First American Art Magazine No. 0, Spring 2013

FırstAmericanArt MAGAZINE

Spring 2013

Orlando Dugi Anita Fields Tom Jones Erin Shaw

Greenlandic Art Rethinking Native Fashion Délégation Amérindienne, Paris

2013 International

Conference of Indigenous Archives, Libraries and Museums Save the Date Now

June 10–13 2013 Hyatt Regency Tamaya Resort and Spa Santa Ana Pueblo, New Mexico Featuring 14 Pre-conferences and tours  90 Sessions, including hands-on labs  Digital Storytelling track Keynotes by Honorary Chair LaDonna Harris, Walter Echo-Hawk, James Anaya, and more  Luncheon honoring Scott Momaday  Literary Evening with Joe Bruchac, Walter Echo-Hawk, Joy Harjo, Scott Momaday, and Tim Tingle Evenings at Santa Fe’s Museum of Contemporary Native Arts and Albuquerque’s Indian Pueblo Cultural Center Guardians of Lifeways Awards Ceremony

Registration is $250 and includes two breakfasts and three luncheons.

For more information, please visit www.atalm.org

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Dragonfly, to the Zunis, is the messenger between the physical and spiritual. Since 1981, Keshi has used this symbol to honor our role as a bridge from Zuni Pueblo to your world. Our purpose is to create a place where the Zuni people can sell their unique pieces at an equitable price.

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Pottery corn maiden: Randy Nahohai: Dragonfly fetish: Brian Yatsattie

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fetishes

jewelry

pottery SPRING 2013

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The leading voice for Native American art

Quarterly Coverage

Brent Greenwood Indian Market 2013 Booth 779LIN-W www.brentgreenwood.com gwoodstudio@yahoo.com www.kivaindianart.com

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SPRING 2013

FEATURES

REVIEWS

More Than Just a Trend: Rethinking the “Native” in Native Fashion Jessica R. Metcalfe (Turtle Mountain Chippewa)

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Something Imperialistic Happened on the Way to the Louvre: Délégation Amérindienne 2012, An Artist’s Perspective Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation)

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Northern Lights: Greenlandic Art in the 21st Century America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

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“Biennale of Sydney: all our relations” Andrea R. Hanley (Navajo)

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“The Way We Live: American 59 Indian Art Of The Great Basin And The Sierra Nevada” Melissa Melero (Northern Paiute/Modoc) “Real N.D.N.–Native Diaspora Now” 60 America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) “Arte Textil Contemporáneo” Sarah Sense (Chitimacha/Choctaw)

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DEPARTMENTS ARTIST PROFILES Orlando Dugi (Diné) Teri Greeves (Kiowa)

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Anita Fields (Osage/Muscogee) Denise Neil-Binion (Delaware Tribe/Cherokee Nation)

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Tom Jones (Ho-Chunk) America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

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Erin Shaw (Chickasaw/Choctaw) America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

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Images left, from top: • Tom Jones, detail of Powell Littlejohn, 2012, digital print, 25 × 20 in.

• Orlando Dugi. detail of Celestial Phoenix, 2010, beaded sting ray leather handbag.

• Erin Shaw, detail of On the Grave of Dreams, 2010, acrylic on canvas, 30 × 40 in.

• Anita Fields, Begin with Your Left, 2012, clay slips, under glaze, gold luster glaze, 4½ × 8½ in.

Recent Developments

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Exploring Native Graphic Design Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Chippewas of Rama First Nation)

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Pueblo Revolt Reid Gómez (Navajo) Illustrations by Bryon Archuleta (Ohkay Owingeh)

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Book Reviews

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Numbers

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In Memoriam

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Cover: Erin Shaw, Be Prepared, 2011, acrylic on canvas, 12 × 12 in.

From the Meritocracy series: “This series is not about birds, or merit badges, or the Boy Scouts of America, or some metanarrative where birds or merit badges are a metaphor for people and our daily strife toward a definable identity. This series, these layers, these multiple mediums are a challenge, an invitation to consider paradox, unanswered questions, accidents, truths, paradigms.”

—Erin Shaw Back cover: Melissa Melero, Category X, 2011, mixed media on canvas, 48 × 36 in.

“Category X is a response to everything Native being put into categories and boxes, instead of seeing Native art simply being art made by Natives.”

—Melissa Melero SPRING 2013

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CONTRIBUTORS ROY BONEY JR. (Cherokee Nation) is a full-blood Cherokee and an award-winning filmmaker, artist, and writer. Boney has written, directed, and produced several short animated films.

As a graphic novelist, Boney contributed to Dead Eyes Open and the Eisner Award nominated anthology Trickster: Native American Tales. He works for the Language Technology Program for the Cherokee Nation Education Services Group in Tahlequah, Oklahoma.

REID GÓMEZ, PhD (Navajo) is a writer, scholar, and language advocate from California.

She was raised in San Francisco and earned her PhD in comparative ethnic studies from the University of California, Berkeley. She has taught in universities for more than 20 years. Her first novel was A Woman’s Body Was Found There. Gómez was awarded the Astraea Lesbian Writers Fund Emerging Writers Award in 1995. Currently, she is working of several pieces about Navajo slaves, and the effects of attempted extermination on the Navajo, Apache and Pueblo peoples.

TERI GREEVES (Kiowa) is beadwork artist, who grew up on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. Currently she lives in Santa Fe with her husband and two sons. Greeves graduated from the University of California, Santa Cruz with a degree in American Studies magna cum laude. Her work combines Kiowa oral history with her personal and family experiences.

ANDREA R. HANLEY (Navajo) has over two decades of professional experience working in the field of arts advocacy, exhibition development, and arts management, primarily focusing on American Indian art. She is currently the membership and program manager for the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

SUZAN SHOWN HARJO, PhDH (Southern Cheyenne/Muscogee), is a poet, writer, curator, lecturer, and policy advocate, who has helped Native peoples protect sacred places and recover more than one million acres of land. President of the Morning Star Institute, she is an award-winning columnist for Indian Country Today Media Network and guest curator and general editor of Treaties: Great Nations In Their Own Words. An honorary Doctorate of Humanities (Institute of American Indian Arts, 2011), she is a founding trustee of the National Museum of the American Indian, former executive director of the National Congress of American Indians, and past news director of the American Indian Press Association.

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CONTRIBUTORS MELISSA MELERO (Northern Paiute/Modoc) is a mixed-media artist living in Hungry Valley, Nevada. She served as the program associate at Sierra Arts Foundation in Reno, Nevada. Melero has a BFA from the Institute of American Indian Arts and a Bachelor of Science from Portland State University in Oregon. She exhibits her art throughout the United States.

JESSICA METCALFE, PhD (Turtle Mountain Chippewa) earned her doctoral degree in American Indian studies from the University of Arizona. Her dissertation was on Native designers of high fashion. Metcalfe is the main author of the Native fashion website, Beyond Buckskin, and is the owner of the Beyond Buckskin Boutique. She has taught courses in Native studies, studio art, art history, and literature at tribal colleges and state universities. She has presented at conferences, lectured, and curated. Currently Metcalfe lives in Bottineau, North Dakota.

DENISE NEIL–BINION (Delaware Tribe/Cherokee Nation) currently resides in Norman, Oklahoma. She has just completed her master of arts degree in Native American art history from the University of New Mexico, and her research interests center on Native American female artists in Oklahoma. She will begin studies for her PhD in Native American art history at the University of Oklahoma in the fall.

SARAH SENSE (Chitimacha/Choctaw) is an artist, curator, and writer from Sacramento, California. Sense’s art practice is weaving photographs with her family’s historic Chitimacha basketry techniques. In 2010 Sense began traveling and researching Indigenous art and culture in North, Central, and South America; the Caribbean Islands; and Southeast Asia, where she currently resides.

NEEBINNAUKZHIK SOUTHALL (Chippewas of Rama First Nation) is a graphic designer and artist, working in portrait photography and body painting. She earned an honors BFA from Oregon State University’s graphic design program and the University Honors College, with a minor in fine arts. She created the Native American Graphic Design Project to increase the visibility of North American Indigenous graphic artists. below: Erin Shaw, The End of A Story that Has No Ending, 2013, 24 × 120 in.

Do you have comments, corrections, or general thoughts on what you read here in First American Art Magazine? Please share them with us. You can either email letters to the editor to info@ firstamericanartmagazine.com, subject line “editor,” or mail them to: First American Art Magazine Attention: Editor, 3334 W. Main St. 442 Norman OK 73072 SPRING 2013

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First American Art Magazine, LLC Issue No. 0, Spring 2013, Revised on October 1, 2023

Editor: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Copy Editors: Meghan Cunningham, Christine Eddington Layout and Design: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Chippewas of Rama First Nation) Consultants: Staci Golar, David Winfield Norman, Laura Paschall (Cherokee Nation), Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Chippewas of Rama First Nation) Logo Design: Peter Kahn Editorial Advisory Board: Emily Haozous, PhD, RN (Chiricahua Fort Sill Apache) Maggie Ohnesorgen (Mestiza) Jim Rivera (Pascua Yaqui) Paula Rivera (Taos Pueblo)

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Thanks to: Jacquie Archambeau (Cherokee Nation), Samonia Byford (Cherokee Nation), Jean-Pierre Dalbéra, Tom Farris (Otoe-Missouria/Cherokee), Thomas Fields (Muscogee/ Cherokee), Laura Fragua-Cota (Jemez Pueblo), Kennetha Greenwood (Otoe-Missouria), Alfredo Jaar (ChileanAmerican), Tatiana Lomahaftewa-Singer (Hopi/Choctaw), Peter Løvstrøm (Greenlandic Inuk), Stephen MacMurray, Mary Ellen Meredith (Cherokee Nation), Marla Skye (Onondaga), Rick Stivers, Marcia Swain, Katja Vahl (Greenlandic Inuk), Frank Weaver (Paraguayan-American), and the Nunani Avannarlerni Piorsarsimassutsikkut Attaveqaat (NAPA) For subscriptions, visit www.firstamericanartmagazine.com/ subscribe.html. Subscription services, changes of address, and wholesale inquiries: First American Art Magazine, 3334 W. Main St. #442, Norman, OK 73072. First American Art Magazine, LLC welcomes queries about editorial submissions.

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Editor’s Greetings

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ELCOME TO THE PILOT ISSUE of First American Art Magazine! This is a labor of love and necessity.

Many pockets within the Native American art world have amazing dialogue about Indigenous art, but I don’t see the much needed cross-cultural platform for these different conversations. Hopefully, this magazine will hopefully draw more people into the conversation, about Indigenous art, Indigenous cultures, and the issues we all face today through the lens of art.

What makes Indigenous art so challenging to write about is exactly what makes it so important.

Why the Americas? Too often Native peoples of the Americas are divided by language barriers established by the people that colonized us. For millennia, we interacted and exchanged ideas and practices that span both continents—North and South America— from cultivating maize and tobacco to creating Indigenous language websites. We have a lot to learn from each other. Our histories haven’t stopped. Recently, Native and non-Native people from innumerable countries have acted in solidarity with the Idle No More movement, resisting attempts by the Canadian government to strip Aboriginal peoples of Canada of their sovereign rights.

I grew up in the Oklahoman Indian art world; my parents were curators and activists. At age six, I remember sorting art show invitations by zip code at the Center of the American Indian. When I was seven, my family lived on Bacone College campus in Muskogee. I visited Dick West, Cheyenne artist and art director, at the Ataloa Lodge. In high school I rebelled against art and actually Native art is diverse. There flunked an art class. Later on, as a are thousands of Indigenous bike messenger in San Francisco, I tribes, nations, and villages in was starved for Native cultures, and, the Americas, who speak thouwhile doing deliveries, discovered sands of different languages. To first the Zuni Pueblo’s cooperative respect Native peoples is to respect gallery on Union Street and then America Meredith, Bringing Harmony into the cultural sovereignty and people’s World, 2008, gouache on paper, 21 × 16 in. the American Indian Contempoinherent right to express their rary Arts gallery. AICA’s traveling own culture, religion, and worlexhibit, Indian Humor, convinced me to go to college. I was considdview. Each group has individuals with their own perspectives. This diversity is our strength. It’s a challenge to come to grips with such ering the Institute of American Indian Arts and saw in the show a dizzying range of viewpoints, but too many people have tried to catalog that most of the participating artists had attended IAIA. Art lump us into an undifferentiated stereotypes. We have a right to be can change the course of people’s lives.

Native art is holistic. It is not separate from daily or ceremonial life; it’s not on a pedestal— it’s interwoven into our lives, from the dance regalia made by relatives to an exhibition space in a tribal health clinic. While this makes the art difficult to define, it also keeps art relevant and meaningful in the real world.

ourselves, and, as art writers, the challenge is to allow artists and curators to express their viewpoints.

We don’t all agree, and we don’t need to. The world of Indigenous art is richer because of the wide variety of perspectives. Different writers reach different communities. My goal with First American Art Magazine is to put these different communities in touch with each other—sharing information about artists, exhibitions, venues, etc.

As a working artist, I see all the time that Native art could benefit from context — if the public came to the table with more working knowledge of Native art history and theory. Not everyone has the luxury of attending art school; many people have work, family, and other commitments, but art history and theory should still be accessible to anyone with a genuine interest, and I sincerely hope First American Art Magazine can further that goal.

—America Meredith SPRING 2013

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Recent Developments The Winnipeg Art Gallery (WAG) celebrated its 100th anniversary. To honor this occasion, the Royal Canadian Mint released a 99.99 percent gold collector-coin featuring an owl shaman designed by the late Joannassie Nowkawalk, an Inuk carver from Inukjuak, Quebec.

Gatherings WAG hosted a symposium Inuit Art: Trajectories of Transformation, which explored contemporary Inuit art’s history and place in the art world. Organized by Darlene Coward Wight,WAG’s curator of Inuit art, this symposium was held in conjunction with “Creation and Transformation: Defining Moments in Inuit Art.” With 115 artworks chronicling the history of Inuit art from the 1950s to the present, “Creation and Transformation” is the WAG’s largest exhibition of Inuit art to date. The gallery is building a new Inuit Art and Learning Centre, which will showcase items from its 13,000–piece collection.

The 11th Congress of the Ecológico Indígena que Organizó la Corporación Autónoma Regional del Tolima (Indigenous Ecological Regional Autonomous Corporation of Tolima) met in March in Tolima Department, Colombia. The meeting included dances, songs, and plays addressing water pollution and global climate change, presented by 300 children from 36 Indigenous communities.

Projects For three years, Matika Wilbur (Tulalip/Swinomish) will travel across the United States in car and RV to photograph all federally recognized tribes across the United States, part of Project 562 (of course, there are now 566 tribes).

Matika Wilbur is a documentary photographer who has already completed several major projects photographing Indigenous peoples in North and South America. More information about Project 562 is online at matikawilbur. com/blog.

Venues Indigenous protesters, including Guajajara and Pankararú people, occupied the Museu do Índio in the Botafogo neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil in late March. The protesters have been displaced by the closing of Aldeia Maracanã, their village, and are negotiating with the government to restore their land.

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Pre-Columbian petroglyphs in Amambay Department, Paraguay. Photo: Solar Map Project “The horizontal line of the cross is actually a type of horizon, that divides heaven and earth, but also it’s a line of time, from the beginning to the end.

The vertical line is the link between God and man, where God lives outside of time in heaven, and man lives inside time on earth. Man’s soul must have a good connection with God, if not, upon death the soul gets recycled,” writes Frank Weaver.

“The shaman then went on to explain that the section on the solar map at the bottom of the cross represents the different eras of man.”

Humboldt State University in Arcata, California, recently opened the Goudi’ni Gallery, its new Native American arts gallery. Michele McCall-Wallace is the gallery director.

Wiyot elders chose the name, Goudi’ni, which is the Wiyot term for Arcata.

The Philbrook Museum of Art in Tulsa, Oklahoma, is creating Philbrook Downtown, to showcase its modern and contemporary collections, including the Adkins Collection and the inaugural exhibit, “Identity and Inspiration in 20th Century Native American Art.” Located in Tulsa’s Brady Arts District, the new art center will be open to the public on June 14th.

Ziindi Zine, an independent Indigenous art publication, opened 1Spot Gallery in the Roosevelt Row Arts District in Phoenix, Arizona. The gallery features experimental Native artists, primarily from the Southwest.

Awards Eiteljorg Museum of American Indian and Western Art in Indianapolis, Indiana, announced its 2013 Eiteljorg Contemporary Art Fellows: Julie Buffalohead (Ponca Tribe of Oklahoma), Nicholas Galanin (Tlingit-Aleut), Shan Goshorn (Eastern Band of Cherokee), Meryl McMaster (Plains Cree-Blackfoot), and Lawrence Paul Yuxweluptun (Coast Salish). The fellowship includes an exhibit at the Eiteljorg Museum, museum purchase of their work, a catalog, and a $25,000 grant.

In April, Cecultah, the Hidalgo State Council for Culture and Arts, honored Juan Torres Maria de La Nopalera (Hñahñu) of Alfajayucan, Mexico, in recognition for his 60–year career as drum maker, flautist, and sisal weaver.

Petroglyphs In October of 2012, vandals used chainsaws to steal four petroglyphs from the Volcanic Tablelands, north of Bishop, California. Other petroglyphs were defaced. These date back possibly 3,500 years, and, for generations, the Bishop Paiute Tribe has conducted ceremonies at the site.

The stolen petroglyphs were recovered in January, but the vandals have not yet been caught. Under the Archaeological Resources Protection Act (ARPA), defacing cultural artifacts on public, federal, or Indian lands can be a felony crime with potential prison sentences and fines.

California State Assemblyman Mike Gatto (D–Los Angeles) consulted with California tribes to draft Assembly Bill 52 to strengthen legal protections for sacred and cultural sites.

Gatto hopes the bill will be ready this August.

Julius Badoni (Diné), Imagine & Create, 2013, oil on canvas, 4 × 4 in.

Petroglyphs in Amambay Department, Paraguay, will be documented thanks to the Solar Map Project. Paraguayan– American documentary filmmaker Frank Weaver is partnering with Paï-Tavytera leaders, including Galeano Suarez and Ña Silvia, to photograph the rock art, record oral history about their origins and meanings, and create a documentary film about the people, the land, and the petroglyphs.

Publications The Inuit Art Foundation (IAF) is back after being closed for most of 2012. In Iqaluit, Nunavut, the foundation elected a new board of directors of respected Inuit artists.

IAF will soon resume publishing its journal, Inuit Art Quarterly. The foundation has supported Inuit art for the last 28 years.

Contemporary Native Art Magazine (CNAM) is a new magazine published by Silvester Hustito from the Zuni Pueblo, New Mexico. CNAM showcases contemporary Indigenous art by established and emerging talents.

Market According to auctioneers Skinner, Inc., of Massachusetts, the demand for historical American Indian art is on the rise. A February sale of Inuit and Plains artwork, which grossed $1,777,912.50, was the most lucrative sale by Skinner’s American Indian and Ethnographic Art department in the auction house’s history.

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Exploring Native Graphic Design Neebinnaukzhik Southall

aniin! I am a member of the Chippewas of Rama First Nation, a mixed Native American-white graphic designer with a passion for Indigenous design. While studying graphic design at Oregon State University, I knew few other Natives in my school’s design program. I realized that I could not name a single prominent Native designer in the field. After further research, I did find several excellent, inspiring Native designers, but I realized how much the design industry in the United States and Canada is dominated by non-Native peoples. Native perspectives and experiences are left out, and this unbalance in a very ethnically diverse continent is symptomatic of greater ongoing social inequities. t’s vitally important that successful Indigenous graphic designers have a strong presence, especially in such a visual, media-saturated age.

Skilled graphic design as practiced by Native people is an expression of Indigenous sovereignty. For much of US and Canadian history, Native visual and material cultures were suppressed as a way to undermine and attempt to eradicate Indigenous people. Native design can be and has been a way to positively carry our cultures with us into our everyday lives. While graphic design as a field has Asian and European roots, it can be a part of Indigenous cultural reclamation.

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Native-made design has been used to promote positive Native identities, causes, and organizations. An excellent case in point includes the iconic posters and other design work created by Dwayne Bird (Peguis Cree) and Andy Everson (K’omoks/ Kwakwaka’wakw) in support of the Idle No More movement. y choice to design with Native imagery has caused me to not only examine and better understand the different visual cultures of other tribes, but it has also led me to investigate my own people’s visual history and culture and integrate into myself a deeper understanding of where I come from and who my people are. It’s important for people to see that where they come from is creatively valuable and relevant.

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reat graphic design is inspirational. For Native designers, wouldn’t it be nice to quickly and easily find rich information about other Native designers? Wouldn’t it be good to build on their insights and learn from them, instead of struggling alone? Wouldn’t it be useful to have a supportive community to discuss unique design situations and challenges that non-Natives may not understand? ative peoples should recognize, support, and nurture Native talent in the design field. Community is valued across Native cultures—Native

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designers need a professional organization.

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ecently, I asked Victor Pascual (Navajo/Maya), a prominent graphic designer and the creative lead of DGTL/NVJO, about his insights and experiences relating to Natives and design. What I drew from that meeting is that such a professional organization is possible, and that he is also personally making efforts toward it, but it will take a lot of work, structure, and dedication. Can we make it happen? e can build a stronger understanding of and insight into what we do.

This column will provide a platform to bring greater visibility to Native graphic designers as well as to promote excellence in Native design.

I’ll share individual perspectives of designers, highlight all sorts of projects (whether typography, logo design, branding, layouts, or other projects), discuss how designers’ tribal backgrounds influence the way they approach their work, and otherwise explore the visual, philosophical, and social implications of the intersection of Native cultures and graphic design.

If you are interested in sharing your perspective as a Native designer, please get in touch with me.

Chi-miigwetch.

www.neebin.com/nativedesign Images: Angel DeCora (Winnebago, 1871–1919)

Alfredo Jaar (Chilean–American), This is Not America (A Logo for America), 1987, photography of computerized animated projection on Spectacolor light board in Times Square, New York. Photos courtesy of the artist.

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ORLANDO DUGI

Orlando Dugi

Diné Beadwork Artist and Fashion Designer interview by Teri Greeves

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aised in a culturally engaged Diné world, surrounded by the beauty of the finely crafted clothing and adornments of his people, Orlando Dugi was intrigued, from an early age, by the world outside of his homelands. He viewed the couture of the ancient cultures of Europe and Asia and the modern fashion houses of Paris and New York through the lens of a person who sees what we wear and how we wear it as part of the human experience. Fashion is not only part self-expression but also, in his words, part of the decidedly Native reverence of “dressing for the Holy Ones.” Though at first glance, the viewer or wearer of his clothing and beadwork may not see overtly Native designs and patterns, it is in fact his approach to what he creates and why he creates it that makes it truly Native. Like so many generations before him—from the first Diné who were exposed to silver and wool from the Spanish then later velvet and dyes from the Americans—it is Orlando Dugi’s act of creation with new materials, techniques, and tools that make his works not only relevant to the 21st century but also a part of the long history of innovation that has led not just to the survival of the Diné voice but to their important and ever-changing influence on the world.

How did you start working in your particular art form?

I always liked clothes and fashion, but what interested me more was couture fashion and European clothing. I was attracted to anything ethnic, to European royal dress, and to Asian clothing. When I was younger, I was interested in anthropology—in cultures that weren’t mine—and I wanted to learn more about their mythology. I was also in interested in fantasy. When a woman goes out, she wants to feel special, maybe in something that she will only wear one time.

About five years ago, after some encouragement, I decided to try out the art markets. I started by concentrating on beading accessories, using two-needle appliqué, but I ended up ripping it all out and re-making them using a single- bead-at-time-technique. I really love

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detail and could accomplish this with the single bead technique. I also wanted to incorporate what I knew with a sense of contemporary fashion.

