The late autumn sun finally shines into CharmaeÕs room around two in the afternoon. There she has her table set up with various tools, polishing stones, sponges, and water. With one of her favorites in hand, Charmae carefully smoothes the surface of a cube pot, the shape she was inspired to make after years of making traditional-style pottery.
"I just got tired of seeing the same shapes over and over," she says, without looking up. "A few years ago, I made seed pots in a flat, circular form. Now I see them all over the place, so I stopped making them."
"But nobody will touch her cube or pyramid designs," adds CharmaeÕs husband. "SheÕs the only one who makes them like that."
So begins a conversation with Charmae Natseway, an Acoma potter who has spent many afternoons like this one, spending time with the clay she's taken years to know. But, she feels that it has always been a part of her, a family tradition that has been passed down through many generations. Throughout her home in Acomita, there hangs from the rafter, in cases, or on shelves, examples of artwork that is part of a legacy she now claims and uses for her own.
"My mother has been making pottery most of her life. I started back in 1976 when we moved back here from Tucson. I needed a way to be self-employed and I needed money, so my mother taught me. I try to always do the best work I can, and it's a challenge to be the best."
"Sometimes I feel there is not enough opportunity for up and coming artists. I think they're having a harder time than we did a few years ago. But, it's also good to see new artists coming up with new styles and taking different directions."
She puts down her stone to take a few moments to check the food cooking on the stove. It seems that when she is home, she likes to make the most of her time, dividing it between her pottery, the kitchen, helping her mother during ceremonies, and driving to nearby Albuquerque to run errands and pay bills, probably no less busier than women were in earlier years.
"I've gotten a lot of ideas from prehistoric pottery, like the Mimbres designs, and from older Acoma pottery. Also from my grandmother's pots. Generally, I don't put designs down on paper first. As far as gathering the clay and preparing it, that's traditional. I've made canteens, bowls, bean pots, ladles, and plates for ceremonial use. Those are traditional. But my designs are sometimes traditional and other times contemporary. Sometimes, too, I make pots that have designs which at first look similar, but if you look real close, you can tell differences. I suppose it comes from using similar design elements over the years. After awhile, it's, like, hard-wired in your brain."
The surface of her pot begins to take on a highly polished shine. I notice that she uses a brush to apply water, then she goes over it with the stone. I tell her that in pottery class our instructor told us to use a silk sponge, and then I ask if the brush is better.
"Well, the reason why I use the brush is because I put a slip on my pot. I don't think the northern pueblos use slips or not, do you use slips in class? Anyway, thatÕs why I use it."
Watching her skilled hands bring forth the beauty of the clay, I wonder if this might've been the same scene one could witness years ago. Aside from the technical aspects in bringing the clay to its present form, I sense a certain respect she gives it, as though it wasn't a mere piece of soil, but a living entity.
"They say that the clay is where we come from. I consider my work a part of me. I feel good when someone buys one of my pieces who is really going to appreciate it. But, when we do sell it, we give a part of ourselves away."
This brings to mind the business side of pottery making. She had been doing shows across the country for the past 10 or 12 years, from the Heard Museum and Tlaquepaque in Arizona, to an invitational show in Chicago, with the Santa Fe Indian Market probably being the biggest.
"The Market is really a good chance to display your artwork with the best Native artists. It's also good as advertisement for the work, and a good long term business venture."
No doubt that she is one of the best, as proven by the numerous ribbons that flank the wall of her room and her husband, Tom's workroom. He is also a potter, a miniaturist, who credits Charmae and her mother for teaching him about the clay. His pots, which measure usually just under an inch, have been noted for their beauty in their own right.
"The price I get for my work I base on how much time I put into a piece, and the years of experience that I have. Sometimes, though, the galleries or the public determine the value of a piece."
"Do non-natives who claim to sell 'traditional' artwork hurt the market?"
"Yeah, I think they do. But, then again, I think that if people want something worthwhile, they're going to go for quality and authenticity. I think that they're always people that settle for work that isn't traditional, that they will buy something as long as it looks like the real thing. But, foreigners get hurt the most by it because they don't know about the work."
"Do you think there is a difference between the Native vendors who sell on the plaza, as opposed to those artists who sell to the galleries and in the show?"
"Well I suppose it's really a difference of economical reasons. They do what is going to support their families. However they choose to earn a living may be different, but the end result is that they support their families."
The afternoon is getting late now, and the pot is polished. Charmae examines her work and places the pot where it remains stable for the time being. Later on, She'll spend another few hours painting it, then firing it, hoping it doesn't crack.
"Sometimes air pockets get mixed in the clay and it will crack. That's the usual reason. Other times you don't know why. But there's nothing to prevent it if it's going to happen."
The sun hangs over the western horizon as she readies for another trip into town to take her brother-in-law back. She shows me her right hand thumbnail, where it grows at an awkward angle.
"See, this is what happens because I hold the brush too hard. Boy, I almost pulled it up awhile ago."
The nail will grow back though. And her artistic talent will continue, as these long afternoons undoubtedly will.