Copyright by

Darren Spencer Longman 2020

The Thesis Committee for Darren Spencer Longman Certifies that this is the approved version of the following Thesis:

The Wahyoob Stucco Panel at Toniná: Dark Forces, Liminal Frames, and Ritual-Political Remembrance

APPROVED BY SUPERVISING COMMITTEE:

Julia Guernsey, Co-Supervisor

David Stuart, Co-Supervisor

The Wahyoob Stucco Panel at Toniná: Dark Forces, Liminal Frames, and Ritual-Political Remembrance

by

Darren Spencer Longman

Thesis Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of The University of Texas at Austin in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Master of Arts

The University of Texas at Austin May 2020 Dedication

To Heather, Annette, Mike, Scott, Doug, Tyler, and Ryan.

Acknowledgments

Many people contributed to the development, process, and completion of this project—not the least being my wonderful partner, Heather, who sacrificed countless hours of her time and energy to support me emotionally and financially throughout my academic journey. Without her enduring love, support, and laughter, this project could never have materialized, nor could it be a project that I am proud to submit to my advisors and the University of Texas, Austin. To Heather: I am forever grateful that you are a part of my life. I am also indebted to Dr. Julia Guernsey and Dr. who, over the last few years, have been constant sources of insight, inspiration, and encouragement. Their passion for Mesoamerican studies, coupled with a dedication to academic excellence, has provided me with a blueprint for the type of thorough, interdisciplinary research approaches that will undoubtedly serve me in future professional and academic pursuits. Moreover, their art historical, archaeological, and epigraphic expertise continue to motivate me to be a better scholar, teacher, and colleague.

From my recruitment process to the development and final stages of this project,

Dr. Guernsey has been a constant ally and intellectual/professional mentor. Her attention to innovative art historical methods inspired me to look beyond conventional academia to diverse theoretical models, which I believe strengthen the epistemological and ontological characteristics of this project. Dr. Guernsey’s archaeological experience also produced rich discussions on ritual and spatial practices—concepts that became the armature for how I interpret experiential viewership at Toniná. Our conversations, moreover, generated exciting ideas vis-à-vis scale, frames, and cross-media interaction. I v would also like to thank Dr. Guernsey for being an active presence in the academic, administrative, and professional processes that accompany life as a graduate student. Her feedback and recommendations significantly improved my experience in the department. The focus of this project emerged from my initial conversations with Dr. Stuart. As we discussed potential topics, the subject of Toniná’s fifth-terrace stucco reliefs, which I had briefly studied as an undergraduate student, quickly became the obvious choice as it offered an avenue to build on previous scholarship while presenting novel lines of inquiry. Dr. Stuart’s expertise—particularly regarding the site, the nightmarish denizens plastered on the reliefs, and the broader political atmosphere of Classic and Late Classic Maya polities—was invaluable to the formation of this essay. His profound understanding of Maya , iconography, and ethnography also provided vital data to elucidate the polyvalence of the reliefs and the visual program of the site writ large. Further, without Dr. Stuart’s assistance, I would not have received the necessary permissions to study the artwork up-close. Finally, I will always treasure our exuberant, productive meetings. Our exchanges of drawings, sources, photographs, and ideas became one of the highlights of my academic career. I am also grateful for Dr. Stephennie Mulder and Dr. Allen Covey who, as members of my colloquium panel, offered valuable comments on this project. Dr.

Mulder, furthermore, was helpful in the formation of my third chapter, which was developed in conjunction with her course on art historical approaches to ancient urbanization. I would also like to thank the faculty of the Department of Art and Art History—particularly Adele Nelson, John Clarke, Ann Johns, Nassos Papalexandrou, and George Flaherty—who offered help and support throughout this research process.

My contemporaries in the departments of Art and Art History, Latin American

Studies, and Religious Studies deserve recognition for their contributions to this project. vi First, I want to thank Josefrayn Sánchez-Perry for the innumerable academic conversations we have shared over the last two years. I am consistently impressed by his desire to learn, thorough attention to detail, and ethical/moral fortitude as a scholar. Sánchez-Perry was also a gracious travel companion who helped make my research trip to Toniná a success. Second, I would like to acknowledge Elliot López-Finn, who has offered valuable feedback on this project from its inception. Third, I want to thank the members of Sánchez-Perry’s writing group: Catherine Popovici, Leah Hansard, and Adriana Linares-Palma.

I would also like to acknowledge my undergraduate advisor, John M.D. Pohl, who has been an academic/professional mentor, colleague, and friend over the last four years. Further, Pohl was the first to introduce me to the Toniná panel in our discussions regarding monsters of ancient . His knowledge, encouragement, and enthusiasm continue to propel my artistic and academic pursuits. I have also benefited from the advice and support of archaeologist and linguist Danny Zborover, who taught me a great deal about exhaustive research strategies, ethical anthropological practices, and general academic skills. Finally, I want to thank the members of the Mesoamerica Center at UT Austin, Astrid Runggaldier, and Milady Casco, whose tireless efforts provided me with vital contacts, networking opportunities, and references.

vii Preface

In summer 2019, I traveled to the archaeological site of Toniná in , México, with a friend and colleague from the University of Texas at Austin, Josefrayn Sánchez-Perry. We were greeted by a restorer for the INAH conservation staff, Benito

Valázquez Tello, who was gracious enough to guide us through the plaza and acropolis, let us through the barrier in front of the stucco relief panel on the fifth terrace (the subject of this project), and wait patiently nearby while I spent hours collecting data. We were also accompanied by Señor Mario Morales Cruz—a caretaker of the archaeological zone since the 1970s. Walking down the bucolic path that opens up to the site’s main plaza, Señor Morales Cruz recounted the history of Toniná, memories of the archaeological excavations, and his interpretations of the iconography on the stucco reliefs. During a brief time in the afternoon, however, I found myself alone with the monumental panel. As I sat and sketched the high-relief carvings, local educators from the site periodically arrived with tourist groups to teach them about the contents of the artwork. Because the panel is barricaded and shaded by an awning, the guides used reflected light from a small mirror to point out different motifs on the stucco. They then recounted the story of “El Mural de las Quatro Eras” (The Mural of the Four Eras) in which Underworld —including the skeletal lord of Xibalbá—dance around the seasons of the year, which are represented by four suns. While the visitors gazed at the ball of sunlight bouncing from one motif to the next and, at the same time, I meticulously sketched the shapes and contours of the characters, it occurred to me that the palpable energy and communicative power of the monument transcended space and time.

viii This moment also caused me to reflect on how information is ascribed to the work and how it is ultimately extracted by viewers—both in ancient and contemporary contexts. As modern scholars, it is tempting to dismiss local oral histories surrounding Maya representations in favor of academic research and scientific data, which is often perceived as impartial, separate, or disconnected from the construction of meaning.

Philosopher Walter Benjamin suggested that historians often grasp “dangerous” moments, or flashes, of past events that inevitably empathize with the lineage of victors, or the dominant ruling classes, that precede the present.1 These historical “flare-ups” are privileged over the innumerable channels of history that occur simultaneously—even when evidence or documentation from these “peripheral” events exists. Despite their scientifically objective approaches, scholars will inevitably draw from certain historical lines rather than others—resulting in the construction of new narratives and meanings. Mesoamericanist Miranda Stockett further argued that archaeologists should be cognizant of their role in the processes of historical memory-making when they privilege certain remembrances of the past over others:

If we document the remains of public memories—those produced and authorized by recognized public authorities in the past—are we lending authenticity to versions of past events that may obscure the resistances and discourses of those not in positions of power?2

Stockett suggests that scholars ask themselves what visions of the past they wish to exaggerate—those that align with their personal research interests, the agendas of institutions or outside stakeholders, or the stories of the oppressed/oppressors in the past. She argues that investigations of social memory go beyond studying the “past in the

1 Walter Benjamin, “Theses on the Philosophy of History,” in Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. by Hannah Arendt (New York: Shocken Books, 1968), 255-256. 2 Miranda Stockett, “Sites of Memory in the Making: Political Strategizing in the Construction and Deconstruction of Place in Late to Terminal Classic Southeastern Mesoamerica,” in Ancient Mesoamerica 21, no. 2 (2010): 328. ix past”; rather, they are also “a study of—and participation in the creation of—the past in the present.”3 It is in this spirit that I recognize my position as a student-scholar in a specific university and department—where certain methodologies circulate between fields. These discursive models—specific to my time and place—undoubtedly influence the way I view the history of Toniná. Thus, I do not suggest my research is an omniscient view of the site based on objective “truths.” Moreover, I do not discount the oral histories— including names of monuments or theories regarding their contents—of local educators or caretakers like Señor Morales Cruz. While, at times, the ideas put forth in this thesis may diverge from local histories or previous academic assertions, I aim to apply interdisciplinary research to the stucco panel and fifth terrace to illuminate new historical channels that will ultimately become valuable additions to the overall view of Toniná. To be sure, the application of certain modern views or terms can be misleading and do not work when applied to the Late Classic period context of the stucco panel. For instance, the name “El Mural de las Quatro Eras,” which was given after its excavation in the early 1990s,4 assumes that the work is both a “mural” and that it centers specifically on different passages of time. Yet the general definition of a “mural” states that it is a two-dimensional artwork created on the surface of a wall. The three-dimensional stucco analyzed in this thesis is not plastered on a traditional wall, but to the ~60-degree architectural slope that connects the fifth and sixth terraces of the acropolis. Further, the ancient context of the work centers on themes that extend far beyond notions of seasons or eras. While cosmic temporality could certainly be an important characteristic, the

3 Stockett, “Sites of Memory in the Making,” 328. 4 Juan Yadeun, Toniná: El Laberinto Del Inframundo (Gobierno del Estado De Chiapas, México, 1992), 93-96.

x panel also reflects strong ideological investments in supernatural creatures, historically specific geopolitical relationships, and liminality.

Another common name for the stuccoes is the “Frieze of the Dream Lords.”5 A “frieze,” however, is a specific feature of Classical architecture that does not apply to the fifth-terrace stucco panel at Toniná. The Greco-Roman “frieze” is a horizontal band within an entablature—below the cornice and above the architrave—that is often decorated with bas or high relief sculptures. While the Toniná panel includes bas-relief imagery, it does not fit the standard definition of architectural friezes in the Classical sense. Moreover, the name “Dream Lords” reduces or flattens the complexity of the supernatural creatures on the panel, which are linked with health, rituals, liminality, and royal/political affiliations.

To avoid misnomers or reductive names, I will refer to the artwork as the Wahyoob Stucco Panel—referring to the dark, animate creatures represented on the artwork—or the “stucco panel” as shorthand. The word “panel” relates the work to its most basic structural function—a planar feature that adheres to an architectural surface. It should also be noted that some scholars refer to the panel as an element of the sixth terrace rather than the fifth. This is logical as the feature is located on the architectural foundation of the sixth terrace. However, the work can only be seen and interacted with from the patio below. Thus, I agree with scholars who have previously suggested that the panel was intended to be a central component of the fifth terrace.

5 Simon Martin and , “Tonina,” in Chronicle of the Maya Kings and Queens: Deciphering the Dynasties of the Ancient Maya (London: Thames & Hudson, 2000), 185. xi Historiography The earliest European records of Toniná come from descriptions made by Fray

Jacinto Garrido in the late seventeenth century.6 In 1808, the explorer and archaeologist Guillermo Dupaix visited the site and wrote a brief description of a structure and a few stone monuments located at the top of the acropolis,7 which were later drawn by the artist

Antonio Castañeda. In 1841, another explorer, John Loyd Stephens, and artist, Frederick Catherwood, published a description and drawings of the layout/stucco decorations of a structure called E5-5 from the sixth terrace. The description of the temple by Stephens also contains several interesting passages—not the least being a quote by a man from the nearby modern town of Ocosingo, who described the temple chamber as a supernatural portal to the ruins of , Chiapas.8 While I recognize that the account and its drawings are likely sensationalized, the notion of sacred portals at Toniná is a persistent theme in artistic representations—including the stucco panel on the fifth terrace. Near the end of the nineteenth century, Mesoamerican scholars Cecilia and visited Toniná to photograph the ruins and take paper molds of several monuments. In 1904, Alfred Tozzer also recorded monuments from the site—the photographs and notes of which now belong to Harvard’s Peabody Museum.9 Frans Blom and Oliver La Farge’s visits to Toniná in 1925 and 1928 led to many discoveries— including the largest ballcourt at Toniná, Ballcourt 1, located in the Great Plaza. From 1942 to 1957 scholars including Heinrich Berlin, , J.E.S. Thompson,

6 Peter Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Vol. 6, Part 1 (Peabody Museum Press, 1983), 8. 7 Guillermo Dupaix et al., Expediciones acerca de los antiguos monumentos de la Nueva España, 1805- 1808 (Madrid, ed. J. Porrúa Turanzas, 1969), 191-194. 8 John L. Stephens, Incidents of Travel in , Chiapas and Yucatan, Vol. 2 (New York: Dover Publications, 1969), 258-260. 9 Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, 8. xii Frans Blom, and Gertrude “Trudi” Duby contributed new illustrations, descriptions, and photographs.10 The largest archaeological project at the site began in 1972 under the direction of Pierre Becquelin and Claude F. Baudez (1972-1974 seasons) and Becquelin and Eric Taladoire (1979-1980 seasons). Under the auspices of the Mission Archéologique et

Ethnologique Française au Mexique and the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique of France (or the French Toniná Project, as it is known)11 the archaeologists documented the architectural stages and a significant portion of the site’s material record. Their extensive two-part volume, Tonina: Une Cite Maya du Chiapas (Mexique), recorded several new structures, monuments, and fragments that followed the number system established by Blom. It is also noteworthy that many of these monuments and fragments were discovered with the help of caretaker Antonino Morales Cruz and his brother, Mario

Morales Cruz.12 Fieldwork conducted by Ian Graham in 1973 and by Peter Mathews in 1980 led to the Toniná Corpus volumes. These publications provide a complete visual overview of the known monuments (as of 1980) and include information regarding dimensions, material, and, in some cases, provenance. In 1981, archaeologist Juan Yadeun of the

Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH) took over as director of the project.

As excavations were underway on the east side of the fifth terrace in 1992, the INAH conservation team for Toniná—under the direction of archaeologist Carlos Silva Rhodas and at the invitation of Juan Yadeun—uncovered a large chambered platform, the so-

10 Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, 8. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid., 9. xiii called “altar,” and the stucco panel directly behind it.13 One of the members of the conservation team, Frida Itzel Mateos González, later provided chemical analyses of the stucco/pigment compositions of these monuments. The data published in her work, Toniná: La Pintura Mural y Los Relieves Técnicas de Manufactura, provides salient information on the construction processes and aesthetic traits of the stucco panel/chambered platform.14 Studies conducted at Toniná after the initial archaeological excavations have focused primarily on epigraphy. The corpus of hieroglyphic texts recovered at the site offers valuable data regarding the history of Toniná and its broad geopolitical relationships in the Maya region. Several scholars have deciphered texts from Toniná’s monuments including , Peter Mathews, David Stuart, Nikolai Grube, Eric

Taladoire, Erik Velásquez García, and Maricela Ayala Falcón—who wrote a dissertation on the comprehensive history of the site and its hieroglyphs. In her work, “The History of Tonina through its inscriptions,” Ayala Falcón tracks the wars, royal successions, and political relationships of the site through textual analyses.15 In 2000, Simon Martin and Nikolai Grube published Chronicle of the Maya Kings and Queens: Deciphering the Dynasties of the Ancient Maya, which devoted a chapter to the history of Toniná through its dynastic phases.16 The work outlines a complete timeline of the site’s known rulers (as of 2000), their accomplishments/failures, and the monuments that record these events. A brief section of the chapter also discusses the

13 Frida Itzel Mateos González, Toniná: La Pintura Mural y Los Relieves Técnicas de Manufactura (Córdoba, MX: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1997), 20. 14 Ibid. 15 Maricela Ayala and Linda Schele, “The History of Tonina through Its Inscriptions” (ProQuest Dissertations Publishing, University of Texas, Austin, 1994). 16 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 178-189. xiv stucco panel of the fifth terrace, which is referred to as “The Frieze of the Dream

Lords.”17 Epigraphic work over the last two decades has led to a greater understanding of Toniná’s history. Peter Mathews noted that a major gap in the historical record—from 736-775 C.E.—may indicate a period of decline that coincided with a defeat at the hands of their rivals in Palenque.18 David Stuart further nuanced the political interactions between these sites when, in 2004, he published an article on Monument 122, which demonstrated that Toniná rulers may have let the Palenque king, K’inich K’an Joy

Chitam, live and work as a governor of Palenque despite his subjugation.19 This would call into question the assumption that all Maya victories ended in the removal of lords from power—let alone sacrificial death.

The last few years have produced several important publications on the materials, texts, and monuments at Toniná. The current INAH team working at the site, which includes Martha Cuevas García and Ángel A. Sánchez Gamboa, has shed light on the building materials of the site as well as epigraphic evidence regarding its Late Classic period political stratification.20 Their forthcoming projects will likely reveal new and important data vis-à-vis Toniná’s rich history. Most recently, a 2019 publication by

Jesper Nielsen, Christophe Helmke, David Stuart, and Ángel A. Sánchez Gamboa

17 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 185. 18 Peter Mathews, “The Dates of Tonina And a Dark Horse in Its History,” in The PARI Journal 2, no. 1 (2001): 1-6. 19 David Stuart, “Longer Live the King: The Questionable Demise of K’inich K’an Joy Chitam of Palenque,” in The PARI Journal 4, no. 1 (2004): 1-4 20 Francisco Riquelme, et al., “New Insights into Ancient Maya Building Materials: Characterization of Mortar, Plaster, and Coquina Flagstones from Toniná,” in MRS Proceedings 1374 (2012): 145–64; Ángel A. Sánchez Gamboa et al., “Nuevos datos sobre Aj Ch’aaj Naah, Aj K’uhuun de Toniná,” in Journal de la Société des américanistes 105, no. 2 (2019): 45-68. xv provided insights on a long-forgotten monument, the Melbourne stela, which elucidates new information about Ruler 1 and Ruler 8 at Toniná.21 Finally, at least two master’s theses have been written about the stucco artworks at Toniná. The 2016 essay from Emilia Raggi Lucio, moreover, focused primarily on the fifth terrace stucco panel. In her thesis, “El Friso de Toniná, Chiapas: Alegoría de

Sacrificio y Renacimiento, Una Danza en el Xibalbá” (The Toniná Frieze: Allegory of Sacrifice and Rebirth, A Dance in Xibalbá), Raggi Lucio discussed the hieroglyphs and images of the panel, which she related primarily to narratives.22 While I agree with several of her points—including some of her artistic comparisons—my project takes a different methodological approach and, ultimately, arrives at different conclusions regarding themes, iconography, style, and viewership.

Methodology and Chapters The subject of interdisciplinary approaches in scholarship is one with particular salience in Mesoamerican academic circles. Jesper Nielsen recently argued that art historians who focus on Mesoamerican art should “continue to familiarize themselves with epigraphy, philology, and .”23 I agree with Nielsen that Mesoamerican art historians benefit from invoking these and other cross-disciplinary methods, as do scholars from any other discipline. Further, this project specifically applies epigraphic, ethnographic, and archaeological approaches to produce better data and interpretations.

21 Jesper Nielsen, et al., “‘Off with his head!’ A Heretofore Unknown Monument of Tonina, Chiapas, ,” in The PARI Journal 20, no. 1 (Summer 2019): 1-16. 22 Emilia Raggi Lucio, “El Friso de Toniná, Chiapas: Alegoría de Sacrificio y Renacimiento, Una Danza en el Xibalbá” (Master’s Thesis, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 2016). 23 Jesper Nielsen, “Crossing Borders? A Cross-Disciplinary Perspective on the study of Mesoamerican Visual Culture,” in Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture Vol. 1, no. 1 (2019): 105-110. xvi However, Nielsen’s view of art history and its applicability to Mesoamerican studies seems, to my mind, rather myopic or, at the very least, quite dated. His argument focuses primarily on the discipline as it pertains to iconography, iconology, “theoretical knowledge,” and “broad comparative knowledge.”24 Most contemporary art historians, however, are already accustomed to applying diverse methods and stepping outside the comfort zone of iconography, comparative analyses, and art historical theory. Arenas such as philosophy, political science, conservation, gender, feminism, and social justice—each containing complex theoretical networks—are commonly explored by modern art historians. To understand a visual culture, scholars have long since adopted methods—including and anthropology—that go beyond Wölfflin, Panofsky, and Greenberg.

In her article on current art historical methods vis-à-vis Mesoamerican art, Lisa Trever noted that growth in the field over the last few decades is a result of spatial, contextual, material, ontological, and phenomenological approaches—which carry the potential to destabilize center-periphery paradigms and highlight the agency of

Mesoamerican objects/groups.25 To that end, my project invokes archaeological and anthropological methods yet builds on a diverse art historical armature to investigate how artworks and spaces were experienced at Toniná.

Chapter One The first chapter introduces the topic of the thesis primarily through the lens of stucco artworks in ancient Mesoamerica. The focus on materiality and manufacturing

24 Nielsen, “Crossing Borders?,” 108. 25 Lisa Trever, “Pre-Columbian Art History in the Age of the Wall,” in Latin American and Latinx Visual Culture Vol. 1, no. 1 (2019): 100-104; For more on the concept of center-periphery paradigms and how it applies to Latin American art, see Nelly Richard, “Postmodern Disalignments and Realignments of the Center/Periphery,” In Art Journal 51, no. 4 (1992): 57-59; Also, Tatiana Flores and Michelle Stephens, “Contemporary Art of the Hispanophone Caribbean Islands in an Archipelagic Framework,” In Small Axe 20, no. 3 (51) (November 2016): 80–99. xvii processes lays the groundwork for later discussions regarding style and cross-media comparative analysis. The chapter also provides a macro to micro overview of Toniná by beginning with its general location and moving inward to the acropolis, fifth terrace, and, finally, the stucco panel. The methodological approach of this chapter centers on archaeological data pertaining to the acropolis and construction/chemical analyses of the stucco reliefs. Chapter Two This portion of the thesis focuses on the formal and iconographic valences of the

Wahyoob Stucco Panel. The chapter begins by outlining the historiography of the wahyoob—the dramatic protagonists of the ancient tableau. The chapter then provides a thorough description of the formal and iconographic elements for each extant section and subsection of the panel—including the large framing device that overlays the figures. The goal of this chapter is to give a comprehensive artistic and epigraphic outline of the imagery, its geopolitical implications, and the role of supernatural denizens in scenes of sacrifice, darkness, and liminality. Chapter Three The third chapter applies stylistic analysis to the panel to illuminate its potential connections to Late Classic polychrome ceramics. Further, this section analyzes theories related to questions of composition, color, scale, and frames to illustrate the possible ways that ancient viewers engaged with the stucco panel. The work also examines spatial and phenomenological theories to understand how the stuccoes interacted with other artworks on the fifth terrace—including a chambered platform directly in front of the panel, which was used to support three stone stelae or sculptures. Ultimately, the chapter investigates how ritual practices on or around the panel fostered dialogical connections between participants and artistic mediums. xviii

Chapter Four I end this thesis with a brief concluding chapter, which summarizes my contributions to the history of Toniná’s monumental Wahyoob Stucco Panel and its relationship to the fifth terrace. It also contains a few remarks on potential future projects/analyses that could bolster our understanding of these enigmatic works/spaces.

xix Abstract

The Wahyoob Stucco Panel at Toniná: Dark Forces, Liminal Frames, and Ritual-Political Remembrance

Darren Spencer Longman, M.A. The University of Texas at Austin, 2020

Co-Supervisors: Julia Guernsey and David Stuart

During the Late Classic period, the ancient site of Toniná—located in the

Ocosingo Valley of Chiapas, México—was a thriving Maya polity engaged in local and foreign political affairs, which extended throughout the Usumacinta region. Alliance building and warfare in this period centered on the contentious relationship between Toniná and its historical rival, Palenque. The events that unfolded between these powerful communities, their rulers, and ancillary vassals were recorded in the art and architecture of Tonina’s ball courts, plazas, and acropolis.

The seven-tiered structure, which is one of the tallest acropolises of the Classic period, boasts a vast corpus of stone and stucco monuments scattered throughout staircases, palatial residences, and temple structures. The stone monuments reflect themes of divine rulership, period-ending events, and subjugated enemies. The stuccoes of the acropolis, however, incorporate stylized mythical and/or ritual-political iconography that imbues the acropolis with darkness, liminality, and metaphysical energy.

xx The culmination of such representations occurs on the fifth terrace where supernatural themes coincide with sacred tombs and ritual deposits. The stucco panel on the east side of the patio, moreover, embodies the sacred concepts of the acropolis while reflecting the Late Classic geopolitical networks burgeoning at the site. The panel, therefore, promotes the cosmic authority of the ruler/s who commissioned the work while providing a supernatural monument through which sacred acts could reinforce these ritual-political messages. Most studies that have been conducted on the stucco monument, to be sure, are either brief or grounded in the Popol Vuh narrative of the sixteenth century. This thesis aims to develop a complete analysis of the material, formal, and iconographic/textual characteristics of the panel that accounts for its links to cosmic origin stories yet explores the specific local understandings of the imagery. Further, the text investigates how ancient supplicants may have viewed and engaged with the panel and its surrounding structures. By analyzing the potential methods by which elite members of ancient Toniná experienced these works, I hope to reveal how and why the panel was a vital contribution to the artistic corpus of the acropolis and site writ large.

xxi Table of Contents

List of Figures ...... xxiv

List of Illustrations ...... xxx

Chapter One: Introduction ...... 1

Toniná ...... 4

The Acropolis...... 6

The Fifth Terrace ...... 14

The Stucco Panel ...... 17

Material/Artistic Processes ...... 18

Date of Construction ...... 20

Preservation...... 22

Chapter Two: The Wahyoob Stucco Panel ...... 24

Wahyoob and Toniná ...... 25

Section I ...... 29

The Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy ...... 30

Turtle-Foot Death...... 33

Section II ...... 39

The Lightning Axe and the Yellow Leaf Place ...... 39

The Water Lily Jaguar Wahy ...... 41

Chan Mo’ Winkil and the Avian ...... 43

Section III ...... 48

The Smoker-Contortionist Wahy ...... 48

The Serpent-Centipede Wahy ...... 51 xxii The Ch’een Frame ...... 52

Chapter Three: Examining Style, Viewership, and Place-Making ...... 62

Stylistic Analysis ...... 62

Style ...... 64

Composition ...... 66

Color/Light/Materiality ...... 69

Scale ...... 72

Framing and Perspective ...... 77

Interpretations: The Power of Intervisuality at Toniná ...... 84

Place-Making on the Fifth Terrace ...... 85

The Stela-Pedestal-Altar Complex ...... 88

The Three-Chambered Platform ...... 92

Interpretations ...... 99

Chapter Four: Conclusions ...... 101

Bibliography ...... 132

xxiii List of Figures

Figure 1. Map of Maya the region. Edited from Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, eds.