At my first year at Santa Fe Indian Market, I created a gown with a beaded bodice. Instead of making a whole collection, SWAIA’s competition allowed me to concentrate on just one piece for the Contemporary Clothing Contest. I love flowers and designed the piece around a woman’s body. The challenge for me was to

ORLANDO DUGI

Desert Heat collection, cocktail dress in hand-painted silk gauze with habotai silk lining, and beaded, feathered detail on the shoulders; sterling silver, stone, and glass bead detail on the back. Model: Julia Foster (Diné/Jemez/Mohawk), make-up artist: Dina Devore (Jemez). Designer: Orlando Dugi (Diné). Photo: Unek.

make the piece look great on the human form. Recently, I have been a part of MOCNA’s Contemporary Fashion Heat runway show, Santa Fe’s Fashion Week, a fashion show sponsored by the Heard Museum in Phoenix, and I have opened my own studio in Santa Fe. In my collections for the shows, I designed gowns and accessories that were all hand-stitched and hand-beaded.

The direction for my work is mainstream fashion. My audience is not necessarily Native; my designs are geared toward all women, not just Native women. I may take some aspect of the work from my culture or Native culture in general, but it’s not the sole focus. I don’t want to be labeled as a Native fashion designer; I just want to be a designer who happens to be Native.

Who are your influences?

My own people were my first influence. When I was a young person, the way the Diné women dressed made a

huge impression on me. Their hair was always beautifully done, they wore velvet, and they put gorgeous jewelry on everything: buttons, collars, belts, and necklaces. The women were just covered in beautiful clothes and jewelry.

And they looked great all of the time.

I am also influenced by European couture designers like Cristobal Balenciaga and older designers like Charles Frederick Worth, the father of haute couture, though my favorite designer is probably Yves Saint Laurent. I am attracted to the design but more specifically I appreciate that what they do is so detail-oriented. I value the oneof-a-kind—how much effort and care goes into one piece. It never ceases to amaze me how something so beautiful can come from yards of fabric and how they manipulate it to the human form to create a dramatic effect. Generally Native women have this same sort of care for their own clothes and for their family’s clothes.

I consider what Native women create to be in the same realm as the European couturiers because they too create SPRING 2013

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ORLANDO DUGI

Desert Heat collection, crushed silk sueded charmeuse dress with silk habotai lining and hand-beaded detail on the collar. Model: Julia Foster (Diné/Jemez/Mohawk), make-up artist: Dina DeVore (Jemez). Designer: Orlando Dugi (Diné). Photo: Unek.

from “whole cloth.” I recognize the link between the two. Native clothing was and continues to be made for special ceremonies—many times only to be worn once.

When I explain these [customary] pieces to a non-Native audience, I link them to European couture.

How do you place your work in the 21st-century Native American art world?

I see my work as an evolution originating from the [cultural] values of the handcrafted and with specific attention to detail. For instance, the Diné weavers would make rug dresses with meaningful patterns relevant to their world. Slowly and methodically, they would count threads and pick colors. This is what I am still doing now but with different materials and techniques. I pay close

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attention to details and am always striving to experiment and refine that vision. The Old People made their clothes to dress well for the Holy People. They made these things to make themselves beautiful, and they still do that. I believe dressing well pays respect to all of the people around you, not just the Holy Ones.

How has the Native Art market influenced what you have pursued in your art form? Have there been unforeseen opportunities or roadblocks?

I started making Indian clothes for myself and my niece for powwows. I didn’t sell these things in the beginning because the “market” wasn’t why I was making them. I traveled a lot after high school on the powwow trail and met lots of people and made many friends here and in

ORLANDO DUGI

Orlando Dugi (Diné) and Rebecca T. Begay (Diné), Celestial Phoenix, 2010, evening bag with single-stitch embroidery, 13° Czech cut beads, 24-karat gold electroplated glass beads, solid sterling silver beads, Swarovski crystals, black stingray leather, hand-dyed dupioni silk, sterling silver tufa-cast lid, tourmaline stones, Australian black opal, and glass mirror.

Canada. Eventually, I met my partner and he introduced me to the “market,” a place I had only observed from the outside. With my partner’s encouragement, I tried this new venue for creating, and now I know this is what I’m meant to do. I can make a living creating beautiful clothing and accessories, and the art markets let me realize this through the awards I have received and through the commissions and sales.

However, I don’t want to feel stuck in the Native art market. Often times the people who come to see your work at a Native art market can only see you as an Indian or Diné designer. They love what I have done, but they question why I don’t incorporate Diné myths, deities, and symbols. That’s not what I’m about though often times that is all they want to see. Personally, I have to keep

moving forward and to this end, I have other goals one of which is to pursue the larger fashion world. However, I am grateful for the Indian art markets as I feel they are a stepping-stone for me to gain knowledge of the world outside of Native Country.

What is your most successful piece both technically and content-wise and why do you consider it successful?

I consider my first piece, Celestial Phoenix, a vessel/box collaboration I created with Rebecca T. Begay to be one of my most successful pieces to date. The imagery I beaded on it was of a phoenix flying through a galaxy of stars.

Indigenous people from all over the world have SPRING 2013

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ORLANDO DUGI

Desert Heat collection, Orlando Dugi (Diné) and Lisa Rutherford (Cherokee Nation), black dyed satinette goose feather cape with hand-tied hemp net base made by Rutherford; beaded collar, clasp, and silk lining by Dugi. Model: Julia Foster (Diné/Jemez/Mohawk), make-up artist: Dina DeVore (Jemez). Photo: Unek.

experienced their way of life being nearly destroyed, but like the phoenix, many have risen from the ashes and are flourishing now. Our vessel represents this renewal of languages, traditions, and prayers.

The stars mean so much to every single culture across the world. For Diné, they are our method of navigation; they help us find our way. There are many songs and prayers that revolve around them. When I was young, I spent time with paternal grandparents, and they told me about them, speaking only Diné. So I learned these things by repeating the stories back to them. Later, when my oldest brother died—he was the oldest of all of us—I went outside and the first thing I saw was the North Star.

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Today I incorporate starry themes into much of my jewelry, accessories, and dresses. Celestial Phoenix was personal and emotional for me.

I felt like I was able to take these things from my background and create something beautiful from them.

www.orlandodugi.com

PROFILE

Anita Fields NY.O.KA^.SKA WA.K’O Y.NA WA.KA.XE VKY interview by Denise Neil-Binion American Style, Contemporary Ceramics, Native Peoples, Women Artists of the American West, and American Indian Art. Her work is in many private and museum collections, including the Museum of Art and Design in New York City, the Museum of Contemporary Native Arts in Santa Fe, the Heard Museum in Phoenix, and the U.S. Department of the Interior.

B

orn in Hominy, Oklahoma, and a member of the Osage Nation, Anita Fields studied at the Institute of American Indian Art in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and completed her Bachelor of Fine Arts at Oklahoma State University in Stillwater, Oklahoma. Her culturally informed, award-winning clay sculptures are sought after by collectors and institutions. Fields is an ambassador of Native art internationally.

Fields’ work has been widely exhibited nationally and internationally. Recently, she participated in the traveling exhibits “Artrain,” USA’s “Native Views,” “Shades of Clay,” and “Art from Indian Territory.” Her sculptures were included in “Changing Hands: Art Without Reservation 2” in New York; “21st Century Ceramic” in Columbus, Ohio; “Shared Passion” at Arizona State University; and “Who Stole the Teepee?” at the National Museum of the American Indian and the George Gustav Heye Center in New York City. Fields’ work has also been seen at Hampton University, Gilcrease Museum, Peabody Essex Museum and “Legacy of the Generations: Pottery by American Indian Women” at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C. Her work has been published in several magazines including Southwest Art, American Craft, Ms. Magazine,

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Fields presents workshops, lectures, and residencies around the country, working with a variety of ages and audiences. In 2008, she was one of three artists selected to participate in the Eiteljorg Museum’s 30–day artist– in–residence RARE program. Fields was one of 47 Native American delegates funded by the Kellogg Foundation and the Institute of American Indian Arts to travel to South Africa during the summer of 2007 for “The Answers Lie Within,” a cultural and economic exchange between Indigenous artists and educators.

A variety of sources inspire her, and Fields embraces the challenges of being a female Native American artist, as she balances her life of commitment to family, art, and community.

Were you interested in being an artist from a young age?

Yes, actually since I was a little kid. Although I don’t do them as much as I used to, I have done and continue to do school residencies with Oklahoma children, which affords me the time to look at what kind of child I was myself.

Out of 100 kids, I might see one kid who does not want to leave the material and is really comfortable where they are at and understands it. That was the kind of kid I was; when I had the opportunity to make art that was when I was connecting to something. I have a vivid memory of wanting to be an artist in third grade.

Was there anyone that specifically influenced you early on to be an artist, and are there any other artists in your family?

ANITA FIELDS

Above: Impressed Medicine Bowl, 2011, clay slips, gold luster glaze, diameter: 22 in.

Opposite: photo of Anita Fields, all photos in this profile by Thomas Fields (Muscogee/Cherokee).

Well, my dad painted. His work was realistic, and he loved wildlife. He was good, and he drew really well. He did it for his own enjoyment. I do have memories of him painting quite a bit.

What other experiences influenced you to become an artist?

We lived in Oklahoma until I was about nine or ten. When we moved to Colorado, they were building the Denver Art Museum. I remember when it was completed; I would go there on the bus. I had books with images by Van Gogh and Matisse. I have memories of going to the Denver Art Museum and these images coming to life for me, and I could actually see images that I had looked at in my book. I still like Matisse; he is one of my all time favorites because of his bold approach to everything.

It’s interesting that you have these specific memories of art coming to life for you in your early visits to museums.

It never ceases to amaze me, and I’ve been to a lot of museums. Even to this day I am overcome with peace, happiness, and joy from visiting museums and viewing art. A few years ago I saw some Matisse maquettes at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and it was like a sacred experience. I am glad that feeling is still there for me when I view art.

Are there any particular Native American artists that you admire or have been influential on your work?

I’ve long been a fan of Jaune Quick-to-See Smith, Roxanne Swentzell, Nora Naranjo-Morse, and Rose Simpson. She is doing really wonderful work right now. I like a lot of work by women. I know a lot of these women pretty well.

I admire them and relate to them, because I know what it is like to maintain the balance of being a mother and an artist. It is difficult to be an artist and raise a family. I am also influenced by the work of a lot of young painters including the mural work being done by my son Yatika SPRING 2013

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ANITA FIELDS

and his collaborations with Jacque Fragua. I admire them because they don’t set any limitations or boundaries on their work. They don’t have any tunnel vision as to what their artistic expression should be; I really admire that.

I like that young Native American artists are pushing boundaries. Yatika and I have collaborated; it is great to have the opportunity to work with one of your children.

I find these collaborations very inspirational, and we are looking forward to doing more work together in the future.

In your experience, how did you balance being both a mother and an artist? Did you put your artist ambitions on hold until your children were grown, or did you find that balance?

I tried to work it all together. I was on a mission to be an artist, and I made a commitment to myself at a certain point in time that I was just going to go wholeheartedly into it. I knew I was tired of doing jobs that I really did not want to do. So I decided this is what I am going to

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do, and if it works it works, and if it doesn’t it doesn’t.

You just never know until you get started, but then I had to balance all of my commitments. Even to this day, it is hard to commit the time—time in the studio and time to make the work. I think it is harder for women, because commitments to family, and I have commitments to my Osage community. They are all important, and all of this feeds into the things that inspire me as an artist.

Is part of the strength of a female artist to balance all of these commitments?

It is a tricky and delicate balance. The women artists that I know as well as other women in my life, like my grandmother and my aunties, they were particularly strong too.

So it seems that being a female artist has an effect on you as an artist and the art you create.

ANITA FIELDS

“My grandmother had beautiful Osage treasures adorned with ribbonwork...

These items were my first introduction to vivid color, pattern, and design.”

Above: Six Figures, Is All About Money, 2012, clay slips, paper, and linen collage, 10 × 24 in.

Opposite: Begin with Your Left, 2012, clay slips, under glaze, gold luster glaze, 4½ × 8½ in.

I have this idea that I can’t go any further than what my experiences are. It’s much easier for me to make work that I am familiar with in my artistic expression than to go into a realm of something I don’t know about. I learned to sew at a really early age, and fabric today still plays a strong role in my work. I’ve used fabric collage, and I’ve made dresses, clothing, and moccasins out of clay. I learned to make these items in fabric, and it seemed natural that I am also interested in making them in clay.

What was it specifically that appeals to you about working in clay?

When I went to school at IAIA [Institute of American Indian Arts], I didn’t have a lot of experience, and I went there to paint. We were really encouraged to try all kinds of mediums out there. So, I had never really worked with clay or made something in a three dimensional manner.

Painting still plays a role in my work. I make wall pieces that are very flat. I am still attracted to painting.

What other types of cultural artifacts have you found to be inspirational?

My grandmother had beautiful Osage treasures adorned with ribbonwork, for instance, women’s and men’s clothing. These items were my first introduction to vivid color, pattern, and design. In addition, it was a special time when my grandmother would open up her trunks at the time of our ceremonial dances, as she would determine what each grandchild would wear. Other elders were called in to help. Spending time with my grandmother and other Osage elders is vivid in my mind. I have a fondness for language and the written word, and memories of my grandmother and other elders speaking the Osage language spill over into my work. Osage was their first language. The Osage language is a very beautiful, poetic, and descriptive language. Language is symbolic, and it is how my grandmother expressed herself. How I use that in my art is through textures, collage, and through the direct use of words from the original Osage dictionary. I see all of SPRING 2013

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ANITA FIELDS

Opposite: Looking Over The Invisible Line, 2002, clay, slips, impressions made with handmade stamps, 60 × 35 × 1 in.

Below: Movement of the Sun #2, 2011, clay, slips, under glaze, gold luster glaze, 21 × 32 in.

these things as symbolic in my own artistic expression.

They are all great opportunities. They are wonderful for an artist; for instance, going to the village of Tengenenge,

How has your art changed throughout your career?

Just in the past few years, I feel that I am getting to a place where I can see all of my experiences and thoughts.

All of these things that I am interested in are coming together—such as the importance of landscape, and how landscape holds a memory, and the use of clay, which is from the earth and part of the landscape. Personally, I feel the earth holds a memory. I feel like I am finally able to bring all of these things together.

I know that you have had the opportunity to travel both nationally and internationally as an artist. Are there particular experiences that stand out from these travels?

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Zimbabwe, in Africa was a great experience. They had no studio, modern tools, or electricity. For me, it reinforced what art is. It’s like being a little kid; it reminds you of what making art is. As a ceramicist you get used to having modern equipment, when in fact all you need is a fire, earth, and water. It reinforces basic things that we should remember, and the desire to make the expression.

What would your advice be for up-and-coming artists?

Make the kind of work that is important to you; stay true to your inspiration!

www.nativefieldsart.com

ANITA FIELDS

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PROFILE

Tom Jones

Ho-Chunk Photographer interview by America Meredith

T

om Jones is a Ho-Chunk photographer and assistant professor of photography at the University of Wisconsin– Madison. His artwork is fearless, yet compassionate. Jones’ photographic explorations of Indigenous identity are rooted in his own tribe, the HoChunk Nation of Wisconsin.

Photography and Ethnography.”

Using his flatbed scanner as his photographic tool, a technique known as scanography, Jones creates seemingly benign abstract works

In all these works, Jones challenges our assumptions. While exposing stereotypes and fantasies for what they are, Tom Jones simultaneously offers the public a window into the reality of being Ho-Chunk and Native today.

Born in North Carolina in 1964, Tom Jones earned an MFA in Photography and MA in Museum Studies from Columbia College, Chicago. He has shown throughout the United States and internationally, including participating in the prestigious Venice Biennale in 2009. He recently coauthored the book People of the Big Voice: Photographs of Ho-Chunk Families by Charles Van Shaick, 1879–1942.

Photographing members of his tribe, in black and white and color, has been an ongoing, overarching series to create “a new understanding of how the Ho-Chunk live in the twentyfirst century,” as he writes in his artist statement. His series, Dear America and “Native” Commodity explore the bizarre world of Native American misrepresentation in mainstream pop culture, through postcard imagery, advertising, toys, and roadside installations in tourist traps of the Wisconsin Dells.

Encountering Cultures investigates Rendezvous reenactors, often known as hobbyists. Jones writes, “The presence of a Ho-Chunk photographing non-Indians, dressing as Native Americans, takes on a new meaning within the history of

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or “ADOPTED” casting dark shadows over the smiling individuals. These portraits are accompanied by detailed stories explaining the complexities and nuances of their ethnic and cultural heritage and the denial or status of their tribal enrollment.

Jones is currently represented by Sherry Leedy Contemporary Art in Kansas City.

in the series I am an Indian First and an Artist Second. Biomorphic abstractions are created from the bases of plastic toy Indians and their accessories—fences and tipis. The toys serve as allegories for Indian artists struggling with the identity genocide called for by the demand to suppress their cultural heritage and be “an artist first,” instead of being an American Indian artist.

His newest series is a heart– wrenching look at the complexities of tribal enrollment. Brightly lit portraits on pure white backgrounds are overlaid with etched glass the words “INELIGIBLE,” “REMOVED,”

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For conceptual art, “I Am Indian First and an Artist Second” is very accessible. The amorphous designs created by the bases of the scanned plastic toy Indians serve as a perfect allegory for abstract art that is socially acceptable to the mainstream art world. Several prominent Native artists have told me they invented an abstract body of work just to get through graduate school—then returned to their own work once they were out. Did any specific events or conversations inspire this series?

I also made a body of work that many of my professors could understand in order to get through graduate school. There is a constant teaching of the viewer about American Indian identity-based art and content. Many non-Indians feel they do not have the knowledge or access to this type of work.

TOM JONES

Above: Indian Sign, 2006, digital print, 40 × 50 in. Opposite: drawing of Tom Jones by America Meredith

The series “I Am Indian First and an Artist Second” originated from a conversation with Nancy Mithlo while we were at the Fritz Scholder opening at the National Museum of American Indian Art in Washington, DC. We were discussing the title of the show Indian/Not Indian and how Scholder wanted to be known as an artist first and foremost, not an Indian artist. He was caught in a schism because it was his work with the Native content that gave him his notoriety as an artist.

Nancy and I also discussed how American Indian art is still “Native” even though there are not any stereotypical signifiers, because it is coming from Native thought and upbringing. I understand how some

artists of American Indian descent may feel it is a form of ghettoizing of their art to be recognized as a “Native Artist,” but why then use Indian content or funding specifically directed to Native artists? I often feel that the governmental policies of assimilation are fast at work on some of these artists.

I wanted to make the work accessible to a mainstream audience by mimicking the tradition of Modernist painting, but at the same time disguise the Indian content of the work. It was important for me to bring this full circle by referencing the artists of the Modernist movement and bring to light the influence of Native American art on artists such

as Barnett Newman, Adolph Gottlieb, Jackson Pollack, Mark Rothko, Max Ernst, Henry Moore to name a few.

There is a surface rendering to the work that draws the viewer in, but beneath the work both visually and conceptually it is content-laden with Indian identity. My friend Martha Townsend once described my work in this manner, “Your work draws me in with its beauty and then slaps me in my face.”

Why do you think the notion that Native artists should suppress their identity to be “true artists” is so persistent?

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TOM JONES

White Circle, 2011, digital print, 40 ×40 in.

Native artists suppress their identity for many reasons. The governmental policies of assimilation are affecting American Indians unconsciously in many ways. The most recent in history is the Indian Relocation Act of 1956 where they gave Indians one-way tickets to governmentdesignated cities far from their tribal communities. For many of these people and their offspring, there was a disconnection from their communities. This also happens as more and more people leave their communities in order to find work.

Indigenous Americans have used cameras at least since 1881.

Indigenous photography predates baleen basketry and Seminole

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patchwork, and yet there has been such a resistance to acknowledging Indigenous photography. Do you believe photography is finally being accepted in Native art circles or is there still resistance? Countless Native peoples were photographers in the 20th century, but are they not recognized because they did not consider their own photography to be “art”?

forms and that made by modern mechanical means. [Culturally] as a Ho-Chunk, I was taught to have good thoughts while making a physical handmade object. There is a certain amount of spirituality or aura that comes with working with your hands that is imbued within the object and how does one get that in 1/60th of a second while taking a photograph.

It was not until the mid-eighties that photography was accepted as “art” even within the mainstream art world. There are still certain people who do not recognize it even today. Unfortunately within Native art circles, there is still a separation ideologically with [customary] art

Scanography, using a flatbed scanner to create digital art images, seems like an underexplored means of expression. Did you experiment with scanning as art before I Am Indian First and an Artist Second, and will you continue?

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TOM JONES

Ken and His Wife, 2008, digital print, 50 × 40 in.

My work is not always stylistically the same from one series to the other.

I used the scanner once before for the series “Dear America,” where I was appropriating photographic postcards. This current series came out of an idea I was conceiving for a sculptural series about toys. I was interested in how children are given power over these objects through the act of playing. At the same time I also wanted to show how they are used to reinforce stereotypes about Native Americans. It is my plan to continue the series for a few more years.

In describing your Encountering Cultures series, Dr. Nancy Mithlo pointed out that photographs of Indians by non-Natives usually tell more about the photographer than

the subject. She said these images you took of hobbyists told her more about you and your perspective.

How did the hobbyists respond to your documenting them? Did they offer explanations about why they became hobbyists?

The hobbyists responded positively when I was photographing them.

They are there to re-enact the fur trade era, and they are there to be seen. They do a considerable amount of historical research when they are assembling their outfits. I feel that they considered it an honor to be photographed.

One of the ideas for photographing the fur trade reenactors at the

Rendezvous came from trying to understand when I was a young boy why there were white people dressing up as Indians and dancing at powwows. I did not want to come to the work judging with a preconceived idea as to why they were participants.

My main interest was to see who were representing Ho-Chunks. This is why I only photographed within the boundaries of our original homeland.

In the end I was able to find only one gentleman who was playing the part of a Ho-Chunk. As time went on I began to discover that many of these people had American Indian ancestry, and the Rendezvous was a means for them to connect to their heritage.

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TOM JONES and she did not feel comfortable returning to her people, so this form of re-enacting was a means for her to feel connected.

Numerous artists use the stereotypical imagery of Native peoples in their art. Personally, I’m concerned that this keeps the conversation at a certain, superficial level. If we just criticize stereotypes but never offer anything real for the mainstream public, then Indians just disappear from mainstream consciousness. Do you see your photographs of living Ho-Chunk people as an antidote to stereotypes?

We have the Wild West shows and Hollywood to thank for the stereotypes, but many American Indians also played into this, as a means of survival, in order to make a living for their families. This is why the plains war bonnet is so prevalent throughout Indian country even today.

There are many people throughout America and the world who think that American Indians are extinct. We are not represented in mainstream culture and on the most part have become invisible. They have a collective idea of what an Indian looks like, and that is why I continue to photograph my community. I want our children to be able to see a likeness of them and to be proud of who they are. This is also why I became a contributor to the book The People of the Big Voice; I want people to be aware of our history.

How important do you think BFA and MFA degrees are for Native American artists? Do you have advice to younger artists considering graduate art school?

It is important to know that there is not one path to take to be an artist.

There are many levels to the art world, and as an artist you have to decide, which one do you want be a part of. There are local galleries,

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Indian markets, and high-end galleries to name a few. An art degree is not necessary if you are learning the [cultural] art forms from your own communities, but what you must do is immerse yourself with those masters.

The education you receive also depends what type of school you attend. An American Indian college is going to handle your education differently from a non-Indian institution. A Bachelor of Fine Arts degree at a non-Indian institution gives you a foundation of art principles from western art history and thinking. The most important tool that every artist needs is to be able to write and speak about his or her art. This is mastered in a Master of Fine Arts program. One of the main reasons for receiving a MFA degree is to teach. I returned to graduate school in my mid-thirties and wanted to use that time to get a body of work together; plus, I was interested in teaching.

