First American Art Magazine No. 3, Summer 2014

FırstAmericanArt MAGAZINE

Art by Indigenous Peoples of the Americas

Summer 2014

Sonny Assu Biskakone Greg Johnson Ardina Moore Matika Wilbur

Indigenous Narratives Collective Wixáritari Yarn Painting Bacone College’s Art Program Southeast Alaskan Totem Poles

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The NEW

ALLAN HOUSER GALLERY 125 Lincoln Avenue, Suite 112, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87501 • (505) 982-4705 www.allanhouser.com e-mail: fineart@allanhouser.com facebook/AllanHouserGallery 2014 is the centenary of Allan Houser’s birth and museums nationwide are presenting major exhibitions.

Gilcrease Museum • Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth College • Philbrook Museum Downtown Fred Jones Jr. Museum, OU • Oklahoma Arts, State Capitol • Heard Museum • National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum • Oklahoma History Center • Chisholm Trail Heritage Center Oklahoma City Museum In Santa Fe: Museum of Contemporary Native Arts Opens June 21, 2014 Museum of Indian Arts and Culture Opens August 3, 2014

Inaugurating the NEW ALLAN HOUSER GALLERY with a special invitational exhibition

Crossing Four Rivers: Linda Lomahaftewa and America Meredith

OPENING FRIDAY, MAY 16, 2014 Through June 9, 2014

Featuring original artworks by Allan Houser and arranging tours of the Allan Houser Studio and Sculpture Gardens.

We are THE SOURCE for Allan Houser.

First American Art Magazine, LLC Issue No. 3, Summer 2014 ISSN 2333-5548 (Print) • ISSN 2333-5556 (Online) Publishing Editor: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Copy Editor: Meghan Cunningham Proofreaders: Samonia Byford (Cherokee Nation), William Ferguson, Mary Ellen Meredith (Cherokee Nation), Stephen MacMurray Layout and Design: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Design Consultant: Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa) Advertising Representatives: • Nancy Fields (Lumbee), nancy@firstamericanartmagazine.com • Barbara Harjo, barbara@firstamericanartmagazine.com

F e S T I VA L

Social Media: Jacquie Archambeau (Cherokee Nation), Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation), Staci Golar, America Meredith (Cherokee Nation), Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa) Contributing Writers: Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation), James Fendenheim (Tohono O’odham), Suzanne Newman Fricke (Ashkenazi-American), Bob Haozous (Chiricahua Apache), Franci King Hart, Linley B. Logan (Tonawanda Seneca), Denise Neil-Binion (Delaware Tribe-Cherokee Nation), Steven Quinn, Kevin Simpson (Mexican), Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa), Matthew Ryan Smith (Canadian), Tony A. Tiger (Sac & Fox-MuscogeeSeminole), and Magdalena Velasco (Yaqui-Kickapoo descent) Editorial Advisory Board: • Emily A. Haozous, PhD, RN (Chiricahua Fort Sill Apache) • Maggie Ohnesorgen (Mestiza) • Paula Rivera (Taos Pueblo) • Ken Williams Jr. (Northern Arapaho-Seneca) Thanks to: Jeri Ah-Be-Hill (Kiowa-Comanche), Jacquie Archambeau (Cherokee Nation), Bobby Chew Bigby (Cherokee Nation), Ruthe Blalock Jones (Shawnee-Delaware-Peoria), Manuel Chávez R., Kelly Church (Odawa-Ojibwe), Beck Gusler, Linda Lomahaftewa (Hopi-Choctaw), Bobby C. Martin (Muscogee Creek), Tom May, Nancy Marie Mithlo (Chiricahua Apache), David Rettig, John Saul (Choctaw-Chickasaw), Terri Saul (Choctaw-Chickasaw), William T. Saul (Choctaw-Chickasaw), Peggy Sheldon (Cherokee Nation), Monty Singer (Navajo Nation), Yvonne N. Tiger (Cherokee Nation-Seminole-Muscogee), Jim Tolbert and Full Circle Bookstore, Victoria Mitchell Vazquez (Cherokee Nation), Mary Jo Watson (Seminole Nation of Oklahoma), and John Yoekel.

“Protectors Waiting” by Raymond Nordwall

June 5-7, 2014 REMINGTON PARK OKlAhOMA CITy

ART • DANCE • FOOD • MusIC

(405) 427-5228 • www.redearth.org

Subscription services, changes of address, and wholesale inquiries: First American Art Magazine 3334 W. Main St. #442 Norman, OK 73072 www.firstamericanartmagazine.com Emails: info@firstamericanartmagazine.com ads@firstamericanartmagazine.com First American Art Magazine welcomes queries about editorial submissions. The magazine is not responsible for unsolicited manuscripts, photographs, or artwork. First American Art Magazine is not responsible for the content of any article or for the statements of any advertiser.

Copyright © 2014 by First American Art Magazine, LLC. Cover and contents are fully protected by copyright and may not be reproduced in whole or part by any method without written permission, except those specific images listed with Creative Commons licenses.

First American Art Magazine is a Papyrus font–free publication.

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ISSUE NO. 3, SUMMER 2014

FEATURES

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Graphic Natives: 42 The Indigenous Narratives Collective Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation)

Recent Developments

56

Reaching for New Heights: Totem Poles from Southeastern Alaska Steve Quinn

59

22

16

Biskakone Greg Johnson (Lac du Flambeau Chippewa) Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa)

22

Ardina Moore (Quapaw-Osage) Denise Neil-Binion (Delaware Tribe-Cherokee Nation)

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Matika Wilbur

34

Exploring Native Graphic Design: Ryan Red Corn (Osage Nation) Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa)

14

Beginner’s Luck: A Collector’s Point of View Franci King Hart

75

White Nude

Bob Haozous (Warm Springs Chiricahua Apache)

76

Book Reviews

68

In Memoriam 78 Bill Soza Warsoldier (Soboba Cahuilla-Apache) James Fendenheim (Tohono O’odham) and Magdalena Velasco (Yaqui-Kickapoo descent)

ARTIST PROFILES Sonny Assu (Ligwilda’xw) America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

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Seven Directions 12 Nancy Marie Mithlo (Chiricahua Apache)

Wixáritari Yarn Painting: 48 Dazzling Art from the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains Kevin Simpson Native Soul: The Bacone College Native Art Program, 1932–2014 Tony A. Tiger (Sac & FoxSeminole-Muscogee)

DEPARTMENTS

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(Swinomish-Tulalip) Suzanne Newman Fricke

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REVIEWS Melanie Yazzie: Geographies of Memory Suzanne Newman Fricke

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Allan Houser Drawings: The Centennial Exhibition Denise Neil-Binion (Delaware Tribe-Cherokee Nation)

65

Kenojuak Ashevak: In Memoriam Matthew Ryan Smith

66

REPORTS Kokiri Putahi Linley B. Logan (Tonawanda)

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Cover: Sonny Assu (Ligwilda’xw), Disconnected #7, 2011, acrylic on elk hide drum. Image courtesy of the artist.

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WHERE I FIT Textile works by Maggie Thompson (Fond du Lac Ojibwe)

Exploring Native identity, experiences, and authenticity in a period of blood quanta, stereotypes, and appropriation

February 28 – May 31, 2014 Presented by Minnesota’s Only Native Owned and Operated Contemporary Fine Arts Gallery

All My Relations Gallery 1414 E. Franklin Avenue Minneapolis, MN 55404 612-284-1102

www.allmyrelationsarts.com

Editor’s Greetings

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ELCOME TO OUR FOURTH ISSUE. First American Art Magazine is officially one year old. By successfully making it through our first year, FAAM has beat the odds, as an estimated 60% of newly launched magazines do not survive their first year. Not only have we survived, First American Art Magazine was named one of the Ten Best New Magazines Launched in 2013 by Library Journal, based in New York.

FAAM received a warm reception at this year’s College Art Association conference. We’ve found many allies in the larger art world who want to see serious writing about Indigenous American art. We are building bridges between our tribal communities and the global art world by communicating our values and perspectives.

Several questions repeatedly come up. Why the Americas?

We want to define our Indigenous communities by our thousands of years of interconnected histories and cultural exchanges, as opposed to defining ourselves by those who colonized us and their language barriers. This issue welcomes our first writer from Mexico, and next issue will feature writing from our second Chilean author.

I’m often asked if the magazine only focuses on contemporary art. While we profile living artists active today, we also honor those artists who have gone before us, and we want to keep providing features about historical and precontact artwork, since our past, present, and future art all inform each other.

An art historian asked which methodologies we use in reviews. The answer is we hope writers will experiment with a range of approaches, from established critical methodologies to the newly developing Indigenous methodologies to their own approaches. By experimenting with a range of approaches, we can see our art world from different perspectives to discover new insights into the complex relations among our art, artists, scholars, and great communities.

Thank you for being part of our quest for knowledge and reflection in the exciting and ever-changing world of Indigenous art of the Americas!

—America Meredith LEFT: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation), Point and Shoot: Julia Tuell and Company, 2002, acrylic on hardboard panel, 24 × 18 in., private collection.

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Letters to FAAM

GREAT PLAINS NATIVE ART MARKET & CELEBRATION

C

ONGRATULATIONS on the Spring 2014 edition of First American Art Magazine. I am so pleased to see so many vibrant new artists who have not yet received a substantial national attention. The articles are of great interest, and thanks for your fabulous work.

D enton Fas t Whi rlwi nd S p eaks wi th the Thund erb ei ngs 2 0 1 3 B es t of S how

I am writing to thank America Meredith in particular for her article, “Cuzco School: Andean Vision in Oils and Gold.”

Some time ago, searching for Indigenous artists in the Spanish Colonial and Post-Colonial world was tedious. Dawn Ades was one of the few writers who included Native artists her in book Art in Latin America.

Meredith’s research and that of Annick Benavides in Peru is most appreciated. I hope that this type of research will spread throughout South America. Please keep up this fine work.

Mary Jo Watson, PhD University of Oklahoma School of Art and Art History We welcome letters to the editor! Please email info@firstamericanartmagazine.com or­mail letters to: First American Art Magazine, Attention: Editor 3334 W. Main St. #442, Norman, OK 73072

JULY 19, 2014

BLACK HILLS, SOUTH DAKOTA

W W W. N AT I V E A R T S G AT H E R I N G . O R G

Workshops: June 23-July 6 Pottery, Jewelry, Basketry, Weaving, Stone Carving, Flutemaking, Foods and more Registration required

Festival & Lectures: June 29-July 5 “Reimagining Our Stories: Storytelling in the 21st Century” Open to the public

F A C U L T Y

A N D

G U E S T S

Joe Baker • Freddie Bitsoie • Gerald Clarke, Jr. • Mike & Mique’l Dangeli • Deana Dartt • Barbara Drake Ted Garcia • Git Hayetsk Dancers • Rose Ann Hamilton • Ramson Lomatewama • Daniel McCarthy Mt. Cahuilla Bird Singers • Barbara Ornelas • Lynda Pete • Tony Soares • Mark Tahbo • Roy Talahaftewa Ellen Taubman • Lisa Telford • Craig Torres • David Treuer • Richard Tsosie • Nathan Youngblood • Matika Wilbur

Register Now!

summer@idyllwildarts.org

idyllwildarts.org (951) 468.7265

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Contributing Writers ROY BONEY JR. (Cherokee Nation) is a full-blood Cherokee

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.