Mary Miller and Simon Martin, 2004, 18: figure 3...... 104 Figure 2. Map of the plaza and acropolis of Toniná after Martinez E. and Becquelin in Peter Matthews Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions,

Volume 6, Part 1, 1983: 6:6...... 105 Figure 3. View of Toniná’s acropolis from the Great Plaza. Photograph by author,

2019...... 106

Figure 4. The fourth-terrace staircase. Photograph by author, 2019...... 106 Figure 5. Palace district on the east end of the fourth terrace. Photograph by author,

2019...... 107 Figure 6. Left: Monument 26 at Museo Nacional de Antropoligía. Ht. 1.64 m. Photograph by author, 2019; Right: Monument 26 showing the tenon for pedestal structures. Drawing by Peter Mathews in Toniná: Corpus of

Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Vol. 6, Part 1, 1983: 6:61...... 107 Figure 7. Stucco wall, third-terrace chamber. Polychrome stucco feathers/leaves and

crossbones. Photograph by author, 2019...... 108 Figure 8. View of the lower acropolis, plaza, and Ocosingo valley from the fifth

terrace patio. Photograph by author, 2019...... 108 Figure 9. View of the fifth terrace from the top of E5-14. Photograph by author,

2019...... 109

xxiv Figure 10. The Wahyoob Stucco Panel. Drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA- INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello). Note: the left side of the drawing was cropped to fit the formatting standards of this thesis. The missing section contains a

portion of the groundline and a scale for reference...... 109 Figure 11. Left: The Baaknal Chahk stucco partition in the so-called “Templo de las Luciernagas” in the palace district; Right: Detail of skeletal figure. Photograph by Benito Valázquez Tello, INAH Chiapas, México; detail

of skeletal creature...... 110 Figure 12. Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy, Turtle-Foot Death, Section I. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of

INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello)...... 110 Figure 13. Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy, Section I. Photograph by Juan Yadeun in

Toniná: El Laberinto Del Inframundo, 1992: Plate in Front Matter...... 111 Figure 14. K’anbaah Ch’oj, “Yellow Gopher Mouse.” Photograph by Francis Robicsek in The Smoking Gods: Tobacco in Maya Art, History and

Religion, 1978: Plate 110...... 111

Figure 15. Turtle-Foot Death, Section I. Photograph by author, 2019...... 112 Figure 16. Reticulated turtle shells of Turtle-Foot Death, Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy olla, and the accompanying caption, Section I. Photograph by

author, 2019...... 113 Figure 17. K’an Joy Chitam II with ak’ab olla and lightning axe. Panel 2, Palenque, México, c. 702-721. Limestone. 1667 x 100 cm.

From Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, eds. Mary Miller and Simon

Martin, 2004, 218: Plate 117...... 114 xxv Figure 18. Possible Toniná territory. After Peter Mathews (1997) from Andrew K. Scherer “The Classic Maya sarcophagus: Veneration and Renewal at Palenque and Tonina.” In Anthropology and Aesthetics, 2012, 48: Map

1...... 115 Figure 19. Lightning Axe, Yellow Leaf Place, Water Lily Jaguar Wahy, Chan Mo’

Winkil, and Avian Deity, Section II. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito

Valázquez Tello)...... 115 Figure 20. Lightning Axe and skeletal legs/feet of a death god, Section II.

Photograph by author, 2019...... 116 Figure 21. Hieroglyphic caption reading “Yellow Leaf Place” and axe-wielding

wahy, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019...... 116

Figure 22. Water Lily Jaguar wahy, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019...... 117 Figure 23. K521. Petén, , Late Classic period. Ceramic, 14 × 10.2 × 10.6 × 11.4 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art. Rollout photograph by Justin

Kerr. Source: Maya Vase Database...... 117

Figure 24. Detail of Chan Mo’ Winkil, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019...... 118 Figure 25. Hieroglyphic caption reading “He is Jaguar, Chan Mo’ Winkil’s Hand was

Chopped,” Section II. Photography by author, 2019...... 118

Figure 26. Avian Deity, Section II. Photography by author, 2019...... 119 Figure 27. The Smoking-Contortionist Wahy and Serpent-Centipede Wahy, Section III. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012)

courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello)...... 119 Figure 28. Smoker-Contortionist Wahy and hieroglyphic caption, Section III.

Photograph by author, 2019...... 120 xxvi Figure 29. Serpentine-Centipede Wahy, Section III. Photograph by author, 2019...... 120

Figure 30. The Ch’een Frame. Photograph by author, 2019...... 121 Figure 31. Inverted head in feather/leaf medallion, Ch’een Frame, Section I.

Photograph by author, 2019...... 121 Figure 32. Death banner and skull medallion, Ch’een Frame, Section I/II. Photograph

by author, 2019...... 122 Figure 33. Traces of crossbones, Ch’een Frame, Section I/II. Photograph by author,

2019...... 122 Figure 34. Serpentine groundline, Section I. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito

Valázquez Tello)...... 123 Figure 35. Leafy frame and jaguar wahy, vessel from Structure GC-103, Nakbe, Petén. Drawing by Francisco Lopez in Richard D. Hansen “Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Nakbe, Petén: El Resumen de la

Temporada de Campo de 1993” 1993, 279: Figure 9.10...... 123 Figure 36. Orange polychrome ceramic fragment from the IXIM complex. After Claude F. Baudez and Pierre Becquelin, Tonina, Une cite maya du

Chiapas (Mexicque), 1979: Figure 174c...... 124 Figure 37. K791. Central Lowland Petén, Guatemala, Late Classic Period (600-750 C.E.). Polychrome ceramic, 20 x 16 cm, Princeton Art Museum. Scanned from book: After Dorie Reents-Budet, Painting the Maya

Universe, 1994: Figure 5.10...... 124 Figure 38. K1256. Maya Petén region, Guatemala, Classic to Late Classic (200-750

C.E.). Earthenware ceramic, unknown dimensions, private collection.

Rollout photograph by Justin Kerr. Source: Maya Vase Database...... 125 xxvii Figure 39. Drawing of Late Classic vessel, unknown provenance, unknown dimensions. From Papers on the Economy and Architecture of the

Ancient Maya, ed. Raymond Sidrys, 1978: Figure 1...... 125 Figure 40. K3924. Late Classic Period (600-750 C.E.). Polychrome ceramic, 25.3 x 17.6 cm, unknown collection. Rollout photograph by Justin Kerr.

Source: Maya Vase Database...... 126 Figure 41. Map of the fifth terrace. Edited from Peter Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Volume 6, Part 1, 1983: Map in Front

Matter...... 126 Figure 42. Left: Monument 102 and decorated pedestal; Right: Monument 102 showing tenon. Photographs by Claude F. Baudez and Pierre Becquelin

in Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 1979: Figure 56a-b. ....127 Figure 43. Structure 11 on the fifth terrace. After Claude F. Baudez and Pierre Becquelin in Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 1979:

Figure 62...... 127 Figure 44. Three-Chambered Platform, east side of the fifth terrace. Photograph by

author, 2019...... 128 Figure 45. Decorated side of the east pedestal from the Three-Chambered Platform.

Photograph by author, 2019...... 128 Figure 46. Left: cartouche on back of the Three-Chambered Platform with sign, IXIK, and captive; Right: cartouche on back of the Three-Chambered Platform with sign, PIK-NAL, and captive. David Stuart notes that it is currently unclear what these signs indicate. Photographs by author,

2019...... 129

xxviii Figure 47. Cartouches, chevron band, and niche on the back wall of the Three-

Chambered Platform. Photograph by author, 2019...... 129 Figure 48. Relief carving of “Green Turtle, Lord of Anaayte’.” Late Classic Period. Limestone, 55 x 45 x 10 cm. Found in back wall of the Three- Chambered Platform. From Toniná museum. Photograph by author,

2019. Courtesy of INAH, Chiapas, México...... 130 Figure 49. Left: crossbones, traces of a glyphic caption, chevron band, and the corridor between the Three-Chambered Platform and stucco panel;

Right: detail of stucco crossbones. Photographs by author, 2019...... 130 Figure 50. Captive painting, east pedestal of the Three-Chambered Platform, 66 x 33

cm. Photograph by author, 2019...... 131

xxix List of Illustrations

Illustration 1. Turtle-Foot Death. Drawing by author, 2019...... 113

xxx Chapter One: Introduction

At the ancient site of Toniná in Chiapas, México, stucco was a common medium by which rulers, supernatural entities, and sacred spaces conveyed power. Indeed, the artistic and architectural invocations of polychrome stucco on the acropolis, which are among the most intriguing manifestations of the material within the Classic and Late Classic Maya sphere, increased the sense of royal authority and cosmic centering embodied by the overall visual program. The massive stucco panels on the upper terraces of the structure, for instance, transformed architectural features into dialogically-charged spaces whereby ritual-political ornamentation fused with ceremonial engagements. To be sure, the use of stucco in ancient Mesoamerican art and architecture was a ubiquitous practice. Depending on the purity of the lime source,26 plaster created smooth, white surfaces that could be painted and modeled into three-dimensional sculptures, carved into bas-relief panels, and added to architectural structures. At , for instance, the artists at Templo Mayor covered the dynamic terracotta statues of the Eagle Warrior and Mictantecuhtli with painted stucco.27 The walls in the chamber of Tomb 1 at Zaachila, Oaxaca, depict zoomorphic and anthropomorphic creatures—engaged in otherworldly activities—artfully rendered in stucco reliefs.28 The panels and alcoves of the Temple of the Niches at the Gulf Coast site of El Tajín were once coated with vibrant red and black stuccoes.29

26 Linda Schele, “Color on Classic Architecture and Monumental Sculpture in of the Southern Maya Lowlands,” in Painted Architecture and Polychrome Monumental Sculpture in Mesoamerica, ed. by Elizabeth Hill Boone. (Washington D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1985), 33. 27 Manuel Aguilar Moreno, Handbook to Life in the Aztec World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006) 204-205. 28 Maarten Jansen and Gabina Aurora Pérez Jiménez, “Tomb 7 at Monte Albán,” in Time and the Ancestors (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2017) 73. 29 S. Jeffrey K. Wilkerson, El Tajín: a guide for visitors (Veracruz: Universidad Veracruzana, 1987), 28. 1 The ancient Maya, however, developed stucco corpora that rival any historical use of the material on a global scale. The application of stucco aggregates, which enveloped massive architectural complexes and their decorative elements, calls to mind the preference for marble in Greco-Roman temples and their sculptural friezes/pediments. Moreover, the colorful paint added to sculptures and ornamentation reflects the polychrome marble statues in Classical visual programs. Yet Maya polychrome stucco traditions extended beyond small decorative elements to facades, walls, staircases, and rooftops to create entire cities painted in vibrant colors.

Several scholars such as E.M. Abrams and D.J. Hum Ecol Rue have argued that the popularity of stucco contributed to the so-called “collapse” of the Classic Maya. This view posits that the intense heat needed to convert raw limestone or other materials into the hydrated lime for plaster required copious amounts of wood—eventually depleting their natural resources through deforestation.30 Notwithstanding the unsustainability of stucco production, continually drew upon the multi-sensorial experience of interacting with brightly painted urban centers to project messages of cosmic royal authority. In the Maya lowlands, Classic to Late Classic period sites boasted complex visual programs to commemorate rulers and their connection to metaphysical concepts. In the

North Acropolis of , for example, stone staircases and massive temples—most covered with painted stucco—were flanked by colorful stucco masks of supernatural creatures.31 The masks were carved in high relief and carefully rendered to highlight undulating forms and intricate details. Structures on the acropolis of Copan, ,

30 E.M. Abrams and D.J. Hum Ecol Rue, “The causes and consequences of deforestation among the prehistoric Maya,” in Human Ecology 16, no. 4 (December 1988): 377-395. 31 Francisco Estrada-Belli, The First : Ritual and Power Before the Classic Period (New York: Routledge, 2011). 2 also included large-scale architectural masks carved from stucco sources. The early Classic period temple known as Rosalila, which was eventually “entombed” in a thick layer of stucco and clay, contained modeled stuccoes portraying gigantic “mountain masks” and avian deities on the east and west façades.32 Before the structure was buried, the massive decorations were whitewashed in an act of ritual termination to “end” the power of the structure33—a practice that may have occurred on the acropolis at Toniná. Low relief stucco panels were also important features at Classic Maya sites. In addition to stone monuments, artists at Tikal incorporated stucco panels to commemorate important figures and events. A panel erected near the principal ballcourt depicts the ruler Jasaw Chan K’awiil with a bound captive from .34 The position of the figures— a ruler or elite in a frontal pose juxtaposed with a captive in profile—is a stylistic approach that manifests in the sculptures and stelae programs at Toniná—particularly in the fifth terrace. This visual dichotomy will be addressed in the third chapter. At the Classic site of Palenque in Chiapas, México, the stucco panels/sculptures reflect highly codified artistic practices. The treatment of the human figure balances naturalistic and idealistic characteristics with precise contouring. Bas-relief stuccoes at the Palace complex are filled with bodies of rulers and captives that demonstrate the

Palenque artists’ ability to capture subtle details of human physiognomy and ritual attire in layers of plaster. Evidence of corrections to the size of wrists and heads on several stuccoes shows that artists also followed strict conventions regarding proportion and

32 Barbara W. Fash, “Copan and Its History of Investigation,’ in The Copan Sculpture Museum: Ancient Maya Artistry in Stucco & Stone (Cambridge, MA: Peabody Museum Press, 2011), 38-39. 33 Barbara W. Fash. “Mesoamerican Technicolor: Re-Creating and Preserving a Vivid Past,” in Notes in the History of Art 30, No. 3 (Spring 2011): 43-44. 34 Robert J. Sharer with Loa P. Traxler, The Ancient Maya, 6th ed. (California: Sandford University Press, 2006), 395. 3 style.35 The portrait head of Pakal also exemplifies the Palenque sculptors’ approach to three-dimensional stucco work. The distinct facial features, strands of hair, and foliage in the headband, which reflect a unique artistic sensitivity to corporeal and iconographic identifiers, make this one of the most intriguing Maya portraits. Like the Classic period Usumacinta cities, i.e. , Yaxchilán, and Piedras

Negras, the ancient sites of Chiapas, México—including Palenque and Toniná—fostered distinct sculptural styles to serve the needs of patrons who could commission large-scale artistic programs.36 The most important ideological themes of these two cities—who became political rivals throughout the Late Classic period—were encoded in ceramic figures, stone monuments, and wall paintings. Yet the overwhelming use of polychrome stucco in these civic centers suggests that both elites and common citizens interacted with and, possibly, valued the material as much or more than any other precious commodity.

TONINÁ

The site is situated in the Ocosingo valley between the Chiapas highlands (coniferous forest) and the lowlands (evergreen jungle) at an elevation of 900m (Figure 1).37 The primary structural features—a large plaza, ballcourt, and acropolis—lie at the intersection of a limestone hill/calcareous sandstone ridge38 (running west-east) and two seasonal streams that flow south to the Río Jatate and Río de la Virgen in the valley.39 The process of urbanization likely benefited from this elevated position along the

35 Merle Greene Robertson, “The Techniques of the Palenque Sculptors,” in Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, ed. by Mary Miller and Simon Martin (New York, NY: Thames and Hudson, 2004), 247. 36 Mary Miller and Claudia Brittenham, The Spectacle of the Late Maya Court: Reflections on the Murals of Bonampak (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2013), 6. 37 Laura Pescador Cantón, “Toniná, la Montaña Sagrada de los señores de las serpientes y los jaguars,” in Las culturas de Chiapas en el period prehispánico, ed. Tuxtla Guitiérrez (Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes de Chiapas, 2000), 245. 38 Riquelme, et al., “New Insights into Ancient Maya Building Materials,” 145. 39 Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, 6:5. 4 foothills where elite rulers could show immediate dominance and maintain a watchful eye on the valley below. The plaza, which measures ~200 by ~160m, is surrounded by Ballcourt 1 on the east section, a group of north-south aligned structures to the west, a massive pyramid to the south, and the terraced acropolis to the north (Figure 2).40 The acropolis contains the majority of the structures at the site—including two large temples on the seventh terrace called D5-1 and D5-2. The area to the east of the plaza and acropolis is filled with small mounds that were likely domestic residences of a large neighborhood.41

While the French Toniná Project noted that occupation at Toniná began in the fourth century C.E.,42 the earliest ruler documented in the archaeological data, coined Ruler 1 by modern scholars, presided over the region in the early part of the sixth century

C.E.43 The other rulers cited in the material record, sometimes identified as the lords of Po[pó] (the ancient name of the Toniná kingdom), commissioned massive projects that coincided with increased geopolitical activity at the site during the Late Classic period.44 Evidence suggests that Toniná interacted with numerous prominent Maya groups during the height of its power. To be sure, the ceremonial centers mentioned in texts— whether rivals or allies of Toniná—are almost always related to the Palenque kingdom located 64.5km to the north. The powerful rulers at this center vied for political dominance in the Maya heartland throughout the Late Classic period. In 687 C.E., the newly ascended ruler K’inich Kan Balam II—the son and royal successor to the highly

40 Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, 6:9. 41 Ibid. 42 Pierre Becquelin and Claude F. Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), Vol. 1. (Mission Archeologique et Ethnologique Francaise au Mexique, 1979), 17. 43 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 178-189. Martin and Grube also note that an inscription from an eighth- century monument mentions a ruler identified only by title in 217 C.E. Ibid., 178. 44 Ibid., 179. For a complete history of the dynastic lineages recorded on monuments at Toniná, see also Peter Mathews (2001). 5 successful Pakal 1—marked the beginning of his reign with an important victory over Toniná, which would become Palenque’s greatest rival for decades to follow.45 Kan Balam II commemorated this successful raid with a panel in Temple XVII, which mentions the defeat of Ruler 2 at Toniná. The subjugation of the site, however, would only last a few years before one of its most ambitious rulers from this era, K’inich Baaknal Chahk (688-715 C.E.), successfully retaliated against Palenque. Victories over Kan Balam II were memorialized with architectural and sculptural programs focused on war, captives, and sacrifice. In 699 C.E., the larger of the two ballcourts at the site, Ballcourt 1, was dedicated to Baaknal Chahk and named ox ahal, or “three victories.”46 Located at the east end of the plaza, the structure was covered with a layer of smooth plaster and contained six sculptures depicting Palenque vassals, among other monuments. Notwithstanding the corpus of works found in this area, the accomplishments of Baaknal Chahk and other Toniná rulers—carved in stone or plaster—intensify in number and artistic ambition on the acropolis.

The Acropolis

For travelers arriving from the mountain pass to the west or the river valleys of the Lacandon to the east, the seven-tiered acropolis rising above the valley is an astonishing sight even from several kilometers away. Measuring 75m from the base to the top of the seventh tier,47 the acropolis was the tallest of the Classic period and one of the largest architectural presentations in ancient Mesoamerica (Figure 3). The visual

45 Sharer with Traxler, The Ancient Maya, 463. 46 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 181. 47 There are several estimates on the height of the site. The author has chosen to reference Cynthia Kristan- Graham and Laura M. Amrhein, Memory Traces (2015), that cites a measurement from Mexico’s Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Hstoria. 6 experience would have been heightened by bright red and white plastered structures/staircases emerging from the tree line of the natural hillside in which the terraces were embanked.48 The archaeological sequence of the acropolis shows several stages of construction built by digging and backfilling the ridge.49 The first three levels include spacious porches with what appear to be administrative buildings erected on the east and west lateral sections. Conversely, the fourth level is restricted by an imposing staircase that seems to act as a transition zone between the open, spacious courtyards of the first three tiers and the tighter, controlled spaces of the upper portion of the acropolis—a spatial and conceptual shift that manifests in increased tombs, temples, and ritual deposits (Figure 4). The third and fourth levels are also flanked on the eastern edge by a palace district with residences, rectangular courtyards, and artworks (Figure 5). Ascending the terraces, moreover, ancient occupants would have engaged with a stunning collection of stone and stucco sculptures, which dominated the artistic program of the site writ large. The themes of these works centered primarily on royal and mythical concepts related to the elite members of Toniná’s society. Following several Mesoamerican scholars, however, I argue against a strict dichotomy between myth and politics/militarism in Maya ideological spheres.50 The visual program of the acropolis

48 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 21. 49 Ibid., 13-17. 50 The author draws from Julia Guernsey’s forthcoming chapter, “Preclassic Sculpture and the Popol Vuh,” in The Myths of the Popol Vuh in Cosmology, Art, and Ritual, edited by Holley Moyes, Allen Christenson, and Frauke Sachse (Boulder, CO: University Press of Colorado, in press). Evoking Susan Gillespie’s “, Tula, and Chichén Itzá: The Development of an Archaeological Myth” (2007) and Alfredo López Austin’s Hombre-dios: religión y política en el mundo náhuatl (1973), Guernsey suggests that the social consciousness of elite Maya citizens was performed and internalized through a merging of mythical and historical narratives. See also Cynthia Kristan-Graham and Jeff Karl Kowalski (2007); Joyce Marcus (1992); Heather Orr (2001); and John Pohl (2003). 7 combines mythical/historical representations with the local power dynamics and complex geopolitical interactions over many centuries. Stone monuments depicting rulers and captives are, to date, the most researched images from Toniná’s visual program. The hieroglyphic inscriptions on these works provide scholars with invaluable data to determine the names, events, and places associated with the site’s rich history.51 The stylistic conventions of the monuments also provide insight on how imagery was experienced. For instance, portraits of rulers— traditionally carved in the round with yellow sandstone—were posed frontally to face the viewer head-on. The Toniná preference of carving stelae in the round differs from the flat, upright slabs with rulers in profile seen throughout the Maya region.52 In Monument 26, for instance, Ruler 2 directly addresses his audience with a frontal posture. He wears an elaborate headdress and clutches a double-headed serpent bar—a traditional appearance for Toniná rulers (Figure 6). Further, human features and ritual accoutrements are mirrored on either side of the figure to indicate a sense of cosmic order. It should be noted that the use of exceedingly workable sandstone at Toniná— rather than the hard limestone used in stelae from around the Maya sphere—may be another reason for the increase of sculptures carved in high relief or in the round.53

Two columns of low relief hieroglyphs on the back of Monument 26 not only name the ruler but demonstrate the Pan-Maya interest in creating multiple station points for viewership. In monuments with images and/or texts on multiple compositional fields, the viewer is charged with incorporating their body into the viewing experience.

51 For a complete record of the stone monuments at Toniná, see Peter Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Vol. 6, Part 1-2 (Peabody Museum Press, 1983) and Ian Graham, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Vol. 9, Part 1-2 (Peabody Museum Press, 2006). 52 David Stuart, “Kings of Stone: A Consideration of Stelae in Ancient Maya Ritual and Representation,” in Anthropology and Aesthetics 29/30 (Spring/Autumn 1996): 149. 53 Dave Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 8 Circumambulating the stela, for example, bolstered iconographic and written information about the ruler, his life, and royal power through the physical inscription of the body. A cylindrical tenon carved at the bottom of the monument was also used to secure the portrait on a large pedestal. The ruler in situ, therefore, peered down at the viewer from a frontal, elevated position that reinforced his celestial authority. While the provenience of

Monument 26 is unknown, similar sculptures found at the acropolis were positioned on pedestals in front of temples and staircases. The stela/pedestal combination was often accompanied by a large stone “altar” placed horizontally on the ground in front of the base. David Stuart notes that these disc- like altars, found at several Maya sites, are typically inscribed with large ahaw day signs that denote “period-ending” dates associated with the holiness of time-keeping rulers.54

Stuart further posits that “stela-and-altar complexes” were used in ritual ceremonies to eternally perpetuate the acts of the royal person that embodied them. Thus, the stela-altar represented more than a simple portrait of the king; rather, these complexes were “dioramas” that characterized the “ruler’s bah or person manifested by a stone as existing in a perpetual state of ritual action.”55 A closer examination of the stela-and-altar combination and the specific ways viewers may have interacted with it is conducted in the third chapter.