In order for Native American artists to succeed in the mainstream art world, it is important that we have more trained artists, art historians, and critics. Oftentimes Native American artists will become all three. It is not until we have people who can write intelligently about our work, that more of us will soon find our ways into the higher echelon of the art world. It is also important that we have benefactors and collectors donating our work to mainstream institutions, not just the museums dedicated to American Indian art.

What’s next? What projects or exhibitions do you have planned?

I am currently working on the series Identity Genocide, I am cocurator with Nancy Mithlo on the photographic work of Horace Poolaw’s at the National Museum of the American Indian in New York, and I am working on a book on the baskets of the Ho-Chunk.

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Powell Littlejohn, Removed Powell was removed from the Ho-Chunk Nation rolls on September 22, 2012.

The enrollment office of the Ho-Chunk Nation presented a new document that showed the lineage of his great grandmother was 1/8 Sac and Fox of Missouri and 7/8 Winnebago. He was 1/64 shy of the required 1/4 blood quantum. His grandfather’s enrollment is listed as ½ Wisconsin Winnebago and ½ Nebraska Winnebago. Powell’s paternal grandfather is also of Native American descent, not enrolled, but eligible.

Powell is an active member of the tribe. He is also known as Huc Co (Blue Bear) and is in the feast lodge as well as assists from time to time in camps for Ma ka u (Medicine Lodge). One must ask just how far back will we go, and how many other Ho-Chunks are unaware of another tribe or peoples in their ancestry? I think we can all agree that if we reach back far enough, no one is full-blooded.

My Coka (grandfather) Grant Littlejohn said, “Either you’re Ho-Chunk or you’re not.”

These are excerpts taken from Powell Littlejohn’s hearing statements that were given by his mother Tracy Littlejohn.

Right: Powell Littlejohn Removed, 2012, digital print, 25 × 20 in.

www.tomjonesho-chunk.com

TOM JONES

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PROFILE

Erin Shaw

Chickasaw/Choctaw Painter

By America Meredith

“The beliefs of the societies were embedded in their myths, and the myths were expressed in images.”

—George E. Lankford

P

eople, stories, humor, irony, and life experiences feed the imagination of Chickasaw/Choctaw artist Erin Shaw. “We are all collectors of stories,” she writes, “And the stories we collect shape the people that we are.”

Not only do personal stories—her own and others—fuel Shaw’s art making but also her fascination with forces that appear to be in opposition but are actually closely interrelated. “What happens in that intersection?” she asks. How is something completely new formed from the dialectic? As an artist, Shaw sees her role is “to stand between two opposing things and mediate, to give people secrets they already have.” She continues, “I must become the crossroads.”

Roots in Oklahoma Art and inquiry is in Erin’s blood. Her mother, Leann Harrison Leach, is a therapist who specializes in helping victims of trauma. “She is brilliant at what she does,” says Shaw. “Some of my earliest and most frequent memories are of people pouring out their life stories to her in the line at the grocery store or the gas pump. I seriously think this has everything to do with my profound love and respect for people and their stories.”

Her father is Marvin Embree, a painter with a career spanning four decades. He has a gallery in the Paseo District of Oklahoma City where Shaw has exhibited. “He has been the consistent voice that has encouraged me and given me more confidence to stand on,” she says of Embree.

Shaw was born in Ada, Oklahoma, the headquarters of the Chickasaw Nation. Her maternal grandmother was

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Chickasaw, and her maternal grandfather was Choctaw.

She grew up in nearby Allen, a small town founded in 1882 within the Choctaw Nation.

“The house we lived in was built in 1907 by Indians who pulled huge limestones from a rock quarry on the land,” Shaw explains. “It was first used as a Native American schoolhouse that had been a part of the Barnett land allotment.”

For college, Shaw moved to Waco, Texas, and earned her BFA from Baylor University in 1999. She then taught middle and high school for a decade. After she and her husband moved back to Oklahoma, she returned to art school to earn her MFA in painting from the University of Oklahoma.

“Erin Shaw has a great sense of the importance of Native stories and incorporates them in her art,” says Dr. Mary Jo Watson (Seminole), director of the University of Oklahoma School of Art and Art History. “Her painting is bold, strong, and has meaning in 21st-century Native cosmology.”

ERIN SHAW

Above: On the Grave of Dreams, 2010, acrylic on canvas, 30 × 40 in.

Opposite: Erin Shaw and her son, Samuel. All photos courtesy of the artist.

Shaw’s earliest art show was in 1998, but she only began exhibiting frequently in 2008. She has already won first place in painting, among other awards, at the Chickasaw Nation’s Southeastern Art Show and Market (SEASAM) and several purchase prizes at juried art shows. Her work has been exhibited throughout Oklahoma, as well as in Kansas, Texas, and Florida, and she was the Oklahoma Art Guild’s artist of the month in April 2012.

Using the Tangible to Express the Intangible Her paintings have a surrealistic, dreamlike quality, with a vivid palette—often with peacock hues of teal, jade, and purple. The artist’s strong sense of humor comes through with whimsical, sometimes childlike imagery, and the pieces have a rollicking, implied motion—whether through the flow of paint, the compositions, or three-

dimensional cut-out shapes that seem to pulsate with their own energy.

Claim the Sky is perhaps the most overtly narrative series with gorgeous, richly textured paintings telling the story of a caged bird who must learn to sing, “The song he was born to sing.”

“This series, these layers, these multiple mediums are a challenge, an invitation to consider paradox, unanswered questions, accidents, truths, paradigms—mine and yours,” the artist writes.

Painting, in oils and acrylics, is the backbone of Shaw’s artistic practice; however, everything from taxidermied bobwhite quail, plastic toy dinosaurs, scout merit badges, cheesecloth, and maps—maps of all types, old and new—find their way into her work. At one point she SPRING 2013

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ERIN SHAW lists “at least 327 gallons of coffee” as part of her artistic media. Digital art figures strongly in her practice, and, as an expression of Shaw’s stated interest in binaries, she combines the organic splatters and layers of paint with the crisp patterning of computer graphics

With each series, Shaw distills her vision, while honing her personal iconography: origami swans, birdcages, dinosaurs, steeples, targets.

“Story” itself is a metaphor for life and synthesizing one’s identity through personal experiences.

Her series Cartographic Experiments is the most process– oriented of her work. This series features maps, string,

Her favorite artistic collaborator is her own young son, Samuel, born in 2006 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

“I think Samuel’s hand in my work is rich and probably deeper than I know, but sometimes I think that he is the closest thing I have to a more intuitive, deliberate, less analytical version of me that I have. He teaches me so much.”

The series Bedtime Stories Re-Told was born one snow day, when Samuel, aged five at the time, and Shaw drew pictures together on their dining room table. Samuel drew an “X” through one of his drawings because he didn’t think it was good enough. Shaw was determined to show Samuel how “perfect his drawing was.” So the mother and son team collaborated—Samuel providing line drawings from his personal imagined menagerie that includes a “Tsintaosaurus,” while Shaw added colors and textures— organic and geometric. Samuel’s drawings represent trust and creating without hesitation, and his drawings continue to appear in Shaw’s work today.

wax, paper, resin, cheesecloth, toy figurines, pines, resin,

An Evolving Iconography

and many others found and sought out materials. Shaw

Shaw is keenly interested in the power of symbols.

With each series, Shaw distills her vision, while honing her personal iconography—origami swans, birdcages, dinosaurs, steeples, targets. “Story” itself is a metaphor for life and synthesizing one’s identity through personal experiences.

developed a spontaneous process that allowed for chance and mistakes. Through working wet-on-wet, she allowed the paint to freely blend. Overlaying different transparent layers, from “very thin fabrics, encaustic, gloss medium, cheese cloth, plexi, and resin,” imbued this series with subtlety and depth. Works ranged from large-scale assemblages to miniature monotypes and serigraph prints, hand-stitched together.

Creating Without Hesitation Working with children has been an important thread through Shaw’s career—one she hopes to continue. For a decade, she taught art and other subjects to middle school and high school students.

In her series Claim the Sky, Shaw asks, “Why does the caged bird sing?” and answers, “The caged bird sings what it’s told to sing.” Clearly autobiographical, the caged bird is someone trying to live up to other people’s expectations, and Shaw optimistically shows the bird finding its own voice and destiny.

Maps imply navigation, the endless possibilities of travel, and also brain mapping—neural pathways. Colored

The Beginning of a Story that Doesn’t End Well, 2012, acrylic on canvas, 24 × 120 in.

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ERIN SHAW

Trickster Makes This World, 2013, acrylic, chalk, and chalkboard paint on canvas, 36 ×36 in

strings embedded in the wax suggest meandering paths.

Cheesecloth is the grid; however, in the art it stretches and folds in chaotic shapes. Planned city grids, reflected in the street maps, are physical manifestations of human thought on the landscape; however, once constructed, they are subject to the forces of entropy and nature, which change and break down the rigid grid. Rigidity and flexibility fold together in Cartographic Experiments.

In her latest works, a new series called The Beginning of a Story That Has No End, Shaw juxtaposes Indigenous Mississippian religious iconography with Christian, Celtic, and Germanic sacred symbols. “Those images are beautiful,” she says, “and I think it’s amazing that so many artists are keeping those stories alive by reproducing them, but I just kept thinking the stories have to bend a little.”

In one blue, plum, and chartreuse painting, Axis Mundi, Shaw references a whelk shell dipper from Spiro Mounds featuring four crested birds perched on the left branches of a tree. The late anthropologist Robert L. Hall suggested the image references the Omahas’ Sacred Pole, painted with red and black bands that symbolize day and night, cut from a tree with “alternating glowing and dark phases” (107). The pole represents the unity of the Omaha people and their Council of Seven Chiefs (105–107). The divided tree is an excellent allegory for Shaw’s interest in dualities.

The trickster plays a major role in Shaw’s artwork.

Among Chickasaws, as with many other Southeastern Woodland tribes, Rabbit, or Chokfi, is the trickster. He’s simultaneously clever and foolish—getting in and out of trouble and perpetually courting disaster. In Trickster Makes This World, a bold image of a raven is peeled away to reveal a chalk drawing of a rabbit. First the artist’s son SPRING 2013

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ERIN SHAW

Axis Mundi, 2013, acrylic on canvas, 24 × 24 in.

Samuel drew a rabbit but erased it, so Shaw drew another outline of her tribe’s celebrated trickster.

“I had been painting birds and was becoming more and more interested in the trickster, so I started looking at birds that were tricksters, which led me to the Raven,” the artist explains. “But when I began to try and narrow in on Southeastern tricksters, I found the rabbit… or the rabbit found me.”

The Cultural Landscape Shaw has lived on the Southern Plains for much of her life, with some years spent in Florida. Birds common in both regions populate her works—robins, cardinals, eagles, quail, and others. The influences of urban and rural

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lifestyles are evident. While cities and city planning inspire some work, Shaw’s insights into animal behaviour stems from growing up on a working farm. Influences from both her European, Chickasaw, and Choctaw ancestry appears in her work, with their complex and divergant worldviews.

Religion is expressed in its many forms, through historical iconography from the Kichai imagery of Spiro mounds to Christianity.

Her good friend Laura Clark (Muscogee Creek) encouraged Shaw to participate in the Southeastern Art Show and Market (SEASAM), hosted by the Chickasaw Nation in Sulphur, Oklahoma, and Shaw was impressed by how welcoming the artists were. “In all the venues I have shown work, I have never felt so honored and valued as an artist.” While her time has been consumed by graduate

ERIN SHAW

Uncommon in Other Aviaries, Wanda Feeds Her Offspring Regurgitated Truths and Dandelion Weeds, 2011, acrylic on canvas, 48 × 48 in.

school in recent years, Shaw feels the relationships she is forming with other Chickasaw artists is helping her grow closer to her tribe.

A Moment of Clarity “I had never painted before Samuel,” Shaw admits, “and I haven’t stopped since he came along.” She continues, “When Samuel came along, I had this moment of clarity... basically the best thing I can do for my son—for my husband, for myself, for the world…—is to be who I am supposed to be and if that means making art then that is what I need to do.”

Shaw lives in Oklahoma City with her husband and son.

She is represented by Marvin Embree Gallery in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

Works Cited • Hall, Robert L. An Archaeology of the Soul: North American Indian Belief and Ritual. Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1997.

• Kirt, Julia. “Paint, String, Maps and the Number 37: Artist Erin Shaw.” Oklahoma Visual Arts Coalition Blog. 14 Sept. 2011. Web. 9 March 2013.

• Lankford, George E. Native American Legends of the Southeast: Tales from the Natchez, Caddo, Biloxi, Chickasaw, and Other Nations. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2011.

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More Than Just a Trend Rethinking the “Native” in Native Fashion Jessica R. Metcalfe as Plains men’s warrior shirts, Northwest Coast masks, and Southwest woven textiles that sell for high prices at auction houses in the Americas and abroad.

Within Native communities, items of adornment continue to hold value that goes beyond the monetary. These objects and adornment practices reflect our personal stories, our community histories, and our cultural knowledge systems that relate to topics such as ecology, cosmology, and health and wellness. They reflect who we are and the changing world around us.

One of the greatest assaults executed by the US government against Native American people came in the form of forced assimilation, which visualized itself on Native American bodies. For example, in the 19th century thousands of Native American children were removed from their families and sent to boarding schools where their clothing was immediately replaced with EuroAmerican uniforms. The effects of this damaging policy are still felt today.

Alano Edzerza (Tahltan), Red Sea Monster, tunic dress with a Northwest Coast–style graphic design in black, photo: Jessica Metcalfe.

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OR THOUSANDS OF YEARS humans have engaged in the creative practice of decorating the body. From piercings to tattooing to jewelry to embellished garments, the act of fashioning the self goes beyond the utilitarian and into the realm of symbolic significance. This is especially true when it comes to important cultural practices related to religion and spirituality, status and economics, communal and familial affiliations, and art and story.

For the Indigenous groups of the Americas, elaborate adornment practices have a long and beautiful history.

Several European and American anthropologists felt compelled to document the diverse practices. As a testament to their value beyond the tribal communities, non-Native collectors continue to invest in items such

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Considering this history, I am interested in investigating what it means to Indigenous people to wear your identity on your sleeve today. Wearing your Native American identity on your the body clearly represents a form of survivance—despite major efforts to get rid of Indigenous groups, we have not only survived, but are now thriving.

Our continued existence is our resistance. And our desire to wear our tribal affiliations on our bodies today exhibits a whole new level of in-your-face refusal to assimilate and to blend into the American fabric.

Native Adornment Now Several Native American designers have stepped up in recent decades to promote a contemporary Native fashion movement—one that simultaneously looks to the past and to the future for inspiration. Some of the designers include Bethany Yellowtail (Crow-Northern Cheyenne), Alano Edzerza (Tahltan), and Virgil Ortiz (Cochiti Pueblo).

These designers seamlessly combine Indigenous art theory concepts of their communities with mainstream materials and silhouettes. For example, Edzerza creates streetwear with Northwest Coast style designs that translate perfectly

to the world of graphic art. In addition, he employs the Northwest Coast artistic practice of wrapping a pattern around an object, but in this case the object is a human body, and the design wraps around the back or sides of the clothing.

Yellowtail was born and raised in southern Montana and is a proud member of the Crow and Northern Cheyenne Tribes. She attended the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising (FIDM) where she was recognized early on for her talents and skills in couture. Her fashion is inspired by her love for her Native heritage and European haute couture, and she fuses these two disparate inspiration points. Like her ancestors, Yellowtail continues to use only high-quality materials, and every B. Yellowtail design is constructed with attention to detail.

Ortiz creates fashion that mimics historic Cochiti pottery colors, symbols, and shapes. He transfers Cochiti Pueblo aesthetic concepts to the world of fashion by using Cochiti pottery composition and color theory and storybased themes. In other words, he uses the lens of Cochiti aesthetics to express to others the world around him.

Furthermore, to advance his goal of promoting Native language and arts, Ortiz incorporates Pueblo stories and symbols into his garments and shows. As a former governor of his pueblo, Ortiz recognizes and values the important roles that language and the arts play in cultural continuity and promoting ideas of sovereignty, self-governance, and nationhood. Ortiz reaffirms ideas pertaining to Cochiti nationhood by ensuring that Indigenous artistic practices persist and grow.

Panties, Tomahawks, and Flasks: Non-Native Misrepresentations of Native Cultures in Fashion Despite all of the exciting and interesting things going on in the Native fashion world, the majority of people still think of this field in stereotypical ways: it needs to have fringe, turquoise, a Navajo rug pattern, or a Plains Indian headdress in order for it to be “Indian.” These expectations are exacerbated when large clothing companies create mass-produced “Native-inspired” collections that flood malls, magazines, and runway shows with inaccurate stereotypical depictions of our Indigenous cultures.

Some of the greatest recent offenses include those committed by Urban Outfitters, Paul Frank Industries, and Victoria’s Secret.

Bethany Yellowtail (Crow-Northern Cheyenne), V-neck black gown with beadwork detail, photo: Anthony Thosh Collins (On Akimel O’odham/Seneca-Cayuga/Osage)

Urban Outfitters is no stranger to controversy, and many of their items have offended various marginalized groups of people in recent years, but in 2011 their use of the word “Navajo” to label two dozen products led to a formal cease-and-desist letter written by the Navajo Nation’s lawyers. The Navajo Nation trademarked its name, and any unauthorized use of the name is a direct violation of the trademark laws. The products included socks, underwear, and flasks that were embellished with a geometric pattern that was meant to reference historic Navajo blanketweaving patterns. The items labelled as “Navajo” held no connection to the people they supposedly represented. So, the Navajo Nation stepped forward.

This type of movement to protect the cultural legacy and artistic traditions of Native nations is one that is long overdue. For centuries, non-Native individuals and companies have tapped Indigenous knowledge systems, extracting information for the benefit of non-Natives.

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Rarely, if ever, have these practices of extraction directly benefited Native communities. Furthermore, the profiting off Native people and their traditions continues to this day and manifests itself in forms that perpetuate systems of colonization, racism, and oppression.

And this leads me to the final offender of this article: Victoria’s Secret. In November of 2012, the lingerie company hosted its annual angels fashion show. Various models, or “angels” as they are referred to, were bedecked in elaborate costumes that dramatized the undergarments they were debuting. Models represented different months, and one, Karlie Kloss, represented November. Serving as an homage to the Thanksgiving holiday, she wore a leopard print bra and panty set that was accessorized with Navajo-inspired turquoise jewelry, leather fringed high-heeled “moccasins,” and one Plains Indian headdress.

One of the best examples of these systems of racism brings us to our next offender, Paul Frank Industries. In September of 2012, the company hosted a fashion event that boasted a “Native American” powwow theme. Guests were encouraged to dress up like Indians, don fake neon-colored feathered headdresses, and carry around tomahawks.

They posed as savages on a mini-runway while they pretended to scalp or behead one another. Children were in attendance and participated in these derogatory acts meant to represent Native American people. Alcoholic beverages, with names such as Rain Dance, were served, mocking our sacred Virgil Ortiz (Cochiti Pueblo), White Snake, silk scarf featuring Cochiti ceremonial practices.

At least four levels of insult occur in this final example. First, the hodge-podge outfit relied upon stereotypes of exoticism and perpetuated miseducation. Secondly, the headdress was presented in an immensely disrespectful way. Several Native nations still use the sacred headdress in ceremonies and as an important symbol of leadership. You cannot pottery colors, symbols, and shapes, photo: Jessica R. Metcalfe simply wear a headdress Racism is connected to because you to. You ideas of power, and in this have to earn the right to situation, the participants at this “powwow” exerted their wear a headdress through acts of bravery, selflessness, and power over Native people to misrepresent us. They enacted leadership. Single eagle feathers are gifted to individuals who have accomplished great deeds because Eagle is seen as outdated racist stereotypes of Native people as savages, or an important messenger or intermediary between humans less evolved human beings. and the Great Spirit, or Creator. When an Indigenous We, as Native people, do not have the basic human right person has done something of note for the community, to represent ourselves in mainstream media. Our cultures you are gifted with the feathers of this important bird. and histories are not accurately presented in educational People can also gift their feathers to someone whom settings, in the business world, or in the legal world. When they identify as a great leader, and the feathers of many we attempt to regain any control over how our identities people can be combined to create a headdress that will and cultural legacies are being misused, we are met with be presented to that person as a symbol of support. It is extreme opposition that borderlines on pure racial hatred. also a sign of that chosen leader’s obligation to put the We are told time and again to “get over it” and that noncommunity first in decision-making.

Native people have a right to misrepresent us. But what For those of us who still engage in these practices, we know is ignored is the fact that rights to misrepresent someone we must protect and maintain these value systems for our else’s culture directly aids in the destruction of Indigenous children—especially for those who grew up outside of cultural practices and communities.

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their Native community and look up to celebrities as role models. These disconnected youth have already succumbed to destructive processes of self-stereotyping where they look to outsiders to define their identities for them.

Another aspect pertains to respect for the opposite gender. In several Native communities, the genders are all seen as equally important, and respect for the various roles we play is taught to children. The headdress worn

by Kloss is a man’s headdress. It is a gender-specific item. Women wear eagle feathers, but they wear them in a different way. Women also wear men’s headdresses for certain ceremonies conducted to protect the warriors.

When a white woman wears a Native man’s item, she disrespects the roles and responsibilities of our male leaders and exercises her privileged position to redefine and represent these sacred items as secular objects available for mass consumption.

So, what can be done? Well, we can start taking an active stance to support Native designers, especially in our own day-to-day wardrobes. It is now easier than it has ever been in the past 100 years to buy or acquire clothing, jewelry, and accessories made by Native American fashion designers.

Many of these designers are connected to their communities and are keenly aware of what sacred symbols and items should not be for sale to outsiders. Instead, they look within themselves and draw inspiration from

their backgrounds and experiences.

They know how to translate the artistic traditions of their Native communities to create items that can be appreciated and enjoyed by anyone. Furthermore, in avoiding stereotypes, these designers present a new vision and a new version of “the Native” in fashion. It’s time that we stop looking at non-Native versions of Native American cultures as the thing to celebrate. Let’s give our Indigenous fashion designers the opportunity to show us the potential of Native fashion.

beyondbuckskin.blogspot.com Laura Fragua-Cota (Jemez), Just Because You Are Wearing a Headdress Doesn’t Make You an Indian, ceramic, mixed media sculpture, IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts

On the final level, this Victoria’s Secret ensemble also highlighted another dangerous trend in mainstream media: the hyper-sexualization of the image of Native American women by nonNative people. The rates of sexual violence against our Native women are overwhelmingly high. One out of every three Native American women will be raped in their lifetime, and 70% of these acts are committed by non-Native perpetrators. The objectification and hyper-sexualization of Native people engages in processes that dehumanize us. If Native people are not understood to be human beings who are members of nations and have rights, then violent acts committed against us increase, and the desire to engage in social justice on behalf of Native people decreases.

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S

omething Imperialistic Happened on the Way to the Louvre Délégation Amérindienne, An Artist’s Perspective Roy Boney Jr. ᎧᏂᎦ ᎪᎳᎭ

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n 2011, a delegation of American Indian artists from Oklahoma (Brent Greenwood, Dana Tiger, dg smalling, Joe Don Brave, Marla Skye, America Meredith, Anita Fields, N. Scott Momaday, Yatika Fields, Edgar Heap of Birds, and Tom Poolaw) participated in the Art en Capital Salon du Dessin et de la Peinture à l’Eau held in the historic Grand Palais des Champs-Elysées in Paris, France. The success of the group led to another delegation of American Indian artists, the Délégation Amérindienne, being invited to participate in the 2012 exhibition held from November 27 to December 2. And just as with the previous delegation, the group showcased works on paper.

