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Weaving the Sky: The Cliff Palace Painted Tower

Plateau Special Issue: Painted Towers in the Southwest
Museum of Northern Arizona, 2005

Elizabeth A. Newsome
Associate Professor of Art History, Theory, and Criticism
Department of Visual Arts, University of California-San Diego
9500 Gilman Drive, La Jolla, CA 92093-0084
tel. (858) 822-1206, fax: (858) 534-7976
email: enewsome@ucsd.edu
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Mural painting first appears as a feature of Pueblo ceremonial and residential architecture
around a thousand years ago in places such as Chaco Canyon and Mesa Verde. Murals of
this period often feature abstract geometric elements, usually composed of repeated
motifs and banded, horizontal designs reminiscent of ceramic painting, textile and basket
painting, and early loom-woven fabrics. Cotton cultivation and loom weaving emerged at
this time as an important activity of men’s ceremonial life. The design of these murals
may attest to the newly developing social and ceremonial values of loom weaving in the
Anasazi world, as well as sacred symbolism that became identified with cotton, textile
motifs, and painted or woven fabrics at that time. At the same time, these murals seem to
refer to landscapes: earth, mountains, sky, and celestial objects. Can we unravel the
meanings of these paintings by exploring ancient and historic relationships among
textiles, paintings, and special places—landscapes and buildings?

The most elaborate and interesting fresco of this class adorns the walls of a four-story
tower at the Cliff Palace Ruin in Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado (Fig. 1). This
tower, one of three such structures at the site, occupies an area toward the southern end of
the complex, where it stands adjacent to a second, smaller rectangular tower and south of
a tower with circular walls. The mural, which covered at least two of the building’s
remaining upper walls, resembles contemporaneous paintings in Chaco Canyon, Salmon
Ruin, and Spruce Tree House in its use of a lower red dado, white upper register, and
projecting triangular elements that suggest mountains on a distant horizon (Fig. 2). In his
commentaries on early Anasazi painting, J. J. Brody (1991: 59-63) likened the triangular
elements in these murals to the “four mountains” concept that characterizes the cosmic
and directional beliefs of the modern Pueblos and neighboring groups. He also observed
that the murals, which occur in several 11th-13th century kivas and towers in the Chaco
and San Juan region, share a certain “landscape-like” sense of design. Between these
triangles lie rows of red-painted dots, corresponding to similar dotted designs in the
Salmon Ruin and Spruce Tree House murals. Superimposed against the white “sky” area
of the composition are two rectangular patterns outlined in red with interior rows of
zigzag lines and stripes. The more complex design is divided by a central vertical band
into two symmetrical halves which each contains four zigzagging lines. The rectangle on
the adjoining wall is situated at about the same height, and contains four vertical lines
that are each adorned with thirteen solid squares along their edges.

Jesse Walter Fewkes, who excavated and restored the Mesa Verde ruins for the
Smithsonian Institution in the early 20th century, made an interesting observation about
these designs: “Among the figures painted on the whitewashed walls of Room 11 (the
four-story tower),” he noted, “may be mentioned…a square figure, in red, crossed by
zigzags, recalling the designs on old Navaho blankets” (Fewkes 1911: 32) (parentheses
mine). His comment is interesting, since early Navajo blankets emulate the simple striped
and banded designs of the eighteenth century Pueblo prototypes that provided the initial
inspiration for Navajo weaving. Anasazi fabrics that have been well-preserved in dry
caves, protected areas of cliff dwellings, or in burial sites attest to a more complex array
of weaving techniques used in prehistory than those known from Colonial times (Kent
1983; Teague 1998; Berlant and Kahlenberg 1977: 26-28). Notable among the ancient
Anasazi methods were herringbone, twill, brocade, gauze, and tapestry weaves, which
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lend themselves to the kinds of complex serrated motifs shown on the Cliff Palace
designs. The filled rectangle patterns in this mural resemble painted textiles from this era
in the Four Corners area. The textile interpretation for these designs seems secure, and
leads to deeper questions about the association of mural paintings with symbolic
representations of landscapes: mountains, horizon, and particularly the sky.

Sophisticated fiber arts are an ancient hallmark of Anasazi and pre-Anasazi

“Basketmaker” technologies. Fibers utilized for loom and non-loom weaving were
obtained from many different sources, including human and animal hair, feathers, yucca,
hemp, milkweed stems, mesquite, and a number of other native Southwest plants. As
early as A. D. 1, the Hohokam of southern Arizona may have begun to utilize cotton, the
last of the major cultigens to be imported from Mexico (Kent 1983: 12). By A. D. 700,
cotton and loom weaving had become well-established in the central Southwest, and the
crop was being cultivated on the Colorado Plateau by the mid-1100s, in Pueblo III times
(Teague 1998: 14, 177-180). Archaeologists have long studied the impact of maize on
Pueblo societies, together with the technologies, knowledge, and ideological adaptations
that accompanied the inception of maize agriculture in the Southwest. Less discussion
has centered on the importance of cotton in Pueblo cosmologies, but its technologies and
symbolic associations became interwoven with mythology and ritual practices in ways
that are still apparent in Southwest Indian cultures today.

