Heritage, Heart Direct Second-Generation Woodcarver Peter Ortega

By Brian D’Ambrosio

Peter Ortega’s woodcarvings are objects of beauty and birthright, equal parts artistry and inheritance.

His father, Benjamin “Ben” Ortega (1923-1998), took a slow, roundabout path to whittling wood, earning high regard in his lifetime for religious-themed statues. Peter’s experience, however, came quickly like a direct calling, an unspoken directive to build on his father’s accomplishment.

Born in 1923 in Tesuque, Ben was orphaned at an early age and raised by an aunt and uncle who sheltered and cared for him as well as several siblings.

He enlisted in the United States Army and served in the South Pacific during the Second World War, including stops in the Philippines, Guam, and New Guinea Islands. Years later, he told his children tales of the intense aerial battles, or “dogfights,” and how the combat fireworks punctuated the lit sky.

“He said that he didn’t think that he was going to make it out of there alive,” his son said.

Shaken but safe and intact, Ben returned to New Mexico, and, determined to utilize the G.I. Bill, attended vocational school in Pojoaque. There he learned the fundamentals of cabinet making and how to use basic machine shop equipment.

Several of his friends moved to the bigger cities of California after graduating, but Ben didn’t feel the urge to leave Tesuque, and that’s where the circumstances of the Ortega woodcarving tradition played out.

“My dad’s adopted father gave him a job taking care of a ranch,” Peter said. “He would always walk through the river to work. He’d look at the roots of the trees. He always wanted to make something out of them.”

Acting on a deep chord in his spirit, Ben carved a caricature of Italian mystic Saint Francis of Assisi and then a depiction of the Madonna, one of the designations of Mary, mother of Jesus, in Roman Catholic interpretation. He was skillful, but woodworking remained a hobby until a turn of fate led to something greater.

“It was in 1967 that the Santa Fe Opera had burned down,” Peter said. “People were looking for donations. He made two bultos (a Spanish word describing wooden sculptures of religious saints or figures) and they did real well with them on auction. People were now asking for Ben Ortega, the artist: ‘Can you make two more?’ He got into the Spanish Market, and I grew up going to the Spanish Market with him.”

He said his father initially carved in the kitchen. He can still recall the joy that came from listening to the lingering vibrations of his tools. The room had a dirt floor and no electricity. At first his mother, Isabelle, wasn’t happy with the dust and disarray, but she soon fell in love with the character and beauty of the work. Over time, it provided the family with a decent income.

Ben’s art became inseparable from his faith as a devout Catholic, the expression of a man who “believed in putting God first,” according to his son. Indeed, it became a spiritual thing, like love, joy, or peace, growing stronger and more important when shared.

“Dad was happy all the time. He was a good-hearted man and wonderful father. We grew up poor, but we were loved. Ten kids, and they raised two of my cousins, too.”

The Ortegas liked to take their children on trips to scout for and collect wood. They owned a Jeep with a trailer, and they’d pack snacks and lunches in prep to be gone the entire day.

Ben saw wondrous potential in the twisted parts of trees, especially the gnarled sections of root, envisioning Biblical imagery or panoramas depicting characters such as David and Goliath in the base of an oak or juniper. His confidence surged after he carved of apostle James the Great, also known as Santiago, out of a root. He went on to carve Saint Francis, the patron saint of Santa Fe, and religious sculptures became his style. He was a patient artist and teacher known for his affectionate manner.

“He let you do what you were inspired with,” Peter said. “He taught us how to carve the little birds (in the nativity landscapes) with a knife.”

Ben was most content when he had all of the family together carving in the front yard. Since his death in 1998, several of his children have experimented with woodworking, and near the end of Ben’s life, Peter worked with his father on a number of pieces.

At 66, Peter’s hands, back and eyesight are feeling the adverse effects of several decades of carving from very hard and dense trees, such as the misleadingly named Cottonwood. It’s anything but soft. Yet he still enjoys the cycle: searching for wood, hauling it home, working with it, and seeing the result in religious icons, angels, and nativity scenes.

This summer when he and his two sisters were out and about, they ended up with what Peter described as “a truckload of weird wood.” The soil and water and geographic nuances of a place make each tree and, by extension, each piece of wood different, he said: “Most of the wood is free. We still go through rivers, lakes, and arroyos, wherever we can to find interesting pieces.”

Little has changed in the practice and application of woodcarving from generation to generation. Peter even uses some of the same knives that his dad once did. Ben taught Peter to take care of the tools to prolong their durability.

“You never know how a piece of wood is going to slice until you cut into it,” Peter said. “In those first few minutes, you realize how successful you are going to be or how stubborn the piece is going to fight you.”

Over the years, his sculptures have been chosen for a number of awards, something that he attributes more to the raw, minimalist aesthetics of the material than any great set of skills that he possesses.

“Truthfully, Mother Nature does most of the work and makes this work unique,” Peter said. “I wait for Her to tell me what it is going to be at the right time. It’s like God’s timing.”

Reflecting on the crucial role of woodworking in his life and family history, Peter noted that a couple of Ben’s grand-children and great-grandchildren have made the attempt to learn, too.

“It’s a blessing that he gave us something that lasts to this day,” said Peter. “Dad passed on a gift and a blessing that has been giving to us and to our family for generations. “