Both exhibitions were curated by Russ Tallchief, an Osage writer and dancer. Tallchief worked with Ginette Adamson, an artist and retired French literature professor, to help organize the event. Participating artists in the 2012 delegation were Kayeri Akweks, Joe Don Brave, Michael Chiago Sr., Candace Curr, Anthony Deiter, Starr Hardridge, MaryBeth Nelson, Dionne Paul, Drue Alexis Ridley, Marla Skye, Dana Tiger, Christie Tiger, April White, and me.

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I am a Cherokee from the Iron Post community just south of Locust Grove, Oklahoma. Growing up, I felt my world was a small one.

The only other state I visited was Arkansas, a mere 45-minute drive, give or take, from where I lived. I learned what I could about art from secondhand books my grandmother and parents would buy me. With much encouragement from family and teachers, I attended college.

My wings spread a bit then, having secured an internship at a printmaking studio in Long Island as an undergrad.

I completed a bachelor’s degree in design and a master’s degree in studio art, so a large majority of my life has been spent studying art informally and academically.

Palais, literally, a great palace as its name implies. The massive structure is made of elaborate stone facades framed with steel and ironwork crowned by a magnificent glass-barrel vaulted roof. It was built for the Universal Exhibition in 1900, which included the Centennale and the Décennale exhibitions. These focused on a major retrospective of the past century of French art and the developments of the last decade of the 19th century. The exhibits included work by artists such Jean-AugusteDominique Ingres, Eugène Delacroix, Gustave Courbet, Jean-Francois Millet, Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, Auguste Renoir, and Edgar Degas.

After the Universal Exhibition ended, the Grand Palais began holding Salons in 1901 (Grand Palais).

With my acceptance into the 2012 Délégation Amérindienne, I would have a chance to travel to Paris and see many of the world’s masterpieces I had only read about in books. This small-town Cherokee boy was excited and ready for inspiration. I would indeed be inspired, but not in the way I expected.

The tradition of exhibiting in Salons, beginning centuries before the Grand Palais, holds much significance in Western art. The Salon began as a government subsidized showcase of art in which recognition could result in great success for exhibiting artists and was the birthplace of many revolutions in art, politics, and the socioeconomic fabric of society (de la Croix et al. 920). The 20th century saw the decline of the influence of the Salon, but its lineage of exhibiting many of Western art history’s heroes

Opening day was a cold, rainy day in Paris, but the weather did not dampen our spirits in the least. Our delegation met in front of the Grand

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Délégation Amérindienne, from left to right: Russ Tallchief, Michael Chiago Sr., Kayeri Akweks, Marla Skye, April White, Candace Curr, Dionne Paul, Roy Boney Jr. Photograph courtesy of Marla Skye (Onondaga)

still held a certain gravitas for me.

As a member of the Délégation Amérindienne, I could not help but be awed by the opportunity to exhibit in such an artistic continuum.

We gave brief introductions, and it was amazing to hear all the different stories of how each of our artistic journeys led us to Paris. Our group ran the gamut from those with decades of exhibiting experience to some just starting their artistic careers. Tallchief turned things over to Adamson who explained the show’s rules, logistics, and other housekeeping issues to us. She told us the fact that the American Indian delegation was invited back a second year in a row was outstanding

considering the global, invitation-only nature of the show. As we entered the Grand Palais, the grandeur of the building caught a lot of us by surprise as many of us instinctively recorded our entrance with quickly snapped digital photos and videos. Candace Curr (Nuu-chah-nulth) said as we entered, “I cannot believe I have art in here!” A few moments later, we all were officially registered as exhibiting artists and given our official 2012 Salon Du Dessin et de La Peinture à L’eau Paris Grand Palais show catalogues. We made our way to Zone G, “Amerindiens,” where our enclave of paintings was located. Adamson and Tallchief arranged to have our pieces framed and hung prior to our arrival.

Thousands of visitors would stroll through during the next few days of the Salon to view the works of over 2,500 artists—with 13 of us representing the United States and Canada. Kayeri Akweks (Mohawk) aptly described it: “They stood in long lines in the cold and rain to get into the Grand Palais art show. Some people rushed to see our delegation’s area of the show and wanted to know all about our work.”

I woke up early each morning during my stay because I intended to maximize every hour in Paris. I had an itinerary including the usual tourist spots as well as art museums galore. I walked the streets of Paris in a state of wonder and barely contained SPRING 2013

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glee. Here is where Napoleon created empire, where Picasso flipped the artistic establishment on its head, and where tomorrow’s fashions become reality. I was caught up in my imagination. André Bretón probably ate a croissant over at that cafe, and Edith Piaf smoked a cigarette at that one. Arthur Rimbaud had an alcoholfueled poetic rage on this street while Gertrude Stein took in a late evening stroll down that one. It was so easy to become caught up in the romanticism of the City of Light.

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nd that was the real clincher.

As a Cherokee, none of the grandeur of the city had any direct relation to me.

There was nothing “Oklahoma” or “Cherokee” about it. Of course, if one were to speak in terms of the history of monarchy and imperialism that the city of Paris is informed by, then as an Indigenous person one would indeed recognize some historical, colonial impact. One of the many ongoing discourses among Indigenous artists is of decolonization. How do we discuss our work, when for so long study and critique of Indigenous artists has been either totally left out or totally crushed under the thumb of Western art theory? Even the term “Indigenous” can be problematic as it can seem to be used as a catchall term that glosses over our complex histories (Smith 6).

Mainstream art history does give a small nod to Indigenous art and leaves much to be desired. During the late 19th and early 20th century, European and American artists took notice of Indigenous arts from the Americas, Africa, and Pacific Islands.

These mainstream artists saw the arts from these regions and were inspired by their “primitive” qualities.

From top: Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation), She Wants to Dream a Good Dream, mixed media. Dionne Paul (Coast Salish), Ce n’est pas une Indiene de l’Amérique, mixed media.

Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation), Death of Sequoyah, 2012, drawing.

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They mistook the abstraction and simplification of shapes and figures of masks and other ceremonial objects as being primitive—a return to the image of the stereotypical noble savage. This belied the artists’ lack of understanding of the cultural aspects of the Indigenous objects they saw.

They simply took superficial elements and applied them to their own work to develop Modern art.

Artists such as Pablo Picasso and Paul Gauguin, just to name a couple, used these influences heavily in their work. Alfred Young Man pointed out that Picasso is rumored to have said, “All that I need to know about this Northwest Coast mask is right here in the mask” (86–87). Gauguin was one of the first to embrace the idea of incorporating this so-called primitivism in his work. He famously left Europe and settled in Tahiti to get closer to nature, to experience the simple life, to get back to innocence, and whatever other stereotypical trope about native peoples you can conjure.

His fascination with Indigenous people had its roots in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, another egregious example of a lack of understanding of Indigenous people and outright exploitation. In an 1889 letter to fellow artist Emile Bernard, Gauguin wrote, “I have been to Buffalo’s. You must make all efforts to come to see it.

It is of enormous interest” (Herschel 78). The development of European Modern art eventually made its way to America and heavily influenced the avant-garde movement. The movement was also influenced by Native American art in the United States (Anthes 61).

Knowing that we Indigenous artists have been “thrown a bone” in art history, so to speak, does nothing to alleviate the fact that Indigenous art and artists are usually put in our own little corner, separate from all the rest.

Art en Capital Salon du Dessin et de la Peinture à l’Eau, Grand Palais des Champs-Elysées, photos: Marla Skye (Onondaga).

This, in effect, stifles knowledge of our own history from us and from everyone else. The average viewer of the collections in the Musée D’Orsay or the Centre Pompidou, which focus on the development of Modern art and its continuation, would not know the art he or she is seeing was at least in some way influenced by the Indigenous people of the world.

A museum such as the Louvre represents the very essence of hamfisted imperialism. The collection is one of the largest in the world.

It is quite impressive, and the work is indeed world class and of high quality. It is hard not to be awed by the museum. The history of the museum is a story of royalty and revolution, and it is essentially meant to be a beacon to the preeminence of France as a cultural center of the Western world (Bonfante-Warren, “Musée D’Orsay” 25). The collection to my eyes is a show of wealth and, to be blunt, a display of loot. And again, not to say it is isn’t impressive because it is, but as a Cherokee artist, I must question what I truly saw while in the Louvre.

The artifacts include antiquities from Sumer, Assyria, Phoenicia, Egypt, Greece, and Rome. In an attempt to

How do I effectively create art that communicates who I am now yet still is infused with the culture and language of my tribal heritage? equate themselves with ancient power and empires, leaders throughout French history collected such artifacts—an act not just relegated to the French, of course. In a looting that is steeped in imperial irony, over five hundred pieces of art were taken from the Vatican during Napoleon’s reign (Bonfante-Warren, “The Louvre” 33). The museum’s focus on movements such as the Renaissance and Neoclassicism reinforce the perceived connection with the great empires and civilizations of the ancient world. For example, pieces such as the Oath of the Horatti and The Lictors Bring to Brutus the Bodies of His Sons, both paintings call the Louvre home, by Jacques-Louis David echo ancient Rome and equate it to France of his day. David was quite savvy in creating art that was propaganda (de la Croix et al. 849).

I had an interesting exchange with an exhibiting French artist at the Salon.

He came to visit our booth out of curiosity. We compared portfolios on our iPads. Due to the language barrier

of his not knowing much English and my knowing very little French, we relied on an online translation site to speak to each other. He did some really interesting figure work, in which people’s bodies were separated into elongated sections of pure color.

Our initial connection was through our use of digital elements in some of our art. He knew virtually nothing of Cherokee culture, only being exposed to Hollywood versions of Natives.

He jokingly made the V sign with his fingers and placed his hand behind his head to indicate feathers as he shrugged his shoulders after he viewed my piece in the Salon, which does not have one feather in it. I let him look through my portfolio, and he was taken aback by one particular image.

It is a drawing of Sequoyah, the inventor of the Cherokee syllabary, based on David’s painting The Death of Marat. The painting is not housed in the Louvre, but is in tune with the rest of David’s body of work. In it, Sequoyah’s lifeless body lies back with pen in hand and the famous medal he was awarded dangles around his SPRING 2013

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Kayeri Akweks (Mohawk), The Greatest Strength Is Gentleness, 2012, watercolor on paper, 27½ × 39½ in.

I went to Paris expecting to be awed by the beauty and grandeur of the city on the Seine... neck. It was my take on the state of the Cherokee language and if we do not continue using it, it will die. I used Marat as a model because of its iconic imagery. Marat was a friend of David, so the artist immortalized the assassination and turned Marat into a hero of the French Revolution—an event in which David played a part (Adams 383).

My fellow artist did not understand in what context I referenced the painting until I explained who Sequoyah was, the state of Indigenous languages, and that yes, Cherokees wore turbans.

He asked why would I do that to such a great painting? It seemed very

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perplexing to him that someone could treat such a prized treasure of Western art history in such a manner. I explained, as best as I could, considering our method of “talking,” that I meant not to demean the art, but I was using its status as a stalwart of Western art to get my point across.

I am not entirely sure he bought my description, but he was cordial and went on his way.

I am an artist of the contemporary world, and in the history of Indigenous art the idea of the individual artist creating art for the sake of making a statement is relatively new—an idea that is heavily

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based in Western art philosophy. Most objects were made to be utilitarian.

Each thing has its purpose and reason for being. I make no qualms about my work. It does not serve a useful purpose in the sense that no one in my community will use it to make bread or draw water from a well or use it for ceremony.

After seeing some major masterpieces of the Western canon in Paris (and in Rome from an earlier trip in the year) and after exchanges like the one I had with the French iPad portfolio artist, I ask myself this question more intensely than I did before: How do I effectively create art that communicates who I am now yet still is infused with the culture and language of my tribal heritage? Seeing the French artist’s

reaction to my Marat-inspired piece made me question the effectiveness of referencing the Western canon so heavily. That also led me to question deeply how my formal Western art education has affected me as a Cherokee artist. Drawing a line directly from an institution like the French Royal Academy of Art to my education isn’t that much of a stretch in terms of the ideas encapsulated in the Western academy. Does it make me any less of a Cherokee artist? Does it matter? These are questions that many Indigenous artists contend with whether or not they actively deal with it in their work and writing, since the mainstream always projects it onto us. For example, the “contemporary versus traditional” debate immediately springs to mind, an argument that is meant to tear us apart as peoples because of the vitriol it can often bring to the table. I hope as an artist, these types of questions are themes I can continue to explore in many different media for the rest of my life.

I am not an Angry Indian, and my statements are not written from a position of anger. As I’ve heard many of my fellow Indigenous scholars, artists, and writers express (which, it should be noted, are not always mutually exclusive), my position is not informed by anger, but rather by passion.

I was inspired by the trip and the opportunity to exhibit in the Salon. I went to Paris expecting to be awed by the beauty and grandeur of the city on the Seine, and my expectations were resoundingly met. I was afraid I would be overwhelmed and suffer from an “I’m not worthy” attitude after seeing it all. Viewing so many masterpieces of the Western canon gave me a fresh perspective on what I want to achieve as an artist. Themes like the pietà or Madonna and Child can be beautiful in execution

connotations.”

MaryBeth Nelson and Roy Boney Jr., 2012, photo: Marla Skye.

regardless of one’s faith, but there’s a whole world of artists who explored, and continue to explore, that sort of thread. Comparatively, I don’t know many artists exploring what it is to be a Cherokee living in the 21st century.

A student of art can learn so much from visiting the city, and one can see the story of Western art as it evolved from artists creating works for a largely illiterate public to artists creating art for art’s sake.

One would be a fool to dismiss such history as it has affected the world, for better or worse. I was happy to learn many fellow members of the delegation felt similarly. Dionne Paul (Nuxalk-Sechelt) described her take on the experience by saying, “Paris has opened a doorway into the past with a new and positive light for me. I, understandably, view history through a First Nations perspective, and Europe has always played the antagonist. However, traveling to Paris and exhibiting at the Grand Palais I can now see, taste, smell, and touch a glimpse into European Art History with a little less negative

I became fast friends with the fellow artists of the Délégation Amérindienne, and we shared a lifetime of memories, conversations, and experiences. Marla Skye summed up the trip rather nicely. “After seeing the great works of art and amazing architecture of Paris, I am inspired in so many ways and feel artistically recharged.

I am looking forward to spending a lot of time at my easel the next few months.” I think recharged is a perfect term for the experience. Any doubts or blocks I had as an artist have definitely been swept away, and the simple act of picking up my pencil, my stylus, or my brush now feels like an act of revolutionary fervor.

Works Cited • Adams, Laurie Schneider. A History of Western Art. 2nd ed. New York: Brown & Benchmark Publishers, 1997.

• Anthes, Bill. Native Moderns: American Indian Painting, 1940–1960. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006.

• Bonfante-Warren, Alexandre. The Louvre.

New York: Metro Books, 2000.

• Bonfante-Warren, Alexandre. The Musée D’Orsay. New York: Metro Books, 2000.

• Chipp, Herschel B., ed. Theories of Modern Art: A Sourcebook by Artists and Critics.

1968. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996.

• de La Croix, Horst, Richard G. Tansey, and Diane Kilpatrick. Art Through the Ages. 9th ed. Fort Worth: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich College Publishers, 1991.

• Grand Palais. “The first exhibitions in 1900: The Centennale and the Décennale.”

Réunion des musées nationaux Grand Palais. n.d. Web. December 27, 2012.

• Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. Decolonizing Methodologies. 2nd ed. London: Zed Books, 2012.

• Young Man, Alfred. “Segregation of Native Art by Ethnicity: Is It Self-Imposed or Superimposed?” [Re]inventing the Wheel: Advancing the Dialogue on Contemporary American Indian Art. Ed. Nancy J. Blomberg.

2nd ed. Denver: Denver Art Museum, 2010: 79–103.

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Northern Lights Greenlandic Art in the 21st Century

By America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

O

n September 28, 2007, a chilly Friday afternoon, approximately 350 activists marched through the streets of Nuuk, Greenland, until they reached the Parliament.

Some were dressed in tutus; others in masks. One wore a pastor’s clerical collar and led a mock funeral where a small coffin was laid before the Parliament building to mourn the “Death of Greenlandic Culture.” A sign at the protest proclaimed: Eqqumitttsiliornet/ Eqeersaavoq/Nutarsaavoq, meaning, “Art/ Makes you wonder/Makes change.”

Led by the Anersaarta Movement (anersaarta being Greenlandic for “let’s breathe”), this march was the first art demonstration in Greenland’s history.

“The frustration expressed by the marchers and organizers was borne out of the lack of funding designated to securing the means to make … media that could immediately relate to Greenland and its people, as opposed to being imported from Denmark and other locations abroad,” writes New York-based artist Elisa Maria Lopez.

Organizers included artists Inuk Silis Høegh, Stina Bethelsen, Mikisoq Lynge, and Jessie Kleemann.

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The movement called for more support of the arts as a means for Greenlandic people to find solutions to their own problems including high rates of poverty, alcoholism, and suicide. Inuk Silis Høegh called for strengthened cultural institutions, saying, “Art and culture are the inner mirrors of the society and can contribute to the prevention of social problems by dealing with people’s emotions, souls and thoughts” (Wassenberg 27). The activists drafted a manifesto; produced Qapuk, a series of television programs about Greenlandic arts, culture, and language; and held several conferences that discussed Greenlandic culture and the country’s changing identity.

Ice sheets cover over 81% of the country but are melting at accelerating rates, raising the world’s ocean levels.

Denmark, China, and other countries are already eyeing the mineral wealth in Greenland that is being exposed by receding glaciers.

Years later, Greenlandic artists continue to have a strong voice in shaping the national identity of their homelands to both local and international audiences, collaborating with everyone from government officials to schoolchildren.

The interior of the country seldom rises above freezing in the summer. Winter days might have only three hours of daylight. Roadways do not connect towns, so people travel by boat or plane. Round trip airfare from Nuuk to Copenhagen can easily cost more than US $1000. Nuuk artist Maria Panínguak’ Kjærulff says, “They just lowered the prices so you can have Internet for about $120 a month. And, food and living is expensive since most things are imported from Europe.”

The Lay of the Land Colonized by Denmark in 1721, Greenland voted for home rule in 1979 and self-rule in 2009, and continues to steadily increase its political autonomy.

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Although Greenland is the third largest country in North America, it is the least densely populated. Of its 57,695 citizens, 89 percent are Inuit (CIA).

Limited habitable lands are divided into three coastal regions: the west, home to the Kalaallit Inuit; the east, home of the Tunumiit Inuit; and the north, home of the Inughuit Inuit, the northernmost ethnic group in the world. Nuuk is the capital city with 16,000 residents.

With such a small population and unique challenges brought on by geography, Greenlandic artists have proven to be incredibly resourceful and flexible in their art practices. They are extremely international in their arts education and exhibitions. With limited venues to showcase arts, exhibits occur anywhere from the Internet to frozen shipping crates. While the claim made by curators of the 2012 Venice Biennale exhibition Possible Greenland is bold: “Greenland is a new fulcrum of the world,” it could prove to be true.

Molding a National Identity “Eqqumiitsuliorneq is the Greenlandic word for art,” writes Maria Kjærulff.

“It means, ‘making something strange.’

And ‘artist’ is eqqumiitsuliortoq: ‘someone who makes something strange.’” The late photographer Pia Arke (1958– 2007) wrote that “only after pressure from the European scheme of things did the Greenlandic Eskimo word ‘eqqumiitsuliorneq’ come to signify something like the European notion of art” (5). Unsurprisingly, the Greenlandic perception of art differs dramatically from European perceptions and requires “…an extremely widened concept of art, a concept covering all sorts of ethnoarchaeoligica, hunting tools, handicraft, utensils, clothing, amulets, tattoos, etc.”

(5). As the poet Aqigssiaq Møller writes, “The concept of art as we see it today was a necessary—even vital—part of our ancestors’ daily existence and struggle to survive in arctic environmental of Greenland” (10). Artistic expression in Greenland spans thousands of years and is constantly evolving.

Under Danish colonial rule, artists were heavily influenced by European art.

With the political activism of the 1960s paving the way for the 1979 Home Rule, artists became interested in expressing a Greenlandic national identity. In 1985, the country adopted a new flag designed by sculptor and printmaker Thue Christiansen. “The circle in the middle

Above: Entrance to “Possible Greenland,” Danish Pavilion, Venice Biennale 2012, Dymaxion world map inspired by R. Buckminster Fuller, photo: Jean-Pierre Dalbéra, www.dalbera.eu.

Opposite: Aurora borealis, photo: Nick Russill, www.nickrussill-photography.co.uk.

Below: Christian Rosing, Havets Moder (Mother of the Sea), 2007, red granite, Nuuk, photo: Peter Løvstrøm (Kalaalleq), www.lovstromp.com. All images under a CC BY 2.0 license.

of the flag represents the sun setting on the horizon and the light and warmth which come back at midsummer,” says the Nordic Council’s website. “The fact that the Greenlandic flag does not contain a cross shows clear Greenland political freedom and community with other Inuit peoples around the pole” (Hoydal).

“Artists in Greenland are … committed to showing and representing Greenland culture as something particular and

different,” writes Danish-Greenlandic artist and curator Iben Mondrup (Salto and Hardenberg 38). Because the Inuit population is so high, and because many Greenlandic people are also of Danish descent, as well, Greenlandic identity is more nationalistic than ethnic. The arts are often a conduit for politics.

Kalaallisut, or simply Greenlandic, is the official language of Greenland; however, when Julie Edel Hardenberg only communicated in Greenlandic SPRING 2013

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stamps issued by Post Greenland. Showcasing artwork by contemporary Greenlandic artists, some of the most cutting edge art has found its way onto these stamps that are prized by stamp collectors worldwide.

Going Against the Global Grain Greenland’s artists are attempting to resist globalization, and more specifically, Americanization. “The population of Greenland (as with many other ethnic minorities) needs to draw attention to itself. Its culture, being small, is in danger of becoming absorbed by Hollywood films, McDonald’s, Nintendo and so on. The people must signal their difference and in this way legitimate their culture’s ‘authenticity,’” says Mondrup (Salto and Hardenberg 38).

Artist Bolatta Silis Høegh says, “… people mostly love America, love Disney and shiny Hummers to drive in small towns with only 16 km of street! On the other hand, people are very nationalistic in their expression. Greenlandic symbols are dominant in music, art and arts and crafts. You can’t buy a hat without an ulo [semicircular women’s knife] or kayak as decoration. When we in Greenland have a strong urge to express ourselves creatively you can imagine how many ulos there are flying around!”

“The Home Rule parliament needs us artists to help it,” says Julie, “and the funds art is given depend upon it.

Unfortunately, the inevitable results are well-meaning but toothless art” (Salto and Hardenberg 41). After decades of purposely showcasing Greenlandic identity, many curators and artists are now interested in expanding their dialogue and subject matter. “We are nation-building after getting autonomy,” explains Bolatta, “and although you get a bit tired of all these nationalistic symbols, I find it important to uphold our culture, when everything is melting together around us.”

Finding Space for Art Top: Nuuk Art Museum, photo: Peter Løvstrøm, CC BY 2.0.

Middle: Taseralik Culture Center, photo by Algkalv, CC BY-SA 3.0.

Bottom: Katuaq Cultural Center, Nuuk; photo by Alankomaat.

for six months, she encountered resistance and animosity, suggesting this is a symbolic gesture by the self rule government rather than a reality on the ground. “When writing in Greenlandic to the largest majority Greenlandicowned company, Air Greenland,” reports art writer David Winfield Norman, “they wrote back asking her to please write in Danish” (Norman).

Another, perhaps more unusual, example of the marriage between art and politics, albeit in this case an official partnership, are the often conceptual and challenging postage

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Though the first museum in Greenland, the Greenland National Museum and Archives, wasn’t built until the 1960s, the country has been slowly but surely expanding its arts infrastructure. In 1972, Hans Lynge (1906–1988), known as the “father of Modern Art in Greenland,” founded a graphic workshop in Nuuk. Inspired by the Inuit printmaking co– operatives in Canada, the workshop became the School of Art, and printmaker Arnannguaq Høegh (who studied printmaking in Cape Dorset) currently directs the school. The Nuuk Art Museum opened in 2005 and now features Inuit paintings, sculpture, drawings, and prints.

