ON THE TURQUOISE TRAIL
In the deserts of New Mexico, the art of Native American jewelry-making is kept alive by local artisans whose pieces are imbued with their culture and history. We went to meet them.
Two Jeeps are speeding through the desert. From above they look like tiny black dots lost in a vast emptiness of ocher dirt where even bushes struggle to grow. Behind the wheel of one, Dorothée has her boot pressed firmly on the gas pedal. Richard is up ahead on the road. After 20 minutes, he finally slows down in front of a fence. Their arrival sets about a dozen dogs barking. Farther on are some horses in a paddock. Richard guides Dorothée to a makeshift farmhouse surrounded by a mess of corrugated metal sheets, jerricans, shovels and rakes. But the most important place on the property is the cramped trailer abutting the farmhouse, which contains an array of hammers, files, rulers and pliers, along with a blowtorch and some safety goggles. Richard reaches up to a shelf, pulls down a wooden box and takes out several bracelets embellished with turquoise stones. Dorothée’s eyes widen.
Richard is a silversmith. He learned the trade from his father, who learned it from his father, and has been making jewelry since he was 15, following the aesthetic traditions of his tribe, the Navajo. Richard’s specialty is crafting stunning bracelets, usually adorned with chunky turquoise stones, with intricate chasing and a wealth of decorative detail. He’s diligent and meticulous, a perfect master of the craft of serration, which creates a visual effect of fractured lines, like steps. He regularly travels to Albuquerque to sell his designs in the city’s stores, but it can also happen that people come to him, like Dorothée did today. “We met at the Santa Fe Indian Market last summer,” says Richard.
“She really liked my jewelry, and we’ve kept in touch.” Dorothée nods in agreement. A few minutes later, she buys three bracelets from him and orders some more, which she’ll pick up next time she visits the area.
Dorothée has been coming to New Mexico several times a season since her teens. It was her father who first introduced her to this region of America. She trailed around after him for years, immersing herself in Native American culture, learning about the stones, meeting the artisans. She developed a good eye, as well as a solid network. Now, she travels alone, sometimes to Utah, Colorado or Arizona, but chiefly within New Mexico, around the capital, Albuquerque. “I travel at my own pace,” she says. “I go to my regular places, and I’ve built good relationships with the Native Americans. We’ve known each other for a long time; we understand each other.”
Dorothée’s mission is the same as her father’s was back in the day – she’s on the lookout for pieces to fill the display cases at Harpo, a jewelry shop in Paris’s central Châtelet district. This venerable institution has been supplying France’s Western buffs with timeless Native American jewelry for five decades. From the bolo ties to the concho belts and chased silver bracelets, every piece sold at Harpo is unique, handmade and selected with great care.
It’s Dorothée’s job, during her travels, to meet with the most skilled artisans and pick out their finest pieces. On every trip, she’ll be shown thousands of pieces of jewelry in the space of a few days, perusing endless trays and display cases, sometimes at retail stores, sometimes in jewelers’ workshops. She has to look at everything and not miss a trick. “Each to my own,” she says playfully, as she climbs back into her car. A few minutes later, she adds: “I'm lucky. This… ” – waving into the distance, where a canyon is gradually disappearing over the horizon – “is my office.”
color and soul
Dorothée’s next appointment is in Albuquerque, where turquoise is everywhere. You can’t get away from its distinctive bright blue. It’s on the car license plates, storefronts and church facades. The interior of a downtown retail store is also a sea of turquoise. “You feel good when you walk in here, because turquoise has a soul,” manager Ernie Montoya tells you right off the bat. White-haired and sporting a sleeveless jacket, Ernie carries a water pistol to spray his buckets of blue nuggets as he passes down the aisles. Stepping behind the counter, he opens a wire mesh door and leads Dorothée to a room in the basement, well away from prying eyes. There, over 5,000 jars full of stones in various shades of blue crowd the shelves. “This is my whole life,” says the 70-something Ernie with a smile as he slips nuggets that are as bright as candies into Dorothée’s hand.
There was never anything to suggest that this man would devote his life to turquoise. As a 20-year-old working in Albuquerque’s urban planning department, he was shipped off to fight in Vietnam with