Pueblo lore is rich in poetic allusions that identify textiles and weaving with the sky,
comparing the colors and patterns of decorated fabrics with the colors, light, and cloud
formations caused by changing weather and times of day. This is due in part to the
symbolism of cotton, which is utilized in Pueblo dance regalia, burial practices, and ritual
paraphernalia to signify clouds, mist, spirit, and breath, all falling along a continuum of
concepts that refer to the essence of life. In addition, weaving is recognized as a
devotional act, a labor of skill and creativity that functions as a form of offering and
prayer. Textiles have ritual and religious values, and as items of dance regalia or
adornment for ceremonial settings, they are charged with many levels of symbolic
meaning. Cotton threads and certain kinds of weavings can also function in particular
contexts, such as wrappings for prayer sticks or reed cigarettes (for ritual smoking), as the
material embodiments of prayer (Teague 1998: 91-92). Narratives and musical verses
also frequently invoke weaving as a divine activity that perpetuates the process of world
creation. Herbert J. Spinden (1933) published the following Tewa poem, called “Song of
the Sky Loom,” which beautifully illustrates the associations between textiles, divine
creativity, and the sky.

Oh, our Mother the Earth, oh our Father the Sky,

Your children are we, and with tired backs
We bring you the gifts that you love.
Then weave for us a garment of brightness;
May the warp be the white light of morning,
May the weft be the red light of evening,
May the fringes be the falling rain,
May the border be the standing rainbow.
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Thus weave for us a garment of brightness

That we may walk fittingly where the birds sing,
That we may walk fittingly where the grass is green,
Oh, our Mother the Earth, oh, our Father the Sky!

The Tewa prayer provides an interesting comparison with the Cliff Palace mural; its
“garment of brightness” is clearly the sky, woven by male and female divinities. It
describes the sky in terms specifically related to the structural components of weaving:
the stationary, longitudinal fibers of the fabric’s warp, fastened to the tension beams of
the loom, and the mobile fibers of the weft that are passed between warps to compose the
textile’s horizontal grid. The colors described correspond to those of the Cliff Palace
designs as well, emphasizing the “white light of morning” and the “red light of evening.”
Thus, the textile-like motifs that appear in the mural’s upper register could allude to the
sky at its most important transitional times of day. References to weather in the Tewa
poem also have their parallels at Cliff Palace: the zigzig linear designs that fill the
rectangles correspond to designs on pottery and other media that are usually interpreted
as symbols for lightning, simultaneously implying storm clouds, rain, and natural
abundance. Many archaeologists believe that ancestors of the modern Tewa peoples who
originally resided in the Northern San Juan Basin, including the Mesa Verde area,
relocated to the Upper Rio Grande during the migration period. If correct, the affinity
between the mural and the Tewa verses may be more than coincidental, reflecting a
certain historical kinship between the societies that produced them.

When Ruth Bunzel (1929) interviewed modern Pueblo potters regarding their
interpretations of the geometric patterns they used to decorate their vases, they described
a number of designs as “snow blankets”and ”rain blankets,” explaining that they signified
“prayers for rain.” Several Zuni motifs identified as weather blankets are illustrated in
Figure 3, and can be compared to the Cliff Palace designs. The example shown in Fig. 3a
was further described by Bunzel’s informants as “a design used by Masked Gods on the
top of the head. It represents many rain clouds coming together quickly from all
directions” (Bunzel 1929: 100). The Fig. 3b motif depicts a “snow blanket” which serves
as a “prayer for snow,” with “the black clouds coming together from all directions” (ibid).
Figure 3c was called “a ceremonial blanket with clouds standing up,” which “represents
the dress of the masked gods” (ibid, p. 102). The final example, Figure 3d, is a
ceremonial blanket design with “steps” that generally refer to clouds or lightning, shown
surrounding a central rectangle that invokes symbolism of the world and its four
directions (ibid). Figures 3 b and c are most closely analogous to the textile patterns at
Cliff Palace, having distinctly rectangular outlines and serrated designs. The symbolism
Bunzel’s informants provided for this group of designs is complex, simultaneously
invoking several layered fields of meaning. Most immediate is the use of textile patterns
as metaphors for weather; at a deeper level, the act of painting them constitutes a prayer
for snow and rain. Finally, the meteorological symbolism of the designs and the act of
prayer are both equated with the garments and regalia worn by the masked gods, who are
the spiritual embodiment of both weather and the dance medium that communicates
prayer to the otherworld. This array of concepts also informs our understanding of the
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ancient Cliff Palace mural, which most likely signifies not only heavenly precipitation,
but also the prayers and ceremonial activities associated with the tower’s ritual use.