Sculptures of bound captives are also found throughout the site. On the acropolis, the top three terraces contain numerous stone and stucco images depicting the contorted bodies of Toniná’s rivals. Unlike the three-dimensional statues of rulers, these figures are seen in profile and rendered in low relief. One of the most cited works, Monument 122, shows a twisted, reclining figure with inscriptions carved into his body and on the border

54 Stuart, “Kings of Stone,” 157-160. 55 Ibid., 160. 9 of the sandstone panel. The text indicates that Toniná entered Palenque in 711 C.E. during the reign of Baaknal Chahk or his successor, Ruler 4, and captured its king K’inich K’an Joy Chitam in what is described as a “”.56 Following the artistic conventions for bound prisoners, K’inich K’an Joy Chitam is shown with his arms tied with rope and paper strips in his earlobes. Yet he still wears several elements of his royal regalia such as the so-called “Jester God” headband and the jade necklace around his neck. The treatment of line, costuming, and body posture have led some to suggest that the monument is rendered by Palenque artists as a form of tribute.57 However, most of the low relief carvings of captives at the site—before and after this event—demonstrate similar stylistic approaches to Monument 122. In my estimation, there isn’t enough evidence to suggest that Toniná adopted its Late Classic artistic styles from any one source. Yet the image of a conquered ruler in profile again speaks to the significance of hierarchy in scale and posture at Toniná. The contrast between frontal rulers and creatures/captives in profile reoccurs throughout the site. It should be mentioned that two-dimensional paintings were another common feature of the acropolis. Unfortunately, very little scholarship has been produced on these images due to poor preservation and archaeological negligence. Bags of polychrome sherds and stucco fragments with painted motifs lie in the site bodega with little or no context. The current team for the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH) is meticulously working through this material record to try and piece together a cohesive understanding of the imagery.58 One of the works in reconstruction is a stucco painting that likely would have decorated the wall of a residence in the palace district. Although

56 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 183. See also, David Stuart, “Longer Live the King,” 1-4. 57 Linda Schele and Mary Ellen Miller, The Blood of Kings: Dynasty and Ritual in Maya Art (Fort Worth, TX: Kimbrel Art Museum, 1986), 218-219. 58 Benito Velázquez Tello, personal communication, 2019. 10 there is no context for the piece, similar painting fragments are extant in the palace structures. Moreover, the French Toniná Project mentions stucco paintings on the temples of the top terraces of the acropolis.59 The INAH lab at Toniná is also filled with fragmented stuccoes from areas throughout the site. Walking through the storage room, one encounters hieroglyphs, busts, and decorative motifs—many painted in vibrant reds and blues—that once adorned walls and entrances. In one fragment, layers of stucco were added to an older work to completely cover the original feathered motif. Covering past imagery with new stucco may have been a common practice on the acropolis. The entrance to structure E5-5 on the sixth terrace, for instance, is surrounded by thick layers of stucco that were once elaborate reliefs. Today, the white stucco is smooth and full of large undulating bumps that, in some areas, resemble modeled reliefs. Drawings of the panel by Catherwood and La Farge are also revealing. While their sketches are very different and likely romanticized, both sketches show a massive wing of an avian creature sprawling across the entrance of the structure—thereby indicating that stucco motifs were indeed present.60 Just as the abundance of sandstone at the site may have led to increased stelae carved in the round, access to limestone, coupled with skillful adaptation of local rock resources into plaster aggregates,61 contributed to a large corpus of stucco artworks at

Toniná. Three principal techniques were used to create stucco reliefs at the site: 1) wet paste could be applied and modeled on the surface area; 2) images could be shaped independently and, later, adhered to the surface; and 3) stucco glyphs were likely placed

59 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 22. 60 John Stephens, Incidents of Travel in Central America, Chiapas and Yucatan, Vol. 2, illustrations by Fredrick Catherwood (New York: Dover Publications, 1969), 258-260; Oliver La Farge and Frans Ferdinand Blom, Tribes and Temples: a Record of the Expedition to Middle America, Vol. 2 (The Tulane University of Louisiana, 1926) 267. 61 Riquelme, et al., 2012: 152-155. 11 in a separate mold and adhered to the surface after it dried.62 The processes of manufacturing and modeling stuccoes allowed artists to play with both additive and subtractive sculpting techniques and, consequently, achieve greater balance, precise contours, elaborate compositions, abstract motifs, and dynamic figuration. In other words, Toniná artists—like many Maya sculptors of this period—were able to develop nonformulaic, innovative imagery through burgeoning stucco techniques. While the first and second terraces contain stuccoes, the third terrace appears to show an increase of high relief panels—particularly on the eastern edge. The transitional slope from the second to the third terraces—also the entrance to the palatial courts—is covered with a geometric stepped design that still maintains modeled stuccoes on the top left portion. A steep staircase to the right of the slope winds through a maze-like ascent to the third terrace and a narrow chamber with stucco reliefs plastered to the back wall. The crossbones and feather bands in the room, which maintain their blue and red pigments, repeat on other works in the site—including the fifth terrace stucco panel (Figure 7). Larger and more technical stuccoes appear on the fourth terrace. On the west end of the patio by structure E5-17, a stepped platform and its adjacent walls are plastered with sunken, low, and high reliefs. A deep niche in the platform, which may have held a bound captive sculpture, is flanked by two deteriorated jaws of a monstrous serpent that presided over the niche and its contents. The adjacent wall elucidates the possibility of ritual activity at the platform. Three vertical staffs with ribbons and knots at the top, middle, and bottom likely represent sacrificial bloodletting. David Joralemon was one of the first to posit that double-headed cauac spears with three horizontal bands and three

62 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 37. 12 circular motifs, or knots, reflect the tools used by Maya elites to pierce the skin.63 Brian Stross further argued that words for the number “three” and for “bloodletting” in Mixe- Zoquean languages may have inspired Maya iconographers to use images in three’s as punning or rebus devices that signal blood sacrifice.64 Interestingly, a polychrome sherd from the bodega at Toniná shows the same triadic cauac motif held by a ritual attendant.

Thus, we can link the painted ceramic traditions at Toniná with the large-scale stucco works of the architectural program—an intermedium and intervisual65 connection that also appears on the top three terraces.

In front of structure E5-5 on the sixth terrace, a large stucco mask of a witz, or animate hill, is built up from a stone armature. The scrolling motifs around the gaping maw, the undulating forms passing through earspools, and the curious medallion at the top of the mask bear a striking resemblance to the animated mountain and serpent mountain masks that flank the staircase of 5d-33-2nd at Tikal. It also calls to mind the so- called “mountain-masks” at Rosalila in Copan. It’s possible that the covered motifs by the upper door, which swell beneath layers of stucco, could be the abstracted features of a similar witz monster. Once again, this comparative analysis is not to suggest some form of visual diffusionism from Tikal and Copan to Toniná; rather, it demonstrates that the artistic styles at Toniná cannot be linked to one specific polity.66

Supernatural creatures with ritual attire are also present on the seventh terrace. On the north side of temple D5-1, a feline creature wearing the three-band/knot headdress

63 David Joralemon, Ritual Blood-Sacrifice among the Ancient Maya: Part I (Pebble Beach: The Robert Louis Stevenson School, 1974), 59-75. 64 Brian Stross, “Maya Bloodletting and the Number Three,” in Anthropological Linguistics 31, no. 3/4 (1989): 209-26. 65 The concept of “intervisuality” will be addressed in the third chapter. 66 See Caitlin Earley, “At the Edge of the Maya World: Power, Politics, and Identity in Monuments from the Comitán Valley, Chiapas, Mexico,” (Dissertation, Austin, TX: University of Texas, 2015). Earley notes that Toniná styles are shared with several Maya sites such as Tenam Puente. 13 adorns the base of the staircase. The presence of mythical creatures and iconography related to blood sacrifice—including on the top terraces—suggests that the militaristic/political themes of the acropolis were balanced with ritual images to produce a highly sacred space that equally evokes geopolitical and metaphysical foci.

The Fifth Terrace

Through ritual performances, which utilized the site’s artistic program, state- sanctioned messages were disseminated and internalized into the elite consciousness. The architectural design, coupled with monumental stelae, stuccoes, and ritual deposits, fostered a sacred atmosphere wherein Toniná nobles and/or their foreign guests could communicate with ancestors, deities, and supernatural beings. Moreover, the elevated position of the terrace, which provided a grand vista of the plaza and ancient neighborhoods in the Ocosingo valley below, contributed to the sense of hierarchical power that pervades the space (Figure 8). Raised platforms in ancient Maya centers—particularly those positioned high on acropolises—were excellent stages for the performance of ritual-political authority. At Bonampak, the location of Structure 1 on the acropolis was designed to heighten the phenomenological experience of viewing captive presentation and sacrifice. Mary Miller and Claudia Brittenham observed that Structure 1 was constructed on a T-shaped platform with space enough to circumambulate, perform rituals in front of the façade, and appreciate the exterior visual program.67 Rather than themes of private sacrifice and human pathos recorded on the murals within the building, the bright paintings and stuccoes projected a more administrative message: “[T]he program of Bonampak

Structure 1 also addressed different audiences, presenting a clear image of royal authority

67 Miller and Brittenham, The Spectacle of the Late Maya Court, 26. 14 to the masses while simultaneously recording and enabling more complex negotiations of power within the court inside.”68 At Toniná, the terraces possess a similar ability to address different audiences—those below and within the controlled space of the fifth terrace. Notwithstanding the visual and physical restrictions created by the imposing staircase of the fourth terrace, which made it nearly impossible to view the ritual actions on the fifth terrace patio, the steps were an ideal space to project certain messages to the audiences below. The long-held Mesoamerican practice of treading on representations of captives, for instance, could have taken place at Toniná. Stone risers such as Monument 27, which names a Palenque vassal captured by Baaknal Chahk in 692 C.E.,69 were likely orthostatic slabs situated on staircases throughout the site. While Monument 27 could have come from several areas at Toniná commissioned by Baaknal Chahk, it is possible that similar risers with captives once adorned the steps of the massive fourth terrace staircase (Figure 4). The north wall of Room 2 at Bonampak reflects the type of activities that may have occurred on similar risers. Miller and Brittenham note that the painting represents the actual steps leading up the acropolis where masses in the plaza could witness celebrations, sacrifice, and reenactments of battle.70 The fourth-terrace staircase at Toniná also could have functioned as a space for such activities seen by the masses on the first three terraces and/or the plaza below. If this is so, rulers reenacted their victories by perpetually stepping on victims as they ascended to one of the most sacred areas of the acropolis.

68 Miller and Brittenham, The Spectacle of the Late Maya Court, 27-28. 69 Mary Miller and Simon Martin, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya (New York: Thames and Hudson, 2004) 185. 70 Miller and Brittenham, The Spectacle of the Late Maya Court, 104. 15 Pierre Becquelin and Claude F. Baudez were the first to note that the archaeological data recovered at the fifth terrace suggest that the area was potentially the ritual-political focal point of the entire acropolis (Figure 9). The initial fieldwork uncovered clusters of structures, stone monuments, ceramics, and modeled stuccoes that surpassed any other open patio at the site. Becquelin and Baudez discovered tombs, a sarcophagus (another was discovered later), and ritual deposits that led them to designate the terraced structure a “necropolis.”71 Their reports also acknowledged the important role of political messages in the visual program. They hypothesized that a social hierarchy was reinforced by the distinction between the “tomb-pedestal-statue complex” and the larger temple-pyramid-tomb that it mirrors.72 As I will discuss later, the stela- altar-pedestal combination indeed plays an important role in the making of memory and place on the acropolis. The messages on stone sculptures found on the terrace, like many at Toniná, focus largely on rulers and captives. The figures—most carved in front-facing positions and in the round—were often discovered at the foot of stucco-decorated chamber bases. Like Monument 122, there were several low relief stone monuments depicting captives in profile. The square or rectangular shape of these monuments indicates that they may have been orthostats situated on chambered platforms/bases or within niches. For example, a limestone relief uncovered by Juan Yadeun on the eastside of the terrace depicts a contorted captive named yax ahk anaayte’ ajaw, or “Green Turtle, Lord of Anaayte.”73 A sculpture from Ballcourt 1 names “Green Turtle” as a vassal of Kan Bahlam II and, thus, not only signals the conflict between Toniná and the polity of Anaite but also the rivalry

71 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 78. 72 Ibid. 73 Miller and Martin, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, 182. 16 with Palenque.74 The work was set within the back niche of a highly decorated, chambered platform that was likely used to support three stelae portraits. The iconography on the platform, moreover, included motifs related to myth and the supernatural—a theme that Becquelin and Baudez also noted on stucco representations throughout the terrace.

THE STUCCO PANEL

The 1992 excavations conducted by Yadeun and INAH on the eastern edge of the fifth terrace also revealed one of the most unique stucco reliefs from the Classic Maya.75 Decorating the transitional slope between the fifth and sixth terraces, the monumental panel is filled with ghoulish creatures that perform acts of myth and sacrifice at the threshold of cosmic realms. More than a backdrop for ritual-political performance, the scene portrays agentive, nightmarish denizens bound by a sacred framing device in the foreground. The stucco slope was constructed on a roughly 60-degree angle using sandstone slabs and bricks. There are several estimates on the length and height of the stucco portion of the slope—most suggest 16 m across and 4 m high. For this study, I refer to a

2012 measurement by the conservation department of INAH and architect Daniel Salazar Lama that designates the length at 17.1 m and the height at 4.2 m (Figure 10). It is important to note, however, that portions of the panel on the east side extended into the unexcavated area of the hill. The original scene, therefore, was larger and contained several more images on the eastern edge.

74 Miller and Martin, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, 182. 75 Yadeun, Toniná: El Laberinto Del Inframundo, 93-96. 17 The width of the four current sections on the slope is roughly 4 m each. The segments are subdivided into four parts by a latticed frame with circular medallions at the intersections. Depth is achieved with delineated foreground, middle ground, and background planes that, while shallow, reinforce the dramatic play with space and liminality that pervades the terrace. The frame in the foreground acts as a barrier, or

“cage,” that contains numerous supernatural figures in the middle plane of the composition. Although little pigment remains today, the background and raised figures were once painted in vibrant polychrome hues. Horizontal bands run the length of the top and bottom registers—the top being an extension of the central frame while the bottom contains a pronounced groundline with separate decorations.

Material/Artistic Processes

The process of manufacturing the fifth terrace panels demonstrates a sophisticated understanding of local minerals and stucco modeling techniques. In her material analysis of the stuccoes, Frida Iztel Mateos González described six layers in the stratigraphy of the panels: 1) a sandstone infrastructure; 2) stones set perpendicularly to the wall; 3) clay mortar or paste; 4) gray mortar or paste; 5) white or fine paste; and, 6) a polychrome pictorial layer.76 Interestingly, Mateos González noted that the level of fine paste, which directly precedes the pictorial layer, consists of unblemished white quartz and lime that may indicate the artists were able to effectively clean the quartz stones or, possibly, had access to pure quartz deposits.77 This suggests that the pigments in the final layer were applied to a clean, white canvas that almost certainly improved the saturation of both chromatic and achromatic hues. The pigments applied to the scene include brick red

76 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 42. 77 Ibid., 48-49. 18 (hematite), dark red (hematite and with black), Maya blue, ochre (limonite), and black (carbon).78 The chemical composition of the stucco aggregates, which were built in layers of alternating planes, allowed the artists to maintain sections of high relief despite the ~60- degree angle. Mateos González argued that the artists worked from bottom to top and, after adding the large framing device, the sections of the scene were constructed in the following sequence: first, the central figures were located and roughly defined; second, the volumetric shapes were smoothed so preparatory drawings—painted with a brush in red pigment—could be applied to the surface; next, the final contours were modeled or incised, and, in some areas, finer details were sculpted separately then attached to the surface in a way that calls to mind pastillage ceramic works; finally, the polychrome pigments were applied to the paste.79 The connection between the material processes of the stucco panel and ceramic works will be elucidated in the final chapter. This mix of additive and subtractive techniques was optimal for playing with form and, ultimately, achieving a broad range of depth, representational and stylized features, and intricate details. Further, the scale and proportions of the figures—many of which exceed life-like dimensions—were also achieved, in part, through the plasticity of the material. The rendering of line, composition, and three-dimensional modeling, moreover, speaks to the artists’ technical mastery as well as the site’s investment in stucco as the premier medium for artistic innovation—particularly regarding works with supernatural or esoteric themes.

78 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 42. 79 Ibid., 43-48. 19 Date of Construction

Unfortunately, the current archaeological and epigraphic data from the stucco panel do not indicate a definitive date-range of manufacture. Juan Yadeun and Frida Mateos González date the panel to 790-840 C.E.80—a range that would place its construction under the patronage of the highly ambitious Ruler 8. The style of the fifth terrace panels, however, clearly contrasts with the ninth-century stucco designs produced by Ruler 8. The so-called “Flower House Throne” on terrace three, for instance, demonstrates the deeper modeling and tight hatch-work characteristic of very Late Classic Maya stuccoes.81 Most scholars, to be sure, posit a date closer to the beginning of the eighth century. In her extensive work on the inscriptions of Toniná, Maricela Ayala Falcón asserted that the panel coincides with either K’inich Baaknal Chahk or Ruler 482 (Peter Mathews dates the reign of Baaknal Chahk to 688-708/9 C.E. and Ruler for to 709-723

C.E.83). This conclusion is drawn based on a reading of the stucco cartouches on the upper portion of the chambered structure directly in front of the sloped panel. Ayala Falcón deduces that the inscriptions name Lady K’awil—the mother of Ruler 8 who may have ruled in the latter portion of the eighth century—as the patron of the structure.84 She concludes that the chambered structure was likely built after the panels and, thus, the stuccoes would have been created in the early part of the century.85 As I show in Chapter Three, this epigraphic argument may be problematic. Laura Pescador Cantón suggests

80 Yadeun, Toniná: El Laberinto Del Inframundo, 93; Also, Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 40. 81 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 82 Ayala and Schele, “The History of Tonina through Its Inscriptions,” 204-206. 83 Mathews, “The Dates of Tonina And a Dark Horse in Its History,” 4-5. 84 Maricela Ayala Falcón, “La cromatía de Tonina,” in La pintura mural prehispánica en México: Area Maya II, Tomo IV: Estudios, México, ed. Beatriz de la Fuente (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas, 2001) 371-380. 85 Ibid. 20 that the ruler who succeeded Ruler 4, K’inich Ich’aak Chapat (723-739 C.E 86), created the panel during his reign, but it is unclear how the author specifically links the stuccoes to this era.87 I argue, to be sure, that stylistic and epigraphic evidence suggests that K’inich Baaknal Chahk or Ruler 4 commissioned the panel before Baaknal Chahk’s death in 715 C.E.

Some of the largest architectural and visual overhauls at Toniná were orchestrated by Baaknal Chahk. During his 27-year reign, burgeoning political connections throughout the highlands and Usumacinta regions led to significant victories and, subsequently, sociopolitical shifts at the polity, which required new ways to express cultural identity. Representations of wahyoob, the dark animate forces of the Underworld linked to specific royal people and places, were one method by which rulers of this period—including

Baaknal Chahk—could project themes of ritual-political dominance and sacred alliances. It is important to note, however, that several visual manifestations of the wahyoob within the corpus of Mesoamerican art occur on polychrome ceramic vessels— particularly when clusters of them are represented. This fact makes the appearance of multiple wahy entities on a monumental stucco unique in the ancient Maya period. Thus, it is rather surprising that a second polychrome stucco wall from the acropolis—located in a palace district in a structure known as “El Templo de las Luciernagas”—portrays two skeletal creatures rendered in the same style as the fifth terrace panel wahyoob (Figure 11). Also, the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the side of the partition assign patronage to K’inich Baaknal Chahk in the year 708 C.E.88 The stylistic and iconographic links between these stucco artworks, coupled with epigraphic evidence that will be addressed

86 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 187. 87 Pescador Cantón, “Toniná, la Montaña Sagrada de los señores de las serpientes y los jaguars,” 273. 88 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 21 in Chapter Two, lead me to conclude that Baaknal Chahk was, indeed, the ruler that commissioned the stucco slope. However, future epigraphic data produced by Ángel Sánchez-Gamboa and other epigraphers working at Toniná may shed light on this issue.89

Preservation

The east side of the fifth terrace was almost completely buried under earth and rubble until Juan Yadeun and the conservation teams of INAH uncovered the panel in 1992. Becquelin and Baudez noted that structure E5-5 directly above the panel had collapsed onto the slope in at least two stages: once before the Stephens account in the nineteenth century and again in the early twentieth century before the Blom excavations—the later collapse destroying the entire southern rear of the structure.90 The destruction of several portions of the stuccoes—particularly the upper sections and nearly the entire western section—is attributed to these collapses. The initial conservation and restoration projects revealed three stratigraphic layers covering the stucco panel: the first layer consisted of just soil; the second was filled with building fragments from E5-5; and the final layer contained earth with no rubble.91 This first layer of soil suggests that the panel was exposed for a significant period before the collapse of the structure.

Another possibility is that subsequent royal authorities from the Late Classic period, or even the indigenous groups who occupied the site during the Postclassic and early contact periods,92 intentionally buried the stucco panels. This would account for the excellent preservation of the extant figures93 and is consistent with pan-Mesoamerican

89 Martha Cuevas García, personal communication, 2020. 90 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 40. 91 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 21. 92 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 17. 93 Mateos González also argued that a rectangular patch in front of the relief, which does not show signs of deterioration, might indicate that the stucco slope was originally roofed (1997: 42). Roof structures were 22 ritual termination practices outlined earlier in the chapter.94 The act of termination at Toniná may have occurred by burying the fifth terrace stuccoes, which explains the initial layer of dirt, to end the palpable energy of nightmarish, agentive wahyoob who continued to masquerade at the threshold of earthly and supernatural realms long after their creation. The images that survived the two collapses of E5-5 center around these otherworldly denizens. The panel is part of a rich tradition of stucco works at Toniná, the Maya region, and throughout ancient Mesoamerica. This material helped create entire cities of color that transformed the physical and ontological landscape. What is more, stucco provided artists with the plasticity to sculpt elaborate, abstract expressions on a monumental scale.

typically constructed with ephemeral material, however, so panels would still have been exposed for centuries after the wooden or thatched covering deteriorated. 94 For more on Mesoamerican acts of ritual termination, see Julia Guernsey (2020); Howie, White, and Longstaffe (2010: 376); and Shirley Mock (1998). 23 Chapter Two: The Wahyoob Stucco Panel

Few monuments at Toniná capture the thematic essence of the acropolis like the stucco panel on the eastern edge of the fifth terrace. The social/mythical/political concepts that appear in cross-media representations on the terraces also manifest in stucco reliefs. It should be mentioned, however, that many of the other stuccoes at Toniná, which did not benefit from the same level of preservation, could have been equally or even more remarkable. Yet the size and scope of the fifth terrace panel, coupled with extraordinary attention to formal, iconographic, and spatial details, make it the stucco par excellence on the acropolis and, to be sure, one of the most stunning artworks of the entire Classic Maya sphere. It is rather surprising, therefore, that so few scholars have researched the work beyond its hieroglyphic captions. What is more, the previous readings of the stuccoes tend to overstate potential narratives related to the Popol Vuh—a sixteenth-century K’iche’ Maya document from the Highlands of Guatemala that provides little context for the specific local and temporal actions unfolding on the panel in the Late Classic period. Other cross-cultural or anachronistic comparisons that have been ascribed to the piece also need to be parsed to avoid potential disjunctions. Yet the previous analyses of the panel have produced several salient arguments—many of which form the armature of the present study. The aim of this chapter, therefore, is to contribute a nuanced, localized, and historically specific understanding of the panel that builds on previous scholarship while thoroughly addressing its intended multivalence.

24 WAHYOOB AND TONINÁ

The wahy tableau at Toniná is unique among the visual manifestations of these creatures from the Maya universe. Its monumental scale, formal execution, and dialogical relationship with other artworks on the terrace fostered a rich viewing experience that, while mixed with cosmic creation myths, primarily elicited messages of darkness, sickness, death, and pain—all orbiting issues of social life in general and regional politics in particular. On one hand, wahy entities represent an intimate relationship between supernatural concepts and communal health; on the other hand, the creatures are connected to specific state institutions and the ritual-political interactions between them. These entities, therefore, imbued representations with powerful didactic potentialities. Studies of the wahy concept in the Maya corpus initially viewed the anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figures as dramatic gods of the “Underworld”.95 Scholars observed the frequency of ghoulish representations, particularly on ceramic vessels, but made little progress determining their specific iconographic valences. The epigraphic work of Stephen Houston, David Stuart, and Nikolai Grube (working independently) significantly changed our understanding of these entities when, in the late 1980s, the authors published their important decipherment of the “way” hieroglyph. After reexamining the sign previously known as T539, Houston and Stuart determined that the glyph represents a logogram for the word way, or wahy, which consists of the phonetic signs wa and ya.96 The root for wahy in several Maya languages is “sleep” while grammatical extensions include “dream,” “witchcraft,” “nagual,” “animal transformation,” and, most

95 Michael D. Coe and Justin Kerr. Lords of the Underworld: Masterpieces of Classic Maya Ceramics (Princeton, N.J: Art Museum, : distributed by Princeton University Press, 1978). 96 Stephen Houston and David Stuart, “The Way Glyph: Evidence for ‘Co-essences’ among the Classic Maya,” in Research Reports on Ancient Maya Writing 30 (1989): 1-16. 25 importantly, “other spirit”—which the authors translated as co-essence to indicate supernatural beings connected to the consciousness of certain individuals: “Co-essences take many forms in the Maya area. Some are reptiles, rain, dwarfs, balls of fire, comets, inanimate objects, or rainbows; others appear as huge bucks, birds, flying jaguars, or peculiar composite creatures.”97 When accompanied by the prefix u, the way glyph reads as u-way, or “his/her/its co-essence,” and, thereby, demonstrates that the animal or spirit companions belonged to historical figures. The notion of self-identity, in their view, was the central function of the wahy concept.

Mesoamerican scholar Inga Calvin used ethnographic and ethnohistoric information to further elucidate how these creatures, which are often linked to specific locations, manifested a sense of communal identity.98 Calvin argued that wahy beings operated within diverse physical and supernatural realms familiar to the collective consciousness of a given society. Moreover, she posited that modern ethnography in Chiapas, México revealed that spirit companions are often recognized as integral components of local ecologies, ancestries, ritual traditions, and mythologies. Calvin’s work was critical to thinking about wahy figures beyond the identification of specific individuals. Her analyses demonstrated that these supernatural denizens played an additional role as important sociopolitical figures—many of which were associated with place names or emblem glyphs.99 Building on the ethnographic work of Alfonso Villa Rojas and William Holland, which elucidated the role of supernatural naguales in the Tzeltal and Oxchuc Maya

97 Houston and Stuart, “The Way Glyph,” 2. 98 Inga Calvin, “Where the Wayob Live: A Further Examination of Classic Maya Supernaturals,” in The Maya Vase Book: a corpus of rollout photographs of Maya vases, Vol. 5, ed. Justin Kerr (New York: Kerr Associates, 1994) 868-879. 99 Christophe Helmke and Jesper Nielsen, “Hidden Identity & Power in Ancient Mesoamerica: Supernatural Alter Egos as Personified Diseases,” in Acta Americana 17 (2009): 49–98. 26 communities of highland Chiapas,100 David Stuart posited that Classic Maya wahy entities represented more than “animal spirit companions” or “co-essences”; rather, these creatures were sinister forces invoked by sorcerers in witchcraft and brujería to inflict curses related to disease and afflictions of the body on others—possibly even other rulers.101 Ethnographic studies conducted by Evon Vogt in Zinacantecan region of the

Central Chiapas highlands further support Stuart’s arguments. Vogt noted that the animal spirit companions, or chanul, were linked to supernaturally caused illnesses in the community.102 More on the Zinacanteco chanul will be discussed later in this chapter.

Christophe Helmke and Jesper Nielsen used archaeological, epigraphic, and ethnographic data to further nuance the connection between wahy creatures and specific diseases and death. For example, several descriptions from the Ritual of the Bacabs, the

Yukatek Maya manuscript written in the colonial period, elaborate on wahy beings as personified illnesses, erotic behaviors, and evil winds.103 In another colonial manuscript, the Chilam Balam of Kaua, deer wahyoob are linked to both disease and the remedies invoked by ritual practitioners to cure these ailments. Thus, the wahyoob in such ethnohistorical accounts represent vital interlocutors in the conceptualization of communal health.