The Katuaq Cultural Center opened in 1997 in Nuuk and showcases experimental art exhibits, film, theater, and concerts. Groundbreaking exhibits have included “The Red Snowmobile” (2005), a 13–artist show about colonialism and globalization, and “Contemporary Inuit Art” (2010),

featuring artists from Canada, Alaska, Siberia, and Greenland. Each year the local artists collective KIMIK hosts annual exhibitions at Katuaq as well as group shows overseas. In a particularly innovative collaboration between Katuaq, KIMIK, and the Royal Arctic Line, the exhibition “Moving Art” (2007) was born. Six artists,

including Maria, had three days to paint 21–foot frozen shipping containers.

First displayed in front of Katuaq, the exhibition then traveled with the containers on board ships.

The Nordic Institute in Greenland or Nunani Avannarlerni Piorsarsimassutsikkut Attaveqaat (NAPA) opened in 1987 and is now housed in

Katuaq. NAPA is dedicated to promoting culture in Greenland, especially among young people. The institute hosts dance, theater, and visual art exhibitions, as well as classes, workshops, and even live-action role playing games for children. It also sponsored the art show “Kuuk” (2010), focused on post-colonial discourse by artists from Denmark, Germany, and Greenland, including Bolatta, Jessie, Inuk, and curators Julie and Iben. NAPA has been important in sponsoring projects in smaller, underserved communities.

While Nuuk is Greenland’s art center, Sisimiut, the second-largest town in Greenland, boasts the Taseralik Art Center. Taseralik brings music, theater, visual arts, and cinema to the westcentral coast. Further up the coast, 120 miles north of the Arctic Circle, is Ilulissat, Greenland’s third–largest town and home to the Sermermiut Cultural House, which is headquarters of the Inuit Theatre Company.

“Possible Greenland” “100–Kulusuk–100,” 2009, site-specific installation celebrating the centennial anniversary of Kulusuk, a village on the east coast of Greenland with a population of 286. The project was supported by the Nordic Institute in Greenland and included local children in the design and documentation of the art installation. Photos courtesy of NAPA.

Greenlandic art and geopolitical concerns have increasingly made an impact in global art fairs, including the Venice Biennale, regarded as the most significant art fair in the world.

Greenlandic and Danish artists and architectures collaborated on a major exhibition “Possible Greenland” in the 2012 Danish National Pavilion.

“Possible Greenland” explored the challenges of climate change, mineral extraction, and evolving Greenlandic paradigm due to increased Self Rule.

Collaborative teams envisioned future transportation hubs and cities. Bolatta, Inuk, and Julie contributed to the project. Vast screens showcased the stark beauty of landscape and towering glaciers in the oceans. The architect’s plans were mapped out in photographs, architectural models, and diagrams.

A giant boulder, a diminutive replica house, and a hall-sized wooden table carved as a map of Greenland gave audience more tangible ties to the land.

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21st–Century Artists Educated in Canada, Norway, Denmark, the United Kingdom, and the United States and exhibiting internationally, the next wave of Greenlandic artists are pushing the boundaries of their work. Many live in Nuuk or Copenhagen. Most work in a dizzying range of media.

Following are introductions to a few standout artists.

Filmmaker to Sculptor: Inuk Silis Høegh Inuk Silis Høegh (Danish-Kalaalleq) was born in Qaqortoq in 1972. His background is in film; however, since 2000, he’s embraced conceptual art working in mediums from sculpture to installation. Inuk is the son of Aka Høegh, possibly the most internationally recognized Greenlandic artist, who created Stone and Man (1993), the first large-scale public art project in Greenland.

Inuk earned his MFA in film and television production from the University of Bristol and currently lives in Copenhagen. His work is provocative, subversive, and absurd.

In his installation Insects, a legion of scorpions, fashioned from Carlsberg beer tabs, scuttle out of a crate marked “IMPORT.” This piece reflects “social problems —drinking, being a habit imported from Danish society.” Inuk asks.

“Are the goods we consume a form of self–imposed cultural invasion?”

Top left: Inuk Høegh, Multiply Yourself, 2005, photo manipulation as poster. Top right: Inuk Høegh, Join the Greenlandic Army, 2005, photo manipulation. Bottom: Inuk Høegh, Import, 2002, installation.

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A series of his sculptures resemble ancestral Greenland driftwood carvings; however, Inuk transforms them away from the faceless but anatomically correct torsos. “The customary wooden Inuit figures inspired me on a personal level more than a historical,” he writes. “A feeling of not being able to act, having no arms; not being able to move, having no legs; not feeling like an individual due to the lack of a face. I decided to give them new limbs—in plastic, the material of now… to adapt and be able to move on and act. But I also thought of it as being a way to move on as a

culture. That we have to morph, and use modern thoughts to be able to move our heritage on. Tradition has to change to survive.” The repurposed limbs taken from toy action figures give the figures superhuman strength.

Reflecting on a quarter century of Home Rule in 2004, Inuk collaborated with Asmund Havsteen-Mikkelsen (Danish) to create Melting Barricades, a series that was part of the 2006 exhibit, “Rethinking Nordic Colonialism: A Postcolonial Exhibition Project in Five Acts.”

“We made an army for Greenland in order to protect Greenlandic values,” Inuk explains. “And recognizing that attack is the best defensive strategy, we decided to invade the world to protect and spread Greenlandicness.”

Though the country is increasing control of its external affairs, Greenland has no military and prides itself for never having gone to war. Melting Barriers features satirical propaganda and recruitment posters for a Greenlandic army, as well as performances in which Inuk and Asmund dressed as generals—drumming and marching through downtown Nuuk. Later in 2004, they staged a successful invasion of Denmark, complete with a victory parade through Copenhagen in an

armored car. “Of course this is a comment and question mark about imperialism, and anti-imperialism, and about the human need to protect one’s own values and integrity,” Inuk writes.

“We didn’t decide what the Greenlandic values are, as they of course are hard to define, but solidarity, sharing, and hospitality are old values and traditions” that live in present Greenlandic culture.

Future projects for Inuk include a Paris exhibition with French art collective Cargo Culte; a documentary film about 1970s Greenland rock band, Sume, who helped spark the soft revolution leading to home rule; and participation in “Sakahán: International Indigenous Art” at the National Gallery of Canada.

“Painting is in my heart, and I love telling stories through portraits. I make up so many stories in my head,” Bolatta writes, “and I feel we are closest friends when finishing the painting.” Her portraits juxtapose richly colored textile designs with monochromatic faces that emphasize sparse, evocative line work.

Her installation Haveforeningen Sisimiut 2068 (Garden Association Sisimiut 2068) confronts climate change and envisions the west coastal town of Sisimiut as a tropical jungle. A cotton anorak (customary Inuit jacket) shares a

Intimate Portraits and Futurescapes: Bolatta Silis Høegh Inuk’s sister, Bolatta Silis Høegh, is also a prominent artist. Born in 1981, the painter and conceptual artist lives in Copenhagen with her filmmaker boyfriend and their two young children.

Right top: Bolatta Høegh, Haveforeningen Sisimiut 2068, 2009, installation.

Right bottom: Bolatta Silis Høegh painting.

Left bottom: Bolatta Høegh, Homeless Dreams, 2012, painting, acrylic, 35½ × 5¼ in.

All photos courtesy of the artist.

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Greenland Art History Timeline 2500–1000 BCE

Independence I people from Canada settle in north Greenland

2500–800 BCE

Saqqaq people from Siberia settle in southeast and west Greenland

700–80 BCE

Independence II people (Early Dorset) settle in north and northeast, near Independence Fjord

500 BCE–1500

Tuniit or Dorset culture from Canada settle in northwest

982

Eric the Red, a Norseman banished from Iceland for murder, arrives in Greenland

986

Eric founds Norse colonies in southern Greenland

1200

Thule Inuit from Canada settle throughout Greenland

1261

Norse Parliament in Greenland votes for rule by Norwegian king

1408

A marriage in Hvalsey Church is the last written record of the Norse colonists in Greenland

1500

All Norse settlements in Greenland are abandoned

1700

Copper Inuit from Canada settle in the Thule region

1721

Danes begin colonizing Greenland

1789–1790

1840s

Israil Nichodimus Gormansen (Kalaalleq, 1804–1857) paints scenes of daily life with India ink and watercolors

1818–9

Hans Zakæus (Kalaalleq, 1795–1819) accompanies the John Ross expedition to northern Greenland and documents first European contact with the Inughuit Inuit through lithographic prints.

1850

Kalaalleq hunter Aron of Kangeq (1822–1869), bedridden with tuberculosis, begins painting watercolors that document daily life and oral history

1860

Survey of Greenlandic printmaking, Kaladlit Ássilialiait (Greenlandic Woodcuts) is published, featuring works by Rasmus Berthelsen, Aron of Kangeq, Jens Kreutzmann, and others

1857

Rasmus Berthelsen (1827–1901) illustrates Pok, the first book published in Greenland, with woodblock prints

1861

Atuagagdliutit, the first Greenlandic Inuit newspaper founded, with Berthelsen as editor and Lars Møller (Danish–Inuit, 1842–1926) as illustrator and assistant

1891–92 1895–1905 1897

Late 19th c.

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Mathias Fersløv Dalager (Kalaalleq, ca. 1769–1843) born in Ritenbenk, studies at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen, becoming the first Greenlandic Inuit to receive a formal Western art education

Robert Peary explores north Greenland Isak of Igdlorpait (Kalaalleq) paints watercolors, which will ultimately be published in 1969 Explorer Robert Peary takes six Inughuit Inuit to New York, to be exhibited as living specimens at the American Museum of Natural History. All die from disease except for Minik Wallace.

Greenlandic women begin weaving beaded collars

1905

Mitsivarniannga of Ammassalik (Tunumiit), an angakoq (shaman), carves a wooden tupilait with no apparent ill effects, convincing others to also carve tupilaq, effigy figures designed to bring doom

1924

Denmark claims Greenland

1925–29

Sculptors in Kangaamiut begin carving soapstone and sperm-whale ivory figures

1925

Jakob Danielsen (Kalaalleq) paints hunting scenes in Qeqertarsuaq

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clothesline with a sealskin bikini. An ulo is on hand for cracking coconuts. “People saw it as a funny and ‘fresh’ installation—but I really hope that they thought a bit more about the thoughts behind the humor when they got home,” she writes. “Global warming is so frightening but I don’t see the will to do something about it in Greenland and especially in the shadows of oil dreams.”

For “Possible Greenland,” Bolatta recreated a small Greenlandic red-and-white painted home. Scents from drying fish filled the artificially chilled air. Interior walls were plastered with family photos.

“The person I followed in the house of Possible Greenland is an old friend of mine, Angutivik. My job was to create a home that showed Greenlandic history and development, and I came up with the idea of following Angutivik’s life and history in his grandmother’s home.” She relayed his story, “in a cozy environment… a good contrast to the classy designed Danish architecture world.” The installation was perhaps too successful; the artist writes, “Some visitors didn’t enter the room because they thought it was a coffee room for the staff.”

Bolatta’s upcoming projects include writing a children’s book and creating a new installation at the Climate Institute in Nuuk.

Beauty in Blubber: Jessie Kleemann Poet, dancer, actress, painter, and performance artist Jessie Kleemann challenges widely held concepts of beauty. Born in Upernavik in 1959, Jessie directed the Nuuk School of Art from 1984 to 1991. In 1988, Kleemann produced Greenland’s first video art. She has performed in numerous international venues, including the 2012 Liverpool Biennial, where she performed Sassuma Arnaa: The Mother of the Deep, based on Inuit oral history of a young woman, Arnaqquassaaq (also known as Sedna), cast into the sea by her family—her severed fingers transforming to sea mammals.

“Blubber, skins, fish, meat and blood are frequent ingredients in her performances,

and this can be overwhelming for even the most hardened art lover,” writes Iben Mondrup (22). Jessie has left blubber to decay in gallery spaces—the odor becoming part of the piece. She incorporates these often disgusting elements in her work, because, as the artist writes: “The ugly is not defined by society’s art aesthetics and it craves something original, whether cosmic or earthly, whilst simultaneously testing our very existence” (52).

Juxtaposing the sights and aroma of the blood and meat, Kleemann dances in gorgeous, flowing red or white silk taffeta dresses. She also uses facial paint to reference Tunumiit masked dances. Nudity figures into her work—the body is her canvas, and public nudity was completely acceptable in Greenlandic society until the arrival of missionaries in the last century.

Natural forces permeate much of Jessie’s work, and the artist says, “The land itself— not the country—but the actual land, consists of soul. The scarce soil, the rocks and the mountains are breathing and the wind is carried on the air” (Mondrup 45).

1940

Nazi Germany begin occupation of Greenland in World War II

1941

United States troops occupy Greenland to thwart the Nazis

1951–53

Denmark removes the Inughuit Inuit residents of Pituffik village to make way for the United States’ Thule Air Base

1953

Greenland gains representation in Danish parliament

1972

Graphic workshop, focused on lithography, woodcutting, and etching, is established in Nuuk and becomes the School of Art in 1981

1975

Tuukaq Theater becomes a space for acting and dance and spearheads the revival of Uaajeerneq, the masked dance of East Greenland

1977

The Inuit Circumpolar Council is established with Indigenous representatives from Canada, Greenland, Russia, and the United States

1979

Greenland gains home rule. Denmark controls foreign affairs and defense

1982

National Museum in Denmark repatriates thousands of artworks to the Home Rule authorities in Greenland, including 204 watercolors by Aron of Kangeq and Jens Kreutzmann

1984–85

Greenland votes to leave the European Union to try to halt unsustainable overfishing by German companies sanctioned by the European Union

1985

Greenlandic flag, designed by Thue Christiansen, is adopted

1987

Nordic Institute in Greenland (NAPA) opens

1993

Aka Høegh, with 18 Scandinavian artists, creates the Stone and Man sculpture garden in Qaqortoq—becoming the first large-scale international public art project in Greenland

1993–97

“The Flying Kayak,” a major survey of contemporary Greenlandic art travels through Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Poland, Spain, and Greenland

1994

Nuuk Snow Festival (Nuuk Snefestival) is established, showcasing ephemeral sculpture in snow

Forceful Intensity: Maria Panínguak` Kjærulff

1995

KIMIK, the Association of Artists in Greenland, is founded

1997

Katuaq Culture Center opens in Nuuk

1999

Ice sheets in lower elevations begin melting at a rate of three feet per year

2004

Jørgen Chemnitz opens Nimitz Gallery, a commercial gallery in Nuuk

From acting in a soap opera to creating impossible imagined landscapes, Maria Panínguak` Kjærulff is an artist whose practice is eclectic even by Greenlandic standards. Born in 1980, the Danish– Kalaalleq artist lives in Nuuk, where her son was born, and creates painting, drawing, photography, film, video, jewelry, sculpture, scenography, and installations.

2004

Science reports the acceleration of the melting Greenland’s ice sheet

2005

Nuuk Art Museum opens

For the “Moving Art” project, Maria painted her shipping container with a poignant scene of a polar bear, balancing on a small chunk of ice and flanked by ghostly bear images. The bear faces an open door to a scene of blazing sunshine.

A detail of this haunting scene became a Greenlandic stamp.

Maria combines charcoal and acrylics in large, richly hued, expressive paintings.

Often focusing on humble objects

2005–06

“The Red Snow Mobile,” with 13 artists, shows in Copenhagen and Nuuk

2006

“Rethinking Nordic Colonialism: A Postcolonial Exhibition Project in Five Acts” shows at the Greenland National Museum and Archives

2007–08

International Polar Year conference, sponsored by the Greenland Nation Museum and Archive, discusses repatriation of cultural patrimony

2007

Anersaarta Movement marches in the capital of Nuuk

2008

Greenland votes for Self Rule and gains more control over their energy resources. Kalaallisut becomes the official language, replacing Danish

2008

Taseralik Cultural Center is founded in Sisimiut

2009

Expanded self rule is implemented, and Greenland gained the right to negotiate foreign policy

2010

“Kuuk,” a 14–artist exhibit curated by Julie Edel Hardenberg and Iben Mondrup and hosted by NAPA at Katuaq, explores Greenlandic identity

2010

Science reports increases in acceleration of ice melt and rising sea levels

2012

Air Greenland begins commercial fights from Nuuk to Iqualiut, Nunavut

2012

“Possible Greenland,” an exhibit of Greenlandic and Danish artists and architects, is featured in the Danish Pavilion at Venice Biennale –America Meredith, in consultation with David Winfield Norman SPRING 2013

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fake land full of created memories and perceptions of what might have been in the past… A kind of sacred memorial of something that might have been. Stories and cultures hidden in the space.

Ungraspable and fragile, yet momentous and permanent.”

In east Greenland, Maria has conducted drawing, painting, and design workshops for children. “Another collaboration was to have kids paint a stone and bring it to a site, where all stones were gathered into the shape of a flying bird. The project was a part of Greenland going from Home Rule Government to Self Rule Government.”

Above: Maria Kjærulff, Power Bird, 2004, charcoal, acrylic, 59 × 90½ in.

Right: Maria Kjærulff, Igloo Ruin, installation, 2010.

or creatures, she imbues them with forceful intensity and layers of meanings, as she did with Power Bird. Painted at the Cooper Union School of Art, the white dove is many times larger than life. “I wanted it to be captured in its space, a bit claustrophobic,” the artist writes. “But I also wanted to show how much power, capacity, and potential the bird had. I was feeling a little boxed up at the time.” The bird sits on eggs, symbolizes one’s gifts and potential.

At the 2012 Art Ii Biennale of Northern Environmental and Sculpture Art in Finland, Maria created an installation, Igloo Ruin, which she describes as “a fossilized igloo with white flowers embedded in the stones, surrounded by a patch of moss and land.”

The wild, jagged stone outline creates a poetic memorial of “a

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Reflecting the Quiet Diversity: Julie Edel Hardenberg Born in Nuuk in 1971, Julie Edel Hardenberg (Danish-Kalaalleq) studied art in Finland, Norway, and Denmark before returning back to Greenland. She’s published the children’s book Haluu, Hej, Hello (2003); The Quiet Diversity (2005), a photographic exploration of ethnicity and hybridity among Greenlandic people; and Move On (2008), stories from Greenlandic people who have broken away from the cycles of domestic violence and alcoholism. The Musée de l’Elysée in Switzerland included her in the 50 most promising international photographers. Julie makes a stand against mass media stereotyping; instead, she reflects the nuanced in-between spaces living people occupy. She see Greenlandic art ready to move beyond the nationalistic and didactic.

With the help of schoolchildren, Julie created the monumental installation Erfalasorput (Our Flag). Hundreds of pieces of

Julia Edel Hardenberg, Erfalasorput (Our Flag), 2009 installation of clothing, Blok P, Nuuk, photo: Peter Løvstrøm (Greenlandic), CC BY 2.0, www.lovstromp.com

clothing, dyed red and white, were sewn together to form the largest Greenlandic flag ever—four stories tall. On National Day, June 21, 2009, the flag was mounted on the wall of the grim, windowless Blok P, a 1960s Danish-built concrete apartment building that housed 1% of the country’s population until it was torn down in 2012. Erfalasorput served to remind viewers that a nation is made up of distinct individuals.

Julie’s most iconic work is her Kreationer Namminersorneq, or Home Rule Designs, a series of clothing fashioned in the bold, geometric red and white designs of the Greenlandic and Danish flags.

Rigsfælleskabspause (National Pause) is a straitjacket made from the two conjoined flags—eloquently expressing the schizophrenic relationships the colonized have with their colonizer.

“We have some abilities and a tradition for turning world perceptions on their head,” says Julie. “Art can be so much more

than pretty or beautiful and comment on the relationship between nature and people. Someone for whom art can be an analytical tool that can simultaneously challenge philosophy and politics and romanticism —and that can in the end say so much more about Greenlandic identity and ideas” (Salto and Hardenberg 40).

A Shared Sense of Vision and Place “There are quite a few of us who belong neither in the West, nor in the marginalized rest,” wrote Pia Arke. “If we are to belong in a place, we will have to create that place ourselves” (16). In Greenland, an Indigenous country with a rapidly changing climate, politics, and society, art can be the vehicle towards this space. “Through art people meet, become present to, involved with, and responsible for each other,” writes Møller (38), a view echoed in 2007 Anersaarta manifesto: “Let us create a common foundation in culture!”

Works Cited • “About Katuaq.” Katuaq. n.d. Web. Arke, Pia. “Ethno-Aesthetics.” Act 5: Denmark, Finland, Norway & Sweden. 25 Nov. 2006. PDF. • CIA. “North America: Greenland.” The World Factbook. 2012. Web. • Høegh, Bolatta Silis. Personal interview. 29 Jan. 2013.

• Høegh, Inuk Silis. Personal interview. 10 Jan. 2013.

• Hoydal, Marita. “Greenland’s Flag.” Nordic Council. n.d. Web. • Kjærulff, Maria Panínguak`. Personal interview. 5 January 2013.

• Lopez, Elise Maria. “Greenlanders Demand Greater Support for the Arts.” National Museum of Natural History Arctic Studies Center Newsletter no. 15 (Feb. 2008): 35. PDF. • Mondrup, Iben, ed. Jessie Kleemann: Qivittoq.

Copenhagen: Hurricane Publishing, 2011. PDF. • Møller, Aqigssiaq. “The Need for Art.” Ed. Staffan Carlén. Den Flyvende Kajak: Nutidskunst fra Grønland—The Flying Kayak: Contemporary Art from Greenland—Qajaq Silaannakkoortok: Kalaallit Nunaannit Eqqumiitsuliat Nalitsinneersut. Helsinki: Nordisk Kunstcentrum, 1993.

• Norman, David Winfield. Inuit Attack-atigiit. 17 Oct. 2011. Web. • “Possible Greenland.” Danish Architecture Center & Life. 20 Nov. 2012. Web. • Salto, Iben Mondrup and Julie Edel Hardenberg.

“An Appetite Whetted.” Scandinavian Museums and Cultural Diversity. Katherine Goodnow and Haci Akman, eds. New York: Berghahn Books, 2008. Web. • Wessendorf, Kathrin. The Indigenous World 2009.

Copenhagen: IWGIA, 2009. Web.

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Sydney

piece in the Biennale the number one were incredibly gracious. A whirlwind art moment in Australia in 2012. It was of introductions to many international all our relations one of the most talked about works of characters followed. It was a night full of the year. The collective cut a hole into thoughtful conversation—adventurous 18th Biennale of Sydney the concrete floor of the AGNSW. The and some so unforeseen, they shouldn’t hole, and earth exposed, in toto engaged be repeated in public.