JAMES FENDENHEIM (Tohono O’odham) is jeweler from Tucson and Sells, Arizona. He studied art at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and at Haskell Indian Nations University in Lawrence, Kansas. Primarily working in silver, Fendenheim also uses precious stones, turquoise, woolly mammoth tusk, ivory, and ironwood in his unique artwork.

SUZANNE NEWMAN FRICKE , PhD (Ashkenazic

American), art historian and curator, teaches modern and contemporary art at the Santa Fe University of Art and Design. Over the past 20 years, Fricke has taught a wide variety of art history courses, including Native art, Renaissance art, Southwestern art, and postmodern art. She has written about and lectured on contemporary Native artists, including Bob Haozous, Chris Pappan, Nanibah Chacon, and Matika Wilbur. Fricke curated Octopus Dreams: Works on Paper by Contemporary Native American Artists, which traveled to six sites in to Russia in 2012 and to the 516ARTS Albuquerque, New Mexico. She is currently organizing the show As We See It: Contemporary Native American Photography, opening in October at the Novosibirsk Festival of Photography.

BOB HAOZOUS (Warm Springs Chiricahua Apache) works in

a range of media but is best known for his monumental, site-specific sculptures. He has co-curated exhibits such as the 2006 Relations: Indigenous Dialogue with Joseph Sanchez, Roxanne Swentzell, and other Native art-activists. Haozous earned his BFA from California College of Arts and Crafts and has shown his work internationally.

Son of prominent sculptor Allan Houser and father of educator Emily Haozous, Haozous lives and works in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

FRANCI KING HART (English-American) is a freelance

writer, consultant, and fundraiser living in Nichols Hill, Oklahoma.

Hart earned her bachelor’s degree in English and education from Southern Methodist University and her MBA from Southern Nazarene University. She collects Native American art and serves as a governing board member for the Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries, and Museums (ATALM).

LINLEY B. LOGAN (Tonawanda Seneca) is as a multidisci-

plinary artist, who has served on numerous grant review panels (National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), NACF, First Peoples Fund, Longhouse Education and Cultural Center). Logan co-curated contemporary Haudenosaunee and Native American art exhibits, worked for the Smithsonian and the NMAI, and wrote Native American Dance, Ceremonies and Social Dance Traditions, published 8 | W W W.F I R S TAM E R IC AN ARTMAG A ZI N E.C OM

by the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution. He has attended four international Indigenous arts gatherings. Logan studied Industrial Design and graduated from the Institute of American Indian Arts in 1985. He lives in Bremerton, Washington.

DENISE NEIL-BINION (Delaware-Cherokee) currently resides in Norman, Oklahoma. She earned 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 is a PhD candidate in Native American Art History at the University of Oklahoma.

STEVEN QUINN is a freelance writer and photographer based in Juneau, Alaska. He has written stories on Alaska’s Native communities for five years. His work has taken him to theaters, classrooms, an artist’s workroom, and carving shed, and marketplaces throughout the state.

KEVIN SIMPSON is the director of Peyote People, a Wixáritari and Mexican folk art gallery and has recently opened another gallery, Colectika. Both follow fair trade practices and are devoted to promoting Indigenous culture.

Simspon graduated with an honors degree in Political Science from the University of Western Ontario in 1994.

He lives in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico.

NEEBINNAUKZHIK SOUTHALL (Chippewas of Rama First Nation) is a graphic designer and an artist, working in a variety of media such as photography, body painting, and three-dimensional art at Neebin Studios. At Oregon State University, she graduated Magna Cum Laude in 2011, earning an Honors BFA through the University Honors College and OSU’s competitive graphic design program, with a minor in Fine Arts. Southall now works at the Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian, where she photographs, designs, and manages media.

MATTHEW RYAN SMITH, PhD, is a writer, independent curator, and sessional professor based in Toronto, Ontario. His writings have appeared in several art publications including Canadian Art, C Magazine, FUSE, and Afterimage, in addition to academic journals and exhibition catalogues.

TONY A. TIGER (Sac & Fox-Seminole-Muscogee) serves as the director of art and assistant art professor at Bacone College.

Tiger earned his MFA from the University of Oklahoma, BFA from Oklahoma State University, and an Associate of Arts degree from Seminole State College. An award-winning artist, Tiger has exhibited his artwork throughout the United States. He is an organizer with the Southeastern Indian Artists Association (SEIAA) and lives in Tahlequah, Oklahoma.

MAGDALENA VELASCO (Yaqui-Kickapoo descent) is a patient advocate, activist, and Native American flautist living in Tucson, Arizona. In 2006, she graduated from Prescott College in Prescott, Arizona.

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Recent Developments for artistic innovation went to Berdine Begay (Navajo) for her abstract weaving Navajo Gray. The Heard Fair in Phoenix, Arizona, is the second largest Native art market in the United States, with approximately 579 artists this year, down from 661 artists last year.

MUSEUMS The California Museum of Art, Thousand Oaks (CMATO) has selected Bill Mercer, a curator and director with over two decades of experience, to be its new director. CMATO has an interim museum site while a new permanent museum is built in Thousand Oaks Civic Arts Plaza.

The first Magical Festival of Chile (Festival Chile Mágico), held in Villarrica, featured artists and musicians from five Indigenous Chilean ethnic groups and a guest artist from Colombia.

The Autonomous State University of Morelos (Universidad Autónoma del Estado de Morelos) is building a new Cultural Center of Contemporary Indian Art (Centro Cultural de Arte Indígena Contemporáneo) on its campus.

The interactive museum will include exhibition space, classrooms, and a multimedia auditorium. Fernando Vela Lopez was appointed the museum’s director.

ART SHOWS The Tamástslikt Cultural Institute, located in Pendleton, Oregon, hosted ArtWORKz 2014, a junior competitive junior art show for artists aged 0–18, who belong to the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation. Grand prizes were awarded to Dusti Leetch, MariJane Davis, and Terry Dick. L’Rissa Sohappy, aged 13, won the People’s Choice Award.

The Museum of Texas Tech University, located in Lubbock, reopened its William C. and Evelyn M. Davies Gallery of Southwest Indian Art in February. The gallery had been closed for renovation.

COLLECTIONS

An 18-inch sandstone sculpture of a kneeling man, dating from 1250–1350 CE, was declared the state artifact of Tennessee. The Mississippian sculpture is in the collection of the McClung Museum of Natural History and Culture in Knoxville.

ART FAIRS Inuit sculpture will be part of Canada’s entry to the Venice Biennale in Architecture Arctic Adaptations: Nunavut at 15. Inuit artists, including Jamesie Alivaktuk, Leo Mukyuknik, David and Thomas Nibgoarsi, and Lew Phillip, are carving small-scale soapstone models of iconic buildings in Nunavut for the exhibit. After showing in Italy for half a year, the sculptures will travel throughout Canada in 2015.

The 2014 Best of Show winner of Heard Museum Guild Indian Fair and Market was Kenneth Williams, Jr. (Northern Arapaho-Seneca). The Best of Classification Winners were Philander

Ken Williams, Jr. (Northern ArapahoSeneca), He Was Iconic, 2014, fully beaded tobacco bag paying homage to Hopi jeweler Charles Loloma, mixed materials. Collection of the Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art. Image courtesy of the artist.

Begay (Navajo) for jewelry, Darryl Whitegeese (Pojoaque-Santa Clara) for pottery, Warren Montoya (Santa Ana) for paintings/2-D, Jonathan Day (Hopi) for wooden carvings, Oreland C. Joe, Sr. (Southern Ute-Navajo) for sculpture, Carla Hemlock (Kahnawake Mohawk) for textiles, Ken Williams, Jr., for diverse arts, and Jeremy Frey (Passamaquoddy) for baskets. The Conrad House Award

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The Thomas W. Weisel Family Foundation donated 200 pieces of exemplary Native American art to the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco. The works date from 1,000 years ago to the 20th century and include a rare Navajo First Phase Chief ’s Blanket and pottery

by Nampeyo, the celebrated HopiTewa ceramic artist. Highlights from the collection will be showcased in the upcoming exhibit, Lines on the Horizon: Native American Art from the Weisel Family Collection.

PROJECTS Students at the University of Victoria, working with Peter Morin (Tahltan) and Carolyn Butler-Pamler, have created the world’s largest button blanket, Adasla.

The Big Button Blanket Project includes the creation of Adasla, but also using it in dance, installing the blanket in the university’s Legacy Art Gallery, and using the blanket as a projection screen for films. Button blankets are Northwest Coast wearing blankets, traditionally

made from trade wool and abalone or mother-of-pearl buttons and dentalium shells, with cloth appliqué.

Arts and Colors of Mexico (Artes y Colores de México) sponsored a project, Representative Dolls of Baja California (Muñecas Emblemáticas de Baja California), in which Indigenous artists handcraft dolls that showcase their cultures. The project was briefly halted due to lack of funding, but the municipal government donated materials to the project so that artists from Yuman and neighboring tribes can raise money with the dolls.

AWARDS AND GRANTS The Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center in Seattle, Washington, received a generous $150,000 from the Snoqualmie Indian Tribe. The Daybreak Star, which hosts cultural events and provides services to Seattle’s Native community, has been struggling financially due to federal budget cuts.

ORGANIZATIONS John Torres Nez (Navajo), the chief operating officer of the Southwestern Association for Indian Arts (SWAIA), resigned from his position on Sunday, March 30th. Nez, the second Native American to be in charge of SWAIA,

assumed the leadership role back in October 2012. He and SWAIA have both declined to state the reasoning behind his resignation. SWAIA hosts the Santa Fe Indian Market, the largest annual Native art event in North America, which generates an estimated $100 million in annual revenue for the City of Santa Fe.

estate was built in the Peruvian Andes around 1450 CE for the Inca emperor Pachacuti and his family. Approximately 400,000 tourists visit Machu Picchu each year. In March alone, one Australia, two Canadian, and four American tourists were detained for posing nude for photographs at the site.