Helmke and Nielsen also suggest that wahy entities may have been central to mythological narratives. In one account, the lords of , sent a long-tailed deer wahy—which is typically associated with pain, cramps, or sexual ailments—to

100 Alfonso Villa Rojas, “Kingship and Nagualism in a Tzeltal Community, Southeastern Mexico,” in American Anthropologist 49 (1947): 578-587; William Holland, “Highland Maya Folk Medicine: A Study in Culture Change” (Dissertation, ProQuest Dissertations Publishing, 1962). 101 David Stuart, “The Way Beings,” in Glyphs on Pots: Decoding Classic Maya Ceramics (Austin: Department of Art and Art History, UT Austin, 2005). 102 Evon Vogt, “Human Souls and Animal Spirits,” in Zinacantan: A Maya Community in the Highlands of Chiapas ( Press, 1969), 373-374 103 Helmke and Nielsen, “Hidden Identity & Power in Ancient Mesoamerica,” 49–98 27 abduct a fair maiden from the palace of Huk Si’ip (Maya deity).104 Despite the pursuit of Huk Si’ip guards, the maiden and deer escaped by flying into the celestial realm where she resides eternally as the personified moon. Evidence from the archaeological record speaks to potential continuity between the narrative and the ancient Maya region. For example, the story is rendered on a Late Classic polychrome vase that was found in the

Actun Balam cave located 21 kilometers to the south of Caracol.105 On the vase, the personified moon straddles the back of a deer while guards with long spears give chase from the palatial steps below. The ceramic, therefore, speaks to the possibility that ancient wahyoob were embedded with local mythological narratives that may not be referenced in texts or fully understood iconographically. Recent scholarship has continued to nuance the societal function of wahy beings from the Classic period by analyzing their connection to both disease and geopolitical relationships. In his recent chapter on sorcery, David Stuart re-addresses wahy creatures vis-à-vis Maya politico-religious ideologies to elucidate their supernatural power as nightmarish, unnatural beasts related to specific royal seats and houses:

I suspect that the ancient wahy beings represented the animate dark forces that were embedded in the complex power structures of ancient , much like the specialized naguals documented for highland Chiapas. These ancient wahy were possibly wielded in sorcery conducted by rulers and other elites in confrontations with certain enemies, expressing and symbolizing their unique and individualized social and political control over others.106 Thus, Stuart argues that the wahyoob (plural) were negative animate forces—often linked to the nagual concept of transformation or metamorphosis—that manifested in the ritual

104 Helmke and Nielsen, “Hidden Identity & Power in Ancient Mesoamerica,” 76-77. 105 Ibid. 106 David Stuart, “The Wahys of Witchcraft: Sorcery and Political Power among the Classic Maya,” in Sorcery in Mesoamerica, ed. by Jeremy D. Coltman and John M.D. Pohl (University of Colorado Press) unpaginated, in press. 28 expressions of royal institutions to propagate social and political dominance. Moreover, he suggests that scholars should rethink the view of the wahyoob as “underworld” gods and pay closer attention to ethnographic studies, which posit these entities as personifications of death and disease that impacted the ritual-political atmosphere of Maya groups.107

At Toniná, the wahy concept coincides with these ideas, yet it developed conceptual/ideological channels specific to the region. Using ethnohistorical and linguistic data, Maricela Ayala Falcón asserted that the occupants of the Chiapas

Highlands during the Classic period were likely related to Tzeltal and Tzotzil ethnolinguistic groups. The term for wahy in these languages is wayjel, or chanul, meaning “animal spirit companion,” or “second soul,” respectively. The ethnographic studies of these groups mention that when a person is born, they are assigned an animal wayjel that shares some of the individual’s characteristics.108 What is more, the two beings are so interconnected that, when the wayjel is sick or dies, the individual suffers the same fates—an additional example of the connection between disease, death, and wahy figures in the Chiapas Highlands. The ethnographic data from the region, coupled with the wahy scholarship previously outlined in this section, provide a powerful framework to analyze the Late Classic expressions of the wahyoob on the fifth terrace.

SECTION I

I begin with the westernmost portion of the stucco slope and move east for two reasons: 1) the gopher/mouse figure grounds the relief as a massive depiction of wahy entities, and 2) the extant imagery provides vital information vis-à-vis the geopolitical

107 Stuart, “The Wahys of Witchcraft,” unpaginated, in press. 108 Ayala and Schele, “The History of Tonina through Its Inscriptions,” 95. 29 themes of the tableau. I do not assert that ancient viewers strictly followed this west-east axis when viewing the panel; however, some form of reading order or directional significance may have coincided with the Late Classic work. While this section has historically been the lynchpin for academic investigations of the panel, the scene has rarely been parsed into what could be considered a thick description of its artistic, political, and supernatural concepts. The bottom and right-middle subsections contain some of the best-preserved images in the quadripartite scene and the panel writ large (Figure 12). The bottom area depicts the fleshy feet of a death god, a hieroglyphic inscription, a gopher or mouse wahy holding a ceramic pot, and the legs/feet of another death god. The right-middle subsection is filled with a large skeletal death god with accompanying hieroglyphic captions. The stylistic traits of this figure also appear on the Baaknal Chahk stucco partition from the so-called “Templo de las Luciernagas” in the palace district, which depicts two blue-red skeletal creatures with similar attributes. This may speak to the original color of the fifth-terrace death god and, most importantly, to the notion that Baaknal Chahk could have commissioned the the Wahyoob Stucco Panel around the same time. The extant motif in top of the section shows one half of a sprawling wing with twisting serpents in the center. The left-middle subsection has only fragments of feathers and a very small leg perched on the frame.

The Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy

The gopher or mouse wahy in the middle of the bottom subsection is accompanied by a text reading K’AN-na-ba CH’OJ xa-MAN-na, or K’anbaah Ch’oj Xaman,

30 “Yellow-Headed Mouse of the North” (Figure 13).109 It is unclear what region of the “North” is referenced, but Eric Taladoire argued that the Toniná kingdom stretched northward to several polities near Palenque110—including the Pomoná territory that will be discussed in my analysis of Turtle-Foot Death. It may be that K’anbaah Ch’oj is a wahy representing one of these regions. The name of the figure is also important as it provides clear evidence connecting the figures on the panel to the wahyoob seen in other images—particularly on painted ceramics. In their pivotal chapter regarding wahy entities, Nikolai Grube and Werner Nahm observed that several vessels contain gophers or rats named K’anbaah Ch’oj in the hieroglyphic captions.111 In one case, a human is depicted as a gopher impersonator who wears a large scarf and holds an olla (jar or pot) in his hand (Figure 14). As I demonstrate in the next chapter, most of the figures on the

Toniná stucco panel relate stylistically and iconographically to creatures designated as wahyoob on Maya ceramics. Thus, I refer to the monument as the Wahyoob Stucco Panel rather than previous designations that center on eras, suns, or “Dream Lords”. The k’an sign in the text may be a descriptive element of a specific location but could also relate to the yellow color of rodent fur. Another potential sign is seen in the olla held by the creature. Andrew Scherer interpreted the small head inside the motif as a decapitated head, which would align with other representations of sacrificial beheadings

109 Translation provided by David Stuart, 2020. Other translations include K’AN-na-b’a ch’o xa-MAN- na, or K’an B’a[ah] Ch’o[j] Xaman, “Yellow Rat Gopher of the North” or “Precious Rat Gopher of the North,” by Érik Velásquez García in Emilia Raggi Lucio, “El Friso de Toniná, Chiapas,” 19-20; Also, K’AN-na b’a ch’o, or k’an-b’a[h] ch’o, “yellow gopher-rat” by Alexandre Tokovinine, “Writing color: Words and images of colors in Classic Maya inscriptions,” in Anthropology and aesthetics 61-62 (Spring- Autumn 2012): 284. 110 Eric Taladoire, “Towards A Reevaluation of the Toniná Polity,” in Estudios de Cultura Maya 46, no. 46 (2015): 45-70. 111 Nikolai Grube and Werner Nahm, “A Census of Xibalba: A Complete Inventory of Way Characters on Maya Ceramics,” in The Maya Vase Book: a corpus of rollout photographs of Maya vases, Vol. 4, ed. by Justin Kerr (New York: Kerr Associates, 1994) 699-700. 31 at the site—including the severed head in the adjacent subsection.112 Grube and Nahm argued that the markings on the head signal the Hero Twin figure named Juun Ajaw and, consequently, could relate to the ballgame ball retrieved by a supernatural rat in the Popol Vuh narrative.113 The markings on the forehead and cheek, however, may indicate the logographic sign baah, or “gopher,” which also means “head” in some cases.114 The head in the olla could, therefore, by a glyphic complement that reinforces the taxonomic characteristics of the creature. While it is difficult to posit whether the creature is definitively a mouse or gopher, the physical features of the creature support either interpretation. The ear, which is shaped like an inverted heart icon, is typical of feline or rodent creatures. It also has four large incisors, or buck teeth, and striations emphasizing its furry cheek pouches— characteristics of a pocket gopher, large mouse, or some combination of the two. The rodent also has an ak’ab sign on the back of its jaw and lower back, which relates the creature to the Maya concept of “darkness” or “night.” In his article on God A (Akan), Nikolai Grube stated that the ak’ab sign was often depicted on ritual regalia, accoutrements, and hieroglyphs associated with the wahyoob of drinking, disease, and death.115 Andrea Stone and Marc Zender later noted that the ak’bal, or ak’ab, logogram was a sign in the twenty-day that could be used to describe dark hues, caves, the Underworld, and supernatural figures: “Iconographically, the AK’AB glyph is one of several signs denoting physical or

112 Andrew K. Scherer, “The Classic Maya sarcophagus: Veneration and Renewal at Palenque and Tonina,” in Anthropology and Aesthetics 61/62 (Spring/Autumn 2012): 255. 113 Grube and Nahm, “A Census of Xibalba,” 700. See also, Andrea Stone and Marc Zender, Reading Maya Art: A Hieroglyphic Guide to Ancient Maya Painting and Sculpture (Thames and Hudson, 2011), 193. 114 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 193. 115 Nikolai Grube, “Akan – the God of Drinking, Disease and Death,” in Acta Mesoamericana 14 (2004): 59-76. 32 associative property by marking the surface of the thing it qualifies.”116 In other words, Maya artists could use the sign as an adjective to describe the sense of darkness inherent to certain texts and images. The two ak’ab signs on the gopher wahy thereby reinforce its association with “darkness” or “nighttime” and, for purposes of this project, foreshadow the nocturnal sensibilities that manifest on the entire panel.

The creature’s staggered stance parallels the death god in the upper subsection, which may indicate its role as a companion to or follower of the larger deity. Representations of gopher creatures on Maya ceramics support this notion. Stone and

Zender observed that gophers are often depicted as supernatural pets—several of which are cradled by women in palace scenes.117 Further, gophers frequently appear in Maya artworks as mischievous vermin who prowl beneath the floors of sacred structures.118 The functions of these creatures seen in the material record, coupled with the broader identity of wahyoob as unnatural denizens linked to people and places, leads me to suggest that the gopher/mouse wahy on the stucco panel represents a combination of valences related to spiritual companionship, darkness, and impish activities.

Turtle-Foot Death

Of the known corpus of Maya death god representations, few have the monumental scale, stylistic refinement, and iconographic nuance as the figure in right- middle/bottom subsections. Most death gods in the archaeological record that resemble the Toniná figure are found on ceramic vessels. Using the root sign kam, as in kamay or kamiy, “dead one,”119 these deities are typically rendered with long, skeletal appendages,

116 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 145. 117 Ibid., 193. 118 Ibid. 119 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 33 massive skulls with stylized jaws, pronounced backbones, and elaborate accoutrements, which reference identities related to death, fire, gluttony, animals/reptiles, and sickness. These representations, moreover, often include iconography of sacrifice and decapitation. The style of the Toniná death god, to be sure, signals an artistic reimagining of the deity by local sculptors. Rather than the loose, sketch-like quality of death gods on small painted ceramics, this creature reflects the precise contouring, clean details, and massive scale one can achieve through stucco modeling—a unique aesthetic quality that evoked vessel imagery yet fostered novel viewing engagements (Figure 15). The text in the subsection, which runs vertically down the right side, names the figure a-ka-OK KAM- ya pi-a-AJAW, or A[h]k Ook Kamay Pi[p]a[’] Ajaw,120 “Turtle-Foot Death, Lord of Pipá.” The skeletal features of the body/head and the reticulated turtle shells on its feet complement the text (Figure 16). Moreover, Turtle-Foot Death’s forehead bears the signature mark of the kam sign—a disembodied eyeball with an undulating optic nerve.121 The combination of flesh and bone, or life and death, manifests on the skull, legs, and arms. For instance, thick strands of hair flow around the death eye and his forehead before disappearing behind the frame. The artists’ careful attention to hair is seen on several figures throughout the panel. Its lidless eyeball—rendered frontally—peers into the realm of the viewer. A fleshy, large ear fuses with the cheek and jawbones, which include seven pronounced teeth. His earlobe is pierced by the optic nerve of an eyeball- earring, which overlaps with the death-eye collar around his neck. Here, the artists show

120 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. David Stuart provided the initial reading of this phrase, naming the figure “Turtle Foot,” in Gene S. Stuart and George E. Stuart, Lost Kingdoms of the Maya (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 1993), 98-99. Érik Velásquez García translated the text as a-ka-OK CHAM-ya pi-a-AJAW, or A[h]k Ook Cham[ii]y Pi[p]a[’] Ajaw, “Turtle-Foot Death, Lord of Pipa’’ in Emilia Raggi Lucio, “El Friso de Toniná, Chiapas,” 21. 121 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 43. 34 a sense of playful layering by fusing iconographic elements of the sacred accoutrements (Illustration 1). The pot-bellied torso—often viewed as the bloated body of a rotting death god corpse—is marked by waving striations and delineated vertebrae of a backbone. The tail of his loincloth fills in the corner of the subsection—elucidating the artists’ desire to avoid wasted space in the panel. The oversized femur bones disappear behind the frame and reappear just above the fleshed ankles and feet. The skeletal right arm is capped with a fleshy hand that holds an ak’ab olla with a writing snake emerging from the vessel. A similar ak’ab olla with a snake is often associated with Chahk impersonators of the region—including K’an Joy Chitam of Palenque on the Dumbarton Oaks Panel 2 (Figure 17).122 At Toniná, however, the olla is inverted so that the snake pours out of the opening—perhaps indicating symbolic domination of the motif and, by extension, rulers such as K’an Joy Chitam who are associated with the object. A more definitive gesture of subjugation occurs at the bottom of the subsection where Turtle-Foot Death clutches the long hair of a decapitated head. The gruesome outcome of the beheaded individual—likely a lord of a rival faction—is reinforced by its closed eye and tongue protruding from the mouth.

The hair-grasping action depicted here relates to the larger Maya practice of displaying power over conquered rivals. In this case, Turtle-Foot Death’s grasp replaces the ruler’s sacred royal diadem. Linda Schele and Mary Miller noted that several monuments from Bonampak and Yaxchilán depict rulers grasping the hair of defeated captives. In Lintel 8 from Yaxchilán, for example, a ruler holds the hair of a captive posed in a contorted, humiliating posture. The authors state that hair-pulling “universally

122 Miller and Martin, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, 218. 35 symbolizes capture and defeat.”123 Building on this concept, Caitlin Earley suggested that this visual cue was rhetoric for subjugation in Classic Maya representations: “The hair- pulling motif was….a type of shorthand for the standard procedures and widely understood outcomes in Maya warfare….[t]o be held by the hair was to be marked for death.”124 At Toniná, holding decapitated heads by the hair appears in the visual program as far back as the early sixth century. In their discussion of the recently re-discovered Melbourne Stela, Nielsen et al. state that the slab likely depicts Ruler 1 grasping the severed head of a rival captive.125 It could be argued, therefore, that the act of severing and grasping the heads of rival individuals is an important aspect of the ritual-political legacy of the site throughout its history. The politics of this sacred act, however, are more complex than a simple relationship between two factions. In his reevaluation of its governmental structure, Eric Taladoire used epigraphic and archaeological evidence to nuance the ways that the Toniná polity managed networks of social and political ties with small regional centers and their lords, known as aj k’uhuun. Rather than occupying a peripheral role in the larger Toniná kingdom, these secondary centers were governed by aj k’uhuun nobles who could remain in their local centers even after a defeat at the hands of Toniná.126 David

Stuart’s work on Monument 122 supports this notion. Stuart compiled and analyzed epigraphic evidence from several sources to show that K’inich K’an Joy Chitam was allowed to govern in Palenque despite his defeat and subjugation in 711 C.E.127 Further, the secondary elites at the smaller polities could marry into Toniná’s royal family, which

123 Schele and Miller, The Blood of Kings, 212. 124 Earley, “At the Edge of the Maya World,” 104. 125 Nielsen et al., “‘Off with his head!’,” 1-16. 126 Taladoire, “Towards A Reevaluation of the Toniná Polity,” 45-70. 127 Stuart, “Longer Live the King,” 1-4. 36 fostered trustworthy relationships and led to better military forces for raids in faraway kingdoms (Figure 18).128 The loyalty developed by these interactions, in Taladoire’s estimation, helped Toniná defeat powerful rivals despite its relatively low population. The identity of Turtle-Foot Death reflects this important alliance-building infrastructure. The emblem glyph associated with the death god, which reads Pipá, is one of two royal courts cited in texts from Pomoná129—a historic rival of Palenque located roughly 50km to the west. Evidence for interactions between Toniná and Pomoná is also seen in other monuments on the site. For instance, Monument 77, which was discovered on the fifth terrace, mentions a noble lady from the Pomoná court named Pakb’ul. The woman is also designated the mother of an unknown Toniná figure.130 The presence of a foreign noblewoman in the epigraphic record further elucidates the practice of royal marriages that helped Toniná forge critical alliances against Palenque and other enemies. Moreover, Turtle-Foot Death demonstrates how the animate wahyoob acted as proxies for foreign people and places in ritual-political spaces. While the rivalry between Toniná and Palenque spans several centuries, the biggest victories over the latter occurred during the reign of Baaknal Chahk. The prolific ruler likely achieved these successes with the help of polities such as Pomoná and its vassals. Thus, I argue that the invocation of a wahy associated with the Pipá court, coupled with stylistic and epigraphic evidence from the Baaknal Chahk palace wall, indicate that the notorious ruler may have commissioned the panel to promote both Toniná’s dominance over Palenque and its primordial, mythically-sanctified sociopolitical allies. It is also possible that Ruler 4 or K’inich Ich’aak Chapat

128 Taladoire, “Towards A Reevaluation of the Toniná Polity,” 65. 129 David Stuart and Stephen D. Houston, “Classic Maya Place Names,” in Studies in Precolumbian Art and Archaeology 33 (1994): 33. 130 David Stuart, personal communication, 2019. 37 commissioned the panel to commemorate Baaknal Chahk and his accomplishments. In 711 C.E., Baaknal Chahk and his forces—including allied aj k’uhuun warriors—entered Palenque territory and captured K’an Joy Chitam II in what was labeled on Monument 122 as a “star war.”131 Thus, I argue that whether commissioned by the ruler, his regents, or subsequent Toniná leaders, it appears evident that the panel is related temporally and ideologically to the actions of Baaknal Chahk—particularly the events surrounding the defeat of K’an Joy Chitam. The remainder of the section contains only partial fragments. A second skeletal leg with a fleshy foot and ankle ornament is depicted on the right side of the bottom subsection. The appendage is roughly the same size as Turtle-Foot Death, which indicates that another large death god filled the left subsection. The death god’s loincloth starts in the bottom subsection and appears again in the middle-right area next to a small human leg resting on the frame. The leg is marked by the so-called “percentage sign” typically associated with the dark, anthropomorphic deity named Akan.132 The top subsection contains a large frontal wing with multiple layers of plumes that move behind the frame and end directly above Turtle-Foot Death. Like the serpentine motifs on the Baankal Chahk partition in the palace district, two snakes twist like figure- eight tumplines through the body of the avian creature. The wings also call to mind the drawings by Catherwood and La Farge of the doorway above E5-5. Unfortunately, almost nothing from the westernmost section of the panel remains. A diagonal portion of the framing device, however, indicates that a fourth scene was once rendered on the slope.

131 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 183-184. 132 Grube, “Akan,” 60. 38 SECTION II

The next four scenes in the panel depict images related to water, lightning, sacrifice, and mythological narratives (Figure 19). Except for a few fragmented motifs, the bottom and top portions of the right side are no longer extant. Portions of the top-left, bottom-left, and left-middle subsections are in a much better state of preservation. The figures and objects in the four scenes, which also include wahyoob that appear in the archaeological record of the Petén, may have served to complement or legitimize the political relationships of the panel and, by extension, the cosmic centering of the Toniná polity, by highlighting their association with ancient mythological origin stories. Only a few pieces remain in the bottom right corner of the section, yet these motifs provide intriguing information about the figures that once adorned the slope.

Rendered in profile, two boney legs with flared ankle bands emerge from behind the bottom of the frame. The feet, which are covered with “socks” of human flesh and nails, are rendered in a staggered stance to imply motion. The wavy lines on the legs, which denote bones, suggest that the middle-right subsection was originally filled with a wahy death god. A knotted garment in the section above the frame may be part of the loincloth worn by this figure.

The Lightning Axe and the Yellow Leaf Place

The second motif in the bottom corner—located to the right of the boney legs—is a decorated axe. Following widespread Maya representation of axes, the bottom of the instrument tapers to a thin, rounded poll with a curved handle extending from the top edge. The inside of the axe contains the sign for tuun, or “stone,” typically linked to objects made of flint (Figure 20).133 argued that axes with similar signs

133 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 168-169. 39 represent the “serpent-lightning axe” wielded by the rain god, Chahk, or his impersonators.134 As one of the oldest Mesoamerican deities, Chahk is invoked in themes of fecundity, war, and sacrifice of captives throughout the Maya universe. The Dumbarton Oaks Panel 2 in Palenque, for instance, depicts K’an Joy Chitam II as a Chahk impersonator who holds a lightning axe—rendered in the same style that appears in Toniná—above his head (Figure 17). The appearance of the lightning axe, moreover, may link the imagery at Toniná to mythical sacrifice. Taube observed that in several Classic period vessels Chahk is depicted as an executioner who wields his lightning axe to sacrifice jaguar babies on zoomorphic witz altars.135 I would argue that the axe—which includes the sign for ch’ak, or “chop,”136 in the handle/blade motif—relates to similar sacrificial functions. That the axe is a supernatural or mythological expression of a larger sacrificial system is possible due to the abundance of captive imagery found on the fifth terrace—including structures directly in front of the stucco panel—that will be discussed further in Chapter Three. Moreover, it is tempting to suggest that the reclining legs in this subsection align with captive representations at Toniná. The direction of the axe handle, however, suggests that the figure in the middle portion of the bottom subsection, now deteriorated, likely held the supernatural tool. Further, the restricted space of the subsection, coupled with traces of a circular motif where a head or headdress might have existed, indicates that the torso of the figure was upright. The direction of the axe and handle also suggests that the figure wielded the axe behind their back—an image consistent with several Chahk representations (Figure 23). I argue, therefore, that this character may be a Chahk

134 Karl Taube, “The Major Gods of Ancient Yucatan,” in Studies in Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, 32 (1992): 21-22. 135 Ibid., 24. 136 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 57. 40 or Chahk impersonator wahy who invoked the power of the rain god to assert cosmic- political authority. The hieroglyphic captions to the left of the wahy may denote a location associated with the figure. The text reads K’AN-na yo-po-TE’-NAL, or K’an Yopte’nal, “Yellow Leaf Place” (Figure 21).137 The logogram for “yellow,” k’an, likely has a spectrum of meanings that do not necessarily connect to the color. For instance, in some cases the k’an glyph is used to distinguish between carved and uncarved stones while in others it denotes something “precious.”138 Interestingly, the k’an glyph also marks the wooden paddles of Chahk’s fishing canoe139 and, thereby, could further elicit the presence of the rain god or his attributes in this portion of the section. Notwithstanding its multivalence, the sign is part of the floral term or name k’anyopte’ and likely references color in this context.140

The Water Lily Jaguar Wahy

The top subsection is another exquisite illustration of how the artists played with contour lines, shapes, and composition within restricted triangular spaces. The central figure, a jaguar wahy, is surrounded by scrolling vegetation that fills in the empty areas between the creature and the frame (Figure 22). In the top left portion, for example, the tip of a waving tendril extends to the end of the narrow corner. The end of another short, volute-shaped branch, located directly above the jaguar’s head, sprouts a flower with

137 Érik Velásquez García in Emilia Raggi Lucio, “El Friso de Toniná, Chiapas,” 27. Stuart provided one of the first readings of the text when he suggested that the yo sign visually derives from YOP, “leaf,” in David Stuart, “The Name of Paper: The Mythology of Crowning and Royal Nomenclature on Palenque’s Palace Tablet,” in Maya Archaeology 2 (2012): 123. Alexandre Tokovinine read this phrase as k’an yop te’-nal, “Yellow leaf tree place” or “Yellow-leaf tree,” in “Writing color,” 292-293. 138 Tokovinine, “Writing color,” 293-294. 139 Ibid., 294. 140 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 41 three stylized pedals. Three main portions of the jaguar are extant on the wall: 1) the head—which maintains its original shape and much of the incised details; 2) a portion of the spotted body; and 3) a paw with two remaining toes. The face is carved with tight hatch marks to indicate fur and deeply incised lines to show spots, heavy eyelids, and an ak’ab sign on the cheek.

The round, truncated torso creates a mirroring effect with the circular medallion of the frame. The upper portion of the body also appears to be wrapped in a loincloth or a scarf—a common attribute of the jaguar wahy. Traces of the second paw—now visible only through a dark outline—indicate that the appendage was rendered flush against the circular medallion. The surviving paw grips the banded portion of the frame as if the creature is climbing or holding onto the surface. The diagonal, sweeping motion of the motifs, coupled with the compositional dialogue between vegetation, appendages, and the framing device, produce frenetic visual energy that, ultimately, bolstered the jaguar’s iconographic potency. It is worth mentioning that jaguar manifestations are one of the most common threads among Mesoamerican cultures. For several millennia, their strength and beauty have been intrinsically tied to ritual-political ideologies and multimedia representations— particularly vis-à-vis the powerful wahyoob. Grube and Nahm compiled an inventory of jaguar wahyoob on ceramics that demonstrates diverse characteristics—including fires, serpents, enemas, clouds, deformities, colors, and, most important for this discussion, flowers. In several instances, the authors noted jaguars—named with the root word hix— associated with both the NIK sign, “flower,” and water lily iconography.141 I would note that several Late Classic polychrome vessels depict jaguars entangled with highly

141 Grube and Nahm, “A Census of Xibalba,” 691. 42 stylized water lilies, which resemble the stylistic approach employed by the Toniná panel artists.142 In Maya art, the water lily was also used to denote waters at the threshold of the Underworld.143 Thus, the artists potentially used the Water Lily Jaguar wahy to reinforce the panel’s symbolic association to darkness, caves, and liminality, which will be discussed later in the chapter.