HE OPENING RECEPTION Meeting internationally known the space, museum, and region in a for the 18th Sydney Biennale all manner seeking to shift the discourse of Aboriginal artist Tracey Moffatt was our relations took place at the Art sustainability from a focus dominated by mind blowing. Known for her experGallery of New South Wales (AGNSW), Western science to a balanced approach imental film, photography, and video, a stately museum built from the local red that is inclusive of Indigenous knowl- Tracey started off by pointing and smiling, sandstone. The reception was a sea of “You’re going to be famous …” to Kade edge systems. people, dressed to the nines in their most As the evening came to end, we and his fellow members of Postcomartsy attire, jammed into the first floor. The headed to the after-party. We cabbed with modity. Tracey invited us to look at her attention to detail—the eyeglasses, heels, established Australian artist John Wolseley, work, located in the dining room, a series hair and ties—was over the top. As the whose work was featured in the AGNSW of photos of Sydney Olympics 4th placers director of the AGNSW welcomed guests near Postcommodity’s. He said, “You do at the finish line. The former mayor of with opening remarks, the only artists he know where we’re going to, don’t you?” Sydney, Lucy Turnbull, joined us in a mentioned were the American Indian art I asked, “Next party?” He replied, “We’re conversation about 4th place. collective Postcommodity, which earned going to the home of who we hope will At the end of the night, Turnbull a heartfelt cheer from the crowd. be the next Australian Prime Minister called her water taxi to take us back to The night was filled with artists and and his wife Lucy Turnbull, the former the hotel. Sailing past the Sydney Opera curators from around the world. They mayor of Sydney and board member of House at 3:00 a.m., I had to cry because were everywhere and chatty. It was a bit the biennale.” it was one of the most wonderful nights overwhelming to be able to sit and talk We arrived at a spacious harbor of my life. with artists I had only read about. estate filled with serious contemporary HE NEXT MORNING, I was The reception was a time to cele- artwork. I noticed the crowd had become intrigued with the ideas around brate the work of Postcommodity, smaller, and the Australian equivalent of this exhibition. The title all our comprising Raven Chacon (Navajo), secret service checked us in. Walking in, relations suggested how we relate to each Christóbal Martínez (Xicano), Kade L. we were met by Plains Cree extraordiother and the world we inhabit, and relaTwist (Cherokee Nation), and Nathan naire, Dr. Gerald McMaster, co-curator tionships in general. The collaboration Young (Pawnee/Delaware/Kiowa/Cher- of all our relations, and Marah Braye, chief and process between 100 artists, visitors, okee). ARTINFO magazine called their executive officer of the biennale. Both and curators, had become such a sweet, muddled, and curious dialogue.

Postcommodity (Raven Chacon, Christóbal Martínez, Kade L. Twist, and Nathan Young), Do I asked Gerald, who had been my You Remember When?, 2012, installation. Photo courtesy of Kade L. Twist mentor when we worked together at the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution (NMAI), if he could tell me his favorite experience.

“I would have to say traveling to various parts of the world doing studio visits. I traveled to China, Korea, South Africa, Europe, New Zealand, and North America. I was always impressed with the many kinds of art that I saw; and, of course, everyone was always so wonderful to me when I arrived that it often made it difficult to leave.”

Some of North America’s leading Indigenous arts administrators were also at this event, including Dr. Robert Martin, president of the Institute of American Indian Arts; poet Luci Tapahonso;

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REVIEWS

Alan Michelson (Mohawk), Prophetstown, 2012, installation. Image courtesy of the Biennale of Sydney, Australia.

Canadian curators Stephen Loft and Candice Hopkins; and Patsy Phillips, director of the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts.

Phillips said, “For the first time in the Sydney Biennale’s history, an Indigenous curator, Dr. Gerald McMaster, was selected as co-artistic director. Dr. McMaster chose contemporary Indigenous artists who are at the forefront of advancing the dialogue in their respective countries.” The Indigenous artists included: • Australia: Jonathan Jones, Makinti Napanangka, Judy Watson Napangardi, Alick Tipoti, Dorothy Napangardi • Canada: Nadia Myre, Shuvinai Ashoona, Tanya Tagaq • New Zealand: Peter Robinson, Tiffany Singh, Sriwhana Spong • Chile: Cecilia Vicuña • South Africa: Nicholas Hlobo, Robin Rhode

• United States: Postcommodity, Alan Michelson.

people who lived there. Jones issued a call for teacups to all of the biennale artists prior to the installation. Postcommodity’s My adventure seeking out all the Nathan Young brought two from OklaBiennale sites had begun. I went to the homa. I had dinner with Jonathan Jones Sydney Harbor and boarded the ferry to and his wife one night. As we entered Cockatoo Island where a number of the the restaurant, patrons whispered to each larger installations were housed. This other, “There he is; it’s Jonathan Jones.” small island which had once been a coloJonathan spent time as an intern/fellow nial prison, and later, one of Australia’s at New York City’s National Museum largest shipyards, was home to numerous cavernous warehouses and enormous of the American Indian George Gustav institutional buildings that easily Heye Center as a student. I loved hearing accommodated a number of impressive, that he once borrowed his grandmother’s large-scale installations. I loved finding boldly flowered suitcase because it was the these beautiful installations in the dark only suitcase that his family had and rolled and dirt of these cavernous, rusty spaces. it through New York City.

Prior to entering a large warehouse Of particular interest was the work of Jonathan Jones, an important at Pier 2/3, I was thrilled to see the work young Australian Indigenous artist of of controversial artist Jimmie Durham’s the Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi Nations. Still Life with Stone and Car, located on His installation, Untitled (Oysters and Tea the street. This work was part of the Cups), a considerable mound of oyster 1996 biennale and is now a permanent shells and porcelain teacups, was a refer- public art sculpture. The work of Maori, ence to colonizers and to the Indigenous East Indian, and Samoan artist Tiffany SPRING 2013

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REVIEWS Singh was intriguing. Tiffany carried her Guido van der Werve’s video, powerful artistic sensibility even to her Nummer Acht: Everything Is Going to Be personal style—layers of dresses, skirts, Alright was a favorite of mine. Filmed just and scarves—that was an artwork in and south of the Arctic Circle, it shows the of itself. artist walking just ahead of an enormous Her installation Knock on the Sky ship, an icebreaker. The video is seemListen to the Sound was located at the pier. ingly fearless, scary, lonely, and truly Singh created one of the most adored captivating. I found it hard to walk away. installations at the Biennale. Hundreds Pacing, prospective, and sharply timed of wooden chimes hanging from long, shots made it seem like the artist was just richly colored ribbons turned the space into a transformative place. She asked that visitors, including Dr. Robert Martin and Luci Tapahonso, take the chimes home, decorate, and return them. Tiffany explained that her works are based on ritual and ceremony and thinks of them as being restorative.

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JAM-PACKED RECEPTION at the Museum of Contemporary Art started another evening off. My husband and I spent time running from one side to the other of a large-scale installation in the museum’s new wing, called Anything Can Break, by Pinaree Sanpitak, an artist from Bangkok noted as one of the best Thai artists of her generation.

Decorating the ceiling with hundreds of geometric origami objects flying and hovering, these origami squares were interspersed with luminous breastshaped clouds. Visitors were serenaded with strange and blissful tones generated by movement, triggered by motion detectors. Inspired by the female form, layers upon layers of these suspended graceful paper blocks gave this installation life.

Mohawk artist Alan Michelson’s series Prophetstown was meticulous in its presentation of eight miniature cabins, layering numerous elements including text and newspaper on the shells of these intricate structures. Ideas around colonialism, Disney’s Frontierland, and American Indian historical survival all played a part in this dimly lit installation.

It was one of the most striking installations at the AGNSW. Watching Michelson work the crowd was fun. Anyone who was someone—whether that be curator, gallerist, or collector—was always near this ultra-cool artist.

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encouraged to make their own connections. The way we curated the exhibition suggested this interconnectivity.”

A late-night reception at Cockatoo Island was project management at its best.

Our being taken by boat to a party was impressive enough. As we entered I felt this was probably what it’s like walking onto an arena stage to perform. DJs played music. Lighting was perfectly poised to highlight mountains of exotic cheese and fruit, armies of chefs making chorizo sandwiches and setting up rows of champagne glasses and bottles of champagne. Despite the hundreds of guests and artists, everyone seemed to have room to roam, sit, talk, and dance. Shockingly, my glass was always full, literally, all night because there was always someone filling it. It seemed as though everyone’s glass was full that night.

G Gerald McMaster (Siksika First Nation). Image courtesy of the Biennale of Sydney.

feet ahead of this mammoth ship. After reading about the creation of the piece, the ship captain agreed to allow the artist to walk ten meters in front of the ship while being filmed. Such great detail to create a perspective allowed the act to look so much more dangerous than it already was.

What was the curator’s favorite piece? He wouldn’t tell me. But Gerald did share some thoughts about the body of work he presented as a whole, “The exhibition was called all our relations. That in effect meant we needed to be conscious of maintaining a sense of democracy and equality. I’d like to think that what we curated all worked together, where visitors experienced many different kinds of moments—from the cerebral to totally interactive. Although the visitor could take our art tour, they were also

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ERALD MCMASTER CALLED IT “purposeful connectivity.” How is it that we as Indigenous people find each other? I noticed a sense of community right off the bat. Connecting with so many artists of color was humbling. This biennale in particular created a dialogue in which a number of different relationships are being negotiated. I see all of these relationships as points of accountability that we all share. The show was not about world peace or holding hands or feeling better; it was about trying to better understand, outside of that master—or McMaster—narrative.

Patsy Phillips put it best: “These contemporary Native artists and others deserve to be represented not only at the Sydney but all international venues. I will be happy for the day when Native art is expected in international art venues, and it’s no longer considered the exception.”

Sydney was the perfect host, and a new friend I want to visit over and over again. The Biennale of Sydney treated me like a special guest; it refreshed and reminded me how wonderful exhibitions can be and how much I love this field.

—Andrea R. Hanley (Navajo)

REPORTS

Reno

The Way We Live: American Indian Art of the Great Basin and the Sierra Nevada Nevada Museum of Art

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HIS EXHIBITION of contemporary Native American art of the Great Basin and Sierra Nevada at the Nevada Museum of Art has been long awaited by the surrounding Native community and residents of Nevada. It has been a decade since anything like this show has been curated—since the 2002 Nevada State Museum’s Under One Sky exhibition in Carson City.

Under One Sky opened to a surprise turnout and strong response from the public who stated they wanted to see more.

Many artists from Under One Sky also show in The Way We Live, including Ben Aleck (Pyramid Lake Paiute), Melvin J. Brown (Paiute/Shoshone), Jean LaMarr (Northern Paiute/Achomawi), Jack Malotte (Western Shoshone/Washoe), Clayton B. Sampson (Washoe), Paul Stone (Paiute/Washoe), and myself.

In 2011, the Nevada Museum of Art, collaborating with Pyramid Lake Museum, called for artwork “addressing issues relating to concepts of the changing environment,” according to the show’s website. The show’s intent was to stimulate new works in various media with the local environment as a focal point.

Other participating artists are Dugan Aguilar (Maidu/ Northern Paiute/Achomawi), Farrell Cunningham (Maidu), Black Eagle (Shoshone/Yokut), Billy Hawk Enos (Washoe/Nisenan), Donna Featherstone (Chukchansi), Micqaela Jones-Crouch (Paiute-Shoshone), Frank LaPena (Nomtipom Maidu/Wintu), Judith Lowry (Mountain Maidu/Hammawi/Washoe), Ramon Murillo (Shoshone-Bannock), Ray Valdez (Nahua/Yaqui), and Alan Wallace (Nisenan Maidu/Washoe).

The reception opened with a beautiful hand drum performance by Christina Thomas, followed by a panel discussion of participating artists. The museum’s theater, unexpectedly packed, was left with standing-room only. After a lively discussion by artists about the inspiration for their work, it was disappointing that only one question was directed to the artists from the audience.

The question was concerning the otherworldly transcendence during the Sun Dance, mentioned briefly by Ramon Murillo.

The audience shared an awkward “Okay … and let’s move on” pause and then proceeded from the theater to the third floor to continue the reception.

Jean LaMarr (Paiute-Achomawi), former Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) printing teacher, led the hand drum performance at the reception, which complemented her two works in the show. Ni Ya Kway (Down) represents what she considers the “endurance of cultural traditions in the face of great challenges,” as show curator Ann M. Wolfe wrote. The purple- and blue-hued acrylic painting features an intergenerational group of Paiute woman seated in front of a wooden drum for hand games.

The outer edges are framed by photographs of hands belonging

Judith Lowry (Mountain Maidu-Hammawi-Washo), Edna by Honey Lake, 1999/2012, acrylic on canvas

to her friends and family. The installation is not overtly political like many of LaMarr’s past works, but, by asserting the importance of native traditions, LaMarr commemorates “the survival of Indigenous people and offers a glimpse of a world where the bonds of culture, family, and community provide the strength and vitality to persevere despite adversity.”

Frank LaPena (Nomtipom Maidu/Wintu) is a printmaker and painter, as well as a dancer and poet. He entwines his personal stories with those of his family and tribe, drawing heavily from Maidu and Wintu oral history, cultures, and worldviews. His piece, Stewart Indian School, an acrylic painting on wood, features an abstracted scene from Great Basin Desert, in which he integrates a photo of his 1945 class from Stewart Indian School, a federal boarding school located in Carson City. LaPena exhibits widely in solo exhibitions across the country and is a Professor Emeritus of Ethnic Studies and Art and former Director of Native American Studies at California State University, Sacramento.

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REPORTS Judith Lowry (Mountain Maidu/ Hammawi/Washoe) exhibited Edna at Honey Lake, a monumental acrylic painting of her paternal grandmother, Edna Evans Lowry, from northern California and Nevada. “Edna appears as a stoic and strong woman, surrounded by her family, as she navigates a culturally complex world as a biracial woman in the American West,” writes Wolfe. Lowry has been featured in many museums around the country including the Crocker Museum, Wheelwright Museum, CN Gorman Museum, and the National Museum of the American Indian.

I combined my abstract landscapes and cultural images with Paiute staples like willow, pine nuts, and dried cattails.

The series is named for the seasons: Yubano (Fall), Tommy (Winter), and Tamano (Spring). These all tell stories through an abstract vision of the Nevada landscape, seasonal colors, and personal petroglyphs.

In my presentation at the reception, I described the inspirations of the willow, pine nuts, and petroglyph images, beginning with the creation of my son’s Paiute baby basket. The whole family made parts of the basket from beadwork, willow frame, basket hood, and deer hide. This process led to my combining mixed media with organic and culturally significant images onto canvas. I have exhibited at the Nevada State Museum, High Desert Museum, Portland State University, and the Museum of Contemporary Native Arts in Santa Fe. Ben Aleck (Pyramid Lake Paiute) showed Kooyooe Panunadu (Pyramid Lake), a mixed media work featuring the lake’s endangered cui-ui fish, Chasmistes cujus, among blue tones, water splotches, willow, and wild sugar cane. “His more recent mixed media works draw attention to the environmental challenges faced by the indigenous people of the Pyramid Lake region,” writes Wolfe. Aleck earned his BFA from California College of Arts and Crafts in 1972. Currently serving as the collections manager of the Pyramid Lake Museum, Aleck collaborated with the NMA curator, Ann Wolfe, in seeking out Nevada artists.

—Melissa Melero

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San Francisco

“Real N.D.N.— Native Diaspora Now” Galería de la Raza

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EAL N.D.N.,” curated by the Indigenous Arts Coalition (IAC), is a milestone—a community coming together after years of planning—so first a little background.

The San Francisco Bay Area, ancestral home of Ramaytush Ohlone people, has been a destination for other tribes since the 19th century, when Indigenous Californians displaced from their lands sought jobs. The Bay Area was a destination for Indian people in the controversial Indian Relocation policy by the US federal government in the 1950s and 1960s, building an urban Indian community with the Intertribal Friendship House as a nexus.

From 1969 to 1971, Bay Area Indians seized the international spotlight by occupying Alcatraz Island.

In 1983, Janeen Antoine (Sisseton Dakota) founded the American Indian Contemporary Arts (AICA), a non-profit art gallery. AICA seamlessly moved from tribally-specific art shows to politically charged installations to seminal traveling exhibits such as “Indian Humor.” In the 1998 Dot-Com boom, the gallery’s rent increased almost three times, so AICA shut its doors. While AICA still hosts events, the San Francisco Native art scene has been without a dedicated, intertribal arts space ever since.

Meanwhile, the San Francisco Arts Council (SFAC) funded a “homeless” cultural center, the so-called Native American Cultural Center; however, according to SFAC minutes, “funds appear to have been misappropriated for individual use.” Through the efforts of Kim Shuck (Cherokee Nation

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descent), the SFAC finally changed tacks in 2007 and awarded grants directly to individual Native artists and organizations. From this effort, artists established a community organization, the Indigenous Arts Coalition in 2008 “to acknowledge, support, promote, and maintain all visual aspects of contemporary indigenous arts.” The opening of “Real N.D.N.” coincided with the launch of the IAC’s website at: www.iacsf.org.

Several of the “Real N.D.N.” artists are alumni from the San Francisco Arts Institute, the college that proudly offered the T.C. Cannon Scholarship to Native American students, despite the fact that the celebrated KiowaCaddo-Choctaw artist only spent two months at SFAI before dropping out and enlisting in the army to serve in Vietnam.

Ostensibly the show asks, “Who is today’s real N.D.N.?” and to dig further, “How do we represent community in our individualized practices and perspectives?” Few works overtly address these questions; the viewer has to read between lines in this slice-of-life view of an intertribal urban Indian community with diverse artistic practices. Painting, mixed media, and photography were interspersed with installations and video.

A willingness to experiment could be seen in the media: photocopies, puff paint, Sharpies, and ramen noodles.

Entering the gallery, I was surprised to hear the voice of Hoka Skenandore discussing racism. His interview was part of Double Speak, Salt River Pima-Maricopa Richard Castaneda’s “ten-year video in progress,” which most closely addresses the questions of Indian identity.

100 Years of Transformation features Castaneda’s crisp photography. He intersperses photographs of himself in boarding school photographs. The

REVIEWS clinical profiles resemble mug shots or 19th century phrenology studies. By placing himself in these studies, Castaneda demonstrates the ongoing affects of colonialism and forced assimilation that continue today.

Diversity is the key to the show, with one unifying feature: tobacco—using cigarettes and packaging in the art.

Artists reappropriated the American Spirits cigarette packaging with its stylized Plains warrior in a headdress. Like Pendleton blankets and Blue Bird flour, American Spirits are a rare non-Native commercial brand embraced by Indigenous communities.

Mestizo painter Gerardo de Sepulveda’s Chuck Norris in the Theft of the American Spirit features the grinning actor with the symbolically purloined

American Spirits tucked in his pocket.

Fox News interviewed Norris during the 2010 midterm election discussing the loss of the American Dream. My wild guess why Mr. Norris is featured in the artwork is his claim of Cherokee heritage.

Nizhoni Ellenwood (Nez Perce/ Apache) created Our Ancestors Struggled, Fought and Died So We Could Live, a shrine with tobacco ties strung along the top of the wall. Through spray-painted stencil art, Ellenwood reappropriates a trite tattoo motif, the grinning Indian skull with braids. In an artistic act of repatriation, she restores respect and meaning, since these two skulls literately represent her Nez Perce ancestors, male and female—both humanized by the presence of a portrait of her father, Pop Zack Rabbit.

Cy Wagoner (Navajo), Waiting to Exhale, 2012, acrylic on canvas, photo: America Meredith

A heavy Mission School influence— an art movement of San Francisco Art Institute students and street artists that flowered in the 1990s and 2000s—can be seen in many works, most strongly in the works by Spencer Keeton Cunningham (Colville-Nez Perce), whose mixed media work has notes of local Bay Area graffiti artist Neck Face and West Coast self-taught painter Chris Johanson.

Cy Wagoner (Navajo) uses bold, painterly strokes in his two paintings.

Wagoner is a founding member of the Black Sheep Art Collective (BSAC).

Begun in 2003, BSAC “provides mentorship, encouragement, and space for artistic, spiritual, political, and personal expression as well as healing for the individual artist and the larger community,” according to the IAC website.

Rye Purvis (Navajo) painted sparse, haunting images of cowboys, a cow/ girl, and Native women in calligraphic strokes on panels of wood.

In Navajo collage artist Geri Montano’s three circular panels, a delicately rendered young girl, masked and unmasked, responds to and defeats apparent sexual predators.

The venue, Galería de la Raza, and the inclusion of Mestizo artists speak to unity between Indigenous peoples from Spanish- and English-speaking backgrounds; however, artists’ tribal affiliation aren’t listed online or on the image list—only art labels—stemming possibly from the gallery’s unfamiliarity with tribal artists.

Many of the works, especially video and installations are not for sale. It’s refreshing to see Indigenous work not dominated by a need to aesthetically pleasing or commercially driven

—America Meredith SPRING 2013

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Santiago

“Arte Textil Contemporáneo” Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes

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UST ABOVE one of the most intriguing museums in Santiago, Chile is a smaller cultural museum.

The Museo de Arte Visuales (MAVI) is an open multi-level space, with savvy architecture and fresh international exhibitions, favoring Chilean artists. On the third floor is a door to a dimly-lit room housing small artifacts from Chile’s Indigenous peoples. Objects hang on the walls and lie on shelves behind glass. The descriptions in English and Spanish speak of the art’s relation to Native nations’ histories entwined with occasional current societal circumstances. The contrast of the two spaces is rich and indicative of Chile’s national culture, both Native and nonNative, old and new.

In the same vein of the MAVI, Chile’s national museum, the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes presented the exhibition, “Arte Textil Contemporáneo,” or “Contemporary Textile Art,” featuring Chile’s diverse textile art through work that varied in material and meaning. Pieces ranging from small wall works to large installations covering the floor were made from a gamut of materials. Tangled metal, woven photographs, and knotted fiber were some of the more abstract works, while Indigenous weaving techniques with natural materials showcased the most meticulous craftsmanship. A compelling work by Mapuche artist Lorena Lemunguier wove together natural fibers dyed with red, orange and yellow into a large hanging, showing an organized weaving style at the top of the textile, transitioning to a tangle as it nears the floor, until reaching the bottom and forming a pile of colored fiber. The work fights with tension, and the fiber eludes a struggle that exists beyond the material. The colors bring balance and an unexpected calmness, contrasting the knotted fury.

The show spoke of contemporary weavers and their relationship to Chile. Just as Chile can boast of raw land and untouched nature, there is also a presence of Indigenous people who have maintained their cultural traditions despite the recent influx of industry boosting the nation’s economy and expanding population in the capital city of Santiago.

Yet, Native people continue their weaving practices in Chile, with influences from across Peruvian, Argentine, and Bolivian borders. The long-lasting art form has continued to have an effect on Chilean artists; for example, the movement of arpilleras during the political unrest of the 1970s. Arpillera literately means “burlap” in Spanish and refers to a threedimensional, pictorial appliquéd textile. While women and

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Lorena Lemunguier (Mapuche), weaving with natural fibers.

Photo: Sarah Sense (Chitimacha–Choctaw)

children were losing their husbands and fathers to a political upheaval, women began to tell their stories by making arpilleras. As materials and food were scarce, the women used potato sacks to sew colorful yarn artworks depicting stories of their experiences. Violeta Para, one of the most influential artists and musicians of Chile practiced this art form by creating dreamlike imagery such as boats and fishermen with oversized fish below swirly skies.

In 2010, the Eugenio Dittborn’s MAVI solo exhibition of sewn silkscreened fabric overlaying images of objects and people made for an interesting duality of printed material and craft, merging together Chile’s cultural history of weaving and sewing with printing processes on fabric.

—Sarah Sense

Mostly overlooked by the art world, Andean textile arts also eloquently express transmutation of culture, women’s concerns with indigenous and nonindigenous traditions, and intercultural exchanges.

—M. Catherine de Zegher, 1997

REVIEWS

Book Reviews Catalog Decolonize Me Heather L. Igloliorte, ed.

Ottawa Art Gallery, 2013

106 pages While no catalog can substitute experiencing an art exhibit firsthand, Decolonize Me provides rich, multivalent perspectives of the impetus for, the work in, and the artists of the exhibit Decolonize Me. Curator and art historian, Heather Igloliorte (Inuk) chose six Aboriginal Canadian artists “whose works challenge, interrogate and reveal Canada’s long history of colonization in daring and innovative ways.” The exhibit, that is still currently traveling, launched in the fall of 2011 at the Ottawa Art Gallery.

Sonny Assu (Ligwilda’xw) created Chief Speaker, a digital print with Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s outrageous quote at the 2010 G-20 Summit: “We also have no history of colonialism.

So we have all of the things that many people admire about the great powers but none of the things that threaten or bother them.” Assu’s primary series for the show involved reclaiming wooden

off-cuts from the timber industry— severed logs that bear an uncanny resemblance to masks. The tree rings speak of decades or centuries that cedar trees witnessed. He showcased pigment prints of these artifacts of consumption culture in museums or gift store settings.