The Indigenous Creators of the Maya World (Creadores Indígenas del Mundo Maya) hosted an international meeting of Indigenous artists on the theme: the position of indigenous women in the art world. The March meeting, held in Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico, covered topics such as marginalization of Indigenous women in the art world, Native literature, globalization, video, theater, and innovation by Indigenous youth.

CRIME

PRECONTACT SITES The Junction Group, a site of Hopewellian mounds and earthen enclosures dating back 2,000 years, was saved by the Arc of Appalachia. The nonprofit conservancy organization raised $650,000 to purchase the site and protect IT. The Junction Group is located on 89.47 acres in Ross County, Ohio.

Security at Machu Picchu had to be increased due to a rash of streakers running through the Inca settlement. The

In April, the FBI stormed the Indiana home of Donald C. Miller, who is accused of illegally obtaining thousands of Native American artifacts and items from several other countries. The US Attorney’s office in Indianapolis is deciding whether or not to file criminal charges against the 91-year-old-man.

Archaeologists are assisting the FBI in determining which artifacts needed to be repatriated and to whom.

A couple from Portland, Oregon, were accused of stealing $320,000 worth of Native American artwork from Margaret Sotta, aged 91. Sotta’s family discovered at least 108 pieces of art missing from her home. The couple, Toakase F. Tovo and John L. Kalamafoni, worked as in-home care providers to the Vancouver woman.

The two were charged with first-degree theft, first-degree trafficking in stolen property, and two counts of seconddegree possession of stolen property.

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Seven Directions: Nancy Marie Mithlo Nancy Marie Mithlo (Chiricahua Apache) is an associate professor of Art History and American Indian Studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. She earned her PhD in 1993 from Stanford University. Mithlo’s extensive relationship with the Institute of American Indian Arts includes directing the Museum of Contemporary Native Arts and editing the 2011 publication Manifestations: New Native Art Criticism. She was awarded fellowships from the Woodrow Wilson Foundation, the School for Advanced Research, and the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum Research Center.

Mithlo’s curatorial work has resulted in seven exhibits at the Venice Biennale. In fall of 2014, she will serve as chair of American Indian Studies at the Autry National Center Institute and associate professor of Art History and Visual Arts at Occidental College.

A

s a college professor, I am consistently engaged in Native arts educational issues, but this year, my concern was immediate. My daughter is graduating from high school and going to college—not just any college but art school. Our college tours have ranged from Otis College of Art and Design in Los Angeles to the School of Visual Arts in New York City. We are still painfully waiting for those letters of admission or rejection to arrive in our mailbox (notice how easily I use the pronoun “we”), and we’ve done plenty of research. The best way for promising students to learn about the types of studio degrees available is to attend a pre-college arts immersion program or to submit their work to national competitions. Since my daughter and I are feeling like pros at this process, we thought we would share some top programs we have encountered along the way.

NORTH: The Oscar Howe Summer Art Institute (OHSAI) at the University of South Dakota (USD) is a two-week program for high school students to learn about Native American art, culture, and history. The

workshops are offered free to accepted students with support provided by the Margaret A. Cargill Foundation (2013–2016). A noted Plains artist and a professor at USD for 23 years, Oscar Howe established the first summer art institutes that ran from 1960 to 1970.

The current program, started in 1991, has served 230 students with classes in drawing, painting, printmaking, and photography. Artists who have taught at the OHSAI are Marwin Begaye, Gary Big Bear, Gerald Cournoyer, Bunky Echo-Hawk, and Donald Montileaux.

This year’s teachers will include artists Tom Jones and Dyani White Hawk.

SOUTH: The Savannah College

OHSAI painting class student Grace One Star, a current USD student. Photo courtesy of University of South Dakota.

of Art and Design (SCAD) offers weeklong art workshops for high school students throughout the summer on their Savannah and Atlanta, Georgia, campuses. A limited number of scholarships are available.

SCAD’s Savannah workshops are

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ABOVE: Nancy Mithlo, Photo: Julien McRoberts. BELOW: Savannah College of Art and Design, Crites Hall, Savannah, Georgia.

Photo: Ebyabe (CC BY-SA 3.0)

good introductions to the demands of campus life in the city, with students taking buses to the studios that are located throughout Savannah’s classic 18th-century downtown squares.

Classes are taught by SCAD faculty or advanced graduate students. We have two amazing Native faculty members at SCAD: Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara Professor of Photography Zig Jackson and Foundations Professor Christopher Olszewski of the Chippewa Mnjikaning First Nation.

EAST: I want us all to collectively

mourn (and signal our protest) in response to what appears to be the closing of the National Museum of the American Indian’s Native American Film + Video Festival (NAFVF)

Ernest seems to be a consistent presence during the Native Cinema Showcase co-presented by the Southwestern Association for Indian Arts (SWAIA) and the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian. You can find out about these and other global initiatives in youth media at the NMAI site: filmcatalog.nmai.si.edu/organizations.

WEST: In Portland, Oregon, the A.

Shirod Younker, director of A. Susana Santos Journeys in Creativity (in overalls), with his students and the canoe preparing to paddle down the Willamette River. Sponsored by the Oregon College of Art and Craft. Photo: Andy Batt, www.andyBATT.com.

Below: National Museum of the American Indian, George Gustav Heye Center, New York.

Photo: Samir Bitar.

Susana Santos Journeys in Creativity has been running strong for the past ten years. Founded by the landscape artist Apolonia Susana Santos (a member of the Tygh Band Indians and Yakama Nation) and Pat Courtney Gold (Wasco), “Journeys” is a two-week arts immersion program for Native teens with an interest in the arts. This pre-college program is fully funded for accepted students with support provided by the Oregon Cultural Trust. Program Director Shirod Younker (Coquille Indian Tribe) is an artist specializing in woodcarving and traditional canoemaking. The 2014 program will focus on printmaking and will run from August 3rd–16th.

Program where high school juniors and seniors spend three weeks on campus, earning college credits. Students will also be introduced to the great diversity of tribes and cultural arts in the area while preparing themselves for life at an arts college. Alaskan applicants are eligible for travel stipends. The IAIA contact for this opportunity is Nena Martinez Anaya at nanaya@iaia.edu.

Each of these programs offers our youth the opportunity to explore the arts as a profession before making the hard commitment to one medium or practice. Higher education in the arts is becoming more career-driven and commercial, a trend that I oppose.

Finding grounding as a community member and articulating one’s own talent as a productive creative maker and thinker are more appropriate aims for our twenty-somethings. Let’s hold up these aspiring youth as they continue to dream and create.

ABOVE: What’s up is the opening

(listed as “on hiatus” on the NMAI website) based in New York City.

Started in 1979, the Native American Film + Video Festival was presented 15 times and is known for its significant Latin American programming. The festival was also famous for its “Next Generations” workshop, bringing youth media groups and their mentors to the Festival to network and to show their work. For our youth, film is a safe haven from the often-alienating environment of public education in the United States, so the apparent closing of this venue is significant. The Native Youth Film Festival, directed by Future Voices of New Mexico’s Marcella

of the Horace Poolaw photo exhibit that I am curating with UW-Madison Associate Professor of Photography Tom Jones (Ho-Chunk). Thanks go to the Poolaw family and the amazing staff at the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian, George Gustav Heye Center. We open on August 9th at the NMAI facilities in New York City. See more on the NMAI website: “Pictures by an Indian”: The Photography of Horace Poolaw: nmai. si.edu/explore/exhibitions/item/839/.

BELOW: In New Mexico, my home turf, the Institute of American Indian Arts is sponsoring the Summer Bridge

Autry National Center, Los Angeles. Photo: Gary Minnaert.

CENTER: I am moving to Los Angeles to start the parallel position of Associate Professor of Art History and Visual Studies at Occidental College and Chair of American Indian Studies at the Autry National Center’s Institute.

Joining the dream team of Rick West and company!

marcellakwe.com zigjackson.com tomjoneshochunk.com nancymariemithlo.com olszewskiart.com dyaniwhitehawk.com SUM M E R 2 0 1 4

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Exploring Native Graphic Design

Perspectives from Ryan Red Corn By Neebinnaukzhik Southall

O

SAGE GRAPHIC DESIGNER Ryan Red Corn’s accomplishments are many and varied. He co-founded the design and marketing company Buffalo Nickel Creative (www.buffalonickelcreative.com), whose clients include Nike and NMAI; operates Red Corn Native Foods; shoots videos and performs for the Native comedy group, the 1491s (www.1491s. com); launched Demockratees, a successful line of edgy political t-shirts; and serves as the co-executive director of NVision, a Native youth media arts group. Recently, I had a chance to speak with Ryan and hear his perspectives as a designer working with Native communities.

Having Access Ryan Red Corn’s creative foundations began early. With a mother studying graphic design and a father working in carpentry, he had many opportunities for hands-on learning at a very young age. He often accompanied his mother to classes, and at home, with access to the tools of the trade, he graphed letters and used darkroom equipment.

His father traded a drum set for a computer, and the family got CorelDRAW, which Ryan used extensively as a young teen. He also grew up with the visual aesthetics of his tribe, participating in ceremonies and having many artists in the family.

During high school, Red Corn took design classes at the Shawnee Mission District vocational school, and, in junior college, he majored in graphic design.

He transferred to the nearby University of Kansas, at the time listed among the top five places to learn graphic design. While at school, Ryan jokes he started “doing more freelance than homework.” In 2003, he graduated with

a BFA in Visual Communications and has been designing since.

Realizing how important access has been to his own journey as a graphic designer, Ryan, who has two daughters, aged one and three, included his older daughter in his work. She sits on his lap while he is designing and editing. He often brings her to photo shoots and lets her hold his camera. He lets her take a few pictures, so the equipment does not intimidate her.

When his daughters grow up, Ryan says, “They can do whatever they want.”

They may not turn out to be designers, photographers, or videographers, but they will have the confidence to use the technology if they so desire. Most importantly, he wants them to be able to use their imagination, to use their hands, and to tell stories.

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Indigenization for Problem Solving Noting how “everyone talks about decolonization,” Ryan Red Corn critiques what he feels is an inadequate approach to solving issues in Indian Country. At various Native American studies conferences, he noticed that discussions of decolonization often end up using the same languages, tools, and intellectual frameworks that were introduced by colonialism to try to academically solve problems.

To address issues, Native people have adopted bureaucratic solutions, such as the grant process and compiling and assessing data (working from what Ryan calls a “resource allocation perspective”), which Ryan feels are ineffectual for social healing. For example, a

community receives a grant for dealing with domestic violence or suicide. A few billboards are designed with disturbing imagery and a hotline. What are the psychological effects on the community members driving by those billboards?

Ryan sees these tactics form a negative narrative for the community’s identity.

These tactics do not ultimately positively affect the people within that community or even address the problems.