I would further add that the combination of a jaguar, axe-wielding Chahk, and skeletal death god, which are all present in Section III, appears in several Maya ceramics. For example, a Late Classic Ik’ style vessel known as K521, portrays these figures engaged in a mythological scene related to the initiation of the rainy season (Figure 23).144 While most vessels with this grouping depict a jaguar reclining on a witz altar in preparation for sacrifice, which does not occur on the stuccoes, I argue that the artists at

Toniná were evoking this combination of protagonists to ascribe a sense of mythological familiarity—linked with sacrifice and agricultural fertility—to the stucco slope and its wahyoob.

Chan Mo’ Winkil and the Avian Deity

This subsection of the panel, which reflects elements of widespread ancient Maya mythologies, portrays a young lord resting against a boney band at the bottom of the subsection, a hieroglyphic text in the right corner, and an elaborate avian creature in the top corner. The human character, carved in profile, displays iconographic features commonly associated with the Hero Twin Hunahpú, or Juun Ajaw (One Lord), in the K’iche’ Maya narrative known as the Popol Vuh. The headband, dots on the cheek/arm,

142 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 173, ill. 4. 143 Ibid., 173. 144 James A. Doyle, “Creation Narratives on Ancient Maya Codex-Style Ceramics in the Metropolitan Museum,” in Metropolitan Museum Journal 51, no. 1 (January 1, 2016): 52. 43 and thick belt with a fringed tail are all features related to Juun Ajaw. Michael Coe was one of the first to point out that headbands with a circular motif and spot on the check, which appear in variations of the twentieth day-sign and title sign AJAW, connect cosmological and royal ideologies to Juun Ajaw.145 Moreover, Coe observed that several glyphs associated with the Hero Twins contained heads with fish fins and spondylus shells over the ears. To that end, the Toniná figure’s headband contains a fanged zoomorphic creature with gills and a fin above the head (Figure 24). This may be linked to the sign for xook, or “shark,” that is often associated with the origins of maize, wind, and rain.146 Virginia Fields also noted that headbands with shark-like creatures denote the so-called “Jester God”—one of the earliest symbols of Maya rulership.147 David Stuart later posited that the “Jester God” headband is a multivalent symbol connected to ritual amate bark paper, kingship, elite status, mythical narratives, and, interestingly, the Principal Bird Deity.148 Further, Stuart notes that “Jester God” or, more specifically, Ux Yop Huun, was intimately connected with K’an Joy Chitam of Palenque.149 The appearance of the headband at Toniná, therefore, could reference multivalent notions of mythic rulership. The young lord wears large earspools, a collar, and a deteriorated circular medallion—with a miniature zoomorphic head—all attached to the back of the belt piece.

A stylized cartouche with a circle in the center is located on the left thigh and two bands are worn around the ankles. While the right arm is unintentionally destroyed, the left arm

145 Michael Coe, “The Hero Twins: Myth and Image,” in The Maya Vase Book: A Corpus of Rollout Photographs of Maya Vases, Vol. 1. (New York: Kerr Associates, 1989), 165. 146 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 203. 147 Virginia Fields, “The Iconographic Heritage of the Maya Jester God,” in Sixth Palenque Round Table, 1986, ed. by Merle Greene Robertson and Virginia M. Fields (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991) 1. 148 Stuart, “The Name of Paper,” 116-142. 149 Ibid., 139. 44 is deliberately cut short at the wrist to represent the missing appendage associated with the Hero Twin in ancient . The text above the figure, which reads B’ALAM [HIX?] CH’AK-ka-ja U-K’AB 4-MO’-WINKIL, or b’ahlam [hix?] cha[h]kaj uk’ab’ Chan Mo’ Winkil, “He is Jaguar, Chan Mo’ Winkil’s Hand was Chopped,”150 further evinces the presence of a mythical hand-cutting event (Figure 25).

It is unclear, however, what the jaguar reference alludes to in this context. It is also worth noting that the horizontal motif on which Chan Mo’ Winkil lies resembles the “bone throne” typically associated with creation myths, the wahyoob, and royal authority. Moreover, the banded seat, which is capped with a trefoil condyle, likely evokes the power of the Underworld. Another example exists with the Palace Tablet of Palenque where a young K’an Joy Chitam II sits upon one of three similar thrones in the composition—each evoking a jaguar, serpent, and shark (for water), respectively.151 Aside from its symbolic function, I suspect that the artists used the motif as a pragmatic solution to the compositional challenge of rendering the lord in the awkward corner of the triangular subsection without jumbling his body or losing a sense of the earth beneath him. By grounding the figure, the artists make abundantly clear the juxtaposition between the earthly figure in the bottom of the composition and the celestial avian deity residing in the top register.

The plumed creature is rendered with iconographic attributes related to the ubiquitous Mesoamerican Principal Bird Deity (Figure 26). Rolling strands of hair rise above the great bird’s ear adornment and fall onto its forehead. The being’s hooked,

150 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. Stuart also notes that the jaguar sign, which is now deteriorated, could be HIX rather than B’ALAM. The Water Lily Jaguar wahy in the top subsection, intriguingly, appears to have three dots in the eye—which, in texts, indicates HIX. Érik Velásquez García translated the phrase as B’ALAM CH’AK-ka-ja u-K’AB’ 4-mo-NAL-la, b’ahlam, cha[h]kaj uk’ab’ Chan Monal, “He is Jaguar, Chan Monal’s arm was cut” in Emilia Raggi Lucio, “El Friso de Toniná, Chiapas,” 26. 151 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 94-95. 45 gaping maw, bearded jaw, and supernatural eye imbue the figure with a sense of palpable energy. The motifs along its back and around its neck likely relate to shiny metals and jewels—objects that reflect its divine power. The pendant at the end of its beaded necklace, for example, resembles the sign YAX, “blue-green,” that may be a multivalent reference to iridescent quetzal plumage, sky band imagery, and/or precious jade adornments.152 The creature’s long, overlapping plumes furl upward before descending onto Chan Mo’ Winkil’s feet. Here, the connection between the figures is elegantly made clear by placing two of the feathers in contact with the tips of the young lord’s toes.

Further, the appearance of these two figures in the subsection, who invoke concepts related to the Maya origin myth of the Principal Bird Deity and Hero Twin, has led some scholars to interpret the entire panel as an extension of the Popol Vuh narrative.

Originally reproduced through oral traditions, the Popol Vuh was written with Latin script by the K’iche’ people of the Guatemalan Highlands in the middle of the sixteenth century. While the document records the cosmological, historical, and mythological traditions of the K’iche’, the story of the “Principal Bird Deity” and “Hero Twin” appears in numerous representations of the pre-Hispanic material record. The myth follows Vucub-Caquix, or Seven-Macaw, a vainglorious avian deity who could not see past his feathers and riches, and the youthful Hero Twins, Hunahpú and Xbalanqué, who sought to destroy the deity for his pride.153 After camping out under the nance tree from which Vucub-Caquix perched and ate its fruit, Hunahpú shot the bird in the jaw and teeth with his blowgun—caused him to fall from the tree. Before Hunahpú could finish

152 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 123. 153 Delia Goetz, et al. Popol Vuh: The Sacred Book of the Ancient Quiché Maya, 1st ed. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1950), 95-98. 46 the job, Vucub-Caquix seized him by the arm and tore it out. Eventually, the Hero Twins were able to take away the deity’s riches, kill him, and recover Hunahpú’s arm. Ancient invocations of the Principal Bird Deity, however, do not necessarily embody notions of vanity and pride. Julia Guernsey’s forthcoming work on Preclassic Izapa avian deities suggests these mythical entities were vital to creating and maintaining social order:

…I would argue that imagery like that on Izapa Stela 4, while invoking tales concerning the Principal Bird Deity, was doing more than retelling mythological stories: it was establishing the discourse for divinely sanctioned rulership, providing a blueprint for the actions of kings, and visualizing a system of proper social order.154 Similarly, the avian deity at Toniná is likely an illustration of the patron(s) divine authority. Rather than portraying the bird’s defeat at the hands of the Hero Twin, we could be witnessing the power and authority of the king as manifested through a richly attired supernatural bird deity who towers over a subjugated, or “defeated,” Chan Mo’ Winkil. Moreover, the creature may be related to the broader wahyoob concepts of the panel. Helmke and Nielsen observed that wahy entities have been tied to mythical narratives—including the deer wahy, Huk Si’ip, mentioned earlier in this text. I suspect that the avian deity represented in the stucco panel also exemplifies the supernatural concepts of the wahyoob while simultaneously representing ancient mythical narratives. By juxtaposing the avian deity/Chan Mo’Winkil figure with a jaguar wahy, Chahk lightning axe, and death god, the patron(s) of the stucco panel linked their royal authority and geopolitical relationship to both ancient mythological ideologies and the supernatural wahyoob. While the avian deity and Chan Mo’ Winkil characters in the subsection

154 Guernsey, “Preclassic Sculpture and the Popol Vuh,” unpaginated, in press. 47 ostensibly relate to the Popol Vuh, I would argue that such an assertion ascribes anachronistic and homogenized views to the stucco panel.

SECTION III

The top and right subsections on the eastern half of the quadratic scene are destroyed or covered by earth and rubble. The bottom and left portions contain two extant wahy figures and a hieroglyphic sequence (Figure 27). The wahy and inscriptions in the bottom register balance on the elaborate groundline that runs the length of the entire stucco panel. The wahy at the top of the work is carefully rendered to project a sense of supernatural hovering or flight.

The Smoker-Contortionist Wahy

Though the ak’ab sign appears throughout the Wahyoob Stucco Panel, it appears most frequently in images of this section—including the hieroglyphic sequence in the bottom subsection adjacent to the “nighttime” cigar-smoking wahy character. The first glyph is written a-AK’AB-li, or ahk’baal, “The Nighttime/Darkness of…”.155 The second glyph, which is difficult to read, could state a-K’UH-[PAT?]-la. Stuart suggests that the middle sign, now undecipherable, depicts a leafy motif that may relate to the tobacco plants used in ancient and contemporary Maya cigars.156 The wahy figure to the left of the text, who exhales stylized scrolls of smoke or breath from his mouth, further evinces the possibility that the text names the figure as a cigar-smoking wahy of the night (Figure 28). Situated horizontally within the composition, the near-life-size upper torso of the wahy twists to face the viewer in a frontal position while the legs, in profile, sprawl apart

155 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 156 Ibid. 48 to fill the right portion of the subsection. His right leg reaches up toward the frame; his left leg bends the opposite direction toward the groundline. Similarly, the arms move away from the body and, together with the legs, create a slight “X” shape that produces corporeal tension—suggesting imminent movement. The figure’s right hand, which is enlarged, rests flush against the groundline. His left arm, conversely, bends at the elbow to fit within the upper corner of the subsection. This character is one of few on the panel where a specific color may be evident. Mateos González noted that the contour lines of the certain characters on the panel were painted a dark red to emphasize their three-dimensionality.157 Based on similar images throughout the site—including paintings/ceramics from the bodega and figures on the Baaknal Chahk partition from the palace district—it can be deduced that the body of the figure was likely painted in a light red or umber hue with dark red contour lines. The Smoker is nude except for a loincloth, ankle/wrist bracelets, a collar with a chevron pattern, and a headband with a jade celt in the upper tail. The chevron motif, which is associated with captive sacrifice on several monuments throughout the site, may link the figure to the broader themes of politics and sacrifice on the panel. Moreover, the three knots in the wrist bands resemble the paper bands in representations of ritual blood sacrifice such as the cauac spear from the fourth terrace stucco panel. The jade symbol in the headband is likely used to denote a sense of brightness. The twisting body of wahy relates to the contortionists or acrobats seen throughout the Maya sphere. Karl Taube posited that the Maize God contortionist may link to the , maize plants, and cardinal directions.158 Houston, Stuart, and Taube

157Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 94. 158 Karl A. Taube, “The Symbolism of Jade in Classic Maya Representation,” in Ancient Mesoamerica 16, no. 1 (2005): 27; See also Karl A. Taube, “The Classic Maya Maize God: A Reappraisal” (San Francisco: Pre-Columbian Art Research Institute, 1985), 171-181. 49 further suggested that the twisting body of the deity, which often appears to lack joints, moves in free motion as if directly referencing the plants he embodies.159 The free movement of the Smoker-Contortionist’s body, to be sure, may signal the wahy being’s relationship to cigar smoke, air, or animate winds. At least six elongated gusts of air with bifurcated scrolls at the tips radiate from different areas on and around the figure. While most of these gusts could be cigars emanating from his body, at least two of the motifs emerge from behind the groundline—indicating a separate source of wind. Stone and Zender note that wind was often a cause of fear for the ancient Maya as it brought drought and disease.160 This may correlate with colonial ethnographic studies, particularly from the Chilam Balam of Kaua, that mentions evil winds carrying illnesses.161

However, winds were also symbolic of pleasurable things including jade and music162—elements that could be part of the iconography of the smoking wahy. Notions of ritual dance or celebration, for instance, are associated with similar wahyoob entities on Late Classic Ik’ style ceramics, which originate from the site of Motul de San José in the Maya Lowlands of Guatemala. Scholars such as Dorie Reents-Budet et al. and Nikolai Grube observed that historical texts accompanying these scenes refer to the act of dancing with phrases such as u-bah ti ahk’ot ti , “he goes to dance with/on…”163 In K791, for example, a group of skeletal, animal, and human impersonator wahyoob—some

159 Stephen Houston, David Stuart, and Karl Taube, “The Classic Maya Body,” in The Memory of Bones: Body, Being, and Experience among the Classic Maya (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006) 45. 160 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 175. 161 Helmke and Nielsen, “Hidden Identity & Power in Ancient Mesoamerica,” 59. 162 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 175. 163 Dorie Reents-Budet et al., “Painting Styles, Workshop Locations and Pottery Production,” in Painting the Maya Universe: Royal Ceramics of the Classic Period, ed. by Dorie Reents-Budet (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994) 172; Nikolai Grube, “Classic Maya Dance: Evidence from Hieroglyphs and Iconography,” in Ancient Mesoamerica 3, no. 2 (1992): 201-18. 50 floating in the composition and others positioned on the groundline—dance and play musical instruments (Figure 37). Although K791 does not have a smoking wahy, the Toniná figure is caught in an action pose that calls to mind the dancers rendered on the ceramic. Whether a contortionist or dancer-contortionist combination, the twisting body of the smoking wahy elicits the bizarre or unusual nature of the wahyoob.

The Serpent-Centipede Wahy

The upper-left portion of the subsection also demonstrates the artists’ careful manipulation of composition within the triangular space. The area is filled with an undulating serpentine creature whose tripartite tail touches each side of the bottom corner of the frame (Figure 29). Despite its fragmented state, the “S-curve” of the serpent’s body is detectable. The middle section of the body twists to reveal a thick skeletal backbone and the scales, or scutes, of its underbelly. The upper portion of the body, which faces the viewer, contains five ak’ab glyphs with death eyes that lead to a death collar around its neck. The right and left arms are positioned to fit in the corner and down the diagonal band of the frame, respectively. The skeletal, insect-like head is rendered in profile to reveal elongated jawbones—a hooked maxilla/bearded mandible, a large eye, and oval ear adornment. Even with the missing sections, the contouring of the body artfully draws the eye around the entire subsection. It is unclear what colors filled in the character, but similar creatures on vessels are painted in a light color such as ochre with red or black accents—pigments that appear frequently on the panel. While it is difficult to determine the specific functions of the wahy entity, snake and centipede wahyoob on Classic period vessels—who share visual characteristics with the creature—reveal much about its identity. Numerous serpent representations, for instance, portray skeletal, bearded jaws, large eyes, death collars, and other death-related

51 iconographic features. Centipede wahyoob in ceramics, moreover, evoke a similar sense of danger, fright, and the grotesque embodied by the Toniná creature. On K1256, a stylized centipede from Palenque named Sak Baak Naah Chapaht, or “white bone carapace centipede,” wraps around the body of a human wahy (Figure 38). Stone and Zender note that Maya centipedes were popular icons of warfare and, consequently, may explain why at least five rulers at Toniná bear the name “Chapaht.”164 Furthermore, representations of serpents—especially those with centipede attributes—were used to represent caves and the Underworld.165 Thus, I suggest that the nocturnal serpent- centipede at Toniná is embedded with messages of nightmarish fears, death, supernatural realms, and, possibly, local militaristic accomplishments.

THE CH’EEN FRAME

The latticed motif, which extends across all four sections, is one of the most artistically and conceptually intriguing characteristics of the stucco panel. The sculptors went to exceptional lengths to render precise angles and acute details for each massive band that connects the circular medallions in the top and middle registers (Figure 30). The two most common interpretations of the piece suggest that it relates to the cardinal points of Maya cosmology and/or sacrificial decapitation. Moreover, scholars have made several cross-cultural comparisons between the lattice shape and others found in ancient and colonial Mesoamerica. Building on these interpretations, my analysis aims to develop a more nuanced view of the frame’s artistic, ritual, and cosmological significance. The characters in the three extant sections are rendered to appear behind or level with the latticed feature. In several areas, the artists were careful to show an intimate

164 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 201. 165 Ibid. 52 relationship between the bands and the figures they cover. To that end, the feature acts as a frame that holds the images within the pictorial field. I recognize that the word “frame” may be perceived as a reductive moniker; yet the artistic/theoretical functions of the motif make the term, in my mind, the most apropos shorthand for this discussion. However, the iconography of the frame, which includes references to the ch’een sign, meaning “caves,” lead me to designate the feature the Ch’een Frame. Notwithstanding its deteriorated state, the extant sections show that the frame was shaped in a cross-pattern with at least three, possibly five, vertical dividers. Two parallel bands at the top and bottom form the horizontal borders that encapsulate the subsections. The bands of the frame are covered in triadic layers of pointed shafts—each incised with deep striations. Most scholars agree that the pointed motifs, which also adorn the circular medallions, represent tufts of avian feathers. As I show later in this chapter, however, the bands may be covered in layers of sacred vegetation. The medallions in the middle register—situated at the junction of the four diagonal bands of each section—contain inverted heads with large ear ornaments, headbands, and hair falling toward the ground (Figure 31). The eyes of the figures appear closed while the mouths—particularly in the far-left head—are wide open to reveal teeth.

The medallion in the top horizontal band consists of an elaborate skull with supernatural earspools and a death collar. Yadeun documented two other skulls, now broken off the panel, to the west and east of the extant skull.166 The bodega also contains a medallion originally located in the west-middle portion of the frame that depicts a skull with snakes emerging from the eye sockets. Thus, I argue that the upper band projected some of the strongest messages of death, fear, and the grotesque on the panel. Themes of

166 Yadeun, Toniná: El Laberinto Del Inframundo, 93-96. 53 supernatural death, to be sure, decorate the entire frame. For instance, a small banner with a “percentage sign” dangles from the collar of the central skull medallion (Figure 32). A larger death banner with overlapping folds also extends onto the vertical band. A vessel from the New Orleans Museum of Art depicts a similar motif held by a boney death god. Jacinto Quirarte suggested that the arrested movement of the figure, coupled with the death banner in-hand, implies that the deity is engaged in a processional dance.167 Linking the imagery at Toniná to a ritual procession is problematic, yet several wahy entities on the panel reflect notions of dance or movement.

Five extant condyle joints are seen on the outside of the vertical frame. At first glance, the bones appear to move straight across the band underneath the banner. However, the two joints at the bottom would have linked to a set of angled crossbones, which remains on the frame. Traces of large crossbones in this band and on all the extant vertical bands of the frame are visible through color variations, raised stucco impressions, and, in some areas, re-shaping of the feathers/leaves to fit between the bones (Figure 33). Additionally, large femur bones were added to the surface of the diagonal bands, which are seen in similar palimpsestic traces—including a large fragment above the avian deity. The horizontal portion that runs along the groundline resembles the zoomorphic or anthropomorphic terrestrial bands seen throughout Mesoamerica—particularly in

Maya representations of mythic origin stories. The Maize God in the north wall of the murals, for example, stands upon the feathered body of a as he receives a flowering gourd from a maize maiden.168 Examples from the Late Classic period further elucidate the serpentine iconography of the stucco panel. The paired circles

167 Jacinto Quirarte, “Representations of Underworld Processions in Maya Vase Painting: An Iconographic Study,” in Maya Archaeology and Ethnohistory, ed. by Norman Hammond and Gordon R. Willey. Austin (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1979) 118-119. 168 Mary Ellen Miller, The Art of Mesoamerica: From Olmec to Aztec, 5th ed. (Thames & Hudson, 2012), 73. 54 and triangular motifs on the band—the latter of which are filled in with scale-like crosshatching—can be seen on Lintel 15 from Yaxchilán, among other representations. The bodies of these serpents create a conduit between divine and mortal worlds— particularly the Underworld—by evoking water, cave entrances, and ominous attributes.169 Intriguingly, the artists chose to manifest the undulating characteristic of a snake by twisting a serpentine body around the horizontal rows at the top and bottom of the band (Figure 34). The body alternates between wraps in front and behind the rows— indicating a sense of depth. The choice to maintain the overall flat surface of the band, however, was likely to preserve a solid groundline on which the figures in the scenes could stand. The sculptors, therefore, fused the stylized features of serpentine iconography with pragmatic compositional functions.

Most interpretations of the frame and serpent groundline focus on cosmological and cross-cultural possibilities. The name “El Mural de las Quatro Eras,” for example, stems from Juan Yadeun’s assertion that the head medallions are decapitated prisoners who reside in the four suns of the Maya cycle of time. In his view, the suns represent the forces of each season that bring youth/war, water/fertility, maturity, and death—all linked to the cardinal directions.170 Echoing this notion, Mateos González used her color analysis of the so-called “descending suns” to relate the medallions to the cardinal points and their symbolic colors: “[T]he section of the mural featuring the sun with yellow hair would be related to the south; the black-haired sun with the west, and the other two suns could have had their hair painted one red, related to the east, and the other white or blue, related to the north.”171

169 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 201. 170 Juan Yadeun, “Mural de las Cuatro Eras, Toniná, Chiapas,” in Arqueología Mexicana, Especial 44, Mundo Maya: Esplendor de una cultura (2012): n/a. 171 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 76. Translation by the author. 55 Certainly, the frame may invoke concepts of ancient Mesoamerican cosmology through its quincunx shape. The five points of the quincunx consist of the sky (north), earth (south), sunrise and sunset (east and west), and the axis mundi (center).172 Each section, or quadrant, of the stucco frame, makes four points with the bands and a central point with the medallions. Further, the color of the hair on the decapitated heads and the bands might also link to directionality. The pigments from the colonial Yucatec color system—red/east, yellow/south, black/west, white/north, and blue-green/center—all manifest in different parts of the frame.173 While there is not enough evidence to posit specific cosmological functions of the frame, the design and color scheme likely denote some connection to cardinal directions and symbolic color. This will be analyzed further in the latter portion of the chapter.

Scholars have also related the panel to pan-Mesoamerican designs with similar latticed characteristics. Martin and Grube compared the frame to the mural paintings in the Atetelco compound at Teotihuacán. The authors noted that the Atetelco feathered frame contains similar medallions with inverted heads.174 Emilia Raggi Lucio also compared the Toniná frame to the Teotihuacán designs. While the connection between

Teotihuacán rulers and early Classic Maya polities is becoming more evident,175 I argue that there is not enough evidence currently to support direct influence or emulation between Teotihuacán and the Wahyoob Stucco Panel at Toniná. Further, evidence on the

172 Sharer and Traxler, 2006: 704. 173 Houston et al., Veiled Brightness: A History of Ancient Maya Color (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2009), 13. 174 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 185. 175 David Stuart recently suggested that the role of the historical ruler from Teotihuacán, Owl Striker, and his influence over Maya lowland sites between 374 and 429 C.E. David Stuart, “Owl Striker at ” (Mesoamerica Center Colloquium, 2019). In her work, “Disconnection, Foreign Insignia, and Political Expansion: Teotihuacan and the Warrior Stelae of Piedras Negras,” Andrea Stone argued that the transfer of costume/art/beliefs from Teotihuacan to Late Classic Maya polities did not need to occur exclusively through conquest; rather, Stone suggests that such transfers were often “ideological rallying points” that accompanied political reorganization, among other reasons (1989): 153-172. 56 frame itself needs to be more thoroughly analyzed before such cross-cultural comparisons can be established. To that end, some of the most revealing iconographic elements on the frame include the bones and crossbones—which often relate to the word ch’een. In several Maya languages, including Tzotzil, the word ch’een signifies a “cave,” “well,” and a

“grave.”176 Signs for ch’een take several visual forms such as disembodied eyes, impinged bones, mandibles, and crossbones, which often appear on the bodies of wahy creatures in ceramic vessels. Crossbones and skulls are also portrayed on stone monuments at Maya sites such as . A stone platform in the Cementerio Group depicts a skull with two sets of crossbones—possibly representing woven cloth patterns. Stone and Zender argue that the platform, created in the Terminal Classic period, is one of the first instances that a crossbones motif was juxtaposed with a skull—a design later appropriated by European pirate groups.177 However, crossbones on the Toniná frame, which was commissioned nearly two-hundred years earlier, surround the skull medallion in the top register. The crossbones and femur bones that decorated the feather/leaf bands at Toniná, to be sure, likely evoke the ch’een sign to connect the latticed frame to caves—the watery entrances to the Underworld. In this sense, the frame acts as a supernatural boundary that delineates between the wahyoob of the divine sleep world and the elite supplicants from the earthly realm. One might compare the frame to a transparent veil through which sacred interlocutors communicate and perform ritual acts. I would further argue that the wahyoob in the scene do not represent a static snapshot of one historic event, but agentive creatures who perpetually engage with an audience that seeks to manifest concepts of

176 Stone and Zender, Reading Maya Art, 133. 177 Ibid., 55. 57 health and geopolitical relationships through a sensorially-rich visual experience. The frame, in my estimation, bolstered this engagement by bringing the liminal space of caves to the fifth terrace platform. The notion of metaphysical boundaries on the frame is further evinced by the ethnohistorical records of the Maya region. Helmke and Grube noted a passage from the

Ritual of the Bacabs that mentions an incantation associated with ailments afflicting travelers who wander by road or on foot. The incantation discusses “four roads” or “cross-roads,” which are dangerous zones inhabited by the wahyoob of illness, who grant access to the Underworld.178 Ethnographic data from the Chiapas Highlands yield similar ideologies. Evon Vogt observed that the Zinacantecan chanul, or animal spirit companions, reside behind the gates of supernatural corrals situated in a majestic volcanic mountain.179 Moreover, Ayala Falcón wrote that Tzeltal and Tzotzil mountain-dwelling ancestral gods named Totilme’il, or “Father-mother,” guard the wayjeltik (wahyoob) by keeping them corralled within caves.180 When members of the community do not behave according to local rules, the Totilme’il remove the supernatural barriers so that other animal spirit companions, or nawals, can consume the wayjeltik. The frame at Toniná, which includes supernatural iconography and crisscrossing bands, may represent a similar relationship between corral and gate. The wahyoob of the stucco panel are ensconced, or bound, within the supernatural barrier that exists at the crossroads between the physical world and the Underworld.