Jordan Bennett (Mi’kmaw) presented a live performance and video of Laying Down the Law Like an O.G., in which the artist wheat-pasted layers of posters upon each other in rapid succession— moving chronologically—with the faces of Prime Ministers cut-and-pasted on bodies of Indigenous peoples over the National Aboriginal War Veterans Monument. Each is given a “tag” name, such as “Tru-Doh” or “J-Mac D.” The posters echo the strata of advertising and placards on an urban wall and reference whitewashing or covering up of the deeds of previous administrations. In his Sovereignty Performance, Bennett hand copied the entire 1876 Indian Act on a paper tipi, taking almost six hours to complete.

Barry Pottle (Inuk) is an emerging photographer who explores the Urban Inuit community. His Eskimo Tags series, featured on the cover, reveals a recent but—until now—relatively unknown history of the Canadian government assigning circular tags with numbers to Inuit. His photographs juxtapose the chilling, dehumanizing tags with portraits of the individuals to which they were assigned.

Bear Witness (Cayuga), co-founder of the Aboriginal DJ collective A Tribe Called Red, created the two-channel video installation Assimilate This!, combining found video and music tracks of Indigenous imagery from mainstream media. He overcame his gut reaction to the racist stereotypes to cull the positive aspects of the imagery and drain their power. “What happens when there are no more Hollywood Indians?” the artist asks. “What happens if we forget Tonto?”

Cheryl L’Hirondelle (Métis-Cree) observed that treaties were signed by chiefs and the queen on behalf of their peoples and, therefore, all Canadians are eligible for treaty cards. To redress this lack of cards among the majority of Canadians, L’Hirondelle created the online art project treatycardnet.art. In the name of “radical inclusion,” participants are given the opportunity to design their own cards reflecting their own lived realities.

Accompanying the photos, the vivid description of the reception, and the artist bios and statements are three excellent essays. Heather Igloliorte’s “No History of Colonialism” and Mohawk curator, scholar, and artist Steve Loft’s “Who, Me? Decolonization as Control” both describe and contextualize the show within post-colonial theory. Brenda L. Croft’s “Revolutionize Me (and You, and You, and You)” traces the history of the Aboriginal flag in Australia, showing how the design inspired and marked political activism for the last four decades.

Nigit’stil Norbert (Gwich’in) folds together many media in Enframe, one of her series of hand-beaded photographs of mass-produced “Indian” dolls in various charged environments. Her 2009 video Representation alternates between a doll being bound in cord and a woman’s hair being braided and unbraided. The work speaks of childhood, womanhood, assimilation in the Canadian residency school system, resistance, and resilience.

The entire book is translated into English and French; however, the artists’ statements are also translated in their own Indigenous languages. This trend is exciting—while some are complaining about the difficulties of using their Native languages, others are simply doing it—adding to the growing body of new reading materials in Indigenous languages. The multilingual platform increases the potential audience and is SPRING 2013

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REVIEWS an effective tool “for reclaiming Aboriginal voice.”

This provocative yet accessible volume raises the bar for exhibition catalogs. As Loft writes, “Decolonize Me is rooted in a distinctly Indigenous perspective on the making and presentation of artworks with exhibitions, one that comfortably moves between differing aesthetic forms and processes, cultural symbologies and histories.” —AM

Novel The Round House

By Louise Erdrich Harper, 2012 336 pages

In The Round House, author Louise Erdrich (Turtle Mountain Chippewa) writes of a sorry set of facts of Native American life today: one in three Native women is raped during her lifetime; non-Natives commit 88 percent of all violent crimes against Natives; and about 67 percent of sexual assault cases are not prosecuted.

Erdrich writes this as a novel, not as a legal treatise or a statistical white paper, but as the very personal

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history of an Ojibwe woman, who is raped in the Round House on the Turtle Mountain Chippewa Reservation in North Dakota.

As on tribal land throughout the United States, the Turtle Mountain police, judges, and officials have been stripped by US law of their authority over violent crimes against their citizens, and federal and other officials don’t use their authority to vigorously pursue non-Native criminals or protect Native victims.

Congress could change the law and improve the situation, but it has failed to do so.

Erdrich uses the voice of the brutalized woman’s 13-year-old son, Joe, to guide the reader through the jurisdictional maze and cultural and familial nuances to solve the crime.

She has explained in many interviews that she was haunted by the subject matter, but did not know in what book to write it, until she had Joe’s father ask the threshold question— “Where is your mother?” —and the son’s voice emerged.

Joe thinks to himself that, even if she’d stopped by her sister’s after picking up folders at her office, “Mom would have returned by now to start dinner… Women don’t realize how much store men set on the regularity of their habits. We absorb their comings and goings into our bodies, their rhythms into our bones. Our pulse is set to theirs, and as always on a weekend afternoon we were waiting for my mother to start us ticking away on the evening.

“And so, you see, her absence stopped time.”

The Round House is a sacred place, Erdrich explained in an October 19,

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2012 PBS interview on the occasion of her nomination for a National Book Award. The Round House is the “circle that depicts the turn of the earth itself and to have this violated does speak to the violation of the culture.” But, she says, the book also talks about the “resilience of the culture.”

Her book is fictional, but it’s a true crime story that happens daily to Native women. Erdrich’s people and place are meticulously and often unmercifully accurate—you may not know them, but you know she does and they’re real, even the spirits and mysteries. Her characters and situations are drawn in clear, rhythmic sentences that are sometimes reassuring touches and sometimes gut punches.

The Round House moves quickly, which is surprising because it makes the case that justice moves slowly and not at all, and that rampant violence against Native women has not moved politicians to change the laws they have the power to change.

The Round House won the 2012 National Book Award for Fiction and deserves all the critical praise and prizes it may garner. Erdrich, 58, who lives in Minneapolis and owns Birchbark Books, has written poetry, short stories, a memoir, children’s books and 14 novels. A three-time nominee for the prestigious NBA, which comes with $10,000, she was a finalist for The Birchbark House, a 1999 book for children, and for The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, a 2001 novel.

In accepting the award, Erdrich recognized the “grace and endurance of Native women.”

–Suzan Shown Harjo

REVIEWS

Criticism Seekers and Travellers: Contemporary Art of the Pacific Northwest Coast

By Gary Wyatt University of Washington Press, 2012 160 pages

Gary Wyatt is the co-owner of Spirit Wrestler Gallery in Vancouver, and his passion for and dedication to living Northwest Coast artists is abundantly clear. Seekers and Travellers is the final of three books showcasing new developments in Northwest Coast carving and, weaving, painting, metalsmithing, and a glimpse of glass art. “Great art,” Wyatt writes, “ always meets the challenges of the time, and Northwest Coast artists have responded with great sensitivity to history and traditions and to the obligations to document and comment on current events.”

The book includes a brief introduction and 36 artist biographies and statements, each accompanied by one gorgeous, full-page photograph of their work. The fact the title includes “contemporary,” but the artists are further divided into “traditional,” “contemporary,” and “cross-cultural” illustrates the pratfalls of our current vocabulary for Indigenous arts.

The introduction is a basic Northwest Coast art history 101; however, I question that the 1880s through the 1960s was “a period of cultural darkness,” since that was the time of Charles and Isabella Edenshaw, the Kwakwaka’wakw Four (Chief George, Charley George Sr., Willie Seaweed, and George Walkus), Mungo Martin, Ellen Neel, Benjamin Haldane, and many other influential artists.

Wyatt chose his selection of artists based on their technical excellence and that their work reflects two major principles: “(1) the constant evolution of the coast as demonstrated through ideas of environmental protection and (2) the interactions between coastal communities, and sometimes between communities on a global scale.”

Besides the exquisite photographs of superb work, this book is significant because it makes space for the artist’s voice. Each work is accompanied by an explanation given by each artist.

These discuss discussing the works’ incorporation of iconographies, techniques, and personal stories.

The “traditional” section is exclusively carved wooden masks, headdresses, and frontlets, with one miniature totem pole, an open weave basket, and soapberry spoon.

Why a Ravenstail robe is considered “cross-cultural” is beyond my understanding.

Seekers and Travellers is an excellent reference for a highly specific branch of Northwest Coast sculpture and some textile arts in the last two decades—those artists working in formline design, particular woodcarvers.

—America Meredith

Art History Santa Fe Indian Market: A History of Native Arts and the Marketplace

By Bruce Bernstein Museum of New Mexico Press, 2012 151 pages

This lavishly illustrated book documents the strange and often surprising twists and turns taken by the Santa Fe Indian Market. The largest Native American art event in the world, Indian Market is also the oldest Native American annual art show continuing today. The first Indian Market was part of the 1922 Santa Fe Fiesta, a controversial annual celebration of the Spanish reconquest of Pueblo lands in 1692. Created by European-American archaeologist and artist Kenneth Chapman, the first Market exhibited artwork organized by tribe, and, counter-intuitively, the first grand prizewinner was a beadwork display from Fort Peck Indian Reservation in Montana.

I’ve heard rumors of the phonebookesque size of Bruce Bernstein’s doctoral dissertation on Indian Market; however, this book is an accessible, concise overview of the Market and decades leading up to it.

Chapters are devoted to the tourist trade and revivals of Pueblo ceramic styles, with mentions of the many SPRING 2013

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World Fairs and International Expositions popular at the turn of the century. Bernstein juxtaposes the strong and conflicting personalities of Indian Markets two earliest leaders: Kenneth Chapman and Edgar L. Hewett—the artist and the preservationist.

Bernstein does not hide the patronizing attitudes of the some organizers of Indian Market, some of which are quite shocking or painful to read about; however, it’s important to be aware what artists and tribal peoples had to deal with in the early 20th century. The Santa Fe New Mexican wrote of the inaugural market, “it’s an eye full of barbaric splendor” (19). In the late 1930s to the early 1940s, the only Santa Fe business that allowed Market artists to use their restroom was a gas station at the crossroads of Washington and Palace Avenues.

However, some early organizers were open-minded and supportive of the artists. The New Mexico Association on Indian Affairs (NMAIA, precursor to today’s SWAIA) wrote in 1936: “If native art is to survive it must be a growing thing, suitable for the time and circumstance in which it is made and it must be created out of the imagination of the individual craftsman, not merely a faithful reproduction of the work of his ancestors” (92). By its very existence, Indian Market was bucking the assimilationist agenda of the US government at the time.

An odd addition to the Market was the Baby Show. It was a medical examination in the guise of a beauty pageant, in which doctors monitored the babies’ health during the smallpox and influenza epidemics. At one point, garden produce was judged in the Indian Market (a category that Ohkay Owingeh Pueblo dominated). Market organizers experimented with hosting the markets separately at the Pueblos for several years, beginning in 1932, and later held weekly Saturday markets. Meanwhile, prizes were often bags of groceries.

I wish there were more quotes from the artists or interviews with their descendants; however, a thread can be seen in the actions of Maria Martinez (San Ildefonso)—from using prize money to fund ceremonies to refusing to judge other ceramic artists from her own pueblo.

The book is engaging and attractively illustrated with photographs and images of primary historical documents.

Emphasis is definitely on the early half of the 20th century, with a brief rundown of recent developments. For instance, a discussion of the 1990 Indian Arts and Crafts Act in terms of Indian Market would have been very illuminating. The Santa Fe Indian Market is a subject that definitely merits more investigation, so a follow–up volume could round out more recent developments. —AM

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Pueblo Revolt

by Reid Gómez | illustrations by Bryon Archuleta

H

e was fascinated with what people made out of the terms and conditions they were given. He would follow his dream at night, returning to the place he’d left off, every morning in the archive. Repatriation. The saints sent as envoys. They could be used. They were not without a power of their own. Plans, he made them.

Every evening Refugio would watch him sit outside beneath eeshh yilhd. His ass flat across the dirt.

He should have placed a rock to ease the pressure on his knees; his neck at a permanent angle, turned to the stars. He’d found himself longing for cake. It was baked beneath the ground, in the horno he’d built for Refugio. His bread was the only thing he’d eaten for years. eeshh drug across an edge, an object, little pieces breaking off, leaving impressions in the black.

Stars. He was looking for a way to bring them here without offending all the Gods by his actions.

He was clear.

Sitting beneath this Milky Way. He was clearly sitting.

T’aa behoozinigó.

It was obvious.

He fingered the rosaries of clay and silver their sons had fashioned from the medals he’d brought home from Prague, Portugal, Assisi, Padua, and Rome. He’d chosen each one with the purpose of calling a meeting.

He wanted to meet these men, these women, and ask them if they thought they should leave. The time was now. One world ends here. It had happened before.

He’d made several trips over the last two months, since the last hand was dealt and the players left with their winnings and losses.

Everyone traveled with a bundle made up of loss and gain. Everything had its own weight. He took the rosaries in separate pockets. Refugio sewed small pockets into his clothes to provide places for him to conceal objects he needed to keep close at hand but out of sight. There were so many. He was not a man to carry bundles. He liked his clothes cut close, revealing lines he worked to develop. He was a hard worker. These lines defined him, each muscle, each memory, he wanted them in sight of the world. He refused to be taken as insubstantial, or worse slovenly. So Refugio tailored pockets for knives, stones, silver, cards, and sticks he

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could use if he was in need of prayers. They could be used as weapons.

He visited the nine northern pueblos first, leaving a rosary at each one. They were made with clay from the surrounding soil. Cut clay coiled into small beads, the size of ancient marbles, strung with maguey fiber, their centers held in three points upon the medal for each Saint’s name, their body, their soul. He wanted them to meet at his home. These were invitations. They could not refuse them. They were left with sincerity and intention.

Plans required actions to transform them. People.

Everyone had a right to know his origins. They were a people. They originated somewhere. He heard stories.

They were told by the elders of their churches. They were typed on the backs of cards. Some people collected them in boxes.

He was approaching them, each one in the house they built for their God of rotten wood. Baa n jookh.

He stood there humbly and told them of his need. They were not obligated to honor his request, especially since it required a lengthy journey. But he believed.

He believed he would continue. He would speak freely and allow himself expression. He would say everything required of a man, his plans, his husband. He had chosen. He had chosen for himself, this man, this way of life. He had to respect himself as equally as he had to respect these strangers. They had come from far away.

He would allow them to express themselves. He would allow them to return home. He had left offerings. He knew how this was done. He had children. Several of them had taken the water; they kept the Saints in their house, along with God’s eyes and the four directions.

Every rosary had a cross made from silver spoons melted down and reshaped. One of his sons specialized in spoons. He ate with his hands and had no need for forks and knives. He taught them how to eat like heathens. The crosses could only be made from these.

It was his way of speaking. Symbols had power. Words, he spoke them.

‘Hazhó’óho.

He was responsible to speak respectfully. His loyalty could not be questioned. He had a plan. His plan required action. He was a man who understood the relationship between them: these people, his own,

the cosmos, and the congregations. He would give breath that flows through my mother. Earth, every part them time to make individual arrangements. He did not is sacred. No part is greater. We confirm. These equal understand them. They were not clear. They refused to settings in place. We console. Each one. Each person. speak. They only issued orders. This was an opportunity Each being. Each power. everyone could share in, each one. He spoke only with The human has a place within the world. We are words. He selected carefully. Each one chosen. They told where, when, in stories we keep, in actions we should cause no harm. He culled them from what he make them. Together as individuals everything is tied held inside. Hatred a fire that could not be controlled. to everyone is tied to everything. Any movement affects He saw evidence everywhere: his children, the stations the whole. Web. Water. Thread. Pot. I yearn to feel the of the cross, even the holy cards sold in the chapel gift breath of the universe assuring me of my connections: shops. clouds, wind, rain, mountains, ourselves, each person.”

He left the second set of rosaries a month later.

He stood and spoke—in the same tone, at the same They carried the breath volume. of their maker. Their sons “The people have a right and daughters were Navajo to participate in full equal and Pueblo. ‘Adóone’é. Bá strength with their leaders. I shíshchíín. K’é. K’éi. Shik’éí. offer these rosaries humbly They were not special. They before you. They were made were people. They shaped the by the hands of our children. clay into balls. They strung Carnero Mucho and Refugio, the balls onto string. They we ask you to come to our made connections. They went homestead. No one will be from here to there. They denied the privilege of being were capable people. They heard. We all need to be heard. brought elements together.

Do not shun me for what I They formed a whole. He left ask, my relations, consider them at the altars. Knowledge the possible. These answers brought into words manifest given to these our problems: the sacred. Manifest power. original sins and gardens, an He needed recompense. origin of our beginnings, one He begged. He was not a man world, and another.” accustomed to bent legs. He This would make stood upright. Deigo. Begging. t h e m s t r o n g e r, t h e s e “ T h ey h av e c h o s e n . relations between them, My sons. My daughters. My shared symbols: crosses, mothers. My fathers. These four directions. Shared Bryon Archuleta (Ohkay Owingeh), Countdown to my relations have asked me to understandings: tó be’iina. help. Help the people survive. Revolution, 2013, mixed media on paper.

Water is life. A string of knots We are a people stressing bound them once. A string of equality, creating solidarity. knots could bind them again.

“I must say. It is extremely important to know a Beg leave. person’s point of origin. Where we begin. The details Beg leave. of that moment. The wind. The place. The men. The He was begging them to leave them alone. women. The coming together. Only then can we know.

Here.

‘Adóone’é. Bá shíshchíín. What clan. What people.

Now. Knowledge is a shield. We walk behind it. Our identity.

They could stay if they would respect the origins of Because of it we know. For ceremony we know. Without the people. There were so many. He didn’t appreciate knowledge we cannot seek: harmony, hózh, peace, how many until they arrived. Refugio cooked for a week balance. Harmony: origins. Peace: origins. We know no without rest. He cooked for a week without weaving. He separation: humans, all beings.” cooked for a week and left him to sit beneath the stars He knelt and laid down a rosary. waiting with the Maji. They did not need an invitation.

“This is a human creation, an extension of the They would arrive. They had always arrived in cloaks SPRING 2013

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no one could weave. They would wait with Refugio and Saint Dominic had shown the world the power of those who had taken notice. the rosary. Carnero honored him, this way, using the His last invitation was made a Santo Domingo. symbol he had chosen, himself, to venerate the holy T’áá atso a daniidl. family. K’é. He acted with it, respecting the freedom of Everything in the universe is related. each one of these individuals. They would talk things All beings kin. out. They would discuss in freedom. They liked that Kewa Pueblo, in their language. He was married word, these new people so far from their point of in. He stood outside at a closer distance. Rights and entries, so far from their points of departures. freedom require responsible expression. He was married “He will treat you as relatives.” in. He stood outside. Refugio would never forbid him to Refugio spoke for him. act. They did not do that. Forbid the action of another.

He would act knowing what he did was a matter of Carnero sat beneath the stars. They left an consequence. Nothing floated impression. One of cake being into a distance that did not drug over a surface. He liked immediately shape the center. to sit beneath it. For several Here. Now. They stood inside days he sat thinking. He had a center they shaped together; a plan. He had carried his over centuries it had shaped thoughts into each Pueblo and around them. They had aged laid them there for everyone to inside it. The center. see clearly.

Aádóó na’nile’ dii éí He wanted most, at this dooda. moment, to speak clearly.

Matters of this importance He believed they required cannot be taken on carelessly. atonement.

You must not move recklessly Nályééh. in daily action. They were People had been injured. located in the Rio Grande They were living with each Valley; they shared the river injury. with Cochiti, where no priest Nályééh. had died during the revolt.

Atonement.

A people sharing humanity: H  z h  could be corn, pottery, jewelry, the approached only if they came mission church small beneath together. This body taking them. A people-created beauty. shape. It was not the body of A people-created power. They Christ. It was the people. Díí rolled the stones and the shitsiits’iin át’é. This is my Bryon Archuleta (Ohkay Owingeh), The Arrival of the stones took the shape they had head. Doo shh txéeh da. been rolled into. The changed Saints, 2013, mixed media on paper.

I am healthy. Sickness is not their name: Santo Domingo, upon me. Shitah yá’ahootééh.

Holy Sunday Santo Domingo, I am well. Díí shitsiits’iin át’é. the Spanish preacher. They changed their name back They would use it to move, their body. to Kewa Pueblo.

He sat and made a fire. It would be a long night.

They did not intend to insult or debase Saint He called them, each one, not saying when they would Dominic. They were an original people. They were return. He left that to their discretion. He was a man of returning to their origins. considerable strength. His position required him to use He had himself. it. Speaking in this way with symbols, words, taking his Tiene Su Se. thoughts and transforming them into these moments.

There were war leaders: Hashkééjí naat’ááh.

They would last for several days, each an element of There were peace leaders: Hózhjí naat’ááh. something larger. They were men. They were women.

Carnero stood here not knowing what it would Only in coming together could the universe be created. come to. He left the rosary with few words. Refugio Father. Mother. Sky. Earth. Stars. Water. You could have spoke for him. nothing if you kept them separate.

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Food.

They said they did not require food.

He believed it was essential.

He was a man of belief.

Haskj naath: war.

Hzhj naat'h: peace.

It was a decision. He was making it there, in the talking things out. His loyalty could not be questioned.

Saint Dominic was the first to arrive. He sat nearby but did not speak. Refugio brought water in jars made by the people of his pueblo. Each one breathing the breath unique to its personality, its life. Once created they breathed. Breath is necessary to hold water. It describes. It shapes the hole; the hole shapes the jar.

You make the hole first. They were sharing this together.

It was an acknowledgment: the rosary spoke to him in a meaningful way. He reflected, at the very least, that understanding. There beneath the stars. They sat in silence. He did not drink. He did not refuse. He sat.

Santa Clara arrived next. She was barefoot. She too sat in silence. Refugio brought water. She drank.

He brought deer. She refused it. When she rose to help, Refugio bade her to sit.

“Sit with my husband.”

She was not accustomed to a life not defined by labor.

“He has asked you to come. Your labor will be to listen.”

She sat near the fire, close to Carnero. Poverty: they shared in its customs.

Another arrived, having learned from his mother to beg the intersession of the saints, to leave them baskets of earth’s fruits, money for the poor, and great oratories to bind them. He was touched by Carnero’s method of calling this meeting, a grand intersession. The Catholic Church was a City of God. He was not entirely convinced he would allow whatever would be asked. At the least he could give him hearing.

“St. Augustín.”

He bowed his head and took a seat opposite the poor Clare. He kept his distance from the women.

Pagans and Christians, he was the child of both in Africa under the Romans. His conversion shaped by the desert.

He sat alone. Gossip, he did not abide it. War could be waged if properly managed by the state, but peace must be the primary motive.

“I am not here for violence.”

As he spoke the next arrived, St. Didacus of Alcalá.

Refugio brought them both water and food. St. Augustín ate a small amount. San Diego took a seat at a distance. They refrained from prolonged conversation.

Waiting further arrivals: San Jose, San Lorenzo, St. Phillip

the Apostle, and St. Anthony of Padua. They arrived from all directions. Refugio fed each one. Each one ate. San Ildefonso came next. His name meant ready for battle.

Carnero was particularly eager to meet this man who wrote volumes of work; none of it surviving. He was devoted to the Virgen. She would arrive later, he was certain. John the Baptist followed behind him.

Pagans and Christians, he was the child of both in Africa under the Romans. His conversion shaped by the desert. He sat alone. Gossip, he did not abide it. War could be waged if properly managed by the state, but peace must be the primary motive.

He refused everything that was offered, even water.

He was used to traveling without drink. He was among those of them who believed in shunning pleasure.

Poverty: he sat with the poor Clare.

Carnero sat on a stone. His knees near his ears. His legs long in a folding over. He sat like a frog. His clothes revealed his place here among the stars and mountains.

Their clothing revealing theirs. At the kitchen shade, just off in the distance with Refugio were the Maji. There stood another man, at this distance, it was impossible to make out an identification by sight. It could only be San Francisco.