Indigenization, by contrast, is a “radically different approach to the problem,” using Native cultural ways of thinking. Instead of dealing with pieces and the “remainder of the equation,” he suggests affecting the whole via “social maintenance.” This can mean holding ceremonies, making sure community gymnasiums stay open, or creating positive media. Noting how many kids use iPhones, Ryan strives to use his profession to “create as much digestible content as possible.”

Laughter as Medicine In his 20s, Ryan’s work was charged with anger, but he shifted his approach and “started to dabble with comedy and humor in messaging.” In 2009, his friend Sterlin Harjo (SeminoleMuscogee Creek) and he were in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for the 9th Annual Native Cinema Showcase, where Sterlin showed his film Barking Water, featuring Ryan in a comic relief scene.

During the screening, Ryan watched the crowd during his scene. The crowd roared with laughter, in stark contrast to the backdrop of the film festival, filled with all-too-common themes of death, addiction, and abuse. It demonstrated the “amount of power in Indian humor,” the power in laughter that is “much more powerful than the crying,” says Ryan, that is “absent from so many portions of the media.”

“Humor is a higher form of intelligence,” Ryan explains. Comedy has the unique potential to tackle social issues and grip people. Ryan compares using humor to deliver a message to the

paring down of visual information to create an effective logo. People think that a “hard problem needs to be solved with a lot of lines and details,” and yet, it’s the simple answer that works best.

Taking Ownership of Our Spaces For Hidden Voices, Coded Words, an Oklahoma code-talkers exhibit, none of the posters Ryan designed used English.

For a Native conference, he put 20 ways to say “hello” in different Indigenous languages in the front of the program booklet.

When tribes commission him to design t-shirts, Ryan strongly encourages them to use their languages and minimize English. When these shirts and images are worn in the community, they are seen over and over and become part of the visual vocabulary of those people.

While creating work for his own community, Ryan incorporated the Osage alphabet into his designs. “Only a small amount of people can read [it], but it’s ours.” These design choices are an act of visual sovereignty. We have the power to make decisions about our spaces, to make them our own, rather than have them merely be an extension of someone else’s viewpoints. Many “don’t realize we have inherent power in that space,” says Ryan. Our own cultures can instead be front and center in our designed space, which is crucial given how surroundings affect our sense of self and reality.

Languages carry worldviews. “The language is the whole—the key to constructing that entire environment,” states Ryan. The Osage word for praying contains the idea of borrowing, with the expectation of giving something in return. Osage also has specific words for the precise relationships within a family tree. Considering the values embedded in language, not only is it important to preserve spoken language, but to preserve visual language as well. Images “continue to exist after people don’t know what they mean.”

Using Native Iconography Native visual conventions are actual languages rather than simple decoration.

Osage ribbonwork has a wealth of meaning within colors and designs.

Responsibilities come with working with Native imagery—learning the meanings of symbols, securing permission for use when necessary, and being careful with small yet important details. The design piece should “look like it came from that community” and be in harmony with its aesthetics. While certain components can be put together in atypical ways, it’s important to do it in such a way so that the “community is willing not only to accept but proliferate” that design.

Working with Native visual culture required new ways of thinking and designing for Ryan, expanding his working vocabulary. “That process has created for me a new language–a new visual language,” says Red Corn. He credits Woody Crumbo (Potawatomi), whom he met as a kid, and Acee Blue Eagle (Pawnee-Muscogee-Wichita) as influences in their integration of particular Native visual conventions in their paintings.

Native Designers Needed While it may sound counterintuitive of him as a business owner, Ryan would like to see more Natives become graphic designers. For one, Ryan describes himself as being “super competitive.”

Seeing other Natives creating good work pushes him to do better. Secondly, without access to talented people, he is limited in expanding his own company. He doesn’t have much Native competition when vying for Nativerelated projects, but he wishes he did, since he’s often up against non-native designers lacking in cultural fluency.

When more Native people are trained within their communities, clients aren’t limited to superficial results. The designers are empowered to use and even alter their visual vocabularies in relevant, organic ways, in keeping with their own communities’ decisions.

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Ligwilda'xw Interdisciplinary Artist

Sonny Assu Interview by America Meredith

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HILE RESEARCHING “NATIVE POP” online years ago, I discovered a series of cereal boxes with Indigenous designs showing at the Seattle Art Museum. These are part of the Breakfast Series by Sonny Assu.

They do not simply use pop imagery to reach a mainstream audience, but, just as cheerful cartoon characters hawk processed sugar and artificial flavoring and dyes, these digitally printed boxes mask darker concepts behind brilliant colors and humor. Lucky Beads, Treaty Flakes, and Salmon Loops speak of lost Indigenous lands and dwindling ecosystems. I shared the links with friends and have followed Sonny’s work over subsequent years.

Born in Richmond, British Columbia, Sonny is Ligwilda’xw, from a southern Kwakwaka’wakw people. He is enrolled in the We Wai Kai Nation of Cape Mudge on Vancouver Island. Stories of his extended family have inspired many of his works. In 2002, he graduated from Emily Carr University of Art and Design and was awarded the B.C. Creative Achievement Awards for First Nations’ Art in 2011. A few years ago, Sonny uprooted and moved crosscountry to Montreal, where he lives today with his wife and daughter.

Each new series of his work brings fresh surprises. From painting to text art to room-sized installations, Sonny’s work is ever-evolving. His painting draws inspiration from Northwest Coast formline art but is becoming progressively more stripped down to its essential elements while growing more wildly colorful.

see the gleam of copper, or experience the full immersion of being in an installation. Fortunately, he has planned more exhibitions on both the east and west coasts of Canada, and hopefully internationally in the future, so more of us can experience his work firsthand.

Who was Chief Billy Assu, and how has he influenced you?

Through humor and stories, Sonny brings to light hidden histories of Canadian colonialism and Indigenous resistance and perseverance. Several of his text-based works, some resembling circus posters in their outlandish fonts and palettes, reveal the blithe ignorance of Canadian politicians and bureaucrats. The Happiest Future illuminates the infamous quote of the late Duncan Campbell Scott, Head of the Department of Indian Affairs: “The happiest future for the Indian race is absorption into the general population, and this is the object and policy of our government.”

Sonny Assu is extremely media savvy, and social media inspires many of his titles: #selfie, Meme, #ERMAHGERD. While he maintains an enviable web presence, still one cannot smell the cedar or tanned hides in his sculptures,

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Chief Billy Assu was my great-greatgrandfather. Although I never met him (he passed away about 10 or so years before I was born), I feel a deep connection to him. His power and stature as a leader have influenced my work and my desire to show Canadians their hidden history. He stood up to lead his people when the government wanted to keep him down; he was defiantly compelled to practice his/our cultural beliefs, even though, at one point in Canada’s history, it was illegal to do so. A number of my works are directly related to stories I’ve heard of him. Billy and the Chiefs: The Complete Banned Collection (2012), Ellipsis (2012), Live From The ’Latch (2012), and Silenced: The Burning (2011).

Much of your work features visual expressions of music—drums, iPods, imagined concert fliers, turntables, allusions to vinyl records, and equalizer patterns. Have you incorporated sound, noise, or music into your work?

Sound, whether it’s the depiction of stylized iPods, vinyl LPs, or sound patterns, becomes an allusion. I’m drawing a deep connection to the “Strict Law” that is ingrained within Kwakwaka’wakw that bids us to dance.

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Breakfast Series, 2006, cereal boxes, digitally printed, 12 × 7 × 3 in. each. Photo: Chris Meier. Image courtesy of the artist and Equinox Gallery.

This is how we pass down our stories and customs at potlatches.

Which is why the tour that I imagined, Live From The ‘Latch, was on what was called the “Strict Law Tour ’21.” It’s also a reference to the infamous potlatch bust on Village Island in 1921, where every man, woman, and child was arrested for practicing their beliefs. But it goes without saying that no matter how hard the colonial government tried to keep us down, nothing was going to stop us from heeding that strict law. Which is why I used an equalizer pattern for Billy and The Chiefs and Ellipsis. I wanted to indicate, that even through oppression, we have prevailed in keeping the ceremonies alive.

I’m also drawing connections to the pop culture I grew up in and my love of music. I was involved in music and theater in my youth, but I fell away from it when I found a deeper connection to the visual arts. The act of listening to music has always been an important aspect of my practice. It grounds me and helps me focus in the studio.

So far, I’ve incorporated sound in my work for the installations in Beat Nation. I felt it was important to hear

my great-great-grandfather’s voice in the context that the work situated itself in, politically and artistically. Actually, one of my greatest pleasures in painting those 67 vinyl-inspired drums was listening to him sing as I painted. I felt he was there, and I felt deeply connected to this man I never met.

The discarded cedar blocks in Longing are some of the most successful readymade/found art I’ve ever observed. They work on so many different levels and seem loaded with their own stories. How did you first come across these, and in what contexts have you displayed them?

enough to have created. To have found… depends on how you look at it!

I stumbled across these “masks” in 2006 when I was exploring piles of discarded cedar at a log home development site on my rez. It took about five years to figure out what I was going to do with them. The original intention behind them was a bit too political at first. The series was going to be called Faceless up until a few months before my opening at the West Vancouver Museum.

But when I installed one of them for the intervention at the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, I stumbled across something more poetic. The way that the mask caught the light sparked me to emote a feeling of Longing onto it.

It almost seemed like this object longed to be an object of culture, like the other anthropologically collected objects in the museum. But through colonization, it became a waste by-product of our consumption culture. However, in mounting these 31 objects to museumquality standards, photographing them as portraits, and as in situ interventions, I gave them what they longed for, and they became culture.

This has been one of my most favorite bodies of work that I have been fortunate

They were first displayed for a solo show at the West Vancouver Museum, and a

Have you followed the work of any artists who are part of the Native Pop art movement in the United States?

Somewhat. I know Bunky Echo-Hawk’s work, and Jeffery Gibson’s new works are pretty tight. My buddy Nicholas Galanin touches a bit on pop culture, and Wendy Red Star’s works have been completely fascinating. That’s the nice thing about platforms like Facebook— my feed is constantly populated with art!

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1884/1951, 2009, 67 spun copper cups, Hudson’s Bay point blankets, Grande-sized cups, installation dimensions variable. Photo: Toni Hafkenscheid.

Image courtesy of the artist and Equinox Gallery.

few of them have been touring Canada in a show called Decolonize Me. What I find most important in displaying these pieces is having the personalities come out in them. When I first installed them for the WVM show, I was aware of how I was positioning the heads; I really wanted people to be moved by the emotions I was trying to convey by simply finding the light.

These works have been fun to install.

For the WVM show, I had a group that I called the Warriors, who were keeping a watchful eye on the Colonizers, who were staring down at the Elders. In the backroom, through a doorway, the Bureaucrats watched this all go down.