178 Helmke and Nielsen, “Hidden Identity & Power in Ancient Mesoamerica,” 62. 179 Vogt, “Human Souls and Animal Spirits,” 371-372. 180 Ayala and Schele, “The History of Tonina through Its Inscriptions,” 95-96, 58 The ritual significance of the frame may also relate to contemporary Maya ceremonial practices that utilize vegetal altars. The Prayersayers documented by Krystyna Deuss in the communities of Highland Guatemala, for instance, construct altars with vegetal corners or bowers.181 Ritual specialists use these altars in prayer rounds, in part, to contact ancestors to petition for the good of the community and a successful harvest. In one case from the festival of Ilom Patan in Santa Eulalia, the practitioner constructs an altar with four pine branches at the corners and candles, liquor, and wildflowers in the center.182 Deuss asserted that the arrangement of these altars resembles the four corners and center in Maya cosmology. Several other examples, moreover, contained leafy arches sprawling above the altar—including one from the Maltin mountain ridge with large vegetal bowers and a closed back to mimic cave enclosures.183

Altars in several Ch’orti’ communities also manifest concepts related to demon spirits, supernatural boundaries, health, and cardinal directions. Traditional healers invoke various deities to cure illnesses—many of which are represented by winds. The illnesses are often carried by evil spirits, who live at spiritually active places known as vivo.184 Like the supernatural crossroads discussed in the Ritual of the Bacabs, vivo is a place of transition such as a path, road, or even a plant with dangerous leaves where spirits can move back and forth between realms. Moreover, ritual healers typically enter homes and create a fence, or a makte’, so that the masters of disease cannot pass the

181 Krystyna Deuss, “Festival of Ilom Patan,” in Shamans, Witches, and Maya Priests: Native Religion and Ritual in Highland Guatemala, 1st ed. (London: Guatemalan Maya Centre, 2007), 86-97. 182 Ibid., 87. 183 Ibid., 89. 184 Kerry Hull, personal communication, 2020. This communication derives from Hull’s presentation at the 2020 Mesoamerica Meetings at UT-Austin titled “Myth, Ritual, and Etiology in Ch’orti’ Maya Sacred Geography.” 59 sacred space. Home altars made of leaves also form a spiritual border that, through rituals invoking the quincunx, hermetically seal the space. Evidence for sacred leaves in ancient contexts appears in epigraphic and iconographic records. For example, a glyphic sign with three leaves emerging from a hand may relate to the sacred, dangerous chichicaste plants, or lah, that grow around the region. Like stinging nettle, the leaves are covered in spines and vicious hairs that cause painful rashes. To that end, contemporary Maya are known to grow chichicaste on fences around their property to protect against intruders.185 In the archaeological record, the root form of this plant glyph is often seen in partition-like motifs that rise above rulers— ensconcing them within the scene. In a codex-style vessel from Nakbe, for instance, a frame-like motif with one vertical band and two horizontal bands cradles a jaguar wahy

(Figure 35). The bands are covered in layers of spiny leaves—all grouped in threes— with several dots down the middle to indicate the stems. The bands are also adorned with crossbones and skeletal heads with death eyes at the corners. This motif, which is seen on several Classic and Late Classic Maya vessels, is generally interpreted as a so-called “throne” for wahyoob or wahy impersonators. However, the similarities between these bands and the frame at Toniná, coupled with ethnohistorical and ethnographic records, leads me to argue that images are, in fact, supernatural barriers, or stylized cave entrances, that divide the scenes on ceramics between earthly and metaphysical realms. Further, the connection between these vessels and the Toniná stucco frame may imply that the latter is adorned with leaves—possibly even chichicaste—rather than avian feathers. It is also important to note that chichicaste is often used as a medicinal plant in indigenous communities throughout Latin

185 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 60 America,186 which may indicate a health component of the frame and, also, a cross-over with the illnesses embodied by the wahyoob in the panel. The formal distinctions between the pointed motifs on the frame and the feathers in winged creatures in the subsections also speak to this possibility. The feathers in the composition tend to be long, thin, and rounded at the ends; the designs on the frame are thicker and pointed at the tips. Moreover, the red stems and blueish base color of the designs may not be clear evidence of feathers. Houston et al. argue that the technology used to create Maya blue in the Late Classic period, which was a time of great color experimentation, was also used to produce a range of greens.187 For example, the same bands are seen on the third-terrace stucco chamber, which also contains crossbones motifs, that are outlined in red and filled in with both blue and green hues (Figure 7). It is, therefore, possible that the artists were experimenting with Maya blue to achieve a color that represented iridescent vegetal tendrils. Should this be correct, the fifth terrace frame is completely enveloped in leaves that evoke both danger/pain and communal health. Looking at the panel holistically, the four scenes are arranged to depict human and small animal wahyoob in the bottom registers, avian and serpentine creatures in the upper, celestial portion, and death gods that seem to transcend the physical/conceptual realms of each register. The themes of the panel writ large relate to geopolitical relationships and ancient myths manifested through dark entities. The encompassing frame, moreover, is littered with leaves, bones, skulls, death banners, and decapitated heads to denote ritual health and/or dangerous liminality.

186 James A. Duke, Duke's Handbook of Medicinal Plants of Latin America (CRC Press, 2007) 730. 187 Houston et al., Veiled Brightness, 84-85. 61 Chapter Three: Examining Style, Viewership, and Place-Making

The first two chapters of this project analyze the archaeological, formal, and iconographic valences of the stucco panel—focusing on specific social and ritual-political aspects tied to each scene or subsection. The third chapter evokes critical theory regarding stylistic conventions, space, and ritual performance to better understand how the panel was engaged by viewers/supplicants and how it dialogically communicated with other structures/artworks on the fifth terrace. Moreover, the chapter aims to develop a more complete picture of how the fifth terrace, and, by extension, the stucco panel, contributed to the phenomenological processes of commemoration, social memory, and place-making at Toniná during the Late Classic period. A nuanced perspective of viewership and ritual engagements helps provide valuable emic perspectives. Art historical methods related to scale, for instance, help determine the experiential relationship between bodies—both human and supernatural— and the images rendered on monumental and/or small-scale artworks. Spatial theories are also helpful when determining how messages were encoded in representations and received by viewers. To that end, the codes imbued in built environments create unique engagements that are internalized and reproduced in social memory. In this chapter, I draw from these and other theoretical models to illustrate the potential ontological meanings of the artworks on the fifth terrace.

STYLISTIC ANALYSIS

As I demonstrated in the second chapter, the design elements of the four extant scenes on the stucco panel reflect several stylistic traits related to polychrome ceramics from the Classic and Late Classic periods. While those examples focused on iconographic and epigraphic similarities, this section investigates the artistic 62 characteristics shared between these sources to elucidate the visual strategies enacted by the Toniná patrons and sculptors. I do not suggest, however, that the Wahyoob Stucco Panel represents complete emulation of polychrome ceramics with wahy entities—most of which come from the central Petén region. The artists at Toniná were likely inspired by the stylistic attributes of large-scaled stucco panels from other polities in Chiapas— including Palenque. The Late Classic stucco panels of Palenque’s House D,188 for instance, display stylistic and iconographic features seen at Toniná—not the least being a scene portraying a ruler grasping a captive’s hair within a boney frame. To that end,

Maya ceramics could be adopting traits from architectural representations that then manifest in new monuments in a sort of artistic loop. Regardless of which came first in the chain, the material record at Toniná supports a strong connection between polychrome ceramics and monumental stuccoes. The French Toniná Project recorded several IMIX complex (Late Classic Period) polychrome vessels with images of royal figures, supernatural motifs, and stylized hieroglyphic captions not unlike what is seen in central Petén ceramic imagery. In one case, a profiled ruler or ritual attendant stands with a stylized, layered banner, which shows up in some Petén ceramics and, interestingly, on the Ch’een Frame at Toniná

(Figure 36). Moreover, two sherds from the site bodega depict motifs that appear directly in the stucco panels of the acropolis. The first—a fragment mentioned in Chapter One— depicts a ritual cauac spear seen in a fourth terrace stucco wall. The most intriguing sherd, however, contains the same layered feather/leaf motif from the Ch’een Frame emanating from a circular medallion in the upper portion of the rim.189 Again, this does

188 Miller and Martin, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, 246. 189 These potsherds are part of the ongoing INAH, Chiapas conservation projects, and, therefore, could not be photographed for this thesis. 63 not imply that the artists directly copied ceramic imagery; however, a stylistic relationship clearly exists between stucco panels and ceramic images at the site—which surely would have been integral to viewing engagements.

Style

Before an analysis of this linkage can be conducted, it is important to say a few words on style as a theory in art history and Mesoamerican studies. Certainly, the discussion of artistic style is helpful when determining the time and place of given work. Earlier in this essay, I determined that the panel matches iconographic and formal practices that were prevalent in early eighth-century stucco monuments. This connection yields important information regarding the patron of and the sociopolitical atmosphere surrounding the imagery. However, style is not simply an objective science for determining attribution. Irene Winter effectively argued that style in artworks cannot be summarily viewed as a set of attributes within a pre-determined period; rather, stylistic characteristics are consciously evoked by individual artists or collectives to reflect specific worldviews.190 Moreover, Winter suggests that style enhances meaning, in part, through its localized, affective power:

The key to “style-as-meaning” lies, I would argue, in cultural context and in the emotional response invoked/provoked by the work…It is style, I would argue, that sets up the parameters for and the emotional linkages of affective experience, via the culturally conditioned sensory motors of visual perception. And in that respect, issues or style engage both properties of the work and the functions of response. In short, style both inheres in a work and lives in the eye of the beholder.191

190 Irene J. Winter, “The Affective Properties of Styles: An Inquiry into Analytical Process and the Inscription of Meaning in Art History,” in Picturing Science, Producing Art, ed. by C.A. Jones and P. Gallison (New York and London: Routledge, 1998), 62-67. 191 Ibid., 72. 64 Here, Winters argues that styles are not necessarily unconscious manifestations of a given spatiotemporal circumstance; rather, they can be intentionally chosen to elicit certain reactions from the viewer(s). In this view, iconography should not be privileged over style as the primary source for meaning in a particular artwork—especially considering the idiosyncratic ways that style can be manipulated by local artists to serve specific needs. At Toniná, for instance, the stylistic choices of the artists reflect a conscious effort to create an affective experience related to the site (political, ritual messages) as well as broader Maya concepts of the supernatural. More specifically, the stucco panel on the fifth terrace likely included ceramic designs—particularly those invested in wahyoob imagery—to elicit certain viewing experiences. In several Maya ceramic designs, for example, the composition is rendered so that viewers are charged with rotating cylindrical vessels to comprehend the pictorial scenes. The twisting action required to digest the entire tableau fostered a haptic, intimate relationship between viewers (mostly elite citizens) and the vessels they invoked in political, economic, and ritual activities. Dorie Reents-Budet noted that interior surfaces on several vessels from the Maya material record demonstrate clear wear patterns—evidence of food service and related ritual activities.192 Hieroglyphic inscriptions also describe the function of vessels in ritual feasting practices with phrases like “his drinking vessel” or “his plate for tree-fresh cacao.”193 In royal feast scenes—including those of royal marriage rites between sites— small ceramics are often shown as integral parts of the ceremony. By incorporating

192 Dorie Reents-Budet, Painting the Maya Universe: Royal Ceramics of the Classic Period, ed. by Dorie Reents-Budet (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994) 75. 193 Ibid., 80. 65 stylistic traits from similar ceramic images, I argue that the stucco artists at Toniná sought to channel their viewers into familiar visual/ceremonial engagements. This is especially significant when considering the political alliances depicted on the panel. As ceramics were often used in feasts related to elite alliance-building, the Toniná sculptors may have invoked certain vessel designs to highlight the site’s broader geopolitical relationships with common visual rhetoric, which local and foreign elites would quickly recognize. To that end, transposing aspects of ceramic styles onto a monumental stucco panel likely increased the affective nature of the designs and made for a genuinely awe-inspiring visual experience.

Composition

Several scholars have analyzed the arrangements of figures and texts in ancient Maya representations. Michael Quenon and Genevive Le Fort, for example, proposed that the vessel K3033 blends different episodes in the life of the Maize God—specifically his mythical birth, life, and resurrection—into a single composition. This approach calls to mind art historian Kurt Weitzmann’s notion of a cyclical method in which a series of scenes represent “epitomes” of a known narrative.194 Flora S. Clancy argued, moreover, that different compositional fields in monumental imagery—i.e. the panel, multi-panel, wrap-around, and recto-verso—are defined by three primary modes: a narrative mode of asymmetrical compositions, a hieratic mode defined by symmetry, and an iconic mode depicting a single figure but without a narrative—though it may be implied.195

194 Kurt Weitzmann, “Illustrations in Roll and Codex: A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration,” in Studies in Manuscript Illumination (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), 17-33. 195 Flora S. Clancy, “A Genealogy for Freestanding Maya Monuments,” in Vision and Revisions in Maya Studies, ed. by Flora S. Clancy and Peter D. Harrison (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1990), 22. 66 The scene in the second section of the panel—containing a water lily jaguar, Chahk lightning axe, death god, avian deity, and Hero Twin character—may reflect the compositional strategies outlined by Quenon, Le Fort, and Clancy. While the scenes could be unrelated, the combination of mythical characters might also represent different episodes of a larger narrative known to the Toniná elite viewers. Further, the appearance of a lightning axe, jaguar, and death god can be seen on various Classic and Late Classic period ceramics from the Petén. The vessel K521, for instance, portrays a walking or dancing Chahk with his lightning axe in the right hand and a stone cutter, or kawak stone, in the left (Figure 23). A jaguar baby is laid out in front of the Chahk figure on a stylized witz monster that undulates around the figures. The impending act of sacrifice is witnessed by a lanky death god whose outstretched arms reach toward the jaguar baby— perhaps waiting to collect some part of the creature’s body. The death god is accompanied by an insect wahy with the ak’ab symbol on its back. The asymmetrical composition, which captures a moment in the myth of the “First Rain,”196 reflects aspects of Clancy’s notion of a narrative mode. Another vessel, K2208, also depicts a jaguar, death god with outstretched arms, and axe-wielding Chahk—only the Chahk figure sits on the groundline in a way that resembles the sitting figure on the stucco panel. Moreover, the position of the headdress and axe in K2208 lines up with the circular motif and axe in the bottom of Section II. The artists at Toniná, however, appear to have reconfigured the composition seen in these vessels to fit within the vertical framework of the panel—not unlike the Maize God scene of birth, life, and death on K3033. Thus, the artists maintain a similar mythical episode seen in K2208 while innovating for the spatial format of the stucco slope.

196 Doyle, “Creation Narratives,” 52. 67 Vessels depicting death gods surrounded by wahyoob further reflect the compositional structures of the stucco panel. In K791, for instance, a boney figure named as the wahy of na ho chan, or “dark place of creation,”197 sits within a composition filled with dancing wahyoob (Figure 37). Unlike the episodic model in K3033 or the narrative model of K521, these figures appear to show little interaction between them. Rather, the wahyoob freely move, gesture, and play instruments198 as autonomous beings in the composition. Several wahyoob in the Toniná stucco panel, moreover, appear to float separately within the image planes—particularly in Section III.

The human figures in K791 are also shown in an awkward vertical position that resembles Chan Mo’ Winkil in Section II of the panel. Additionally, the avian wahy in the top register of the ceramic share’s stylistic traits with the bird deity in the left subsection at Toniná. The most noticeable compositional similarity, however, is that the three registers in both K791 and the panel are rendered with comparable figural arrangements: characters sitting or reclining in the bottom portion, those that float at the top, and those that transcend the bottom, middle, and top registers. To be sure, the wahyoob in the stucco panel also portray moments of interaction that can be linked to compositions in the material record. For example, the representation of a death god followed by a smaller wahy, which occurs with Turtle-Foot Death and the

Gopher/Mouse wahy, appears frequently on ceramics—including K521. A particularly salient example, K1256, portrays a large skeletal death god with stylistic and iconographic characteristics like those of Turtle-Foot Death—including the mid-stride posture, and a death eye on the forehead, and a decapitated head in its hand—who is accompanied by a jaguar wahy sitting at its back (Figure 38). This relationship may

197 Grube and Nahm, “A Census of Xibalba,” 694. 198 Reents-Budet et al., “Painting Styles,” 177. 68 indicate that ancient death gods were also meant to possess spirit companions, or it may simply represent the broader functions of the wahyoob. K1256 also contains several characters that resemble the position of the wahyoob on the stucco panel—including a human wahy bent into the awkward half vertical/half horizontal position and a serpent-centipede wahy floating in the upper register. When viewed holistically, K1256 nearly matches the overall composition of the Wahyoob Stucco Panel. Another vessel documented by Michael Coe, possibly from the Classic to Late Classic Petén, similarly depicts a death lord holding a decapitated head with wahy creatures at its back (Figure 39). The similarities between these vessels and the stucco panel likely suggest a stylistic convention related to death god wahyoob—depicted with their own spirit companions—who possess or collect the decapitated heads of rival leaders.

Color/Light/Materiality

Despite the valuable color analysis conducted by Frida Iztel Mateos González, the specific colors used for each character remain unclear. Nevertheless, the main pigments found in the stuccoes were red, blue, black, ochre, and white.199 These colors, of course, would have been manipulated to create a wider range of hues. For the human-like figures on the panel—including the Smoker-Contortionist—a dark shade of brown or a deep red was likely used. Painted representations from around the site evince this possibility. The stucco partition commissioned by K’inich Baaknal Chahk, for instance, portrays two human characters painted with red pigments (Figure 7). In the fragmented stucco mural from the palatial district, moreover, the human figures are depicted with both red and brown pigments. The dark red used for contour lines on

199 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 39-40. 69 the panel, to be sure, suggest that the figures may have been a lighter shade of red—this to keep the flesh tone consistent. There is also little evidence to determine the colors of the wahyoob on the panel. Looking at the K’inich Baaknal Chahk partition, however, the bodies of two skeletal creatures, which share stylistic traits with Turtle-Foot Death, are painted Maya blue with red contour lines. The combination of blue base colors with red outlines is seen on several stuccoes at the site—including feather/leaf motifs, which likely indicates that Toniná artists were drawn to the Classic/Late Classic preference for experimentation200 with blue representations. In addition to the feathers/leaves, the skeletal wahyoob on the fifth-terrace panel could have been painted with similar blue and red pigments. The red background of the tableau better elucidates how color was used to connect with vessel styles and enhance the viewing experience. Certainly, the red background could simply correlate to the overall architectural program of the acropolis, which evoked the Classic Maya prevalence for covering entire urban centers with white and red stucco to create stark contrasts between human spaces and natural environments.201 Red pigments in monumental art and architecture also improved the viewing experience. Linda Schele suggested that hematite pigments helped reduce light reflectivity202, which would be extremely important if the Toniná panel was meant to be viewed without a cover. However, the formal and symbolic functions of red in smaller artistic representations provide better context for the background in the stucco panel. For example, Dorie Reents-Budet observed that filling in vessels with variations of red values could “imbue the background with greater visual depth.”203 The two-dimensional images,

200 Houston et al., Veiled Brightness, 78. 201 Ibid., 72. 202 Schele, “Color on Classic Architecture,” 37. 203 Reents-Budet, Painting the Maya Universe, 11. 70 therefore, float within a limitless three-dimensional void. At Toniná, the contrast of figures on a dark red (hematite and carbon) background likely created a similar effect. Building on this concept, I argue that the deep red background highlighted the otherworldly characteristics of the space in which the wahyoob inhabit. The symbolic nature of red supports this possibility. David Stuart suggested that several architectural and sculptural programs in the Classic Maya sphere used red to denote blood sacrifice and ancestral lineage.204 Houston et al. further argued that red is the color of blood, of death, of prey, of agitation, and of energy.205 Moreover, Elliot Lopez-Finn’s catalog of vessels with a red background shows that most images of this type relate to mythical scenes, which consistently invoke wahyoob creatures.206 It is my belief, therefore, that the artists at Toniná incorporated the red background not only to link with architectural conventions and concepts of blood sacrifice/death but to conjure the energetic realm of the wahyoob as manifested in ceramic stylistic traditions. Should this be the case, an elite viewer—who was intimately familiar with ceramic artistry—would have made an intervisual connection between these mediums. The concept of intervisuality—meaning the interaction between objects, their discourses, and their viewers, will be addressed later in the chapter.

The Toniná artists also used dark red for figural contours instead of black lines— typically seen in ceramics—due to the high relief of the stuccoes, which eliminated the need for strong delineation.207 The three-dimensional modeling, moreover, increased the effects of natural light cast across the slope. Because the panel faces south, the sunlight

204 Schele, “Color on Classic Architecture,” 37. 205 Houston et al., Veiled Brightness, 9; 84-85. 206 Elliot Michelle Lopez-Finn, David Stuart, and Julia Guernsey, “Defining the Red Background Style: the Production of Object and Identity in an Ancient Maya Court” (Master’s Thesis: University of Texas, Austin, 2014). 207 Houston et al., Veiled Brightness, 89. 71 moving east to west would nearly always cast shadows on the outer edges of the images—especially during the early and late afternoon hours of the day. The increased delineation likely added to its sense of movement and dynamism of the tableau.

Scale

The scale of small and monumental objects contributes to the ontological significance of several ancient Mesoamerican visual programs. This does not imply that the size or proportions of works are at the center of my discussion; rather, I borrow from Andrew Hamilton’s conceptualization of scale—the relationship between objects with various dimensions208—to analyze the interplay between cross-media works. At Toniná, the study of material/stylistic similarities between large-scale monuments and portable ceramics helps elucidate the potential ways of seeing and absorbing concepts through imagery. Scholars who evoke scale in Mesoamerica, however, should be cognizant of the academic origins from which they draw. For example, in Hamilton’s recent publication, Scale of the Incas, the author seeks to divorce art historical theories of scale from Eurocentric conceptions. Hamilton suggests that the size of an object relative to the size of other objects, the body of the viewer, and their spatial environments is central to developing nuanced understandings of scale in ancient, emic contexts.209 Further, Hamilton argues that ancient artists recognized how scale impacted the viewer and, therefore, intentionally used scale as a means of signification—particularly when comparing recognizable works: “The difference or similarity in size evident in the scaled relationship [between similar objects] carries meaning that reshapes the way one or both

208 Andrew James Hamilton, “On Scale,” in Scale & the Incas (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018) 5. 209 Ibid. 72 objects is conceived.”210 Thus, the illusion of an object being rescaled—whether to a reduced or enlarged state—is a way for artists to manipulate the viewer experience and, thereby, create new relationships with or perceptions of known imagery. For reduced-scale objects, the concept of miniaturization traces back to philosophers such as Claude Levi-Strauss and Gaston Bachelard. Levi-Strauss posited that creating any object reflects an artist’s attempts to understand the world. Miniaturization, in this view, is simply a process of reducing a “real” object to its parts to produce new knowledge.211 For Gaston Bachelard, the miniature isn’t necessarily physical parts, but an imaginative potential produced by close observations. By viewing works through a “microscope,” rather than a “telescope,” objects are imbued with imaginative potential and “metaphysical freshness.”212

In ancient Mesoamerica, objects on a reduced scale produce similar imaginative potentialities. In her study of the body and figuration vis-à-vis Mesoamerican figurines, Julia Guernsey argues that miniaturized “prime objects,” allowed for unique viewing engagements:

Throughout much of the world, miniaturization assured that figurines were readily portable, capable of being utilized in varied contexts. It also infers, however, that they were best suited to more intimate settings, which accommodated the sort of proximal scrutiny they invite…. They [figurines] could be grasped in one’s hand, rotated, and scrutinized to reveal, in miniature form, the features, expressions, and costuming of the humans represented.213 Guernsey further suggests, following Douglas Bailey, that humans encounter a different viewing experience with miniatures by which the enlarged viewer—not the object—

210 Hamilton, “On Scale,” 31. 211 Claude Levi-Strauss, The Savage Mind (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962), 13-33. 212 Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space (Boston: Beacon Press, 1964), 155. 213 Julia Guernsey, Human Figuration and Fragmentation in Preclassic Mesoamerica: From Figurines to Sculpture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020) 104-105. 73 dictates the spatial relationship.214 In other words, the viewer is no longer subject to the spatial configuration of artworks such as large monuments or murals; rather, the viewer controls the way the object is approached, held, moved, etc. Similarly, Maya polychrome ceramics offered unique visual interactions, which were untethered to massive architectural mediums. For example, elite citizens (and likely others) who commissioned such wares for ritual functions could hold, twist, and carry these objects during ceremonies. The evidence stated earlier in this chapter suggests that patrons even ate and drank from ceramic vessels—possibly even ingesting hallucinogenic or medicinal substances. The imagery on wares, therefore, was intertwined with perhaps the most intimate and significant moments in the life of certain Maya citizens. How, then, did the transfer of small-scale ceramic styles to large-scale stucco panels impact the viewing experience? An answer might be gleaned by analyzing the relationship between colossal Maya artworks and the body—both human and supernatural. Monumental artworks in Mesoamerica, which were typically designed for public spaces, conveyed more than sheer size. Guernsey asserted that the relative scale and visual accessibility of massive monuments, coupled with the specialized knowledge, labor, and mobilization of resources needed to create them, generated spiritual awe, which facilitated the means for commemoration and memory.215 At Toniná, the monumentality of the stucco panel is undeniable. At 17.1 m wide and 4.2 m high, the viewer must step several yards away before the scene appears complete. At close range, one is faced with the sheer height of the wahyoob figures that tower above them at a dramatic ~60-degree angle.