He’d known the Maji through his devotion to the crib. They took their leavings when they would. They would stay with Refugio for the duration. The food had been prepared and sat in clay pots for storage. The earth generously warmed them. He sat. They ate. Carnero and the others remained gathered by the fire. Las Vírgenes arrived together: Guadalupe and La Asunción. Their mother Ana followed behind them. They stood near Carnero. Refugio brought them a drink of corn and water. They drank and returned the small cups to him.

He immediately refilled them. Carnero tended the fire.

The night would be long, lasting for days. Saint Steven came from the south. Saint Buenaventura came from the east. They sat close together.

Saint Jerome came from the north and sat opposite Carnero. They were there, each one, together. San Francisco joined them at this moment completing the SPRING 2013

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circle.

Carnero stood. His eyes passed over each one, the place they had selected: Santa Clara, St. John the Baptist, St. Steven, St. Buenaventura, San Francisco, St. Dominic, St. Anthony of Padua, San Ildefonso, St. Phillip, San Lorenzo, San José, St. Augustín, St. Jerome, San Diego, Guadalupe, La Asunción, and Santa Ana. Humbly he thanked them for accepting his invitation. He was honest, faithful, and truthful to his people. It was his responsibility to help them survive. Every decision was a matter of survival.

“We are here to speak.” He spoke.

“We are here to listen.” He continued.

The circle began to take a shape of its own.

Breathing. He kept his place as one alongside the other. He spoke from his position, standing, instead of squatting. His head close to the sky. His feet above the earth. He wore shoes Refugio made with his hands and teeth.

“We will use relationships to make decisions.”

They were used to sitting for long periods. These were people who shared one truth: they did not like to be told; they preferred to decide. Even the people’s children were provided with decisions.

“Diné bi beenaaz’áaní applies to everyone.”

He let this declaration have space, knowing they could not all agree. They had been in disagreement for centuries.

“I am asking you to keep your promises.” Yet they had made none. Already, he was departing from what he knew would be acceptable to speak of.

“Hzh nahoodoolee.”

Harmony will be restored.

“Naakaii. Naakaiinh. Naayéél.”

Refugio brought water as it was needed. The saints drank. Carnero continued speaking.

“Anything that causes disharmony, we must leave it. Among each one, an individual, a person, a plant, a spirit. Between us, leaders, and people, we must sit without aggression, without rudeness, without humiliation, or embarrassment. Doo ajíi da. One doesn’t do that. Doo ajiníi da. One doesn’t say that. Anything to hurt another whomsoever that be. Diné bi beenaaz’áanii.

This law, our fundamental laws, cover everyone this evening. They will keep us warm, by this fire; they will be a blanket we share. My husband will bring us food.

He will bring us water. Like our mother, he will feed us.

We will talk. I am talking now. We will listen. I will listen.”

Saint Jerome was the first to speak alter several minutes of silence. His church had been destroyed in the revolt of 1680. He was the patron of translators, librarians, and encyclopædists.

“I have spent many years in many deserts. Each one now reclaiming the casino. I’ve seen them for myself. beautiful. Each one with its own way of speaking. Each They fly overhead and shit on the gamers. These two, I with its own speakers.” think they laugh at all these answers, given by people Everyone waited for him to continue. who come here and refuse to arrive. I will not be among “I have seen hell.” them. Those who refuse to arrive. They kill: water, trees, “We remember.” Carnero obliged. “We do not horned toad, and ants. They kill them all. On the holy forget.” days of obligation I’ve seen them, burning ants with Saint Jerome’s memories of youth overcame him gasoline. If we are all from the father, then we are all while he spoke. He closed his eyes. Horror and silence related. Like this universe here with this man and his terrified his soul. He was, again, walking among the woman.” crypts of martyrs, as he had done when he was young.

He sat down. Saying more than he had intended They were harshly dug into the earth, walled on each to say. The stars cast light from overhead, and they side with piles of bodies. The listened to the low tone the darkness overwhelmed him. earth makes at this time in This absence of light fulfilled evening. the psalmists’ poetry and “You are devoted to the overwhelmed him. child.”

Saint Jerome continued, “I am devoted to the bird.

“Struggling between this good, The child is within him.” that evil.”

They all sat. Carnero Carnero sat while his asked for water. Refugio words rose from this earth, brought it. The women walked “You cannot replace our lives around the circle, except for with your understandings.

Clare. She sat, wanAugustting They are for you. Take them. to speak but unable to break Take them with you. Where her silence. you are going. You need them.

“I am.” San Francisco They are not for me. I do not continued. “I am devoted need them. Do not impose to the child, but we are not them on me. My life. I am here to discuss the church. I living. With my husband I am believe we are here for another living here. We have work to reason.” do: fields to attend, harmony Ever yone expected to restore. The archives. I am Carnero to speak. San one too. I know. I’ve read your Francisco to obligate him to writings. I have seen hell. It say more.

Bryon Archuleta (Ohkay Owingeh), Burden of Faith, 2013, was not your hell, but you were “I am not a priest. We have mixed media on paper. there, in my hell too.” our own. Leave us to them.”

Saint Jerome took the Saint Augustín rose and water Refugio had brought. He stood. drank. San Francisco rose when Saint Jerome sat down.

Carnero continued speaking, “I have no “This man is right.” explanations for you. I have water. I have food. I have The fire snapped. Refugio sat down, nearby. these.” He spread his arms with the palms facing each “He and his woman, they are among the Saracens star, his movement indicating each saint as they were and infidels we have, I have, taken it upon ourselves then, there, “My relations. You have become one. I ask to change, to make unalike who they are. They do not for action based on this, our experience, these words, keep my vows of chastity and obedience. They are poor, these relations.” it is true, but their poverty is only meaningful in the Saint Augustín remained standing. He worked to world requiring these coins and paper. They would have exhaustion and continued working, refusing to believe plenty, these two and their children. They overflow the in a world made of opposite good and evil. He had world already with their seed. The two of them with given the whole idea of Original Sin its current shape, their laughter. The swallows return to Acoma every year its current meaning. Christians were pacifists in their SPRING 2013

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personal lives, but these thoughts could not apply to innocents. They were brought here to minister to innocents. War was necessary, at least permissible, for God. This god seemed to require it, in fact; perhaps it was the innocents. They levied a just purpose, a just war, to bring them into the city. The City of God, one Holy and Apostolic Church, he had converted. Himself, he was one, a convert. When he returned to Africa, he sold his inheritance and gave his money to the poor. This was the journey. He had taken. He had taken to shunning flesh, and here he was. Isleta refused to participate in the revolt. He sat down without giving comment.

How can you explain their enduring resistance in the face of relentless punishment and wild retribution?

Hatred knows no home; it kills without recognition. We, martyrs, have been burnt, drowned, shot with arrows and stoned, and we refused to release ourselves from our convictions.

Saint Steven rose. He had been ordained by the Apostles, ordained to assume care for the poor.

Temporal relief—the poor need immediate assistance.

He stood, full of grace. Fortitude.

“Jesus will destroy this place.”

They waited. His pace, the pace of those who spoke well. He was one, an excellent speaker.

“There are those who do not want to believe. These were my words. I spoke them. I offered the histories as I was taught them, reciting mercies the Lord God our Father showed toward Israel and the ungrateful response the people showed in return. From the oldest schoolhouse in this area at Old Acoma you can learn these same things; they are recorded in writings and passed down to children. These children become writers themselves and make their own marks. I am dissatisfied with the distribution of wealth: this food, these alms, these ideas we wear for clothes.”

He paused to drink. The others moved into positions of greater comfort.

“Many have fought to control these people, their labor, looking for cities of gold or simply workers. I know. I know among my observations. I am not a man

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who refuses logic. I follow. It is a healthy leader, taking me where I do not always wish to go, but where it is clear. The way is clear. These are words we say, but we do not fully describe the way we are providing. Some argue the punishment of the Acoma, for their resistance in 1599, by the man Oñate, was so severe it led them to return to idolatry and witchcraft. I do not believe these people are willing to accept the Keres for surviving. They continue to send pacification.”

He was not a man remarkable for a particular commitment to peace, so they listened with patience.

“Jirona crushed the Keres of Zia to punish their resistance. He led soldiers and armed settlers north into New Mexico, 80 such people, to execute his will, reminding everyone of the days governed by Oñate. They attacked the Zia with fevered pugnation, killing more than 600. Butchers. They burnt those who refused to surrender to death or the Spanish. Those who attempted to escape the flames were enslaved. There were 90 among their number. The people, Keres, of Santo Domingo, San Felipe, and Cochiti were not unaware.

They would follow them until they were successful.

“Still they remain today, with their words and their beloved children. How can you explain their enduring resistance in the face of relentless punishment and wild retribution? Hatred knows no home; it kills without recognition. We, martyrs, have been burnt, drowned, shot with arrows and stoned, and we refused to release ourselves from our convictions. These articles of faith, we clothe ourselves in ideas. These people stand before me, every morning in clothes of their own. They visit my church. They honor my name on days holy to me. They live their lives. I bare witness to their loyalty: human people. We burn them. We drown them. We enslave them and dismember their bodies. I am not so weak-minded to believe we are closer to God than they are.”

He sat, and the women stood.

“They held a mass baptism at Zia following the revolt.”

“Clothed in sun, with the moon under her feet, upon her head a crown of 12 stars.”

“It’s in our own book of Revelations. Then ending of one world, now, the beginning of another.”

The Blessed Virgin Mary spoke without opening her mouth. Her voice, moisture. They sat. Each one aware the holy rosary called to mind the Joyful, the Sorrowful, the Glorious Mysteries in the lives of Christ and his mother. Carnero and Refugio knew the corn mother was adept at speaking to the people. She stood there now in a turquoise manta: creation unified them, especially in their difference. Stars were woven into the design to indicate the eras moving overhead. Corn extended from

behind the manta, she stood on the moon. The sun at her head, a halo of yellow light. Her waist tied with a birthing sash. New birth: she was expecting. She was expecting them, her children.

The saints heard the Mexican people deliver their Grito de Dolores: Death to the Spaniards, long life to the Virgen. Carnero and Refugio stood outside the circle memory formed among them.

The Pueblo planned carefully and moved slowly. He was not there to speak for them. They held their own councils. They made their own decisions. He was only related, by marriage, by shared migration, by shared purpose. People have a right to know the details of their births. They had a right to their origins.

Finally, Saint Joseph stood, as the patron of fathers, social justice, builders, and the dying.

“I have seen my son put to death. I have been buried by my wife. I have chosen to stand beside a woman who many would say had deceived me. I’m not well spoken. I am a good man, making good He sat.

Refugio brought water and returned to his fire. He began making ash for the mush those who remained would eat before embarking on their return journeys.

Night was giving over to day. Refugio burnt the fresh tips of the juniper Carnero had collected.

Carnero stood and placed silver medallions shaped into the cardinal points-crosses, directionals, Maji— at the foot of each one there. He had his own. Each identical to the next, as much as could be permitted by the maker.

Ch’íhonít’i’. They needed a way out, each one.

You could stagnate in your own thinking. Your thoughts must be free to move, free with responsibility.

Insight. Atiin. Paths. Going in a direction. Pursuing another. He had come to them directly, the people who had done the injury. These were crimes against people.

He was seeking continuity, creative progress in this world, not their own, this world, the Navajo world, the Pueblo.

“As relatives of both peoples we have interests in these crimes, in these, the redress.”

Saint Jerome rose once more and spoke. “They said these were people without God, without law, and without a King. I have seen the slave quarters in the pueblo, the reliquaries of trade in flesh, fabric, and labor. I have seen them. These men, these women, they are of reason, they are of intelligence. I have seen them.”

He sat.

Carnero rose, “You cannot tell the people where they come from. It is not good to continue trying.”

They rose and walked away in vestments made for them, each one, by the Pueblos who wove them.

T

he Morning Star Institute, founded in 1984, is a leading national non-profit Native rights organization in the areas of religious freedom, sacred places protection, repatriation, cultural rights, stereotypebusting and promotion of Native Peoples' arts, cultures, languages, traditions, treaties and tribal sovereignty, through research, education, advocacy and policy development.

The Morning Star Institute

611 Pennsylvania Ave., SE, #377 (202) 547-5531 Washington, DC 20003 SPRING 2013

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Numbers 1. Percent of Greenland’s population that is Indigenous

89

2. Percent of Bolivia’s population that is Indigenous

66.2

3. Year the Bienal Intercontinental de Arte Indígena in Quito, Ecuador debuted

2006

4. Number of countries represented in the most recent 2012 Bienal Intercontinental de Arte Indígena

13

5. Number of countries represented in the first Continental Biennial of Contemporary Indigenous Arts in Mexico City, Mexico

13

6. Number of artworks in the first Continental Biennial of Contemporary Indigenous Arts

147

7. Percentage of the labor force of Cape Dorset, Nunavut that are professional artists

23

8. Minimum number of US museums devoted solely to contemporary Indigenous artwork

2

9. Estimated number of attendees at the 2012 SWAIA Indian Market in Santa Fe, New Mexico

150,000

10. Auction price of “Sunset Glory,” a ferruginous quartz bannerstone at Dan Ripley’s Antique Auctions

$245,700

11. Auction price of the “Chantland Blanket,” a First Phase Navajo blanket at John Moran’s auction

$1,800,000

12. Total gross sales for Skinner’s February 11, 2013 American Indian and Ethnographic Art sale

$1,777,912.50

13. Number of Inca human remains returned to Peru by Yale University 14. Minimum age in years of the oldest known art in the Americas, a bone etched with a mammoth from Florida

177 13,000 years

Sources: 1. “Greenland.” CIA World Factbook | 2. “Political Database of the Americas.” Edmund A. Walsh School of Foreign Service: Center for Latin American Studies. 13 Oct. 2006. | 3 & 4. “Portada.” Bienal Intercontinental de Arte Indígena Ancestral o Milenario. | 5 & 6. “Indigenous Art: beyond tradition.” International Federal of Arts Councils and Culture Agencies. 20 July 2012. | 7. “Cape Dorset as artsy as it gets.” Nunatsiaq Online. 17 February 2006. | 8. Tsinhnahjinnie, Hulleah and Veronica Passalacqua. “About the C.N. Gorman Museum.” C.N. Gorman Museum. | “Mission / Mandate / Vision.” Museum of Contemporary Native Arts. | 9. Torres-Nez, John. “A Message from the Chief Operating Officer.” SWAIA Newsletter. October 2012. | 10. “Butterfly bannerstone brings $245K in Native American artifact auction.” Antique Trader. 23 January 2012. | 11. “First Phase Navajo Chief’s Blanket Headlines Successful Summer Antiques Auction at John Moran’s.” John Moran Auctioneers. | 12. Skinner, Inc. “Demand For Fine American Indian Artifacts On The Rise; Skinner Grosses $1.7 Million In Latest Auction.” The Sacramento Bee. 22 Feb. 2013. | 13. Cabitza, Mattia. “Protecting Peru’s Ancient Past.” BBC News. 14 Dec 2011. | 14. Purdy, B.A., Jones, K.S., Mecholsky, J.J., Bourne, G., Hulbert, R.C., MacFadden, B.J, Church K.L., Warren, M. W., Jorstad, T.F., Standford, D. J., Wachowiak, M.J., Speakman, R.J. “Earliest Art in the Americas: Incised Image of a Proboscidean on a Mineralized Extinct Animal Bone from Vero Beach, Florida.” Journal of Archaeological Science. 2001.

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IN MEMORIAM

Kenojuak Ashevak Pioneering Inuk Artist Inspired Generations with Her Bold Style October 3, 1927—January 8, 2013

H

er life was not an easy one, but Kenojuak Ashevak created artwork that defined an era. The Inuk printmaker, sculptor, seamstress, and draftsperson exhibited her art until 2012 and kept drawing to end. Her work ethic was legendary. Known for her quiet humility, Kenojuak inspired generations of younger Inuit artists, particularly women. Not only was she one of the founders of first West Baffin Eskimo Co-operative, she was the last living founding member.

Kenojuak Ashevak was born in an iglu in the camp of Ikirasaq on Baffin Island, Northwest Territories. Kenojuak’s father Ushuakjuk was a hunter and medicine man who could shapeshift into a walrus.

He was killed in 1933, possibly by Christian converts in his camp. Silaqqi, Kenojuak’s widowed mother became an outcast. Kenojuak moved in with her grandmother, Koweesa, who taught the young Kenojuak the art of skin-sewing and other Indigenous techniques.

At the age of 19, Kenojuak wed Johnniebo Ashevak in an arranged marriage. Johnniebo was a hunter and artist. The couple had eleven children; seven of them died in childhood.

Ultimately, Kenojuak adopted five more children. After Johnniebo’s death at the age of 49, Kenojuak married Itigajuaqujaku Pii, who passed on in 1977. In 1978, she married her third husband, Joanassie Igiu, a sculptor.

Tuberculosis raged through Inuit communities, and Kenojuak tested positive for the disease in the early 1950s.

She spent the next three years in Parc Savard Hospital, where she occupied her long hours with beadwork and

drawings and painting became stone relief prints and etchings. She also carved soapstone and printed with experimental techniques, such as the sugar-lift, an etching technique. Her designs appeared on Canadian stamps and coins, and, in once instance, a stained glass window.

Almost immediately Kenojuak grabbed the attention of the art world and media.

She never attended school and never learned English. Despite that, Kenojuak spoke traveled and exhibited throughout North America, Europe, and Asia. She collaborated on a mural in the Canadian Pavilion of Expo ’70 in Japan. The National Gallery of Canada has over 50 of her works in it permanent collection.

Perhaps her most recognized masterpiece—arguably one of Canada’s most iconic works of art—was The Enchanted Owl, a 1960 colored pencil drawing, which became a dramatic print.

The stylized owl shifts from fiery red to a dark slate blue-black. In 2007, a print of The Enchanted Owl sold for $50,000.

Kenojuak Ashevak and her sons Adamie (left) and the late Arnaqu (right), Toronto, 2004, photo: Ansgar Walk, CC BY-SA 3.0.

doll making. There she met EuropeanCanadian artist and writer, James Archibald Houston and his wife, Alma After being released from the hospital, Kenojuak returned to Cape Dorset and joined Alma Houston’s craft studio.

James Houston founded the graphic arts workshop, the West Baffin Eskimo Co-operative, in Cape Dorset in 1957.

Local artists made drawings, which stone carvers transformed into prints.

Kenojuak was the first women whose art became a print for the project. That first print, Rabbit Eating Seaweed, came from an appliqué design Kenojuak sewed on a sealskin pouch.

Kenojuak use humble materials to great effect—pencils, felt-tip markers, poster painters, watercolors, and acrylics. She was known for never erasing a line. Her

In 1963, John Feeney produced Eskimo Artist: Kenojuak, an Academy Awardnominated documentary about her work. This was followed by a second documentary Momentum in 1992. In 1967, Kenojuak was named an Officer in the Order of Canada, an order honoring exemplary merit or service to the country. In 1982, she was promoted to a Companion in the Order. Both Queen’s University and University of the Toronto awarded her with honorary doctoral degrees. She was inducted into Canada’s Walk of Fame in 2001.

“I like to make people happy and everything happy,” Kenojuak once told art writer Peter Mellen. “I am the light of happiness and I am a dancing owl” (Mellen).

At age 85, Kenojuak died peacefully in her sleep at her home, after battling lung cancer. She is survived by six children, 37 grandchildren, and 21 greatgrandchildren. Many members of her family are respected artists today. —AM Mellen, Peter. Landmarks of Canadian Art. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1978.

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IN MEMORIAM

George Flett Love and Camas: Renowned Ledger Artist Was Dedicated to His People October 20, 1946—January 30, 2013

F

rom designing rodeo championship buckles to sponsoring prairie dance competitions, artist George Flett (Spokane) cared passionately about his community.

Born in 1946, Flett grew up in Nespelem, Washington, on the Colville Indian Reservation. His father was Charlie Flett, and his mother was Nancy Brown Flett, a cultural practitioner who wove Plateau baskets and cornhusk bags and shared her knowledge of ethnobotany with her young son. As early as first grade, he drew images inspired by Spokane tribal culture.

George Flett graduated from Wellpinit High School in 1964 on the Spokane Indian Reservation. He then studied at IAIA from 1964 to 1966, where he was introduced to silversmithing. After further studies at the University of Colorado in 1968, Flett served in the US Army from 1968 to 1970.

For 11 years Flett worked in museums, then made the leap to become a full-time artist in 1983. The multitalented Spokane artist sculpted in silver, gold, and bronze, but he was best known for his role in the revival of Ledger Art. This Flatstyle pictographic painting genre is not only from the Great Plains but also the Great Basin and, in Flett’s case, the Plateau—the inland region west of the northern Rocky Mountains.

Flett painted scenes from daily life and his own family stories in watercolor and acrylic, but he took the collage aspect of Ledger Art further—by adding photo transfers of historical and family photos to the antique paper surfaces. He combined paper embossing to produce a three-dimensional contrast to the flatpainted imagery, suggesting multiple, simultaneous realities.

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Above: George Flett (Spokane). Below: George Flett, Riding in the Parade at the Round-up, monoprint on paper. Both photos courtesy of Patrice Walters/Crow’s Shadow

Through his artwork, Flett shared the knowledge of medicinal plants he learned from tribal elders, including his mother. Carefully chosen historical documents enhanced the content of his paintings.

With collaged layers of documents, photographs, Flatstyle painting, and naturalistic painting, Flett carefully constructed narratives of survival and triumph through generations.

One of Flett’s favorite subjects to paint was Jackson Sundown (Niimíipu), the first indigenous World Champion Radio Bronc rider. George Flett himself was active in the rodeo circuit as a champion bull rider. Several rodeo organizations commissioned Flett to

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create their prize buckles—the National Finals Rodeo, Washington Rodeo Association, Northwest Junior Rodeo Association, and White Swan Treaty Days All-Indian Rodeo. In addition, he designed medals for the Museum of Native American Cultures and for his own tribe.

Flett was active on the powwow trail and organized the annual art show of the Julyamsh Powwow, the 4th of July dance, and Coeur d’Alene Tribal Encampment in Post Falls, Idaho.

He loved the prairie chicken dance, which was fading into obscurity, until 1992 when the artist began sponsored prairie chicken dance specials at the Wellpinit Powwow. These ultimately became the largest prairie chicken dance competitions in the Pacific Northwest.

Dancers imitate the movements of male prairie chickens during courtship, known as “booming” in ornithological circles.

Flett participated regularly in SWAIA’s Indian Market, Montana Indian Market, Colorado Indian Market, the Red Cloud Art Show, Heard Museum, Red Earth, Julyamsh, and the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. He created a series of monotype prints at Crow’s Shadow Institute of the Arts in Pendleton, Oregon. Flett often donated his own artwork to benefit auctions for his tribe.

In 2007, New Media Ventures published a lavish, limited press-run monograph, George Flett: Ledger Art, with an essay by Scott M. Thompson.

During the Aughts, Flett painted a Ledger Art series honoring women’s roles. These explored the complementary nature of gender roles in Plateau society, in scenes of work but also very romantic and intimate scenes of courtship.

The artist was first diagnosed with diabetes in 1980s. Towards the end he underwent dialysis several times a week before he passed away in his own home in Wellpinit, Washington.

He is survived by his daughter, Regina Flett, and his sons, Philip George Flett and George “Rooster” Jr. Flett is also survived by his sister, Ann McCrea, and his four grandchildren: Tennison Broncheau, Chanel Broncheau, Riden Joe Flett, and Cisco Ann Flett.

—AM

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Morningstar Institute 75 Noksi Press | www.noksi.com 75 Rainmaker Art Gallery | www.rainmakerart.co.uk 72

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Photo: Brian Bolman

The Institute of American Indian Arts is the only four-year fine arts college in the nation dedicated to the study of contemporary Native arts and cultures.

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Melissa Melero (Northern Paiute/Modoc), Category X, 2011, mixed media on canvas, 48 × 36 in.