<p>Doublecloth Fragments with Llamas and Herders</p>
The principle of <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><em>ayni</em></span>—reciprocity, dualism, interlockedness— is consummately expressed in cloth such as this, a doublecloth dating to ca. 1000–1470 AD. Its patterns play out in indigo and white, a dualistic color choice, and in the plain-weave technique in which the horizontal warps and vertical wefts are equal partners. Moreover, in doublecloth there are actually two woven cloths, united as one; weavers sit on either side of a loom and create separate fabrics, except when they exchange one color of thread for the other to form the pattern of herders and llamas. In other words, blue areas on this face are white on the other face; likewise, white llamas are blue on the other side. This is a perfect expression of <em>ayni</em>, being the same pattern but in reversed colors.<br /><br />Further, the interdependence of humans and camels is true <em>ayni</em>. The llama is the large, domesticated New World camel, one of the ancestors of the Old World camels and dromedaries. Humans can only survive in the high altitude, dry climes of the Andes with the help of the hearty llamas and wooly alpacas. People depend on their abundant fur to make clothing to defy the cold night temperatures, meat for protein, dung for fuel, and sinews for ties, among other things. This piece shows herders with llamas on lead lines, bringing them from one pasture to another since time immemorial.
Textile with Pelican Shaman
This brocaded cloth features a supernatural pelican-man. Still bright after over five hundred years, scarlet highlights the standing figure’s face and the many little pelicans that sit on his arms and emerge magically from/as his body. The two slightly different reds in the face area show that this textile was made in two parts later sewn together; this additive process was certainly not concealed. This piece was one of at least four matching panels (now held in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Cleveland Museum of Art). The piecemeal assembly process was employed by the Chimú Empire, with different subjects involved in the production of a single luxury item given as tribute to royalty and elites. One person made one half of this piece, another the other, with the seam and the slight mismatch between the parts as evidence of their distinct contributions. In addition, showing the two parts combining to make a single figure embodies an important idea that runs through Andean culture and thought: <em><span style="text-decoration:underline;">ayni</span></em>, or the dualistic relationship of one part to another to make up a balanced whole. Two half-faces coming together, even if not perfectly, embodies this idea visually. Ayni is not only found in art, but is basic to human survival in the Andean environment, where reciprocal helping of others is the only way to thrive in the various altitudes and ecozones.
Polychrome <em>Khipu</em> (Knot Writing Device)
<p>Writing—recording information in a format that others at the time and later can decipher—was accomplished by the Inka Empire of South America using thousands of knotted string devices known as <i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">khipu</span></i>. In the Carlos collection there are two other examples of the knot writing (<a href="/items/show/51">multi</a>- and <a href="/items/show/50">single-strand</a>) that helped the Inka conquer more than 3,000 miles of territory and twelve million subjects in less than a century (1428–1534 AD).</p>
<p>In this <i>khipu</i>, the main horizontal cord is read from left to right. As in Western mathematics, the Inka used a base-ten numerical system. Hanging down from the main cord are variously colored pendant cords with different types of knots arranged in registers. These record numbers, here the largest being “160” and the smallest “1” (see attached diagram file). Numbers can and were used primarily as codes—much like the binary code of 0’s and 1’s in modern computers—to delineate many types of information.</p>
<p>Though the Spanish never learned to read <i>khipu</i>, they did record that the Inka used them to record the amount of food in storehouses, census data, tribute, history, astronomy, and even poetry. While scholars are still working on the existing 850 examples of <i>khipu </i>to decipher their meanings, new archaeological findings include some <i>khipu </i>piled on top of maize kernels and others on top of beans, providing a tantalizing clue that may begin to unravel the way in which the Inka used threads to record various kinds</p>
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Single-Strand <em>Khipu</em> (Knot Writing Device)
<p>A writing device—fulfilling the communicative purpose of recording and transmitting knowledge among trained individuals over time—the Inka <i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">khipu</span> </i>can take a number of forms (a <a href="/items/show/51">mono</a>- and <a href="/items/show/49">polychrome</a> example). In the ways that a handwritten poem and a printed technical manual differ, textile writing, too, was adaptable to a wide range of uses and audiences in Inka times.</p>
