, 77, 87, 91–93, 96, 109, 176, 254, 257, 278, 307, 313, 319, 358, 364, 366, 373 Trapeze-and-ray year sign, 226–227 Tridimensional, tridimensionality, 336 Trilobe element, 218, 226, 288 Triphrasism, 358 Triple Alliance, 213, 355, 364 Trophy head, 86, 160, 161, 173. See also head Tula Chico, 18, 281, 301, 303, 304, 309, 313–314, 315, 316, 318–319, 322n9 Tula, Tula Grande, 13, 18, 20, 222, 226, 301, 302, 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 313–319, 320n1, 321n2, 321n3, 321n4, 322n5, 322n7, 322n9, 332, 338, 345, 346; Building 3, 302, 303, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310, 311–314, 318, 320, 322n6, 322n8; Canal Locality, 311, 312, 316; Central Group, 311; Coatepantli, 307, 310; Corral locality, 311; El Corral Pyramid, 309, 311; Hall 1, 307, 310; Hall 2, 303, 307, 312–313; Hall 3, 307; Palacio Quemado, 307; Pyramid B, 304, 305, 306, 307–309, 310, 316, 320; Pyramid C, 302, 305, 306, 307, 322n5; Temple B, 35. See also Tula Chico Tullam Chollollan, 321n2 Turban, 32, 53, 56. See also headgear Turquoise Lord. See Xiuhtecuhtli Tuxcacuesco (style), 72, 114, 121, 123–124, 126, 128, 129 Twins, 59 Tzacualli phase, 223 Tzeltal (people), 5 Tzihuacpopoca, 372 Tzoalli (amaranth dough), 359 Tzotziles (people), 255 Underworld, 11, 16, 18, 50, 58, 76, 85, 94, 153–154, 177, 200, 213, 286 Universidad de las Américas Puebla (UDLAP) campus (site), 190, 191, 193, 194, 197–200 Unknown Mexico, 115 Urban, urbanism, 172–173, 178, 185–188, 190, 197, 200 Valley of Oaxaca (region), 166–167, 177 Vedic India, 374 Venus, 310, 332, 370

Veracruz (state), 155, 213, 281–282, 284, 288 Vernant, Jean-Pierre, 7 Viejo Pueblo (site), 35 Vikings, 80 Virgin Mary, 376 Visual perspective, 336 Volador (ritual/ceremony), 116 Volcán de Colima, 252 Volcanic eruptions, 186 War Serpent, 221, 224 Warrior, 12, 14–15, 21, 68–69, 72, 74, 78, 79, 84–87, 89, 90–91, 93–96, 98n6, 113, 120, 134, 137, 192, 197, 208, 209, 214, 218–219, 226, 286–288, 292–293, 307–309, 313, 318, 320, 331, 338, 345, 358–359, 364–367, 371 Water lily, 216–218, 221, 223–224, 317 Way, Wayob, 91, 93–94, 96. See also co-essence Weapon, 68, 78–79, 85–87, 89, 118, 127, 208, 214, 218, 307, 314, 338. See also axe; club; dart; sling; spear; spearthrower Weaving, 118, 358 Were-Jaguar, 176 Wide-Billed Bird (sun god), 174 Wild beast of Tezcatlipoca (title of Aztec king), 371 Wild beasts of power (titles of Aztec king’s ixiptla), 371 Wind God, 76, 77, 361 Wind, 92, 370 Woman, women, 36, 44, 51, 53, 61, 109, 127, 139, 159–162, 164–165, 167, 168, 273, 279, 288, 358; definition by metonymic series, 358; enemy woman, 288; good woman, 288. See also female Womb, 52, 154, 174–175 Wrinkles, 11, 15, 140, 241, 246, 248, 250 Xalapa (valley), 241 Xaltocan (site), 120 Xicalcoliuhqui (greca design), 280, 281 Xicani (Zapotec fire serpent), 174 Xicolli (sleeveless jacket), 342 Xihuitl (turquoise), 368

Xilonen (god), 284, 288 Xipe Totec (god), 358, 364, 366–367, 373 Xiquipilli. See copal Xiuhcoatl (turquoise snake, fire snake), 257–258 Xiuhtecuhtli (Turquoise Lord), 249, 250, 251, 253, 255, 256, 257–258, 259n16, 288, 364, 368. See also Old God Xiuhtecuhtli-Huehueteotl, 250, 251–252. See also Old God Xiuhtototl (Cotinga amabilis bird), 380n25 Xochicalco, 288, 292 Xochimiquiztli (death on the battlefield), 288 Xochipilli (god), 288 Xochiquetzal (god), 267, 269, 284, 288 Xochitécatl (site), 18, 21, 266–268, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288–289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 293n1, 294n3; Flowers Pyramid, 18, 267–269, 270, 273, 277, 279, 281, 282, 283, 285, 287, 290, 291, 292, 293; Nativitas terraces, 292 Xochiyaoyotl, 288 Xolalpan phase, 20, 196, 284 Xolotl (ruler), 304, 305, 321n3 Xonecuilli (design), 332 X-ray view, 227 Yaxchilán (site), 117, 271 Yolia, Yollotl (heart), 15, 50, 57. See also animistic centers Yucatan (state), 319 Yucuita (site), 172 Yuguitos, 116, 117 Zacatecas: state, 111, 112, 309; style, 114, 121, 125, 126–128, 129, 130 Zapotec (people), 11, 162, 166–167, 170–171, 173–174, 177, 213 Zempoatepetl (mountain), 171 Zouche-Nuttall Codex, 282. See also Nuttall Codex Zuñi, 370 Zuquichiuqui (potter), 267

I ndex

403