Most recently, I installed six or seven of them for my solo at the Oakville Galleries, and like the WVM show, I had one guy standing at the front door, greeting you as you walked in. Another was in the back watching you. One of the greatest pleasures I’ve gotten from these works is hearing people who’ve interacted with them, who’ve interjected

their own emotions on these objects.

Could you talk about your installation 1884/1951? I love the notion of gourmet coffee as being symbols of conspicuous consumption. Has this installation changed over time and in different contexts?

This work functions on a few different levels. It juxtaposes two different wealth structures, our Western consumption/ hoarding wealth structure and the dramatically different potlatch structure of giving all one’s wealth away. It also talks about the Potlatch Ban in Canada, which lasted from 1884 to 1951, where traditional ceremonies were made illegal for Indigenous people to practice.

Doing so meant fines and/or jail time for anyone involved and the “confiscation” (read: theft) of potlatch regalia.

Basically, I saw it like this: In our western society, we consume to show our placement within society, and we see wealth as something you hoard, to use to obtain more wealth, to then display that wealth. We buy cars,

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condos, and iPods… I boiled it down to the most basic display of our wealth, the ubiquitous coffee consumption culture.

You walk into a place like Starbucks (this piece is not a commentary on Starbucks) or any coffee shop and you walk out with your disposable cup filled with $6–$8 in liquid. While you’re walking around town or sitting at your desk, you are subconsciously displaying your wealth for others to see. Once you consume that liquid, the cup is now worthless to you, so you toss it.

A potlatch society sees wealth in a dramatically different way. It sees wealth as something you give away, and that act of giving deems you wealthy, not the act of collecting material things.

The use of copper is significant because of the inherent wealth that it holds for the potlatch-practicing people, particularly a chief. Boasting was a common occurrence after a potlatch; the invited chiefs would gather to brag about how much they gave away at their respective potlatches. One story that

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Sakahàn, at the National Gallery of Canada, four standing cups greeted you as you walked into the room, which represented the four founding women of the Idle No More movement. For Sonny Assu: Possessions, at the Oakville Galleries), I left two standing cups to symbolize the percentage of the Indigenous population in Canada and one fallen cup to reference the wealthy 1%.

Ironically, conceptual art seems to demand a storytelling component to the art—whether in wall text, artists’ statements, critiques, or artists’ talks.

Artifacts of Authenticity, 2011, archival pigment print, 28.25 × 42.25 in. Photo: Eric Deis/Sonny Assu. Image courtesy of the artist and Equinox Gallery.

I heard was of a chief listening to two other chiefs brag about how much they had given away at their own potlatches.

To prove himself, Chief #1 broke off a piece of his copper and offered it to Chief #2, as an offering. Chief #2 would need to either meet, give more, or give less, depending on the success of his potlatch. Chief #3 was listening in the background and felt he had given so much wealth away, he had no need for the material symbol of his wealth. So, he tossed his copper in the ocean, indicating

that he felt so wealthy, that he had no need for material possessions.

Lastly, 1884/1951 also becomes a commentary on how the Canadian government views Indigenous people and culture: as expendable.

The work has been installed five times now, and I try and make the discarded pile look a little different each time, which isn’t as easy as it looks! In 2010, I added the HBC blanket, and recently, I’ve politicized the installations. For

Storytelling is an important part of my practice, regardless of conceptual art demanding it or not. I feel there is an education that Canadians (and Americans) are missing in regards to their colonial history. Most of my works are autobiographical in nature, whether it’s myself directly or my family history.

I feel if I put a human face on the issues of colonization, Canadians in particular will invoke their infamous stereotype of compassion and actually step up and understand where the First People are coming from. After all, Canadians have stood up time and time again to fight injustice around the world, while oppressing their own in Canada. There’s an element of hypocrisy that I’m hoping to point out. Not to shame or make anyone feel defensive. I just want to open up the conversation to help rectify the injustice that continues in what is now known as Canada.

I love engaging with people over my work, and I find it fascinating to see people open up to the hidden history.

Many of the people I’ve spoken to, if not all, have been completely unaware of issues like the Potlatch Ban, the Indian Act, and the residential school system.

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#IdleNoMore, 2012, acrylic on panel, 40 × 84 in. Photo: Danya Danger. Image courtesy of the artist and Equinox Gallery.

closed in the mid-1990s. This is all contemporary, relevant history that isn’t taught at a formative age. I share these stories in hopes that people pass them on and continue to learn.

Your painting seems to grow more stripped down to its essential elements; however, it still references formline design, Hudson Bay blankets, iPods, and graffiti. How do you see your painting style evolving?

It’s been fun looking back at my painting over the past ten years and seeing how it’s evolved so much. I started out by combining Spiderman and Mickey Mouse with Northwest Coast (NWC) early in my career, and that led me to iPods, and then the formulation of the abstraction of abstraction, which is how I’ve seen my paintings over the past couple of years. I was intrigued by how movements like the Surrealists and the Cubists were looking at Indigenous artwork and inspired by it. The Surrealists had a fascination with the NWC, and that’s how I started to think about my work as being the abstraction of abstraction. The NWC form is

stylized, abstract to an extent, so I’m looking at how the abstractionists were looking at my culture and being inspired by it. I’m looking at them, looking at me [my culture], and making work in response to that. It seems very meta, like Inception art!

As for how my style evolves now? It’s hard to say; I’m working on a new series where I’m painting ovoids (one element of formline) onto found thrift shop paintings… so with that, I’m stripping a lot of the abstraction away and just focusing on one key form of NWC iconography. But I’m also bringing the formline into the third dimension through my new paintings, which has been refreshing and fun! I’ve worked with depth through my paintings before, but it’s always been flat. Ha! Who knows? Maybe my style will evolve back into a more “traditional” rendition. It’s too early to tell—I’m just going to keep on keeping on!

You exhibit mainly in Canada but have shown some in the United States. Have you been able to attend any of the US openings in person, for

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instance, at The Lab in San Francisco?

Is there a perceptible difference in how your artwork has been received in the different countries?

I would have loved to have gone down to San Francisco! I’ve attended a few openings south of the border. My first group exhibition in the United States was Changing Hands: Art Without Reservation 2 (2005) at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York. I can’t tell you what a thrill that was! I’ve also gone down to Seattle for the opening of Seattle Art Museum at 75 (2007) and (Be)longing at Kirkland Arts Center (2011).

I did a residency in Des Moines, Iowa, for World Histories (Des Moines Art Centre) in 2007. That was a really fun experience, aside from the threat of the flood! But it was great to connect with the youth there. I don’t recall if any of the students I was working with were Indigenous, but I felt it important to connect and share my stories with them.

So, so far, my work in the US has been really well received, and I am excited to start looking into other international

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stuff and who is proud of where my culture comes from.

Now that you are living in Quebec, so far from the West Coast, how do you share your Ligwilda’xw (Kwakwaka’wakw) culture with your daughter?

It’s been a bit hard, but we have a number of story-time books that have a basis in NWC art, and once she gets older, I’m looking forward to sharing some stories with her. But I made an interesting observation a few months ago while playing some traditional music for her.

That Strict Law seems to be ingrained in her; she just started bopping and moving along to the songs. It was quite beautiful. Also, the daycare she’s at has an elder come in once a week to drum and sing with the kids. I think it might be her favorite day! She comes home singing what sounds like a Morning Song and drumming on anything that she can find! We plan on moving back to British Columbia one day, and I hope to be closer to the home community to expose her to the deep and beautiful culture she comes from.

What new work or upcoming exhibitions are you plotting?

Live from the ‘Latch, 2012, archival pigment print, edition of 67, 20 × 14 in. Photo and image courtesy of the artist.

opportunities. Japan—I’d love to show in Japan—and of course, Europe… although I may need to school a bunch of people on appropriation there!

for the work that we are creating, and it’s adding a substantial conversation to contemporary art in Canada, if not the world.

What place does First Nations, Métis, and Inuit art hold in contemporary Canadian art? Do you feel the average Canadian is receptive to Aboriginal art?

I also think it’s important to note that I’m an artist who happens to be Indigenous, who makes contemporary work that is informed by my indigeneity. I’m not a First Nations/Indigenous/Indian/Native American artist. I feel that if I claim that as my artistic identity, it will be assumed I make the stereotype that is assumed to be Indian art. I’m a human who makes

I think it’s one of the most unique and fastest growing aspects of Canadian art right now. There seems to be a hunger

I have a solo exhibition at the Urban Shaman in May, where I’ll be presenting one of my most recent series, The Happiest Future, and other works. I also have a show at the Musée HuronWendat just outside Quebec. A solo show in Prince George in October, and I’m working on new work for a solo show in Vancouver for the fall or early spring. So lots to plot!

I am most excited about my newest paintings and some other interventionbased readymade/found works that dive into my grandmother and grandfather’s experience in Indian Day School.

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Lac du Flambeau Chippewa interdisciplinary artist

Biskakone Greg Johnson Interview by Neebinnaukzhik Southall

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ARGELY SELF-TAUGHT, Biskakone Greg Johnson is highly skilled in the Ojibwe arts, to the point of being a “Super Ojibwe.” Biskakone’s talents are many. He has done all of the following: beadwork, quillwork, birch bark baskets, moccasins, carvings, cradleboards, snowshoes, pipes, regalia, and more. If he doesn’t know how to make something new, he’s probably learning how to do it. When asked if he has a favorite art form, he says all art forms are his favorite.

Notably, his art making is closely tied to his community, the Lac du Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians, and often coincides with the four seasons, which many families in the area live by. Many of his materials are obtained through hunting, tanning, harvesting, and gathering. Despite his impressive accomplishments, he is warm and friendly, and refreshingly open with his knowledge.

Greg, a member of the Lynx Clan, and his wife Krista, who is German, raise their two children on the reservation, where they are immersed in Ojibwe culture and practices.

Their daughter Wasanodae is named after the northern lights, which Greg saw in the frantic drive to the hospital when she was about to be born. Their son’s name is Koen, which has Dutch-Germanic origins. Both children have received additional names in Ojibwe. As one of the leaders in the community, Greg also gives out names and has performed naming ceremonies for about seven children on the reservation.

“I tell people, ‘Where else are you going to get a name for your soul?’ ” he says. “Ojibwes are good at naming the soul.”

Not only does Greg teach his own children Ojibwe ways, he also teaches language, culture, and art to children at the Lac du Flambeau Public School. For his pre-kindergarten through second-grade classes, he designed paper templates of berry baskets, canoes, paddles, knives, wigwams, and trees, that can be cut out and put together, and many can be colored. These and other school activities familiarize the children with their own culture.

Older children make their own moccasins, beadwork,

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quillwork, birch bark baskets, and birch bark etching.