The Cliff Palace mural pairs earth and sky, comparable to the way they are invoked
centuries later in the song couplets of the Tewa verse. Just as heavenly and terrestrial
realms unite in the poem’s opening lines to provide the universe its “garment of
brightness,” the blanket-like motifs in the Cliff Palace mural accentuate an encircling
horizon marked by mountains, emphasizing the sightline where sky and earth converge.
Mountains in Pueblo cosmologies have meteorological as well as directional significance
because they are locations where thunderheads form to provide rain and other
precipitation to the desert landscape. They are equally revered as spiritual homes of the
ancestral dead, whose souls congregate on their summits at the intersection of earth and
sky. The Hopi regard the nearby San Francisco Peaks as the resting place of their
forbears, who ascend the mountain heights each day as clouds, and respond to their
descendants’ prayers by sending rain, snow, and mists. Symbolic of the sky, the Cliff
Palace textile designs may further evoke the same kinds of meanings as the ceramic
decorations Bunzel’s informants identified with gathering clouds and the regalia of the
masked gods, whose costumes give ancestral essence visible form. Tufts of cotton, cotton
fibers, feathers, and the fringe of weavings all share in the symbolic language of
adornment that identifies katsina masks and costume with clouds, breath, atmosphere,
and falling rain. As a metaphor for clouds and the “breath body” of the soul, Hopi burial
ceremonies include placing a cotton mask, called the “white cloud mask,” over the face
of the interred individual. The deceased is then instructed “You are no longer a Hopi, you
are changed (nih’ti, grown) into a kachina, you are Cloud (O’mauuh)” (Stephen 1936:
825-826). Having experienced this rite of transformation, the departed spirit is then free
to return from its grave along the trail to the west that leads to the sipapu, the mythic
place of emergence that is associated with all new beginnings.

Therefore, one of the central interpretations I propose for the textile patterns at Cliff
Palace is that they refer to the sky and related mythopoetic allusions to weather, ancestor
veneration, and the afterlife of the dead. I also suspect that there is a strong relationship
between the Cliff Palace mural and the pan-Pueblo mythic construct of primordial
emergence from the underworld. The role of weaving as a metaphor for the continual
process of world creation and renewal offers one argument in support of that
interpretation. In 1934, Gladys Reichard recorded a Navajo legend comparable to
Spinden’s Tewa prayer that suggests weaving was strongly identified with specific creator
deities shared by Navajo and Pueblo myth. The Navajos were latecomers to the
Southwest, but assimilated numerous aspects of Pueblo culture in the 17th and 18th
centuries, when they absorbed many refugees fleeing Spanish incursions on the Rio
Grande. Together with weaving, the Navajos adopted and modified various features of
cosmology and myth derived from their Pueblo neighbors. Reichard’s account ascribes
the invention of weaving to the Navajo counterpart of “Spider Woman,” a supernatural
whose various Pueblo avatars act as creators and advise the first ancestors in their ascent
from the previous worlds.

Spider Woman instructed the Navajo women how to weave on a

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loom which Spider Man told them how to make. The crosspoles
were made of sky and earth cords, the warp sticks of sun rays, the
healds of rock crystal and sheet lightning. The batten was a sun halo…
There were four spindles: one a stick of zigzag lightning…one a stick
of flash lightning…a third a stick of sheet lightning…a rain streamer
formed the stick of the fourth… (Reichard 1934, frontispiece) (Fig. 4).

The idea of weaving as a metaphor for the universe, especially for the sky and its
atmospheric phenomena, is also clearly expressed in Pueblo versions of cosmogenesis. At
Zia, the creation of the world is explicitly described as the weaving of a web that spans
the four directions, using sacred corn meal (Stevenson 1894: 27). The protagonist of this
act is a male spider deity who seems closely related to the “Thinking Woman” of the
other Keres-speaking groups, as well as the “Spider Man” of Navajo legends. At Cochiti,
Spider Woman is considered the world’s creator (Dumarest 1919: 227), although at
Acoma and Laguna it is “Thinking Woman” (Sus’sistanako) who imagined the universe
into existence. However, she is often identified with Spider Grandmother, and the two
supernaturals overlap in identities and roles (Tyler 1964: 90-91). The Hopi Hurung
Whuti, or Hard Beings Woman, is another primordial goddess who is equated with Spider
Woman at times (Tetiev 1944:153). The spider also plays a role in Zuni lore that relates it
to cosmology and the sky. According to the mythology collected by ethnologist Frank
Hamilton Cushing during his famous sojourn at Zuni in the 1870’s, the Water Strider
assisted the people shortly after their emergence from the underworld. As they began
their migrations in search of a homeland, the Water Strider aided them in finding the
exact center of the earth, where they were destined to establish their settlement. Rising
into the heavens, he stretched his legs to each of the cardinal points; the location directly
beneath his heart would become Halona, the Zuni Middle Place (Cushing 1988: 97-98).
In all of these varied traditions, the Spider is a key figure of primordial events. She (or
he) is often identified with the heavens, but also with the underworld, where both the
universe and the first ancestors are given form.