214 Julia Guernsey, Human Figuration, 105; See also, Douglas Bailey, Prehistoric Figurines: Representation and Corporeality in the Neolithic (London: Routledge, 2005), 33. 215 Ibid., 41-42. See also, John E. Clark, “The arts of government in early Mesoamerica,” in Annual Review of Anthropology 26, no. 1 (1997): 211-34. 74 Indeed, the scale relative to the human body causes the viewer to shift between close perspectives—moving from one side of the panel to the other to absorb the finer details—and positions at a distance, which make the entire tableau visually comprehendible. Yet the issue of scale is not reduced to the relationship between the panel and the human body. The connection between the scale of wahyoob on both the panel and ceramics is part of the phenomenological experience. Tracking this linkage through death gods—including Turtle-Foot Death—is particularly useful. This scaled relationship, however, does not simply denote a hierarchy between Turtle-Foot Death and smaller human bodies/ceramic representations; I believe the artists used relative scale to highlight characteristics that go beyond power dynamics. For instance, the formal and iconographic characteristics of Maya death gods on ceramics, which are affective by design, underscore the dark themes of the panel. The artists mix bone with flesh, disembodied eyes with precious jewelry, and jovial movements with sacrificial beheadings. Ritual practitioners and other elite citizens would have gazed upon these nightmarish creatures—imbued with a sense of sublime awe and terror—in the very moments of ritual ingestion, entombments, and other sacred activities. Rendering Turtle-Foot Death in a ceramic style was likely an intentional choice by the sculptors to invoke this emotive power intrinsic to small, haptic, intimate objects—albeit on a monumental scale. Manipulating scale through multimedia representations to enhance meaning is not uncommon. In Matthew Looper’s analysis of skeuomorphic Maya representations, the author argued that the transfer of certain artistic styles from one technological medium to another—including from small to monumental objects such as “mats”—is key to

75 understanding their specific meanings and the discourses that surround them.216 Houston later investigated the symbolic valences of transferring ancient Mesoamerican designs from wood, cloth, and feathers to ceramics, among other skeuomorphic manifestations. Building on Scott Ortman’s work in the American Southwest, Houston suggests that cross-media transfer from small to large objects can expand their metaphorical impact:

Certain skeuomorphs confine themselves to plausible scales. A basket and a pot are relatively close in size. But then, as the metaphor replicates and grows to explain other, broader features, the scaled resemblance starts to stretch. A container is now a building, a community, the cosmos, as though twin, staged processes were in active operation. The hedged metaphor controls for size and limits the scope of metaphoric extension; the other, transcendent metaphors explode such boundaries, yet they achieve their strength by framing in the familiar and small-scale, the portable and touchable.217 The connection between ceramics and the stucco panel relates to this notion of a metaphorical extension bolstered through relative scale. At Toniná, a ceramic vessel becomes a monumental stucco, an expansive geopolitical statement, and an infinite cosmic commemoration. Moreover, viewers who encountered the monumental Turtle- Foot Death were cognizant of its stylistic or skeuomorphic undercurrents based on their engagements with the wayhoob on ceramics. Such undercurrents would have been further bolstered by the material connections between these mediums. In some vessels, for instance, the artists applied paint to a thin coat of stucco on their surface, reminiscent of al fresco murals, that made the works far more durable.218 In Chapter One I also discussed the additive techniques of the stucco panel that share formal and functional attributes with ceramic pastillage. Thus, the production of large-scaled stucco at Toniná

216 Matthew G. Looper, “Fabric Structures in Classic Maya Art and Ritual,” in Sacred bundles: ritual acts of wrapping and binding in Mesoamerica, ed. by Julia Guernsey and F. Kent Riley (Barnardsville, N.C.: Boundary End Archaeology Research Center, 2006), 80-104. 217 Stephen Houston, “To Become Something Else,” in The Life Within: Classic Maya and the Matter of Permanence. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014) 63-64. 218 Reents-Budet, Painting the Maya Universe, 8-9. 76 likely incorporated similar material practices and aesthetic skills used by ceramic specialists. These stylistic and material connections were vital to the panel’s overall objectives. Encountering the massive death god, for example, conjured a novel, affective experience wherein the intimacy of personal objects fused with the awe-inspiring nature of monumentality. Conversely, one could imagine that the impact of the monumental figure transformed ceramic viewing experiences. In short, the scale of imagery at Toniná was a powerful mode by which the patrons and sculptors grabbed the attention of their viewers and, subsequently, projected their ritual-political messages. Relative scale was, therefore, a dialogical tool that facilitated communication between participants and stylistically similar objects.

Framing and Perspective

The supernatural boundary, or Ch’een Frame, outlined in Chapter Two further demonstrates the stylistic connection to ceramics as well as the overall affective power of the stucco slope. The feature contains specific iconographic valences yet can be understood further through art historical inquiry. To better comprehend how the feature contributes to experiential viewing, I turn to critical theory regarding frames and visual perspective in various artistic representations. Responding to Immanuel Kant, philosopher Jacques Derrida likened a pictorial frame to a parergon—a supplementary piece of a work that is not wholly separate, but touches, presses, and seeks contact with the borders of the primary work, or ergon.219 It is through the liminal space of the frame, Derrida argues, that the intrinsic (the meaning of the representation) and the extrinsic fields outside the work are bridged. Without this

219 Jacques Derrida, “The Parergon,” October 9 (Summer 1979): 3-41. 77 space, visual analyses cannot be conducted: “[N]o "theoretical practice" can be effective here if it does not rest on the frame, the invisible limit of (between) the interiority of meaning (protected by the entire hermeneutic, semiotic, phenomenological, and formalist tradition) and (of) all the extrinsic.”220 In other words, the frame is the physical and conceptual boundary that delineates the mimetic realm from the realm of the viewer, which generates meaning-making practices. Derrida’s examples of the parerga, however, are not limited to traditional conceptions of frames. The delicate drapery over a nude statue in ancient Greece or the colonnades that wrap around the outside of a Greco-

Roman temple could also be perceived as supplementary devices of a liminal nature. More recently, art historian Glenn Peers aimed to nuance frame theory vis-à-vis Byzantine art. Peers argued that unlike much of European art from Medieval to Baroque periods—where a frame around a painting creates a barrier between two realms—the edges of Byzantine works are spaces of fluid interactions and interpretations where the reality of an image and its “quasi-animate” properties were established:

In the Byzantine period, frames were labile, covert, equivocating. They present possible readings according to the viewer’s abilities and situation. As one looks carefully at the margins, edges, details of works of art, the framing devices cease to be liminal and become integral, indeed, central to the communicative processes of Byzantine works of art. Byzantine frames evade the grasp that seeks to consign them to the periphery. The more one contemplates their states and meanings, the more work they seem to do, the more inescapable their presences.221 Here, Peers suggests that Byzantine frames should be investigated as more than just transitional spaces; rather, the boundaries are integral to the dialogical modes through which the personal experiences of the viewer integrate with the meanings of the representations.

220 Derrida, “The Parergon,” 24. 221 Glenn Peers, “Introduction: The Great Age of the Frame,” in Sacred Shock: Framing Visual Experience in Byzantium (Penn University Press, 2004) n/a. 78 This theoretical analysis, however, is couched in a European armature that cannot be directly applied to ancient Mesoamerican views of framing devices or liminality in artistic representations. While few theoretical analyses regarding framing devices have been developed in ancient Mesoamerican studies, there are a few notable exceptions— including works by Jacinto Quirarte and Flora Clancy. Quirarte suggested that horizontal bands in Izapa artworks, for example, often function as narrative frames, which delineate the stages of events within the pictorial field.222 Moreover, Clancy invoked philosophical frame theory to investigate the various bands that surround Late Preclassic monuments.

She posited that, in addition to their iconographic features, frames on stelae separated the image from its medium to simultaneously proclaim the “the limitations of the illusion and the actualities of the stoney medium.”223

The framing device at Toniná, to be sure, demonstrates both a liminal space, in the Derrida tradition, and an integral space, as defined by Peers, Quirarte, and Clancy. The crossbones, or ch’een signs, for example, literally inscribe the frame with iconography related to liminal caves. The feathers/leaves, decapitated heads, and skulls also depict dangerous spaces at the crossroads between physical and metaphysical realms. Moreover, the artists likely understood that rendering the elaborate frame in front of the scenes, which relate to ceramic styles, would call attention to the panel’s mimetic, representational nature. Reinforcing the work as an imitation of something else leads to an analytical engagement with the imagery—allowing the viewer to amalgamate the extrinsic information they bring to bear with the intrinsic meanings in the work. This speaks to Peers’ argument that frames possess an integral, communicative potential rather

222 Jacinto Quirarte, “Terrestrial/Celestial Polymorphs as Narrative Frames in Art of Izapa and Palenque,” in Primera Mesa Redonda de Palenque, Part I, ed. by Merle Greene Robertson (Pebble Beach: The Robert Louis Stevenson School, Pre-Columbian Art Research, 1974) 128-135. 223 Clancy, “A Genealogy for Freestanding Maya Monuments,” 30. 79 than existing merely in the periphery. I would argue, therefore, that the iconographic elements on and at the borders of the frame denote liminality and, simultaneously, bolster its central, dialogical role within the tableau—all enhancing the agentive, animate nature of the wahyoob caged within. The sculptors’ innovative approach to pictorial perspective with the monumental frame also elucidates a more emic understanding of viewership at the panel. In Chapter Two, I compared the frame to several ceramics that depict so-called “thrones”—rendered in profile—with iconography that appears on the stucco panel. In these representations, a wahy figure or a wahy impersonator sits within a tripartite structure with a long horizontal band at their back and two vertical bands above and below. In most of these cases— including the Nakbe vessel, the so-called “Dance after Death” vessel, and K3924— wayhoob or death gods appear to bring offerings to the protagonists ensconced within the frame. Due to its stylistic and iconographic similarities, the most salient example for the present study is K3924. Here, two wahy impersonators negotiate with death gods from within the decorated frames (Figure 40). The posture and ritual dress of the profiled figures bear striking resemblance to Turtle-Foot Death. Moreover, the other boney legs/feet in the stucco panel might indicate that the original image reflected a similar composition to K3924—with multiple death gods standing back-to-back. The death god on the left, intriguingly, grasps the hair of a decapitated head while its feet are adorned with large shoes made of stone. In my mind, the death gods on this vessel are perhaps the most stylistically and iconographically similar to Turtle-Foot Death in the known material record. It is also worth noting that all the figures appear in front of a red background.

80 The connection between framing devices on K3924 and the stucco panel provides additional conceptual and artistic information. While both framing motifs in the vessel depict leafy or plumed bands with heads in the intersections, the frame on the right contains inverted human heads in the top joint and outer edge. Ritual attendants, and/or important nobles, are situated on the outside of the frame—a clear indication that there is a physical and, likely, a conceptual boundary that separates the realms in which these events take place. The noble figure on the right—who holds onto the frame—possibly demonstrates the individual’s power and status by showing their ability to touch the sacred boundary and witness the ritual events on the other side. In short, I argue that the partition is not a “throne,” but a powerful veil through which wahyoob and royal supplicants reach proximity to negotiate ritual-political terms.

Artistically, the sculptors at Toniná used some of the same iconographic markers of frames that appear on ceramic vessels yet reinterpreted the perspectival approach. Perhaps due to its size, material, and/or outside stylistic influences, the artists chose to reorient the frame toward the viewer so that the heads, leaves/feathers, and bones are seen from a frontal perspective rather than in profile. The reoriented frame, which juxtaposes the profiled characters in the image plane, demonstrates an interplay between two and three-dimensionality and, additionally, indicates that the frontal, liminal motif was meant to convey a different set of meanings/engagements. Susan Gillespie suggested that Maya artists often emphasized experiential perspectives—with multiple planes and points of perception—to create intersecting dimensions of spacetime.224 Gillespie posits that European invocations of scientific- perspective, which privileges geometric concepts of space, speak to different ways of

224 Susan Gillespie, “Different Ways of Seeing: Modes of Social Consciousness in Mesoamerican Two- Dimensional Artworks,” in Baessler-Archiv 55 (2007):103-142. 81 seeing, or knowing, a visual field that is characterized by some rational “truth.” Conversely, Maya artworks tend to nurture ways of being in the visual world that were sensorially internalized into the consciousness of the viewer.225 Gillespie refers to the Temple of the Sun Tablet in Palenque, which demonstrates the ways that artists often played with orientation and multiple station points of perspective. She argues that the tri-cephalic band in the center of the composition is, in fact, a four-armed cross with anthropomorphic heads at each point.226 Here, the artists oriented the bands so that one of the heads directly faces the viewer while the others are seen in profile. Gillespie suggests that the observers—who likely recognized the re- oriented motif based on their knowledge of similar objects—would have interpreted the four arms of the lying-down cross as a representation of the cardinal directions.

The artists at Toniná, moreover, appear to have manipulated the perspective of the framing device on the panel to enhance its communicative potential. One way to conceive of this role is by examining the mythical gourd tree in the Popol Vuh narrative, which contains the severed head of Hun-Hunahpú in its branches. In the story, Maiden Lady Blood, daughter of a Xibalbá lord, transgresses her father by speaking with the skull hanging in the tree—only to become pregnant with its descendants, the Hero Twins.227

The disembodied heads in leafy frames of the stucco panel and ceramics may represent similar origin myths in the Classic and Late Classic periods. Should this be the case, the front-facing frame at Toniná would elicit mythical communication and, thereby, invite participants into a dialogue with the scenes. I am not suggesting a one-to-one connection between the Popol Vuh narrative and the frame; rather, I argue that the feature may

225 Gillespie, “Different Ways of Seeing,” 103-142. 226 Ibid., 120-121. 227 Allen J. Christenson, Popol Vuh: Sacred Book of the Quiché Maya People (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2003), 113-120. 82 embody a similar function as the gourd tree in that it structures a mythical dialogue between figures. By turning the frame to a frontal position, the sculptors are beckoning viewers to communicate not only with the frame but with the mythical/political panel writ large. This may not be the only instance, however, in which Maya artists positioned a liminal frame toward the viewer. The vessel K791, for example, portrays a water lily jaguar wahy in the bottom register lunging backward through a quadripartite frame decorated with death eyes on the bands and crisscrossing motifs in the joints (Figure 37).

The text reads ch’akte’ el hix, or “scaffold jaguar.”228 Other interpretations of ch’akte’, however, are “bed” or “frame.”229 Considering the connection between wahyoob and sleep, or dreams, I argue that the reference to beds and frames may indicate that the creature is falling through a supernatural portal into the dream realm. Evidence of supernatural frames also exists in Toniná’s archaeological record. A polychrome stucco fragment, mentioned earlier in the chapter, shows a medallion with layered feather/leaf motifs that reflect what is seen in the stucco panel. This is clear evidence that supernatural frames manifest in cross-medium representations, and that the style/iconography of the panel was part of a larger ideological, conceptual framework at the site—one that transcended monumental and small-scale dichotomies. What is more,

Takeshi Inomata suggested that some Classic Maya vessels, which include scenes of ritual meetings, transform grand performances in royal palaces into small, portable representations.230 To that end, the polychrome sherd in the bodega may suggest that

228 Grube and Nahm, “A Census of Xibalba,” 689. 229 David Stuart, personal communication, 2019. 230 Takeshi Inomata, “The Classic Maya Palace as a Political Theater,” in Reconstruyendo La Ciudad Maya: El Urbanismo En Las Sociedades Antiguas, ed. by Andrés Ciudad Ruiz, María Josefa Iglesias Ponce de León, and María del Carmen Martínez Martínez (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Estudios Mayas, 2001), 355. 83 some ceramic vessels at Toniná embodied the monuments/ritual practices of the site so that they could be re-experienced in intimate settings. This visual/ideological connection further illustrates the potential relationship between ceramic and stucco styles at the site.

Interpretations: The Power of Intervisuality at Toniná

By examining the relationship between the stucco panel, ceramics, and the other artworks/structures on the fifth terrace, I aim to elucidate how cross-medium representations contributed to the ways of seeing or, more aptly, the ways of being at Toniná. Theoretical discussions of text and discourse are helpful to this investigation. In his work Death of the Author, Roland Barthes argued that it is language—not the author or their biography—that speaks or performs the “truth” of a text. In other words, the author does not precede the text, but both are simultaneously born in a pure gesture of inscription rather than personal expression.231 Barthes states, “the text is a tissue of citations, resulting from the thousands of sources of culture.”232 While scholars have since argued and/or nuanced this assertion, the idea of challenging the singular message of an “Author-God” can be useful when examining the Wahyoob Stucco Panel. Philosopher Julia Kristeva builds on the notion of connective tissues of information with the concept of intertextuality. For Kristeva, texts and readings are relational processes subject to prior codes or discourses.233 Rather than closed, self- contained systems, intertextuality posits that textual sources foster open-ended meanings through relational undercurrents.234 Riffing on this concept, the term intervisuality—as

231 Roland Barthes, Death of the Author (London: Fontana, 1967), 4. 232 Ibid. 233 Julia Kristeva, “Word, Dialogue, and Novel,” in The Kristeva Reader, ed. Toril Moi (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), 34-61. 234 María Jesús Martínez Alfaro, “Intertextuality: Origins and Development of the Concept,” in Atlantis 18, no. 1-2 (1996): 268. 84 defined by Julia Guernsey and Stephanie Strauss235—similarly implies that an image or a set of images contains multiple contexts and meanings that are activated through visual engagements. Applying this concept to the panel and its connection to ceramic styles, I argue that the imagery contains multivalent, intervisual networks by which viewers can construct new possibilities. The ritual and sociopolitical practices of the viewers, which often include intimate engagements with the texts and images rendered on vessels, mix with the monumental stucco panel to create an affective experience. Moreover, when ritual performances take place around the monument, the body of the viewer becomes the interstitial link between small-scaled and large-scaled representations to expand the ontological significance of all three. Rather than a single set of meanings created by an

“author/god,” the imagery fosters an ever-expanding “authorial” narrative. However, this does not imply that all participants were “authors” in the formation of the panel’s meaning; the fifth terrace was a privileged, codified space where primarily elite individuals participated in the authorial experience.

PLACE-MAKING ON THE FIFTH TERRACE

Chapter One outlines the ostensible thematic shift from the first three terraces to the upper four terraces on the acropolis. Whereas terraces one through three contain few tombs and artworks of a ritual nature, the fourth through the seventh tiers see an increase of ritual deposits, tombs, elite palace districts, monuments, and temples. Indeed, the conceptual and spatial changes indicate that builders at the site were concerned with creating space, or place, unique to each location on the terrace.

235 Julia Guernsey and Stephanie Strauss, Art, Urbanity, and the Late Formative Pacific Slope of Mesoamerica (unpublished manuscript, with the permission of the authors), n/a. 85 Placemaking theories are useful to determine how space—the physical locations of a built environment—are converted into place—the conceptual arena of spaces in which behaviors and practices define a sense of collective identity.236 Discussing the phenomenological relationship between humans and architecture, for example, Umberto Eco suggested that spaces can serve both functional and communicative roles. Through architectural codes, or codified signs explicit to built environments, messages are communicated to those who interact with a given space—thereby generating discursive potential that goes beyond its external system of functions.237

In ancient Mesoamerica, architectural codes manifest in the phenomenological, social/institutional, and discursive practices of public spaces.238 On the fifth terrace at Toniná, for instance, the architectural layout determines certain movements around open patios, through narrow corridors, in front of monuments, or on top of temples/platforms. This phenomenological conscription is coupled with the social/institutional atmosphere produced by the royal state that commissions activities and artworks. The discursive properties are defined by religious and sociopolitical circumstances. For instance, the spatial experience is affected by recent marriage alliances, wars, droughts, diseases, deaths, funerary rituals, etc. This paradigm transforms space to place by providing a sense of collective identity to the architecture and monuments.

Collective memory is also an important component to the formation of place. Takeshi Inomata states that sociality and identity in Mesoamerican urban centers take

236 Evan Michael Rap, “Place and Space in Roman Civic Feasts” (Master’s Thesis, Austin: University of Texas, 2012), 12. 237 Umberto Eco, “Function and Sign: The Semiotics of Architecture,” in Rethinking Architecture: A reader in cultural theory, ed. by Neil Lynch (London and New York: Routledge, 1997) 173-191. 238 See Miwon Kwon, “One Place After Another: Notes on Site Specificity,” in October 80 (Spring, 1997): 85-110; also, One Place After Another: Site-Specific Art and Locational Identity (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002). Kwon’s paradigm of site-specificity suggests that artworks transform fixed, physical locations into fluid, or ungrounded, vectors produced through phenomenological, social/institutional, and discursive practices (1997: 95). 86 shape through sensory perceptions surrounding the presence and embodied practices of others. The memory of Maya political authorities and their actions, Inomata argues, is internalized through public spectacles that allowed elites and common citizens to witness and sense the bodily existence of other members of the society.239 Such performative acts helped ruling elites control Maya communities while promoting their eternal, divine rulership/historical legacy. Evoking Victor Turner’s notion of public liminality, Inomata suggests that rituals performed in recurring mass spectacles reinforce the deepest values and traditions held by the community through time.240

To be sure, the size and spatial configuration on the fifth terrace was likely designed for performances engaging Toniná elites and their local/foreign contemporaries. This does not necessarily imply that the spectacles were small, as the fifth terrace has one of the largest patios on the acropolis; rather, I argue that its size and location indicate that rituals conducted here were intended for select, privileged groups. Yet the acts of ritualization—as coined by philosopher Catherine Bell—helped structure the physical and ontological properties of the acropolis by causing ritualized bodies to internalize and, subsequently, generate a sacred environment in a reciprocal process.241 As ritual performances were conducted over time, the phenomenological, institutional, and discursive themes of the terrace were internalized and reproduced.

As I show later in the chapter, these acts of ritualization include the construction or decommission of structures/monuments to reinforce old ideas or create new channels of memory specific to the elites of a given period. In her analysis of Las Canoas and La Sierra, Miranda Stockett suggests that Mesoamerican elites often constructed their spaces

239 Takeshi Inomata, “Plaza, Performers, and Spectators: Political Theaters of the Classic Maya,” in Current Anthropology 47, no. 5 (2006): 805-42. 240 Inomata, “The Classic Maya Palace,” 341-361. 241 Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 7. 87 to account for sociopolitical changes: “[R]itual specialists may have intended to shape the political here-and-now by materializing their political power and minimizing—or encouraging forgetting of—the community’s past lack of status distinctions.”242 Thus, the fluid practices on the terrace, which similarly focus on the political status and accomplishments of divine rulers or nobles, are part of the process of memory-making and of transforming space to place at Toniná.

The Stela-Pedestal-Altar Complex

Certainly, a complete analysis of the architecture/artworks/ritual practices that contribute to the placemaking at Toniná is beyond the scope of the present study. Even on the fifth terrace, the events that shape place through stelae, tombs, stuccoes, ceramics, and temples are far too exhaustive to investigate here. Thus, my approach focuses on a specific monument configuration—the stelae-pedestal-altar complex—that appears in front of the stucco panel and reoccurs throughout the site. The plaza and acropolis at Toniná were littered with large cube-shaped bases, or stone pedestals, supporting stelae monuments. In most cases, a large stone disc, which contained depictions of calendrical signs or seated royal figures, was placed horizontally on the ground in front of the stelae-pedestal combination—commonly referred to as the stela-altar complex. In the plaza, rows of stelae, pedestals, and altars were found at the base of major structures including G5-2 and H6-5 (Figure 2). On the acropolis, these monuments are located on staircases or at the foot of temples—primarily in the top four terraces. Unfortunately, few statues or stelae slabs were found intact—let alone in situ.

242 Stockett, “Sites of Memory in the Making,” 323. 88 Yet the French Toniná Projects indicates that many of the fragments of three-dimensional sculptures recovered from the site were located on top of these distressed brick bases.243 The fifth terrace contains perhaps the highest concentration of stelae fragments on the acropolis. A birdseye map of the terrace shows dozens of sculpture pieces scattered across the western and central areas (note: the eastern portion of the terrace, which contains the stucco panel, had not been uncovered when the original archaeological maps were rendered; Figure 41). Becquelin and Baudez noted that almost all the surface constructions excavated on the terrace could be identified as large pedestals to support these stelae and statues.244 Moreover, the archaeologists reported that, except for E5-13 and E5-15, which were constructed in the early history of the acropolis, the pedestal structures were in simultaneous use during the Classic or Late Classic periods.245

The high number of contemporaneous stelae, therefore, is intriguing as it may indicate that in addition to ruler commemoration, the ritual-political foci of the terrace included local or foreign nobles such as the aj k’uhuun governors. One aj k’uhuun noble, named Aj Ch’aaj Naah, is particularly salient. In addition to his military role under rulers of the late seventh century and early eighth century—including Baaknal Chahk, Aj

Ch’aaj Naah was named as the ya-AJAW-K’AHK’, or yajaw k’ahk’, “Vassal of Fire.”246

Ángel Sánchez Gamboa et al. argue that the title may indicate a role in fire rituals and, more generally, that the aj k’uhuun were vital contributors to the ritual-political atmosphere of the site. Further, Aj Ch’aaj Naah has been linked to the Jaguar God of the

243 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 71-76. 244 Ibid., 71. 245 Ibid., 72. 246 Sánchez Gamboa et al., “Aj K’uhuun de Toniná,” 45-68; See also Schele and Mathews (1993); Houston and Stuart (2001: 68-69); Zender (2004: 198, 221); and Stuart (2011). 89 Underworld,247 which, I would argue, likely crossover with the wahyoob of the panel. This would also align with the political themes of the panel that manifest in wahyoob of foreign courts—including Turtle-Foot Death. It might also account for the change in pedestal designs that made E5-13 and E5- 15 obsolete. As geopolitical relationships became increasingly complex in the Late

Classic period, the rulers at Toniná may have turned to new stelae formats to represent the influx of new political alliances. Rather than manufacture pedestals that hold a single stela or statue, the fifth terrace began to incorporate tripartite bases so that multiple rulers or vassals could be presented in one structure. Thus, E5-13 and E5-15 were likely buried intentionally so that new, multifaceted forms of royal worship could take hold in elite consciousness.