“We’re preparing them for this rigorous Anishinaabe life,” says Greg. Online, the templates are widely requested, so much so that he is considering doing a children’s book for Anishinaabe kids in cities and on reservations.

Spearfishing and Functional Art Biskakone considers himself lucky, noting how his community has been able to hold on to many aspects of their culture when other reservations have not been so fortunate. Greg’s own grandfather was a hunter, trapper, and fishing guide, who established a fish hatchery in Lac du

BISKAKONE GREG JOHNSON

you’ll notice a lot of moccasins. He has been making moccasins for about 20 years, since he was around 17 years old. At this time, the local tribal museum was a significant catalyst in his artistic development. “Some of the most gorgeous beadwork that I remember seeing in my life” was at that museum, he says. He was proud to know that his ancestors made the items he saw, and he wanted to follow their example. “I’d go to the museum and sit in the basement for hours.

There’s a cultural room [that] only Native people from the community can see. They’d give me the key every time I’d go in there. I’d just dig around and look at the old bandolier bags and moccasins, and I’d get so inspired… I said, ‘You know, some day I’m going to have a lot of this stuff, and I’m going to make it.’ It’s kind of been a dream of mine, so I just kept working at it until I got it.”

Etched wiigwaasi-makak (birch bark box). Image courtesy of the artist.

Flambeau. Lac du Flambeau still has its old ceremonies and speeches, and many residents still harvest manoomin (wild rice), make maple sugar, hunt, trap, and spearfish. The community is actually named for this latter activity—in French, Lac du Flambeau, meaning “lake of the torches” and in Ojibwe, Waaswaaganing, meaning “a place where they spearfish by torchlight.”

An important part of this spearfishing is the decoy, a functional piece of art made by Greg and other members of the community. He states, In the early spring when there’s ice on the water, we harvest muskies with the

spear and decoy. And that’s an art form, making those decoys. Lac du Flambeau is really well known for our spearfishing.

We have a lot of young men that are hardcore decoy-makers. It takes carving a piece of basswood, and painting it, and weighing it outright. Not only is it appealing to the eye, but it’s a functional piece of artwork that’s actually going to provide food for your family. We swim that decoy around, and if it’s nice and flashy, if it’s pretty or beautiful, it’ll attract that muskie, thinking it’s a wounded fish.

Greg fell in love with split-toe moccasins when he first saw them, and was “on a mission to get the pattern, and nobody had it.” This distinct style, with both a single seam and a vamp on the top front of the moccasin, is less common among the Ojibwe today.

However, fortune was on his side:

Moccasins and Beadwork

“I got lucky and inherited this trunk of beadwork from a friend of mine.

So I’m going through the trunk one day, and I look, and in there is a pair of those split-toe moccasins, but one of them was falling apart—it was rotting. The thread was ripping. They were so old. They were from about 1910, 1900. So I got a brainstorm, I said, ‘Well, I’ll just take them apart.

Take the pattern and put them back together.’ So I did it like three times, took them apart, put them back together, and used the holes that were already there. And then that’s how I got that pattern.”

When you look at Greg’s artwork,

Greg taught himself to do beadwork

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by listening to elderly ladies talk about beadwork and how they would string up a bead. At the time, he was afraid to ask questions, feeling self-conscious being a young man wanting to learn beadwork. Not having a regular mentor had its drawbacks, however. With amusement Greg remembers how he first started beading with “number 14°s” and didn’t understand why it was taking so long.

“You hear all these elders talk about it, and they only take a few days, and I’m like, on day 30—why is it taking so freaking long?!” However, over time, he “found out the magic of size 10°s and 11°s.”

It fell to him and several of his friends to do something about it; they could let their culture go or resurrect it.

Greg notes that in the past not many beadworkers were left on his reservation, and much knowledge was passing away with the elders. It fell to him and several of his friends to do something about it; they could let their culture go or resurrect it. They chose the latter, and have since been “bringing back some of the old culture.”

Last spring, Biskakone started up a “Moccasin Club.”

People had asked him to make moccasins for them, but with only limited free time, he figured, why not get everyone together to work on them, “like how they did long ago”?

People gathered at his house by the lake, bring food to share, and work on moccasins, as well as baskets and mittens.

“Moccasin Club” grew into a community event.

When Greg was younger, he observed a particular phenomenon—people coming to Lac du Flambeau and charging high prices for classes, against the backdrop of low incomes on the reservation.

“When I get older,” he decided, “I’m not going to let that happen.” As for why he is so open about sharing, he says, “I don’t own moccasins. I don’t own the right to all that knowledge.” Later on in the conversation, he elaborated, “One of our things, in my community, if you know something, if you’re a person with knowledge, what are you going to do to give back to the community with that knowledge? So that’s one of the things I try to live by.” This idea of sharing seems to have caught on in other communities. A woman from a community in lower Michigan contacted him for his suggestions on starting a group, and Moccasin Clubs are “sprouting up all over now.”

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Quillwork medallions, dyed porcupine quills on birch bark with metal accents. Image courtesy of the artist.

As for why he is driven to bring back old styles and forms such as split-toe moccasins, he tells this story: “I’d go to ceremonies and powwows, and I’d look at my beautiful Ojibwe people and they’d be wearing Sioux-style moccasins, or they’d be wearing something that wasn’t ours, a borrowed style. What happened? Why did this happen?

Why is my buddy sitting here with pictures of the Black Hills, and here we are living in the most beautiful area in the world, with all these birch trees?”

When asked whether he sticks to just regional Ojibwe designs in his work, Greg explains that he references Ojibwe patterns from all over and even occasionally uses patterns from up in Cree country. However, the majority of designs he references are older patterns, such as those found on bandolier bags. After years of collecting and studying thousands of images, he can now easily pull from his imagination to create a design. When executing a design, he uses a trick learned from the ancestors: shapes cut out from birch bark or, more often, heavy paper such as manila folders or posterboard. By using the cutout shapes, he can get flawless lines and create designs more quickly than if he drew them freehand.

BISKAKONE GREG JOHNSON

Etched wiigwaasi-makak (birch bark basket). Image courtesy of the artist.

Wiigwaas (Birch Bark) and the Makuk (Berry Basket) Due to historical reasons, Greg concentrates on making berry baskets out of birch bark versus the small, often round quilled sweetgrass baskets more typically found among northeastern Ojibwe, although, as he says, they were a fad in the region in the ‘80s and ‘90s.

“If you go back in our history here in Lac du Flambeau and the region, we did the berry baskets. We harvested rice, and we harvested the berries, and we harvested the sugar, roots, and dyes, and everything was stored in those containers.”

Greg explains that there are a handful of people who still make birch bark baskets, including Sandra Peterson,

a well-known, skilled artist in the area who was his neighbor for many years. Greg personally started making baskets seven or eight years ago. His interest grew when he began going into the forest and peeling bark. Greg notes that there is a small season for birch bark where it “actually pops off the tree,” and, if you harvest it before or after that, it’s considered winter bark.

Birch trees flourish in the region, and because of agreements made with the government, the members of Lac du Flambeau can harvest bark even in ceded territory, a large area.

That earlier members of Lac du Flambeau secured hunting, fishing, and gathering rights, and that presentday members still continue to exercise their rights, despite outside backlash, is no small accomplishment. This is undoubtedly a primary reason why

Ojibwe culture is thriving in Lac du Flambeau.

“Because of our rights, we have all these art forms alive today,” says Biskakone.

“You can hurt the tree if you go really deep,” Greg explains, because one has to harvest bark carefully to avoid killing a tree. “If you’re going after the bark, you only go as far as the bark is, you don’t go any deeper. Because if you go deeper, you can potentially harm that tree. But those trees, if you do it right and just take the bark itself, and not the sapwood or anything like that, it will heal itself.”

He continues, But now when we make a canoe, that’s a different story, because you’re going to use 20-30 feet of bark. It would be like somebody taking all the

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Floral beaded split-toe moccasins, deerhide, velvet and other cloth, glass beads. Image courtesy of the artist.

skin off your leg or your arm—you probably won’t make it!

So what we do is actually take that tree, the whole tree. We cut it down if we’re going to do a canoe. And I think that’s where the misconception is. Because if we take 20 feet of bark off a tree, it’s going to die. And people see that and see this huge stripped tree, dead, they’re assuming that all barking is like that, when it’s not.

Our people have been doing it for thousands of years. And there’s actually trees all over our reservation that are completely healed up, and you can see where they’ve been peeled before, because the bark gets tighter. I have pictures of it. I took some college students out one time, and they swore up and down when you peel a birch tree it will die, no matter what. So, I took them out and showed them and said, ‘Well, these peels are about 60 years old, from old canoe builders, and basket makers.’

They were just blown away. They’d never seen anything like it. I said, ‘Well, you’ve got to go in the woods to see something like that. You can’t just take somebody’s word for it, or read it somewhere, you gotta go out and check it out,’ that’s what I told them. They were shocked—even their instructor was shocked— that the tree could regenerate bark.

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Dikanaagan (The Cradleboard) Greg learned how to make cradleboards on his own, through hearing people talk about steaming and bending wood and harvesting trees. After learning how to make a lacrosse stick, which requires steaming and bending, Greg realized that making a cradleboard was within the realm of possibility, since it also requires steaming and bending.

Ojibwe cradleboards have two curved components, the head bow, which serves as a guard to protect the baby, and a u-shaped footrest. At first, he found the process difficult.

“There had to be some kind of intervention, some spiritual intervention with our ancestors, to learn how to do this because this is difficult! And I have all these modern tools.”

With patience, however, his hard work paid off. Now, he says he can go into a museum and recreate the old-time cradleboards on display.

For Biskakone, making a cradleboard is an act of love.

We love our babies and we want to take care of them, and one

BISKAKONE GREG JOHNSON

LEFT: floral beaded headband modeled by Wasanodae Johnson (Ojibwe), glass beads on cloth.

RIGHT: etched wiigwaasi-makak (birch bark basket) with bear claw designs. Both images courtesy of the artist.

way we take care of them is we build them an Anishinaabe dikanaagan, from the mitigoowaakiing, from the forest. So we make the time, and we show them our love through this cradleboard. The cradleboard is one way you can swaddle a baby. And those babies are precious. We can’t always hug them and hold them like we want to, so we make that constant hug from the forest.

Greg relates how a number of expectant mothers and fathers approached him all at once, wanting to know how to make cradleboards, so they formed a group and made cradleboards together. More recently, he taught a cradleboard class at Lac Vieux Desert. Greg also has a cradleboard in the works for his own family, for his and his wife’s third child, due in July.

Ongoing and Future Projects Biskakone’s projects are nonstop. Currently, he is working on two bandolier bags. And there’s a canoe project in the works. Since one of his best friends is a canoe builder, he

decided “to give it a shot” and is currently working on a Minnesota/Lac du Flambeau–hybrid canoe in his basement.