A second consideration that supports the emergence interpretation for the Cliff Palace
mural is its location on the third-story level of the Room 11 tower. Towers, features of
Anasazi architecture located primarily in the San Juan Basin, are generally associated
with kivas, which may be constructed near the structures’ base and connected to them by
passageways and tunnels. Towers often stand adjacent to the southeast or southwest side
of an associated kiva, and some examples have kiva features constructed in their floors,
such as a hole representing the sipapu, the ancestral place of emergence (Ferguson and
Rohn 1987: 40-42). Tower kivas are found at a number of ruins, including Kin Kletso,
Las Ventanas, Salmon Ruin, and Kin Ya’a, buildings that conflate both architectural
forms in a single edifice. These remarkable towers elevate the kiva atop a platform that
may stand one or more stories high, and some contain as many as two, three, or even four
vertically stacked kiva chambers. Symbolically, these layered kivas evoke the primordial
themes of emergence lore and recall ancestral passage through a succession of
underworld levels. An account of the Hopi origin myth published by Elsie Clews Parsons
(1939: 237) further identifies the tower with the emergence story and ascent from past
worlds. Her legend describes a tower that the women, living apart from the men, built in
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the underworld to provide them with a refuge from the flood. Their effort, however, was
unsuccessful; as hard as they tried, their tower never reached the sky. The Hopi men then
resorted to planting a pine tree; it grew high enough, but did not penetrate the heavens.
Spider Woman then planted a reed to serve as a ladder, which reached the sky and passed
through it to enter the fourth and final world. As the great Horned Serpent caused water
to rise from the earth and consume the third creation, Badger and Locust passed through
this hole in the sky to explore the new world that lay above it. The people followed,
passing through the sipapu to begin their migrations in this, the fourth cosmic level.
Locust, playing his flute, led them in their quest for a homeland, despite the lightning
bolts hurled at him by the clouds.

The myth cited above suggests a close association in the Hopi origin story between
towers and the emergence concept, with the tower constructed for the purpose of
traversing underworld levels. The tower/kiva combinations found in the San Juan region
strongly imply that the two kinds of structures formed a single functional and symbolic
unit, integrally linked in mythic references and ritual use. Kivas are in themselves
emblematic of the underworld from which humankind emerged, and are therefore
associated with primordial levels and times. Moreover, modern kiva designs encompass
in their symbolism the complete elements of a cosmos, including middle world, earth,
and sky. Linked to a tower, a kiva implicates the adjoining structure in the greater mythic
context and ritual dramatization of emergence lore, which centered on the ascent of
humans from lower, more animal-like, less civilized levels of existence to the present
world, where they become fully civilized and assume their final human forms. It may be
significant that the Room 11 tower has four levels, matching the number of worlds
described in most Pueblo origin myths. It was in the third world, at the subterranean level
immediately below our own stratum, that humans became fully civilized according to
many accounts. Upon reaching the third creation, the ancestors lost the physical attributes
that they shared with animals during their sojourns in the lower terrestrial layers, such as
their horns, tails, webbed feet, and scales. In addition to becoming physiologically
human, they also began to recognize and obey the rules that govern social order, such as
incest taboos and other codes for appropriate behavior. It was also in the third creation
that humans acquired many of their arts and practices of civilization, including weaving.
Thus, the mural located on the tower’s third story level, with its pronounced textile
designs, may refer to the achievements of the Pueblo ancestors in the third creation,
which paved the way for their emergence into the last and highest of their planes of
existence.

Although Fewkes (1911: 41-42) characterized Room 11 as a secular structure, with some
archaeological evidence of residential debris, the structure has a number of distinguishing
features that suggest ritual uses. It is the only four-story structure at Cliff Palace, and its
third level room is distinct not only for its paintings, but for the special T-shaped doorway
located on its northern side (Fig. 5). This doorway might have been used for observations
of the sky and horizon from that construction level; Fewkes also suggests that access to
the tower’s inner rooms may have been via ladders from the outside. The north side entry
suggests the T-shaped door may have had special mythic and ritual significance, since the
place of emergence is often identified in Pueblo lore as lying somewhere to the north, and
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the sipapu, a small hole in the floor that represents the entrance to the underworld is
usually situated in the northern area of a kiva floor in the Mesa Verde area.

The exact function of towers is not well understood, and theories concerning their use
have most often concerned either defensive purposes or astronomical uses (Schulman
1950; F. Ellis 1975; A. Ellis 1991; LeBlanc 1999). Certainly, they would have proven
useful as watchtowers for spotting the approach of raiding parties, and as refuges and
defensive locations in times of attack. A number of towers exhibit evidence of burning,
and several, including the tower at Charnel House and the tower-kiva at Salmon ruin,
contained unburied dead (LeBlanc 1999: 81-83). The frequent association between
towers and kivas argues for ceremonial uses, and the locations of many examples,
standing in isolation from other structures, in settings that command wide views of the
horizon, lend themselves to astronomical interpretations. These are, of course, not
mutually exclusive explanations. Kiva societies and their rituals frequently emphasize
military as well as curing, clowning, and other functions. Based on the discussion above,
I would like to add the possibility that some, if not all, towers were used in ritual contexts
that commemorated and dramatized the myth of ascent from the underworld. Such an
explanation might enhance our understanding of structures such as the Kin Ya’a tower
kiva, believed to have originally stood 40 feet tall, which contained four cylindrical kivas
stacked in vertical layers (Morgan 1994: 72). It may shed light as well on Hovenweep’s
Square Tower, which guards a spring at the bottom of a canyon. Although ill-suited for
viewing the horizon, this puzzling building may have related to the ritual use of the
spring, since such sources of water were identified with the sipapu and the underworld in
Pueblo lore. The spectrum of evidence presented by the locations, construction, and
activities associated with towers suggests they fulfilled a multiplicity of purposes, but
that emergence themes were central to their meaning.