To that end, the visual and ritual interactions between supplicants and groups of sculptures nurtured webs of historical and mythical information that acted simultaneously upon the social memory of high-ranking citizens. David Stuart observed that the royal portraits at Toniná, which are accompanied by disc altars, are often depicted with outstretched hands in a “scattering” gesture: “In this arrangement, the altar is directly ‘acted upon’ by the king, receiving the blood or incense that fell from his hands (both were used in the ‘scattering’ rite).”248 This action appears on Panel 19 from where droplets of blood from the body of the ruler fall onto a stone receptacle, which is likely an altar used to collect ritual fire or sacrificial blood. Stuart argues that three- dimensional variations of this practice—what he terms a “diorama” of ritual action—

247 Sánchez Gamboa et al., “Aj K’uhuun de Toniná,” 45-68.. See also, Schele and Grube (1995: 22) and Zender (2004: 205). 248 Stuart, “Kings of Stone,” 160. 90 embody the “self” of the royal person and, through subsequent ceremonies, eternally perpetuate his divinity.249 Archaeological evidence from the fifth terrace supports Stuart’s discussion of the ritualized stela-and-altar complexes. On the west side of the patio, a stone sculpture, Monument 102, and a stucco-decorated base, which buttresses the bottom of the staircase of structure E5-2, were built in front of a ritual cache from the Late Classic period (Figure 42).250 Inside the circular cache were three skeletons of small children, a jaguar skeleton, a falcon skeleton, quail skulls, shark teeth, a jade figurine, an iron mirror, and stone blades, among other small objects—most carefully interred by category.251 A large slab that was hidden under stucco covered the sacrificial offerings. If this circular well is related to the discs at Toniná, it may be that altars found in front of other stelae-bases not only marked important calendrical dates but also entombed the ritual deposits that commemorated those events and figures. Furthermore, the pedestals of these rich complexes were more than just functional components. Aside from lifting sculptures above the viewer, some of the bases incorporated stucco elements to create elaborate decorations. The pedestal for Monument 102, for example, was covered with a large witz on its front face. The animate hill likely denotes a link between the royal figure above and the sacrificial offerings below, which may highlight its cosmological significance. Gillespie argued that the physical/conceptual verticality of Maya stelae often correlates with cosmic image planes. In Stela 1 from Yaxchilán, for example, the vertical planes signal the axis mundi with celestial imagery in the zenith, the body of the king in the center, and the underworld in the nadir. Here, the

249 Stuart, “Kings of Stone,” 160. 250 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 174. 251 Ibid., 173. 91 body of the viewer becomes the horizontal axis that completes the cosmological diagram and affirms a political relationship between the divine lord and supplicant. The viewing experience, Gillespie argues, creates “a metaphor of engagement with the stelae, positioning themselves within the radiating horizontal penumbra of the axis mundi, whose vertical spatial extensions appear or are implied in the stela itself.”252

Should the ruler in Monument 102 signal a sense of the celestial zenith and the ritual deposit a sense of the Underworld, or nadir, then the witz monster in the pedestal could be the terrestrial bridge, or center, that completes the vertical extension of the cosmic plane. Regardless, the stucco witz indicates that pedestals often contributed to the overall themes of the stelae. To that end, I argue that the stela-altar-complexes at Toniná are, in most cases, more accurately classified as stela-pedestal-altar complexes.

The Three-Chambered Platform

Even when grouped in rows, most of the stela-pedestal-altar complexes at the site are single constructions. Several complexes on the fifth terrace, however, were built into a cohesive structure of three pedestals/stelae. Structure 11 in the middle of the patio, for instance, contains three rectangular pedestals situated on a low rectangular platform

(Figure 43). While no disc altars were recovered in front of the platform, a cache with ceramic sherds was interred directly in front of the central pedestal—thereby indicating a ritual engagement with the structure and stela. Unfortunately, no stucco features remain on the pedestals—possibly due to exposure or intentional decommissioning of the work. In 1992, however, a triadic pedestal directly in front of the Wahyoob Stucco Panel was uncovered by Yadeun and INAH, which helps elucidate the role of these structures on the terrace.

252 Gillespie, “Different Ways of Seeing,” 119. 92 The Three-Chambered Platform, which is only 43cm from the base of the stucco slope, measures ~731cm wide and ~30cm tall with a depth of ~320cm.253 Each of the pedestals, which reach a maximum height of ~180cm, are separated by a partition that begins at the back wall and extends to the base of the platform—effectively creating three distinct chambers (Figure 44). The width of the pedestals—measuring from either side of the inner walls—is ~188cm and the depth is ~121cm. The horizontal bench in the middle of each pedestal contains a circular hole about ~38cm in diameter. The inner walls were originally covered in painted stucco and decorations—though only some pigments/fragments remain. A stucco band with a chevron design in the middle of the feature begins on the sides and runs the length of the back wall. While there is no evidence of disc altars in front of the pedestals, the platform extends several feet in front of these sections. Ritual performances may have been conducted in this open area of the structure. The east side of the wall contains a niche that measures ~63.5cm wide, ~58cm tall, and no more than 182cm-243cm deep (Figure 45). The inside of the niche was painted red and likely contained the contorted figure of a bound captive. To the right of this niche is a raised platform with a painting of a reclining captive on the front face. The painting measures ~66cm wide and ~33cm tall. The corners on the side of the eastern pedestal are covered in the same layered feather/leaf motif that covers the frame on the Wahyoob Stucco Panel. A fragmented stucco cartouche rests on the chevron band in the top-back corner. The east end of the low platform is also decorated with stucco motifs— including what appear to be portions of designs.

253 These measurements are close estimates taken by the author in the summer of 2019. 93 The back of the platform contains two extant cartouches that resemble day signs. Each cartouche frames a different image—one being a head that denotes the sign IXIK, and another being three oval-shaped motifs that read PIK-NAL (Figure 46). It is tempting to suggest they are day signs—particularly the first cartouche that resembles the AJAW sign in the 260-day calendar. However, it is unclear what the signs refer to in this context.254 That said, the stucco figures who sit directly on top of the cartouches signal a unique interaction between figural works and signs. The figure closest to the east side of the wall is marked by a large diamond shape in its body, which still contains traces of red pigment. The figure looks up to the skies with outstretched hands making a petitioning gesture. The leg of the profiled figure—likely a captive—follows the curvature of the cartouche.

The second figure is more deteriorated and much of what remains is along the spine of the body. This character sits cross-legged on the cartouche and wears an elaborate belt with a sky band motif. A third figure perched on a cartouche—also a captive—is depicted with their hands bound behind their back. The head is no longer extant but, once again, the waist is adorned with a large sky band belt. The western section of the back wall contains a crossbones motif followed by the outline of a hieroglyphic caption and another set of crossbones. Finally, a fragmented cartouche finishes the sequence on the upper register of the wall. Aside from a niche in the east portion, the bottom register of the wall is curiously empty (Figure 47). This does not mean it was empty throughout its history; murals and niches could have been painted over or filled in, respectively. The existing niche, however, yielded one of the most cited figures from ancient Toniná. The limestone relief

254 David Stuart, personal communication, 2020. 94 carving of a bound captive—measuring 55cm x 45cm x 10cm—was nestled into the niche in a contorted posture (Figure 48). His hands are bound behind his torso, which twists away from his crisscrossed legs. He looks upward toward the second cartouche/figure located directly above him. The bottom of his right foot—located just under his left knee—illustrates a sense of naturalism with fleshy toes and soft pads of the feet. Further, the foot and body—carved in a frontal perspective—create tension between the profiled leg and head. While traces of white and red pigments are still visible on the stone, several colors were likely painted on the body.

The text on his leg identifies him as yax ahk anaayte’ ajaw, “Green Turtle, Lord of Anaayte’.”255 This identification is important for several reasons. First, it demonstrates one way that the bodies of foreign captives were memorialized on the fifth terrace.

Placing the figure within the niche at the bottom of a pedestal, which would have held a monument to a Toniná ruler or noble, emphasized the power of Toniná through hierarchical scale and spatial dominance. The humiliating posture of “Green Turtle,” coupled with the other images of bound captives on the Three-Chambered Platform, suggest that the feature is intimately tied to the victories of Toniná’s ruling elite. Second, the text on “Green Turtle” may elucidate when the pedestal was created.

The reference to Anaayte’—a site that Peter Mathews posited as the modern Anaite lake, river, and ruins near Yaxchilán256—may indicate that the platform was constructed by or in remembrance of Baaknal Chahk. Martin and Grube noted that sculpted prisoners in Ballcourt 1, which were commissioned by Baaknal Chahk in 699 C.E., include a vassal from Palenque named Yax Ahk, or “Green Turtle”—the same name that appears on the bound captive in the niche. This is certainly not conclusive evidence that the figure in the

255 Martin and Grube, “Tonina,” 182. 256 Miller and Martin, Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, 182. 95 chambered platform is the same as the one in the ballcourt, but if a relationship exists it might suggest that the structure commemorated important victories over Palenque and its allies in the late seventh or early eighth centuries. Moreover, the initial INAH conservation project suggested the middle pedestal was constructed after the lateral pedestals.257 Should this be the case, it supports the previous notion that pedestals were reconfigured in the Late Classic period—possibly even the seventh and eighth centuries—to conform to a tripartite platform convention.258 A future archaeological survey of the ground floor would likely shed light on this issue.

Whether the platform was built alongside the panel or after its construction, the two monuments were viewed and interpreted together as a cohesive piece—at least for a period. The narrow space between the panel and platform creates a corridor of significance in which viewers pass between images that are formally and iconographically connected. For example, the themes of sacrificial decapitation on the panel amalgamate with concepts of sacrifice and bound captives on the back of the platform. Further, the chevron band that wraps around the back of the structure, which appears alongside captive sculptures throughout the site, appear throughout the panel— including above the death collar of Turtle-Foot Death.

The crossbones and feather/leaf bands also link the chambered platform to the themes of the stucco panel (Figure 49). Moreover, the motifs imbue the platform with a sense of liminality that might separate the sacrificed victims from the rulers above and

257 Mateos González, Técnicas de manufactura, 23. 258 Ayala Falcón argued that the chambered pedestal was constructed in the late 8th century based on the IXIK sign, which she read as na, or Lady, and the second cartouche sign, which she interpreted as PI-NA. Ayala Falcón asserts that the text denotes Na Kawil—the possible seventh ruler of Toniná and mother to Ruler 8 (787-806 C.E.). See Ayala Falcón, “La Cromatía de Toniná,” 377-378. The signs, however, do not definitively name a specific ruler—let alone indicate a manufacturing event for the monument (David Stuart, personal communication, 2020). At this point, the function of the cartouches can only be linked in some way to the fate of the bound captives in the Three-Chambered Platform. 96 the royal supplicants that engage with the stelae. The divided quatrefoil motifs located on either side of the platform also mark the space as an entrance or portal to other realms. If the other side of the platform contained sections of on either end, the structure may relate to Mesoamerican conceptualizations of pars pro toto—where the parts of the quatrefoil represent the whole. At the Preclassic Olmec site of Teopantecuanitlan,

Guerrero, for example, the four architectonic quatrefoils in the walls of the sunken ballcourt are meant to be perceived as part of a single motif. Further, Structure 4 at the early Late Preclassic site of San Agustín, Chiapas contains a partial-quatrefoil monolith that bears a striking resemblance to the quatrefoils at Teopantecuanitlan.259 Assuming the quatrefoils on the Toniná platform reflect a similar function, the supplicants on the fifth terrace would need to circumambulate the platform to comprehend the entire quatrefoil.

The Three-Chambered Platform is also a space of cross-media representations. While several paintings could have decorated the ancient platform—particularly in the flat areas where little stucco remains, the captive painting on the face of the rectangular bench is the only known two-dimensional work in this area. Here, the legs of the reclining captive—painted in a light brown or ochre hue—bend at the knees to fit within the pictorial space (Figure 50). The posture calls to mind the position of K’an Joy

Chitam in Monument 122, among other captive representations at the site. The function of this feature is unknown, although it is easy to imagine that participants stood upon the flat surface during rituals. The bench might have also been an apt place to keep ceramics during ceremonies. In this sense, the piece is a type of altar for religious practices. I would argue that the platform represents a convergence of stucco decorations, stone

259 Julia Guernsey, “A Consideration of the Quatrefoil Motif in Preclassic Mesoamerica,” in Anthropology and Aesthetics 57/58 (spring/autumn 2010): 86.

97 stelae, ceramics, and two-dimensional paintings that fostered materially-rich engagements with the stela-pedestal-altar complex during ritual performances. However, Karl Taube has posited that the chambered structure is the base for a skull rack.260 Taube argues that the “thrones” seen on vessels such as the Nakbe ceramic and K3924, actually depict a leafy tzompanlti that contains the skulls of sacrificial victims. He also suggests that the leafy frames on the panel and the chambered platform at Toniná relate to the same ceramic iconography. In Taube’s view, the circular holes in each pedestal were used to support large posts for an ancient tzompantli. While this is certainly an intriguing notion—especially considering the themes of sacrifice and decapitation around the platform—the archaeological data at the site indicate that the platform was an elaborate base for stelae or sculptures.

When Becquelin and Baudez excavated Monument 102 and its pedestal, for instance, they observed that underneath the base for the statue was a long tenon that fit into the hole of the pedestal (Figure 42).261 As I previously stated, the scattered fragments of stelae and statues were also found next to other three-chambered platforms—thereby indicating that the monuments were associated with these structures. Moreover, other scholars, including Ayala Falcón, have argued that the chambered platform serves the same function.262 The measurements of the circular holes in the structure also coincide with stone tenons found throughout the terrace—including those that were found on the eastern side of the patio. I argue, therefore, that the structure was an elaborate stucco base that held three stone stelae or sculptural portraits representing royal figures—each placed into their respective holes using cylindrical tenons.

260 Karl A. Tabue, “Los ‘Andamios de Cráneos’ Entre Los Antiguos Mayas,” in Arqueología Mexicana 25, no. 148 (November/December 2017): 24-29. 261 Becquelin and Baudez, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 71. 262 Ayala Falcón, “La Cromatía de Toniná,” 377. 98 Interpretations

The three-chambered platform contributed to the placemaking on the fifth terrace by linking the formal and iconographic characteristics of the stucco panel with the decorations that surround the pedestals. The two were likely seen simultaneously as the artists deliberately left a space to walk behind the chambered structure and see artworks rendered both on the back wall and the slope. This intervisual experience likely contributed to the internalization of meaning. More specifically, the material dichotomy between stone monuments, stucco panels, paintings, and ceramics would have created visual cues relevant to each artform.263 The smooth, volumetric working of stucco, for instance, likely elicits a different reaction than hard, porous stone works. While the combination of stelae and stucco is present throughout the site, the fifth terrace shows an increase of this visual interaction. It should be noted, however, that the audience for the images in the platform may have also been the wahyoob on the panel.264 The captive in the pedestal niche, for example, is watched over by the towering Turtle-Foot Death who holds the head of a decapitated captive. I would suggest that the proximity of the characters, coupled with their thematic connections, may imply a relationship or interaction that does not rely on human viewers to exist. Nevertheless, the human body was conscripted into a phenomenological engagement with massive monuments and reduced-scale sculptures that communicated artistically and thematically. As rituals were performed on and around this structure, the participants—who likely used ceramic vessels—internalized geopolitical messages that were inscribed in the cross-media, multivalent space.

263 Rebecca B. González Lauck, “The Architectural Setting of Olmec Sculpture Clusters at , Tabasco,” in The Place of Stone Monument: Context, Use, and Meaning in Mesoamerica’s Preclassic Transition, ed. by Julia Guernsey, John E. Clark, and Barbara Arroyo. (Washington, D.C: Dumbarton Oaks and Trustees for Harvard University, 2010), 146. 264 Stephennie Mulder, personal communication, 2019. 99 The images on K3924 perhaps demonstrate the culmination of this process. As the wahy impersonators communicate with skeletal death gods in the realm of the wahyoob, royal attendants witness the scene from behind the supernatural boundary. At Toniná, the construction of a stelae platform complex in front of the stucco panel creates a similar visual and conceptual framework. Viewing the stelae from the base of the platform, the towering rulers would appear enmeshed with the polychrome world of the wahyoob at their backs—a rich amalgamation of perspectives, colors, and motifs that bolstered the affective nature of the works.

The two groups were separated by liminal boundaries that called attention to the dialogical interplay between realms that manifested on the terrace. To that end, the royal figures were eternally engaged in an act of sacred communication that transcended representation by nurturing multifaceted perspectives, intervisual networks, and movement of the body through ritual engagement. The relationship between the stucco panel and the chambered platform thereby contributed to the sense of elite identity that defined the space.

100 Chapter Four: Conclusions

In the first chapter of this thesis, I outline a brief history of Toniná’s visual programs—specifically vis-à-vis the acropolis and fifth terrace. My goal is to provide an overview of the types of monuments that ancient viewers encountered in patios, staircases, palatial structures, temples, and architectural slopes—particularly on the fifth terrace. The chapter then utilizes archaeological and conservation analyses to thoroughly elucidate the material/artistic practices of the Wahyoob Stucco Panel and its preservation/destruction after the Late Classic period. My work also seeks to provide a better estimate for the panel’s date of construction, which has been linked to several different periods/rulers. This thesis also aims to develop a complete formal and iconographic understanding of the stucco panel. Where past scholarship has largely concentrated on Turtle-Foot Death, cross-cultural comparisons, or associations with the K’iche’ Popol Vuh narrative, the second chapter addresses the entire panel and grounds the imagery in Late Classic Maya spatiotemporal circumstances—including the geopolitical relationships relevant to Toniná. To be sure, texts/representations from sites outside of Chiapas and Usumacinta area—the Petén region in particular—are utilized in comparative analyses to elucidate potential mythical and/or ritual practices that do not manifest in Toniná’s extant material record. This section ultimately posits that specific wahy entities and their veritable weirdness were invoked by Toniná’s elite—likely Baankal Chahk or Ruler 4—to connect and sanctify certain alliances/rivalries with cosmic beings and mythical origin narratives. The third chapter expounds upon the stylistic nature of the panel and its potential relationship with other mediums—particularly polychrome ceramics with images of wahy

101 creatures. I argue that the elite viewers would recognize the possible cross-media connections and interpret the panel or, inversely, ceramic vessels with similar imagery, as part of the same visual/ideological system. This intervisual network would, therefore, impact experiential engagements with the panel. Moreover, the chambered platform in front of the mural, I would argue, is part of this intervisual program. The patrons/artists transformed Toniná’s stela-pedestal-altar-complex into an elaborate multi-media platform through which new messages could be absorbed into the sociopolitical atmosphere.

Ultimately, my goal with this thesis is to provide a solid framework for future investigations of the panel, fifth terrace, and site writ large. There are several important issues that I was unable to address here, which I hope other scholars will consider in their investigations of Toniná. For instance, a more thorough analysis of the potential ritual practices on the fifth terrace would provide valuable data regarding the artwork. Admittedly, a more in-depth examination of ethnohistorical and ethnographic studies in Chiapas—including notions of nagual transformation, the wayjeltik of Tzeltal and Tzotzil communities, and cosmological practices—would also reveal important points of continuity with the ancient Toniná polity or, conversely, issues of disjunction that may exist in my current arguments. Further, a systematic examination of the polychrome ceramic sherds in the site bodega would undoubtedly produce vital data regarding the figures/texts in the panels. Finally, the forthcoming osteological/bioarchaeological studies by Vera Tiesler and Judith Ruiz González will likely add much to the discussion of sacrifice and ritual practices at the site. That said, the arguments presented in this thesis contribute new understandings of the iconographic, stylistic, and phenomenological components of Toniná—including aspects of the Wahyoob Stucco Panel, chambered platform, and fifth terrace that have, 102 until now, received little academic attention. The stucco panel represents one of the finest examples of Maya relief work in the Late Classic period. Local artists incorporated refined stucco sculpting techniques of the period with ambitious, rhythmic compositions, intricate line work, meticulous iconographic details, and a variety of hues—all rendered on a monumental scale. The concerted effort of these sculptors manifested a truly unique work that amplifies the dark, nightmarish nature of its protagonists while embodying specific mythical/political messages related to its time and place. Indeed, the panel is an agentive, dialogical stage through which elite supplicants—foreign and/or domestic— could engage with supernatural entities who lurk at the crossroads, or veil, that separates earthly and otherworldly realms.

103

Figure 1. Map of Maya the region. Edited from Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, eds. Mary Miller and Simon Martin, 2004, 18: figure 3.

104

Figure 2. Map of the plaza and acropolis of Toniná after Martinez E. and Becquelin in Peter Matthews Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Volume 6, Part 1, 1983: 6:6. 105

Figure 3. View of Toniná’s acropolis from the Great Plaza. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 4. The fourth-terrace staircase. Photograph by author, 2019.

106

Figure 5. Palace district on the east end of the fourth terrace. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 6. Left: Monument 26 at Museo Nacional de Antropoligía. Ht. 1.64 m. Photograph by author, 2019; Right: Monument 26 showing the tenon for pedestal structures. Drawing by Peter Mathews in Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Vol. 6, Part 1, 1983: 6:61. 107

Figure 7. Stucco wall, third-terrace chamber. Polychrome stucco feathers/leaves and crossbones. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 8. View of the lower acropolis, plaza, and Ocosingo valley from the fifth terrace patio. Photograph by author, 2019.

108

Figure 9. View of the fifth terrace from the top of E5-14. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 10. The Wahyoob Stucco Panel. Drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello). Note: the left side of the drawing was cropped to fit the formatting standards of this thesis. The missing section contains a portion of the groundline and a scale for reference.

109

Figure 11. Left: The Baaknal Chahk stucco partition in the so-called “Templo de las Luciernagas” in the palace district; Right: Detail of skeletal figure. Photograph by Benito Valázquez Tello, INAH Chiapas, México; detail of skeletal creature.

Figure 12. Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy, Turtle-Foot Death, Section I. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello).

110

Figure 13. Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy, Section I. Photograph by Juan Yadeun in Toniná: El Laberinto Del Inframundo, 1992: Plate in Front Matter.

Figure 14. K’anbaah Ch’oj, “Yellow Gopher Mouse.” Photograph by Francis Robicsek in The Smoking Gods: Tobacco in Maya Art, History and Religion, 1978: Plate 110. 111

Figure 15. Turtle-Foot Death, Section I. Photograph by author, 2019.

112

Figure 16. Reticulated turtle shells of Turtle-Foot Death, Yellow Gopher/Mouse Wahy olla, and the accompanying caption, Section I. Photograph by author, 2019.

Illustration 1. Turtle-Foot Death. Drawing by author, 2019.

113

Figure 17. K’an Joy Chitam II with ak’ab olla and lightning axe. Dumbarton Oaks Panel 2, Palenque, México, c. 702-721. Limestone. 1667 x 100 cm. From Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya, eds. Mary Miller and Simon Martin, 2004, 218: Plate 117.

114

Figure 18. Possible Toniná territory. After Peter Mathews (1997) from Andrew K. Scherer “The Classic Maya sarcophagus: Veneration and Renewal at Palenque and Tonina.” In Anthropology and Aesthetics, 2012, 48: Map 1.

Figure 19. Lightning Axe, Yellow Leaf Place, Water Lily Jaguar Wahy, Chan Mo’ Winkil, and Avian Deity, Section II. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello). 115

Figure 20. Lightning Axe and skeletal legs/feet of a death god, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 21. Hieroglyphic caption reading “Yellow Leaf Place” and axe-wielding wahy, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019. 116

Figure 22. Water Lily Jaguar wahy, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 23. K521. Petén, Guatemala, Late Classic period. Ceramic, 14 × 10.2 × 10.6 × 11.4 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art. Rollout photograph by Justin Kerr. Source: Maya Vase Database.

117

Figure 24. Detail of Chan Mo’ Winkil, Section II. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 25. Hieroglyphic caption reading “He is Jaguar, Chan Mo’ Winkil’s Hand was Chopped,” Section II. Photography by author, 2019.

118

Figure 26. Avian Deity, Section II. Photography by author, 2019.

Figure 27. The Smoking-Contortionist Wahy and Serpent-Centipede Wahy, Section III. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello). 119

Figure 28. Smoker-Contortionist Wahy and hieroglyphic caption, Section III. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 29. Serpentine-Centipede Wahy, Section III. Photograph by author, 2019. 120

Figure 30. The Ch’een Frame. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 31. Inverted head in feather/leaf medallion, Ch’een Frame, Section I. Photograph by author, 2019. 121

Figure 32. Death banner and skull medallion, Ch’een Frame, Section I/II. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 33. Traces of crossbones, Ch’een Frame, Section I/II. Photograph by author, 2019. 122

Figure 34. Serpentine groundline, Section I. Detail of drawing by Daniel Salazar Lama (CNCA-INAH, 2012) courtesy of INAH Chiapas, México (Benito Valázquez Tello).

Figure 35. Leafy frame and jaguar wahy, Nakbe vessel from Structure GC-103, Nakbe, Petén. Drawing by Francisco Lopez in Richard D. Hansen “Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Nakbe, Petén: El Resumen de la Temporada de Campo de 1993” 1993, 279: Figure 9.10. 123

Figure 36. Orange polychrome ceramic fragment from the IXIM complex. After Claude F. Baudez and Pierre Becquelin, Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 1979: Figure 174c.

Figure 37. K791. Central Lowland Petén, Guatemala, Late Classic Period (600-750 C.E.). Polychrome ceramic, 20 x 16 cm, Princeton Art Museum. Scanned from book: After Dorie Reents-Budet, Painting the Maya Universe, 1994: Figure 5.10. 124

Figure 38. K1256. Maya Petén region, Guatemala, Classic to Late Classic (200-750 C.E.). Earthenware ceramic, unknown dimensions, private collection. Rollout photograph by Justin Kerr. Source: Maya Vase Database.

Figure 39. Drawing of Late Classic vessel, unknown provenance, unknown dimensions. From Papers on the Economy and Architecture of the Ancient Maya, ed. Raymond Sidrys, 1978: Figure 1.

125

Figure 40. K3924. Late Classic Period (600-750 C.E.). Polychrome ceramic, 25.3 x 17.6 cm, unknown collection. Rollout photograph by Justin Kerr. Source: Maya Vase Database.

Figure 41. Map of the fifth terrace. Edited from Peter Mathews, Toniná: Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions, Volume 6, Part 1, 1983: Map in Front Matter.

126

Figure 42. Left: Monument 102 and decorated pedestal; Right: Monument 102 showing tenon. Photographs by Claude F. Baudez and Pierre Becquelin in Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 1979: Figure 56a-b.

Figure 43. Structure 11 on the fifth terrace. After Claude F. Baudez and Pierre Becquelin in Tonina, Une cite maya du Chiapas (Mexicque), 1979: Figure 62.

127

Figure 44. Three-Chambered Platform, east side of the fifth terrace. Photograph by author, 2019.

Figure 45. Decorated side of the east pedestal from the Three-Chambered Platform. Photograph by author, 2019. 128

Figure 46. Left: cartouche on back of the Three-Chambered Platform with sign, IXIK, and captive; Right: cartouche on back of the Three-Chambered Platform with sign, PIK-NAL, and captive. David Stuart notes that it is currently unclear what these signs indicate. Photographs by author, 2019.

Figure 47. Cartouches, chevron band, and niche on the back wall of the Three- Chambered Platform. Photograph by author, 2019. 129

Figure 48. Relief carving of “Green Turtle, Lord of Anaayte’.” Late Classic Period. Limestone, 55 x 45 x 10 cm. Found in back wall of the Three-Chambered Platform. From Toniná museum. Photograph by author, 2019. Courtesy of INAH, Chiapas, México.

Figure 49. Left: crossbones, traces of a glyphic caption, chevron band, and the corridor between the Three-Chambered Platform and stucco panel; Right: detail of stucco crossbones. Photographs by author, 2019. 130

Figure 50. Captive painting, east pedestal of the Three-Chambered Platform, 66 x 33 cm. Photograph by author, 2019.

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