At some point, he wants to make an elaborate woman’s dress. More on the clothing, Greg mentions that he has five to six different sets of regalia in his head that he wants to get out before he leaves this world.

Throughout our conversation, the importance of using technology to document, preserve, and share Ojibwe culture came up. Greg made his point with a funny story involving Skype. He was showing Natives in Peterborough, Ontario, how to convert maple sap to sugar, while his friend Christine had elders gathered in the kitchen. “She cooked it up in front of the elders on the stove, and all these light bulbs went on with the elders, and they were like, ‘Ah, that’s how it was done! Now I remember!’”

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Quapaw-Osage Regalia Maker

Ardina Moore O.xwa.pa we.kyu.lain kaxe pa Interview by Denise Neil-Binion

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RDINA MOORE (QUAPAW-OSAGE) HAS SPENT MUCH OF HER LIFE working to preserve Native American culture.

While she is specifically involved with the history of the Quapaw, she has assisted countless others in the preservation of their own heritage by sewing authentic clothing for Native Americans in Oklahoma and across the United States. In addition to producing traditional clothing, Ardina serves as the chairwoman of the cultural committee for the Quapaw Tribe, and she has taught the Quapaw language for more than 20 years. She recently reduced the business hours of her clothing store Buffalo Sun, located in Miami, Oklahoma, in order to devote more of her time to cultural preservation and other personal projects.

Ardina’s Quapaw name is Ma-shruGhe-Ta, translating to Eagle Feather that Gets Up. Her mother passed away when Ardina was very young, and she was sent to live with her maternal grandparents, Minnie and Victor Griffin. Her grandfather was the last hereditary Quapaw chief, and her traditionalist grandparents shaped her life in ways that continue to affect her today. It was in their home where she learned to speak the Quapaw language, where she learned to sew and do beadwork, and where she learned the importance

Oklahoma Women’s Hall of Fame in 2011. She has served as an inspiration for many other Native American textile artists, and they have looked to her for advice on how to find success in their own careers. She believes it is her duty to preserve her family and tribal history. I sat down with her to discuss both her life as an artist and as a Native American woman determined to save her Native language and teach others about Quapaw culture.

I know you were raised by your maternal grandparents; how traditional was your upbringing?

Ardina Moore. Image courtesy of the artist.

of preserving tribal history. She has passed her cultural knowledge along to her children, grandchildren, and many Quapaw tribal members. She was instrumental in establishing the Quapaw Tribal Museum, and she continues to teach language and other traditional arts through the museum’s public programs.

Ardina is known as a pioneer for Native American women, taking on leadership roles within the Quapaw and Osage tribes, running a successful business, and leading the fight on issues dealing with tribal land. Throughout the years she has been honored for her work including induction into the

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They were very traditional. My grandfather was the last chief of the Quapaw tribe, and his name was Victor Griffin. My grandparents were both full-blood Quapaw, they spoke the language, and I learned to speak it in their home. So now, I am the only Quapaw language teacher; I’ve been teaching it for about 20 years. I was a public school teacher for years and that experience has served me well.

Teaching language—it is almost like teaching first graders; you start at the basics of the language and go from there. The things my grandparents taught me and the things I share with others are very important to me. I feel it is my duty, my legacy to do this work.

When did you start sewing and who taught you?

ARDINA MOORE

a slip or some other simple garment, and before I knew it I was sewing on my own. I advanced to skirts and shirts and dresses. By the time I was in junior high, I was a pretty good seamstress. I took sewing classes in school, but I often got in trouble for doing too much and going too fast— getting ahead of the class. It was a good skill to have. When I went off to college, I made my own clothes, and I started sewing for others.

When everyone I knew was buying a typewriter for college, I bought a $79.00 Singer sewing machine; I paid it off in installments. Although not a full-time business, it was my first experience with earning some money through sewing.

What were some of the first things you made for sale?

Aside from sewing clothing for other girls living in the dorm at Northeastern State University in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, among the first things I made for money were coats. They were big, heavy, 100% wool coats. They were hard to make, but they got me into business.

Yvonne Tiger (Seminole-Cherokee-Muscogee Creek) models a tear dress made by Ardina Moore, at the National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC. Photo: A. Meredith.

Tear dresses, while fashioned after historical clothing of Southeastern women, were created circa 1969 for Virginia Stroud (United Keetoowah Band-Muscogee Creek) to wear when she successfully competed for Miss Indian America.

My grandmother taught me to sew when I was very young. She had an old treadle sewing machine in her bedroom. I was not allowed to go in her room often, but when I did I would beg her to let me push the treadle. She would say, “Okay,

but you have to sew something.” I started out by doing small things like hemming tea towels. She would say, “Sew from here to here,” and that’s what I would do. As time went by she would cut out things and let me sew them—early on it might be just

It all happened a bit by accident; I had made myself a coat and had worn it to Tulsa where a lady inquired as to where I got it. When I answered that I had made it myself, she asked if I could make one for her. I finished her coat, and that turned into orders for three more. It was all done by wordof-mouth. I did not charge much for them, and I did not make any money.

I finally realized that I had to charge more; the coats were hard to make, and sewing that heavy wool was really hard on my machine. I eventually started making coats out of Pendleton blankets.

Later I branched out to sewing ribbon

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shirts, Cherokee dresses, and buckskin dresses; when I would come home from college in the summers, everyone was dancing at powwows; before I knew it I was sewing for lots of people.

Your motto has been “from buckskin to silk”—when did you start working with leather?

Cape with ribbonwork appliqué. Image courtesy of the artist.

RIBBONWORK spans two centuries. French and other European traders introduced silk ribbons and other exotic textiles to Great Lake and Prairie tribes beginning in the 18th century.

Ribbons or other textiles are cut and sewn in layers to create an appliqué design that emphasizes symmetry and a balance between positive and negative space. Designs can be floral or purely geometric. Besides being symbols of cultural pride, ribbonwork appliqué designs can also show clan affiliation.

Details of ribbonwork and patchwork. Image courtesy of the artist.

This was something else I learned from my grandmother.

When I was growing up, we made our own moccasins and buckskin dresses. So I had a good bit of experience working with leather. I often felt that it was the Cherokee and Choctaw dresses that were more difficult to make, because they have so much detail to them. But through the years I have sewn something for almost all Oklahoma tribes, particularly those here in northeast Oklahoma.

Miami, Delaware, Cherokee, a lot of these are similar; they have cut work. I learned to make them. I also learned how to do Seminole patchwork. I took pride in producing quality clothing and using quality fabrics. As I learned about fabrics, I realized how important the quality of the fabrics were to both the final product and how the clothing stands the test of time—including wear and tear on clothing worn at powwows.

When I first started, I did not have the experience to know to use quality materials, and things would come apart.

I wanted things to hold up when they were washed. I learned the hard way, but if my name was going to be on it—I wanted to do the best job I could.

When did you learn how to do beadwork?

Back in the day, there was no television, there wasn’t a lot to do; we had to make our own entertainment. There was a big table in the house where we did all kinds of work.

We did our homework there; someone was always sewing or doing beadwork. We gathered together, and we would learn from each other. I learned to work with all sizes of beads and how to do all types of stitches. We learned from the ground up—it was very similar to how I learned to sew. I made small things until I learned the basics and then took on more difficult projects like beading moccasins. We also had a loom, and I learned to make beaded bracelets and watch fobs.

When did you decide to open Buffalo Sun? After my husband finished medical school at the University of Oklahoma, we eventually moved to

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ARDINA MOORE

Washington State. After we returned to Oklahoma, I was sewing at home, and the dining table was continuously used for my projects. Eventually, he suggested that I open my own shop. I found a location in downtown Miami and started my clothing business.

You have been instrumental in preserving Quapaw culture and have made traditional Quapaw clothing.

When you were asked to produce clothing for members of other tribes, how did you approach this process?

Well, lots of times people would bring in a photograph of a relative, maybe a grandmother, and they would ask me to make something like they were wearing in the picture. Over the years, I looked at lots of photographs and conducted my own research to make sure that I was producing authentic clothing for my customers.

I have done a lot of sewing not just for the Quapaw, but also for many tribes in the region. There have been people who call me with little knowledge of their own tribal dress, but I would conduct my own research so that I could ABOVE: Ardina’s mother, Martha Griffin Revard (1910–1939). provide them with clothing that was part of their own BELOW: Ardina’s daughter, modeling Ardina’s beaded buckskin dress and regalia. Both images courtesy of the artist. tribal heritage. I learned a lot about the many tribes and their clothing.

Even now when I go to powwows, I like to sit and look at the dancers and what they are wearing. I am curious if they are accurate, and I like to use that as a way to identify their tribal affiliations. Sometimes they do mix things up, but often this is due to respect for, or trade with, other dancers.

Indians have a way when they make friends that they want to give each other gifts. If it does not fit within their tribal clothing, you still honor your friends by wearing their gifts. I understand those things; there is usually a good reason if you see a Cherokee dancer wearing Kiowa moccasins. Or maybe they are of mixed Native heritage.

Typically, though, I would say most Indians want to wear their own Native dress. Also, the Indian way is to adopt others into their family, which also can be a part of this intertribal exchange.

You have spent a lot of time preserving Native American culture by producing traditional clothing.

Do you think there are fewer young people interested in doing this type of work?

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Well, it is hard work, and work that is hard to make a living at it. I am encouraged by the number of young Native Americans interested in preserving their history and culture, but I do worry that over time traditional clothing made

by Native Americans will be harder to find because it is so difficult to make a living at it.

You mentioned that young Native Americans are showing an interest in their culture. How do you hope to perpetuate this interest?

I can speak for what the Quapaw Nation is doing. Not only are we teaching the language, we hold classes for dancing and singing to make sure that these traditions are not lost.

I also teach classes on sewing traditional clothing. I have taught others how to do ribbonwork; I’ve taught shawlmaking classes.

Like language, we start out with the basics so that students can complete a project and feel that sense of accomplishment before moving on to more complex things.

For instance, we hope to start a course on making moccasins. They are difficult to make, so we are proposing beginning the process by completing a pair of baby’s moccasins as a starting point. This makes the learning process less overwhelming and will hopefully encourage students to continue with other projects after they have mastered the basics.

It gives me a sense of pride as an instructor when I see people proud of completing a project or learning the Quapaw language.

You have been teaching the Quapaw language for many years. How important is it for you to save this part of Quapaw culture, and how many students do you have?

Saving the language is a vital part of saving our culture; they go hand-in-hand. I never have very many students at one time. We work on a semester basis, fall and spring. We take off the summers; people are busy with powwows and other activities.