I believe that a very strong connection can be made between ceremonial and astronomical
purposes for towers such as Room 11 at Cliff Palace (as well as the one at Square Tower
House, another four-story painted tower at Mesa Verde). Frank Hamilton Cushing’s
colorful account of 19th century ceremonialism at Zuni includes observations on the
astronomical use of a ruined tower near the pueblo that adds to the argument that at least
some towers were used for solar (and probably other) observations. “Each morning…” he
wrote,

Just at dawn, the Sun Priest, followed by the Master Priest of the Bow,
went along the eastern trail to the ruined city of Ma-tsa-ki…where,
awaited at a distance by his companion, he slowly approached a square
open tower and seated himself just inside…There he awaited with prayer
and sacred song the rising of the sun (Cushing 1979: 116).

Cushing’s text describes the daily observations once carried out at Zuni by the Pekwin, or
Sun Priest, whose duties were assumed after the death of the last holder of that office by
the Rain Priest instead. Each of the modern Pueblos still conducts solar observations that
are assigned to the holders of various important ceremonial offices. Some Keresan
pueblos delegate this role to the War Chief, while the Rio Grande Pueblos assign
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responsibility for watching the sun to the chiefs of their Winter and Summer moieties. At
Hopi, the head of the particular religious society responsible for the next scheduled
ceremonial must observe the sun’s movements throughout the year. Most pueblos observe
both the sun’s rising and setting position, gauged against fixed points of reference on the
horizon, although the Rio Grande groups tend to ascribe greater significance to sunrise.
The critical purpose of these observations is to establish the dates for ceremonials, which
are organized in an annual calendar according to the sun’s solstice and equinox dates.
Exactitude is expected in determining the correct dates for each event; as Cushing noted,
the Zuni people were vigilant in checking the Pekwin’s accuracy, making their own
observations based on the solar alignments of doors, walls, and windows in their houses
(Cushing 1979: 117).

Sun-watching to establish a ritual calendar is an ancient practice, with clear precursors in

Anasazi times. Tower structures in various areas of the Southwest, such as Hovenweep
Castle in southern Utah, and Casa Grande, a four-story tower built by the neighboring
Hohokam culture of Southern Arizona, have been studied by archaeoastronomers as sites
for solar (and most likely lunar and stellar) observations (F. Ellis 1975; Wilcox 1977;
Williamson, Fisher, and O’Flynn 1977; Williamson 1984; Nabokov and Easton 1989;
Zeilik 1984, 1989; Malville and Putnam 1993). Similar purposes would lend new insight
into the reasons for the linked tower-kiva complexes of the San Juan district. It is also
notable that both towers (Room 11 at Cliff Palace) and kivas in the region feature the
symbolic horizon line, mountain, and dotted mural motifs, as though they are connected
in mytho-ritual use as well as in structure and decoration. The element of the imaginary
“horizon line” punctuated by “mountains” strongly suggests the way Pueblo people have,
for many centuries, determined dates in their calendars by watching sunrise and sunset
positions relative to the east and west cardinal directions. The officials charged with this
duty rely on horizon observations, using mountains and other prominent geological
features as points of reference, as well as the locations of important shrines placed at
intervals along the meeting point of earth and sky (Fig. 6).

The sun’s annual motions along the horizon divide the year into halves at the solstices; it
can also be subdivided by the spring and fall equinox dates. At its seasonal extremes,
falling on the winter (Dec. 21st) and summer (June 21st) solstices, sunrise and sunset
positions fall either south (winter) or north (summer) of due east and west. Only near the
spring and fall equinoxes (March 21st and Sept. 21st) does the sun rise due east and set due
west, remaining stationary at those horizon points for several days. Each day after the
equinox dates, the sun rises and sets successively farther to the north or south of the east
and west positions until the two solstice dates approach. At those stations in the solar
year, the sun slows in its north or south progress, and gradually approaches its seasonal
“stationary point,” meaning its most extreme rising and setting positions relative to due
east and west. For several days near the solstices, the sun will rise and set at its
northeast/northwest stationary points (near June 21st) or its southeast/southwest extreme
positions (near Dec. 21st). These dates are strongly marked in Pueblo ceremonial
calendars, particularly in the Western region. The Hopi, for example, perform the Soyal,
the most important observance of their ritual year, near the winter solstice, and the
Niman, or Homegoing dance for the katsinas, shortly after the summer solstice. For the
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Hopi, the solstice dates divide the ceremonial year into katsina and non-katsina ritual
halves. For the eastern Pueblos, equinox dates are essential to establishing spring and fall
observances.

The divided dado and upper wall sections of the Mesa Verde murals strongly suggest the
depiction of the meeting points of earth and sky; painted in a round kiva, they imply the
circular continuity of the horizon. The grouped triangles suggest the concept of
directional mountains and reference points for sighting solar movements and even the
locations of shrines. The patterns of red or white dots form horizontal rows above the
dado, against the white “sky” zone, positioned relative to the triangular “mountain”
motifs. They suggest sequenced events: the idea, perhaps, of passing days noted by solar
horizon movements, positions that shift slightly north or south each sunset or dawn.
Could the dots indicate such an idea of time’s passage through the sun’s progression
against the horizon and its features? Another possibility is that they allude to an
alignment of shrines at key horizon positions, such as those used by modern Pueblo
groups to fix dates and sun positions in the year. Yet another purpose related to the
temporality of ritual could be to reference a standard count of days for the duration of
rituals and the intervals between them. Cushing records that the Zuni pekwin’s assistant
maintained such a count of days until the equinox by notching a stick (Cushing 1979:
116). Other techniques for referencing the count of days from the sun’s proximity to a
fixed landmark included tying and untying knotted strings and making marks on wall
beams or plaster. The latter method seems particularly similar to the dotted marks of the
Mesa Verde paintings, and suggests that they may refer to calendrical counts.