<p>The odd plant-fiber strand with unusual knots, has been scientifically dated to between 1508 and 1652 AD; therefore, it is an authentic Inka-to-early-Colonial object. Yet, unlike other <i>khipu</i>, it is entirely made of strands of <i>Furcreae andina</i>, a succulent whose stringy leaves can be made into fiber objects. Comprising only one cord, rather than a main cord with others hanging from it, makes it unique as well. Furthermore, the knots are made backwards.</p>
<p>All these strange features defy exact explanation, but its possible date, as late as 1652, may indicate that in the first century after the Inka downfall writing had changed dramatically without their strict control over communication. Clearly shifts in almost every aspect of the <i>khipu </i>had taken place soon after the Spanish takeover.</p>
Decimal <em>Khipu</em> (Knot Writing Device)
<p>It may seem odd that the distinctively Inka mode of writing in knotted threads would survive the Spanish invasion and colonization. Indeed, in 1581 the <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><i>khipu</i></span><i> </i>was officially outlawed, although its use went underground and has not completely disappeared to this day. The large yet still fragmentary example very likely dates to the early colonial times, according to a Carbon-14 date that places it between 1489 and 1652 AD.</p>
<p>While it still could predate the 1534 conquest, a number of unusual features in comparison to solidly Inka ones (<a href="/items/show/50">a single-strand</a> and a <a href="/items/show/49">polychrome</a>) strongly suggest it post-dates the Inka Empire. This one records only the numbers between 1 and 5, unlike the classic <i>khipu </i>with numbers as high as 160 at far right. Its main cord has been cut in two places which would never have been done in ancient times; cutting thread or cloth was considered to be breaking its life force and disrespecting its integrity. These features suggest that this example is a later, simpler version of knot writing, as it was changing under the Spanish (who certainly cut cloth to tailor their clothing).</p>
Female Figure
<p>Several hundred of these effigy figures, completely made from fiber, remain from graves in the dry coastal sands of the Chancay Valley in central Perú. Reeds provide the basic structure, which is then dressed in miniature garments—here a skirt, belt, and blouse woven using three different techniques. A tapestry face with an embroidered nose and a wig of hair complete the lifelike rendition of a well-dressed woman from ca. 1000 AD.</p>
<p>Effigy figures such as this are not dolls. They were placed in the burials of adult women and wear special clothes made from <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><i>qumpi</i>,</span> the finest cloth. Miniature textiles are even more difficult to weave than full-size ones. Here, the figure likely wears a version of her owner’s outfit, a companion—and perhaps near-portrait—of a specific woman. Many different face patterns characterize the remaining Chancay fiber figures.</p>
<p>Another important Andean concept is also embodied in this tiny figure: <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><i>ukhu</i>,</span> the importance of things that are normally hidden. You can see that her arms, and even fingers, were wrapped with thread to cover the reed armature, one manifestation of creative hiding by wrapping. Yet under her skirt one can barely see that her legs and toes were also wrapped, even though they cannot be seen under the long skirt. This is a widespread Native American impulse to finish all parts of a figure, to honor and make the image “true” to its subject. Hidden completion is true of human bodies as well (physically muscles are under skin, and in society certain body parts are routinely covered). What is not visible is understood as important, as <i>ukhu </i>communicates.</p>
Red Tasseled Tunic Fragments
<p><span>The two fragments of this tunic from the far north coast of Perú are shown with the larger remaining portion facing out and the smaller one showing the side worn toward the wearer’s body. In other words, the whole tunic was covered with red tassels that almost entirely obscured the tiny woven multicolor figures (see the drawing above). This conscious choice, made around a thousand years ago on the coast of Perú, corresponds to the <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><span>Quechua</span></span> concept of <i><span><span style="text-decoration:underline;">ukhu</span></span></i> or the hidden potentially revealed.</span></p>
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<p><span>The deliberate hiding, and the implication that the art therefore does not necessarily cater to a human audience, is central to traditional Andean thought. In the religious orientation known as shamanism, which was embraced by all Native Americans, the vitally true visions experienced by the spiritual leaders are hidden from others; insight comes from other cosmic realms. Spirits play a key role in shamanic belief and so making everything perceptually available for humans is not paramount.</span></p>
