A tumi, a Sican burial knife circa 1050 ADE, was buried with a Sican elite and depicts a Sican Lord. The detail in the metal shows the care the artist used in the making of this significant item. The knife itself has two distinct jobs: to portray power and majesty in the Lord who was created, and to give that power and protection to the Lord who was buried.
It’s not like he was the center of the display or anything. He was just sitting behind a pane of glass, off to the side, easy to be missed. But nonetheless, I was drawn to him. Why? Maybe it was because he reminded me of the art I had seen in The Road to El Dorado by Dreamworks as a child, or maybe it was because of his bright green coloration. The latter seems more likely given that everything in the case around him was covered in rich browns and oranges and reds, with flecks of cream and black here and there. His green coloration is the perfect opposite on the color wheel. I could tell he was from the Americas, but that was about the extent of what I could figure out at the time.
“Tumi,” said the panel beneath the artworks, “a bronze ceremonial burial knife in the form of a Sican Lord.”
It says he’s from around 1050 ADE in the Central Andes, which makes sense, given that the name “Andes” is thought to have come from the word “Anti” which is the Quechuan word for copper (New World Encyclopedia). Mix copper and lead together and you get the bronze alloy that this burial knife is made from, so it’s likely that the artist that created this didn’t have to go very far from home to find his materials. However, the fact that this tumi is made from bronze means that the very green color that I was drawn to was not part of his original aesthetic.
What was his original aesthetic? It certainly wasn’t green, but the infinitesimally small markings all over the work convey the intense care and detail the artist put into the work. Unlike other burial knives that were being created at the time, this one is not covered in gemstones or intricate patterns, despite the fact that it was made in the image of a Lord. The semicircular crown at the top of the work is mirrored by the semi-circular blade at the bottom. Even the fact that someone would be buried with a knife perhaps conveys the fact that they believed in some sort of afterlife and this was meant to protect the deceased.
The face of the work is clearly stylized and exaggerated, large eyes, large nose, small mouth and so on. It’s not meant to represent any one person, but rather an ideal. The work itself seems damaged around the left side of the crown, but I doubt that this was from any actual use of the knife. It’s far more probable that either the burial ceremony or thousands of years of having new life live around– perhaps even on it– damaged the tumi. Of course, I have no formal understanding of how the deceased was buried. Could have been in a tomb, in a temple, or just beneath the surface of the ground.
I am surprised by how thin the work is. Thick enough to hold its form, but I think it would be uncomfortable to hold in the hand. It’s just a bit too wide, just a bit too thin, again reminding the viewer that the work was not intended for actual use by a warrior. I’m wishing I could see the grave of the deceased to get a better understanding of their life, a better understanding of who they were, but the fact that they were even buried with this conveys the fact that they were no commoner. They must have been some sort of elite to have been buried with this expensive work. But why would a Lord be buried with an image of another Lord? Especially if it wasn’t a portrait of them.
Looking back to the work, focusing on the crown, it possible that the crown represents the sun, rising or setting, behind the head of the Lord. It is possible that the Lord depicted has the blessings of the gods because many cultures portray the sun as the presence of the gods. The Lord is wearing thick plug earrings, typical of the culture at the time. Perhaps the Lord is being personified as a god?
The tumi is relatively large compared to other blades in the museum, coming in at almost 30cm long. But, assuming the blade is the semicircle at the bottom, the edge itself is rather small. Without getting my hands on the work it’s hard to know for sure, though. Why would the work be so long just for an eight centimeter blade? Wouldn’t all of the artwork make it unwieldy? The handle doesn’t really need to be more than thirteen centimeters. Where would a warrior’s hand even go on this work? It becomes more and more obvious, the more I look at the work, that it is not meant for use in battle.
It’s a decoration, meant to show the status and wealth of the deceased. Metal was hard to work with, further showing that the departed was elite, rich even. There could have been rocks, shells, wooden works. Utilitarian works, even. The Lord who was buried and the Lord who was created cannot reveal much about the other, other than this.
The tumi itself is covered in oxidation, having been neglected for a millennium. The Lord wears a hat or a crown, showing the sun setting or rising. The face shows no emotion and is very stylized. The back of the work shows minimal detailing, the work only intended to be viewed from the front, and certainly not from the side. It was made of metal, a durable material, and also an expensive material that can be tricky to work with unless cast. The piece is a trophy, intended to identify the body it was buried with as a nobleman, someone who could afford the experience and time of the labor required to create the piece.
So, if I had not been told the work was depicting a lord, how would I have known? The man portrayed wears a crown, heavy plug earrings, and shows no emotion. He has rule over nature, wearing the sun on his head and stones in his ears. He shows no emotion– considered a sign of weakness, a trait of animals– staring forward only. He shows no concern for what may lie behind his back or underfoot. The ears are modified, perhaps in a show of control over nature in that he can change the way his ears look. The ears that nature gave him are his own to do with as he pleases. The soft jawline representing that he does not have to work for his next meal. There are no sunken cheeks or bulging eyes. This Lord can send off for others to hunt and bring back the goods to him, but he is in a healthy condition that he could hunt if he so pleased.
Overall, the piece raises many questions, which it does not answer all of. I am left wondering who the Lord who was buried is. What was his life like? It inspires further learning and research into a culture that I would have never thought about otherwise. In and of itself the tumi bears its own story, the Lord who was created is a common figure in funerary artworks that commoners and noblemen alike amassed. The Lord who was buried and the Lord who was created tell stories about each other, inspiring future generations of archaeologists and artists, raising questions and answering questions left and right, but the mystery of the two Lords still remains.