In addition to their solar observations, modern leaders of ceremonial organizations at

Hopi and Zuni use lunar cycles to fix ceremonial dates, a practice many scholars believe
is also of great antiquity. The moon, which can appear as either a male or a female
divinity in the mythic traditions of the various groups, is associated throughout the
Pueblo world with weather and natural fertility. It is identified most strongly with
women, pregnancy, and procreation, but also with the reproduction of animals and crops.
The Eastern Pueblos, which probably have the strongest historical ties to Mesa Verde,
emphasize moonwatching as a means of determining meteorological omens (Zeilik 1986;
Malville and Putnam 1993: 24-25). The names of their months reflect this concern with
the relationship between the moon, weather, and natural abundance, mostly including
weather-related and agricultural terminology. Ritual timekeeping based on the moon’s
lengthy and complex cycles still plays a strong role in Western Pueblo ceremonialism,
and may have been just as prevalent in the Rio Grande area before the pressures of
colonization exacted their toll on native religious life. Most pueblos appear to have
observed either 12 or 13 months, using them to segment the year into convenient cycles
for seasonal and ritual activities. The importance placed on the correlation between solar
and lunar periods in Pueblo ceremonialism is illustrated by the Hopi practice of assigning
each annual observance to a specific month, even though rites were timed according to
solar cycles. Following the winter solstice, the official in charge of February’s Powamu
festival plants beans in the community’s kivas during the full moon (Malville and Putnam
1993: 51). At Zuni, the winter solstice festival has to be conducted during the moon’s full
phase, since the moon at the strongest phase of its cycle should bolster the sun’s weakest
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appearance on the shortest day of the year. At summer solstice, the relationship between
sun and moon is reversed; the celebration takes place at the peak of the sun’s
periodicities, while the moon appears in its weakest, crescent phase (Malville and Putnam
1993: 24). As a result, solstice ceremonies may be shifted to dates that do not exactly
coincide with the sun’s seasonal extremes, since the moon as well as the sun must fulfill a
critical role.

Various arguments have been presented by archaeoastronomers for lunar alignments in

the design and use of Anasazi petroglyphs, shrines, and architectural complexes. The
most famous (and controversial) of these have centered on such major monuments of
pueblo antiquity as the Fajada Butte Sun Daggers petroglyphs at Chaco Canyon in New
Mexico, the Chimney Rock Ruins, a Chaco outlier near Pagosa Springs, Colorado, and
the great kiva called Casa Rinconada on the south bank of the Chaco Wash. Casa
Rinconada (Figs. 7 and 8) provides the most instructive example for the present
discussion. Like other great kivas of the pre-migration period, Casa Rinconada was
constructed to serve as a common ceremonial site shared by a number of nearby pueblos,
in contrast to the smaller, more common types of kivas used for clan and sodality rites.
Casa Rinconada has long been understood by researchers as a building designed to
incorporate many astronomical and temporal references. Best known is the alignment of
its northeast window to the position of summer solstice sunrise. Today, a beam of light
entering the window near June 21st illuminates a large niche on the opposite wall, an
effect that may or may not have been intended in the kiva’s original construction
(Williamson 1982; Zeilik 1984, 1989). However, other features of its construction, such
as the near perfect circle formed by its walls and its remarkably accurate alignment to the
cardinal points bear out the general cosmological importance of its design. A strong
association between the structure’s planning and use and lunar observations is apparent in
the placement of 28 (perhaps originally 29) small niches that ring its interior walls,
corresponding to the number of days in a lunation.

The alignment of these niches along the meridian of the kiva’s inner walls is reminiscent
of the dots that mark the intersection of the dado and upper plastered surfaces in the kivas
and Cliff Palace tower described above. In describing the kiva mural at Eagle Nest
House, Earl Morris mentioned “29 to 24” dotted marks placed between the triangles
along the divided dado and upper registers, a number that, despite its uncertainty
(probably due to the condition of the painting) suggests comparison to the Casa
Rinconada niches and the duration of the lunar month. In general, the analogous uses of
the wall niches at Casa Rinconada and the dotted alignments of the mural paintings may
strengthen the argument that the latter are concerned in some way with astronomical
reckonings and ritual day counts. They also raise the possibility that the dots refer to
lunar as well as solar chronicities. A relevant issue that has yet to be resolved is whether
the Anasazi might have assigned significance to dates of lunar standstill, when the moon
rises at extreme horizon positions much like the sun’s north and south solstice points.
Although debates on this topic continue, tracking such lunar events would have required
horizon observations resembling those used for solar cycles.
 12

