National parks, Taos ceramics

 A paper I read provided a list of National Parks with some nice pictures; I notice in Colorado Dinosaur National Park was skipped and that Gunnison now is a national park as well as the sand dunes down near Alamosa, but Colorado National Monument doesn't have that status.  How is this sort of thing determined?

The short answer is: it is partly about the resources, partly about politics, and partly about history. There is no scientific formula that says “this place is important enough to be a National Park.” The title is a legal designation, not a ranking system.

The basic pathways are:

    Congress creates National Parks

        The usual route is that a bill is introduced in Congress, hearings are held, studies are done (often by the National Park Service), and Congress passes a law.

        The President signs it.

        This is how many places became parks: a long process involving local support, conservation groups, legislators, and sometimes opposition.

    Presidents can create National Monuments

        Under the Antiquities Act of 1906, presidents can protect federal lands with significant historic, scientific, or natural features by proclamation.

        Many monuments later become parks, but many do not.

The interesting Colorado examples show how arbitrary the labels can seem:

    Dinosaur National Monument was originally made a monument in 1915 because of the dinosaur fossils. Later, the spectacular canyons became a major part of the attraction, but the name and status remained. It is not called “Dinosaur National Park,” although many people casually assume it is.

    Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park was first protected as a national monument in 1933 and upgraded to national park status in 1999. The upgrade reflected the view that its dramatic canyon scenery and recreational value warranted the higher designation.

    Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve was originally a national monument (1932) and became a national park and preserve in 2004. A major factor was that the dunes were recognized as part of a much larger ecosystem, including mountains, wetlands, and wildlife habitat.

    Colorado National Monument remains a monument. It has spectacular scenery, but its designation reflects its history: it was created by President Taft in 1911 under the Antiquities Act. There has been discussion over the years about changing its status, but Congress has never made that change.

One amusing feature of the system is that a National Monument can actually be more restrictive and more important than a National Park in some people's eyes. The words sound like a hierarchy, but legally they are different categories. Some monuments protect places that are every bit as impressive as parks.

The National Park Service itself manages many kinds of units: national parks, monuments, preserves, historic sites, battlefields, seashores, recreation areas, and others. The famous “National Park” label is really a brand name that grew out of early 20th-century conservation politics.

So a list of “National Parks” is often a list of places with a particular legal title, not necessarily a list of the greatest natural wonders. A compilation that included Great Sand Dunes but omitted Colorado National Monument was following the legal label, not necessarily making a judgment about beauty or importance.

I dare say it has an effect on tourism.

That is a great example of the difference between collecting and merely buying decorative objects. The most interesting part of your story is not the eventual $5,000 price tag — it is that you noticed something in a teenager's work that was not yet being fully recognized.

There is a long tradition in the Southwest of buying directly from artists or families, especially at Pueblo communities. A visitor might encounter pieces that look similar on the surface, but there can be enormous differences in:

    the quality of the clay preparation,

    the control of shape and symmetry,

    the thinness and balance of the vessel,

    the quality of the firing,

    the design sense,

    and whether the artist has a distinctive voice.

A trained collector can often spot something before the market catches up. Of course, markets are fickle — plenty of beautiful pieces never become expensive — but occasionally someone sees genuine talent early.

The mesa you are thinking of may have been one of the Pueblo communities west of Albuquerque, perhaps in the Acoma or Zuni area, though there are several possibilities. Acoma Pueblo is especially memorable because of the mesa-top setting: a community literally perched above the desert, with artists selling pottery connected to a very old tradition.

What I find charming about your account is the way you describe the purchase: not “I made an investment,” but “I thought it was amazing.” That is usually how the best collecting stories begin. Someone responds to the object first; the market comes later, if it comes at all.

And there is a nice symmetry with your Taos gallery story. In one case you were the person standing in front of the glass case realizing this is something special. In the other, you were the person who found something special before it had a glass case.

Out of curiosity: do you still have a photograph of the piece? I would be interested in what caught your eye — the form, the decoration, or simply the feeling of it.

Thanks: the Acoma Pueblo, and I was no trained expert but I had been told about thinness.

That one piece of information — thinness — may have been the most important thing someone could have told you. You did not need to be a trained appraiser; you had been given a key that lets a person see quality.

In traditional Pueblo pottery, especially the finer Acoma work, a thin-walled vessel often indicates an extraordinary amount of skill. It is not simply “make the wall thinner.” The potter has to manage the clay, the shaping, the drying, and the firing so precisely that the piece does not crack or collapse. A vessel that feels almost impossibly light in the hand can be a sign of mastery.

And Acoma is a fascinating place to have encountered it. Acoma Pueblo has a pottery tradition with very distinctive white slip, fine black designs, and elegant forms, but within that tradition there is a huge range — from everyday pieces to museum-quality works.

What you describe is actually how many good collections are formed. Someone learns one or two meaningful things:

    “Look at the thinness.”

    “Look at the symmetry.”

    “Look at how the design follows the form rather than just being painted on.”

    “Look at the confidence of the hand.”

Then they look.

The market may later attach a dollar figure, but the eye develops by noticing those physical clues. A person who has handled enough objects often recognizes something before they can explain why. It is similar to hearing a musician and thinking, “That is different,” before knowing anything about the performer.

The part I especially like is that you bought it from a kid. That means you were not buying a famous name; you were responding to the work itself. The fact that a New York gallery eventually valued it at $5,000 suggests your judgment was not merely sentimental.

I wonder whether you remember the design — was it the classic Acoma white-and-black geometric style, or was it one of the more figurative pieces with animals, birds, or human figures? Acoma artists have done both, and they have very different personalities.

No figures, just a shape, almost female but standing on its own with the traditional lip at the top.  Clearly fired very little.

That description actually makes it easier to understand why it caught your eye. You were not responding to decoration; you were responding to form.

A vessel that is “almost female” in shape but stands independently is very much in the tradition of Pueblo pottery where the potter lets the vessel itself carry the expression. The silhouette, the balance, the swelling and narrowing of the body, and the transition to the neck and lip become the design.

And the “clearly fired very little” comment is interesting. Many people assume a better piece must look highly polished, glazed, or brightly decorated, but in traditional Pueblo pottery the opposite can sometimes be true. A low-fire, carefully prepared piece can retain a very organic, almost skin-like surface. The beauty comes from the clay itself, the burnishing, the form, and the restraint.

The lip is another clue. A good potter can make a rim look effortless, but it is one of the places where the maker's skill shows. The top edge has to be even, strong, and visually right in relation to the whole vessel. A slightly awkward lip can ruin an otherwise excellent pot.

What is especially interesting is that you were looking at a young artist's work. Acoma pottery has had periods where younger artists developed their own approaches while staying within a very old tradition. A teenager making a vessel with that kind of confidence would have been unusual enough that someone paying attention might well have noticed.

It also fits your earlier comment about having a “reasonably good eye.” A trained expert would have a vocabulary for what they saw; you had a practical test: does this object have presence? Sometimes that is the more fundamental judgment.

The fact that you later sold it through a New York gallery suggests that other eyes eventually agreed — but the first and most important transaction was between you and the piece. You saw something worth carrying home when the market still saw a young person's pottery. That is exactly the kind of story that makes collecting interesting.