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<p><span>This tunic also celebrated an immense wealth of scarlet red thread, laboriously dyed from tens of thousands of crushed <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><span>cochineal</span></span> beetles. Under its expanse, in a further act of conspicuous consumption, the figures are woven of high-prestige indigo blue and other colors. To have so much time, access to the finest dyes and weavers, and to withhold it from others is a true act of power, the basis of <i>ukhu</i>.</span></p>
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<em>Tumi</em> (Ceremonial Knife) with Llama Head
<p>It may seem odd that a textile exhibition should include several metal objects. However, this ceremonial knife with a crescent-shaped blade (known as a <i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">tumi</span></i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">)</span> shows clear evidence of having been wrapped in textiles in antiquity. This Inka <i>tumi</i> takes the form of a llama, the long-necked camelid that is the quintessential Andean pack animal, and remains of the cloth in which it was wrapped appear on both sides of the blade. The distinctive pattern of a plain-weave cloth—each set of threads going over and under the other—is now preserved in metal. An earlier <a href="http://34.193.12.70/items/show/15">Sicán tumi</a><i> </i>is almost completely covered with pseudomorphs. These “pseudomorphs”—meaning elements that have become part of a piece after manufacture—form during burial, when organic materials are either encased or replaced by corrosion products, retaining the form and appearance of the original materials within the mineralized layers. Pseudomorphs preserve the original weave structures, show the diameter and spin-ply of threads, and even suggest whether cotton or camelid fiber was utilized. Sometimes fragments of the actual ancient cloth survive within the corrosion, as seen on <a href="http://34.193.12.70/items/show/16">earspools</a> with spider motifs. This wrapping of other precious objects expresses the concept of <i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">ukhu</span></i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">,</span> the dialectic of hiding and revealing so important in the Andean tradition.</p>
<em>Tumi</em> (Ceremonial Knife) in the Form of the Sicán Lord
It may seem odd that a textile exhibition should include several metal objects. However, this ceremonial knife with a crescent-shaped blade (known as a <span style="text-decoration:underline;"><i>tumi</i></span>) shows clear evidence of having been wrapped in textiles in antiquity. A later <a href="/items/show/14">Inka tumi</a><i> </i>shows similar signs of textile wrapping; the distinctive pattern of a plain-weave cloth—each set of threads going over and under the other—is now preserved in metal. These “pseudomorphs”—meaning elements that have become part of a piece after manufacture—form during burial, when organic materials are either encased or replaced by corrosion products, retaining the form and appearance of the original materials within the mineralized layers. Pseudomorphs preserve the original weave structures, show the diameter and spin-ply of threads, and even suggest whether cotton or camelid fiber was utilized. This large knife in anthropomorphic form is almost completely covered with pseudomorphs, showing how completely it was wrapped. Sometimes fragments of the actual ancient cloth survive within the corrosion, as seen on <a href="/items/show/16">earspools</a> with spider motifs. This wrapping of other precious objects expresses the concept of <span><span style="text-decoration:underline;"><i>ukhu</i></span>,</span> the dialectic of hiding and revealing so important in the Andean tradition.
Earspools with Spider Motif
<p>It may seem odd that a textile exhibition should include several metal objects. However, these earspools with wide posts show clear evidence of having been wrapped in textiles in antiquity. An <a href="/items/show/14">Inka <i>tumi</i></a> and <a href="/items/show/15">Sicán <i>tumi</i></a><i> </i>(ceremonial knives with crescent-shaped blades) show similar signs of textile wrapping. The distinctive pattern of a plain-weave cloth—each set of threads going over and under the other—is now preserved in metal. These “pseudomorphs”—meaning elements that have become part of a piece after manufacture—form during burial, when organic materials are either encased or replaced by corrosion products, retaining the form and appearance of the original materials within the mineralized layers. Pseudomorphs preserve the original weave structures, show the diameter and spin-ply of threads, and even suggest whether cotton or camelid fiber was utilized. Sometimes fragments of the actual ancient cloth survive within the corrosion, as seen on the posts of these earspools. This wrapping of other precious objects expresses the concept of <i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">ukhu</span></i><span style="text-decoration:underline;">,</span> the dialectic of hiding and revealing so important in the Andean tradition.</p>