In addition to the general sky and weather associations of the textile patterns in the Cliff
Palace painting, they may also have lunar importance. A Hopi account of the world’s
beginnings recalls that, after the stars and constellations were set in place to illuminate
the dark sky of the fourth creation, the people still needed more light to see. Someone
suggested that they create the moon, which they then made from a wedding blanket
(Parsons 1939: 240). Hopi men still weave this important type of ceremonial raiment in
their kivas, in addition to other items of ritual apparel, such as “rain sashes,”mantas, and
kilts embroidered with geometric designs that represent clouds, katsina masks, and the
line patterns of katsina dances. Wedding blankets are gifts offered to brides together with
the agreement to marry, and women treasure them throughout their lives, and are buried
wrapped in them at death (Fig. 9). The blanket is emblematic of a woman’s married status
and her role in the procreation of her family and people, one of the most important
concerns of Pueblo life. As such, the identification of the wedding blanket with the moon
is consistent with that heavenly body’s wide associations with the fertility of women and
nature. It is also interesting to consider the Hopi notion of the moon as a blanket in
relation to the Rio Grande practice of moonwatching to forecast weather patterns.
Parsons recorded the following Hopi observation on the relationship between the
wedding blanket and feminine ancestors as bringers of rain:

An Oraibi visitor to the underworld of the dead is told: “You must wrap up
the women when they die, in the wedding mantle, and tie the big belt
around them; these mantles are not tightly woven and when the skeletons
move along on them through the sky as clouds the thin rain drops through
these mantles; the big rain drops fall from the fringes of the big belt,” and
the dead add, “We shall send you rain and crops” (Parsons 1939: 171-
172).

The wedding blanket is a particularly meaningful item of ritual apparel in Hopi society
not only for its association with the maternal aspects of kinship and fertility, but also for
its part in bridging the social roles and activities of women and men. The weaving and
embroidery of wedding blankets and other ceremonial textiles has long been one of the
most important duties carried out in the kiva, traditionally associated with men’s religious
and social gatherings. The art serves at once as a devotional act of prayer, and as a means
of fulfilling men’s primary roles in their communities. They weave as part of their
obligation to participate in dancing for rain, and as husbands and fathers whose family
roles contribute to the increase of their people. Given the importance of these interrelated
concepts, it is not surprising that textile patterns should figure so prominently in the
iconography of early Pueblo painting.

Bibliography

Berlant, Anthony, and Mary Hunt Kahlenberg.

 13

1977 Walk in Beauty: The Navajo and Their Blankets. Salt Lake City: Peregrine
Smith Books.

Brody, J. J.
1991 Anasazi and Pueblo Painting. Albuquerque: The School of American
Research and University of New Mexico Press.

Bunzel, Ruth.
1929 The Pueblo Potter: A Study in Creative Imagination in Primitive Art. New
York: Columbia University Press.

Carlson, John B., and James W. Judge, eds.

1983 Astronomy and Ceremony in the Prehistoric Southwest. Papers of the
Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, No. 2. Albuquerque.

Cushing, Frank Hamilton.

1979 Zuni: Selected Writings of Frank Hamilton Cushing. Edited by Jesse Green.
Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press.

1988 The Mythic World of the Zuni As Written by Frank Hamilton Cushing.
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Press.

Dumarest, Noel.
1919 Notes on Cochiti, New Mexico. American Anthropological Association
Memoirs, Vol. 6, No. 3. Lancaster.

Ellis, Andrea.
1991 Towers of the Gallena Area and Greater Southwest. In Puebloan Past and
Present: Papers in Honor of Stewart Peckham, ed. by Meliha S. Duran and David
T. Kirkpatrick, pp. 57-70. Publications of the Archaeological Society of New
Mexico No. 17. Albuquerque.

Ellis, Florence Hawley.

1975 A Thousand Years of the Pueblo Sun-Moon-Star Calendar. In
Archaeastronomy in Precolumbian America, ed. by Anthony Aveni, pp. 59-87.
Austin: University of Texas Press.

Ferguson, William M., and Arthur H. Rohn.

1987 Anasazi Ruins of the Southwest in Color. Albuquerque: University of New
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1911 Antiquities of the Mesa Verde National Park. Cliff Palace. Bureau of
American Ethnology Bulletin 51. Washington, D. C.
 14

Kent, Kate Peck.

1983 Prehistoric Textiles of the Southwest. Santa Fe and Albuquerque: School of
American Research and University of New Mexico Press.

LeBlanc, Steven A.
1999 Prehistoric Warfare in the American Southwest. Salt Lake City: University
of Utah Press.

Malville, J. McKim, and Claudia Putnam.

1993 Prehistoric Astronomy in the Southwest. Revised edition. Boulder:
Johnson Books.

Morgan, William N.
1994 Ancient Architecture of the Southwest. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Morris, Earl.
1919 Preliminary Account of the Antiquities of the Region Between the Mancos
and La Plata Rivers in Southwestern Colorado. Bureau of American Ethnology,
33rd Annual Report, pp. 155-206. Washington, D. C.

Nabokov, Peter, and Robert Easton.

1989 Native American Architecture. New York and Oxford: Oxford University
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Noble, David Grant, ed.

1984 New Light on Chaco Canyon. Santa Fe: School of American Research
Press.

1991 The Hohokam: Ancient People of the Desert. Santa Fe: School of
American Research Press.

Nordenskiold, Gustav.
1893 The Cliff Dwellers of the Mesa Verde, Southwestern Colorado; Their
Pottery and Implements. Trans. by D. Lloyd Morgan. Stockholm: P. A. Norstedt
and Soner.

Parsons, Elsie Clews.

1939 Pueblo Indian Religion. 2 vols. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Reichard, Gladys.
1934 Spider Woman. New York: Macmillan Company.

Schulman, A.
1950 Pre-Columbian Towers in the Southwest. American Antiquity 15: 288-297.
 15

Spinden, Herbert J.
1933 Songs of the Tewa. New York: The Exposition of Indian Tribal Arts.

Stephen, Alexander M.
1936 Hopi Journal of Alexander M. Stephen. Edited by Elsie Clews Parsons.
Columbia University Contributions to Anthropology 23 (2 vols.). New York:
Columbia University Press.

Stevenson, Matilda Coxe.

1894 The Sia. Bureau of American Ethnology Eleventh Annual Report, 1889-90.
Washington, D. C.

Teague, Lynn S.
1998 Textiles in Southwestern Prehistory. Albuquerque: University of New
Mexico Press.

Titiev, Mischa.
1944 Old Oraibi, A Study of the Hopi Indians of Third Mesa. Papers of the
Peabody Museum of American Archaeology and Ethnology, Vol. 22, No. 1.
Cambridge.

Tyler, Hamilton A.
1964 Pueblo Gods and Myths. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

Wilcox, David.
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University of Arizona.

Williamson, Ray A., Howard J. Fisher, and Donnel O’Flynn.

1977 Anasazi Solar Observatories. In Native American Astronomy, ed. by
Anthony Aveni, pp. 203-218. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Williamson, Ray A.
1982 Casa Rinconada: A Twelfth Century Anasazi Kiva. In Archaeoastronomy
in the New World, ed. Anthony Aveni, pp. 205-219. Cambridge University Press.

Williamson, Ray A., ed.

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of Oklahoma Press.

Zeilik, Michael.
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by David Grant Noble, pp. 65-72. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press.
 16

1986 The Ethnoastronomy of the Historic Pueblos: Moon Watching.

Archaeoastronomy, Supplement to the Journal for the History of Astronomy 17:
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List of Illustrations

Fig. 1. Square Tower at Cliff Palace, Mesa Verde, Colorado. (I have my own slides, but
you may have to write to the Art and Architecture Library at UCSD to get permissions,
since they duped my slides for their collection, and now claim copyrights…)

Fig. 2. Interior view of Square Tower, upper floors with mural decoration. (There are
two choices of published images if you need them—either from p. 99 of the William M.
Ferguson and Arthur H. Rohn book Anasazi Ruins of the Southwest in Color (UNM
Press, Albuquerque, 1987) or upper image on page 72 of The Story of Mesa Verde
National Park, by Gilbert R. Wenger. Photo by Gilbert R. Wenger. Original edition 1980
by the Mesa Verde Museum Association, Inc. 1991 revised edition by same publisher.
Whichever one reproduces better.

Fig. 3a-d. . Group of Zuni ceramic painting motifs identified by Ruth Bunzel’s informants
as “rain blankets” or “snow blankets.” From The Pueblo Potter: A Study in Creative
Imagination in Primitive Art, originally published 1929 by Columbia University Press.
Reprint edition 1972 by Dover Publications, Inc., New York. Plate XXV, page 101, no.
39, Plate XXVI, page 103, no. 40, 42, and 45.

Fig. 4. Navajo Chief’s Blanket superimposed against the sky. From In the Spirit of
Mother Earth, created and produced by McQuiston and McQuiston, text by Jeremy
Schmidt, Chronicle Books, San Francisco, 1994. Image appears on pp. 78. (ISBN 0-
8118-0529-8). The Phase II Chief’s blanket that appears in this image dates to c. 1850,
and belongs to the San Diego Museum of Man (1986-61-1).

Fig. 5. T-shaped doorway, Cliff Palace Tower (Either my own slides, or any other good
images you can find)

Fig. 6. Hopi solar calendar from the town of Walpi, based on observations of sun
positions relative to features of the horizon. From Alexander M. Stephen, 1936, Hopi
Journal of Alexander M. Stephen, edited by Elsie Clews Parsons, Map 5 (or 4?).
Columbia University Contributions to Anthropology Vol. 23 (2 vols.). New York,
Columbia University Press.
 17

Fig. 7. Casa Rinconada, Chaco Canyon, N.M. (exterior or aerial view) I have my own
slides of Casa Rinconada, and good published views are available in the Ferguson and
Rohn Anasazi Ruins of the Southwest in Color book (p. 214). National Geographic also
had some excellent views in an article in about a 1993 (?) issue by John Carlson called
something like “Skywatchers of the Ancient Americas”

Fig. 8. Plan and astronomical alignments of Casa Rinconada, showing the number and
placement of wall niches. Good illustrations appear in Ray Williamson’s Living the Sky,
on pages 134 and 137 (either would be fine).

Fig. 9. Hopi New Bride, painting by Otis Polelonema (still checking on the source of this
one)