It is the strangest thing—I see people all the time who say that they are going to come take my class. I get their information; we send them information, but they don’t follow through on it. They have good intentions, and when I see them again they say, “I am going to come take your class.” I think they are a little scared; it is intimidating to

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ABOVE: Victoria Vasquez (Cherokee Nation) models a leather vest created by Ardina Moore. Photo: Amanda Foster.

BELOW: detail of a rattlesnake design appliqué on stompdance skirt by Ardina Moore, 1995, calico, cotton, thread. Photo: A. Meredith

ARDINA MOORE

come in not knowing anything about the language, but that’s the way it is. That’s why I am there, to teach the language. I will do it as long as I can.

Quapaw Phrases

I have a few students who are doing very well, and some that could be trained to teach the beginning classes. Some of my grandkids could definitely teach the classes if they were here. I taught my children the language, and they taught their children. That is the way that it should be— parents teaching the language to their children.

QUESTIONS

You have done a lot to promote and preserve both Quapaw and Native American cultures. It has certainly kept you busy through the years. Are you happy with the results?

VERBS

I do all of this because it is a labor of love; I feel I have accomplished a lot of the goals that I set out to achieve. I enjoy staying busy. I do the best I can with what I’ve got, and I have tried to make a difference. It is the busy people that get things done.

Contact: Ardina Moore PO Box 1556 Miami, OK 74355

quapawtribe.com

From “Quapaw Language” by Ardina Moore

How are you: Ah-dah’-tse How much: Ha’-Nah What: Tah’-tah Where is it: Hagi’ (hah-ge’e) Why is That?, Why Did You?: Ha’-zhe?

Clap hands: Ga-tta’-za Dance: Ua-ja, o’sha, o-zha Drum, Beat, Strike: A-te Give Away: Wah-ne’-gah-dah I am here: I-da-’zhe I appreciate you: Way’-re-nah I dance, Let’s dance: U’a-ja’, o-zhra o-zha Listen: A-nu-no-ha Love: Wa’-pi-ti Point with lips: Ee-hah we-da-ba-sho Pray: A-wa-ta Return home: Akki-kni Sing: Ho-ka Stand by, Support, Aid someone: E-na-zha

NOUNS Coffee: Mah-kon-dah Lightning: Di-ombe’ Moon: Mi’-ombe’ Rain: Ni-gi Sage: Mah’-koh Sky: Mah’-hee Star: Me-gah’-he Sun: Mi’ Thunder: Go-ni-ni

QUALITIES Good: Hoo’-tah Very Good: Hoo’-tah-hey Sacred, Special: Hun’-she Crazy or mixed up: Wah-hun-gah-zhee

EXCLAMATIONS

Baby moccasins by Ardina Moore, deerhide and glass beads. Image courtesy of Denise Neil-Binion (Delaware Tribe-Cherokee Nation).

Exclamation (denotes happiness or teasing): Aaa Exclamation (similar to “Oh, my!”): Aa-sha Very strong exclamation: Aa-sha-koh!

Come in!: Giwe’ (gee-we’h)!

I am glad to see you: Iwi’gide (ee-w’ee-gee-deh) Hurry, Quickly: O-chee-chee (say chee-chee fast)

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Swinomish-Tulalip Photographer

Matika Wilbur

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Profile by Suzanne Newman Fricke

O ONE WILL EVER ACCUSE MATIKA WILBUR of thinking small. Near the end of 2012, the 29-year-old photographer sold most of her possessions; equipped a small recreation vehicle with a darkroom, a bedroom, and a studio; and loaded up her cameras, lights, film, and supplies. She set off to visit all 562 federally recognized Tribal Nations in the United States and take a portrait of a person from each.1 Ms. Wilbur’s trip will take her more than three years. In the first 15 months, she traveled more than 50,000 miles, visited more than 150 tribes, and is still going strong. Her vehicle, regrettably, lacked her perseverance. “Unfortunately, it just wasn’t a good RV. It was leaky and broke down a few times, so I switched to my Honda.2 The loss of her RV was just a bump in the road for the seasoned professional. Project 562 is not her first large-scale project as Ms. Wilbur tends to work in series, exploring a specific theme. In 2004, Wilbur worked on a project called We Are One People, “capturing the essence of contemporary Native American Elders from Coastal Salish Tribes.”3 She took portraits, especially focusing on the elders from the Swinomish, Tulalip, Upper Skagit, and Lummi Nations. She has completed other projects, including We Emerge, looking at how contemporary Natives live in cultural duality; Save the Indian and Kill the Man, a response to the ongoing genocide and the attempts at healing in the past few years; All Alone; and iHuman, which also consider the strength of Native life as it exists today. For Wilbur, providing images of real Native Americans counters the overwhelming number of stereotypes found in all medias, especially film, photographs, and advertisements. In her 2013 TEDx talk from Seattle, she noted that only a handful of films in the past decade have included Native characters, and almost all of them follow a similar pattern: the characters were spiritual and in tune with nature, but also impoverished, beaten down, and always in conflict with non-natives. This type of character has been shown to raise the self-esteem of a non-native audience while simultaneously lowering the self-esteem of a Native person, leading to feelings of depression.

“How can we be seen as modern people when we are constantly seen as leathered and feathered members of a disappearing race?” asked Wilbur.4 This lasting damage

Self-portrait by Matika Wilbur.

can only be countered by images of positive role models of Native life, a fitting goal for someone whose name means “the messenger” and is symbolized by the butterfly in many Native American tribes.

“Throughout my life, I have been groomed to approach the politics of our society differently,” Ms. Wilbur writes in her personal statement.

“I am to influence social change not as a politician, but as an artist. These projects are important because questions are being asked and documented that might otherwise be overlooked.

It is the intimacy of the studio, the presence of the camera and connection that the subject feels with me that allows the honesty and vulnerability to be present in every image. I have grown tremendously from visiting the wisdom of my culture, and I believe that everybody that views these images will have this truth. These images will leave a legacy that will be remembered for many years to come.”4 Support for her project has been phenomenal. She successfully

1. Since Project 562 began, more tribes have gained federal recognition, and the current number is 566.

2. Unless otherwise noted, all quotations in the article are from the January 30, 2014, phone interview between Suzanne Fricke and Matika Wilbur.

3. “Artists–Matika Wilbur (Swinomish/Tulalip),” Burke Museum: AYP: Indigenous Voices Reply, 2009.

4. Matika Wilbur, “Surviving Disappearance, Re-Imagining and Humanizing Native Peoples,” YouTube (Seattle: TEDxSeattle, 2013), web.

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MATIKA WILBUR

Guylish Bommelyn, Tolowa (Smith River Rancheria), hand-colored silver gelatin print. Image courtesy of the artist.

raised money for her journey with two Kickstarter campaigns. The first was to raise an initial $30,000 so Wilbur could begin traveling; on November 1, 2012, the first campaign was funded, raising $35,428. The second campaign had a more ambitious goal of $54,000; on February 20, 2014, the campaign was also fully funded, raising an astonishing $213,461. This figure reflects the growing interest in Project 562, with media coverage on Upworthy, a website that covers events considered to be positive, on NBC News, and in many local papers and websites.

Raised on the Swinomish Reservation in Washington State, Matika Wilbur first decided to become a photographer at the age of 17 when she attended a seminar by landscape photographer

Craig Tanner. Tanner discussed the idea of talent and craftsmanship. She remembers Tanner saying, “…talent is nothing more than a dedicated interest.

Our passion and desire to do something creates our talent. Anyone can become a master if they give it enough time. I became a photographer, because there wasn’t anything else I wanted to do more.”5 The young photographer’s first camera was a Canon-ES One, which uses 35 mm film. She then moved to a larger format camera, a 4x5. The 4x5 Mamiya camera Wilbur uses produces a larger negative, 4x5 inches rather than the 35 mm format common to most cameras, which gives a higher resolution and more detail. The film for a medium format camera gives only 12 images per roll. This camera

was commonly used by photographers in Group f/64, the early 20th-century photography group that included Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. The camera offers a greater depth of field and richer textures.

To pursue her passion, Wilbur attended the Rocky Mountain School of Photography in Missoula, Montana, and earned a BFA from Brooks Institute of Photography in Santa Barbara, California, where she double-majored in advertising and digital imaging.

“The lens quality of the Mamiya is so much more crisp than any other lens quality with the Canon,” she says. “It’s so much easier for me to use my 7D, but it’s much less effective. There’s something more rich in the blacks and

5. Matika Wilbur, “562—A Photo Project Documenting Native America,” Kickstarter, last modified November 1, 2012.

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Sage Romero, Big Pine Paiute (Big Pine Paiute Tribe of the Owens Valley), hand-colored silver gelatin print. Image courtesy of the artist.

the tones in a photo made with a film camera, a quality you’re not able to capture [with digital].”6 “I’m just an analog girl. I’ve always been like that.” Wilbur appreciates the skill and rigor involved with using analog film, which requires attention to the details in the process. She continues: When you shoot film, it’s mechanical.

You have to load your film properly.

You have to store your film properly.

Those are the two ways to mess up your film before you’ve even started taking a picture. Then you shoot and you have to remember to pull your dark slide [the plate that covers the film]. You have to double-check the exposure. You have to

think about your tonal range. It requires consciousness while shooting.

Using film allows for more variety in the grey tones by using the zone system, a photographic technique formulated by the photographers Fred Archer and Ansel Adams. Using this method the film is exposed not for the average reading on the light meter but from a specific area.

She clarifies: I think the zone system is more effective than any digital printing system. Our eye sees 21 stops of light and the camera only sees five. So we have to choose what we find important—highlights, tones, or shadows. With the zone system you can pull your film a stop and get seven stops of

6. Erin J. Smith, “Through Brown Eyes,” CASA Magazine (December 11, 2009): 23.

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light. You can get more tonal range from shooting in the zone system. I’ve yet to compare a digital print to a fiber-based print or a platinum/palladium-based print and be confused about which one looks better. In my opinion, there’s a spirit to it. There’s still magic left in black-and-white photography.

When I’m shooting, I’ll make a conscious decision to shoot at plus one or minus one depending on the background.

I always use lights, so I always put my model in the middle. For instance, if the sky is f/11 or f/16 but my shadows are all the way down at f/2.8, I can’t have both in my frame. So, I can expose for my highlights and then push it a stop.

MATIKA WILBUR

Jane Blackmen, Pala (Pala Band of Luiseno Mission Indians of the Pala Reservation), hand-colored silver gelatin print. Image courtesy of the artist.

Working on film requires a careful attention to processing. To ensure quality images, Wilbur works with a professional printer.

I’m working with a wonderful printer in Santa Barbara, Sam Ameen. He’s in his 80s, and he’s from South Africa. He worked with Ansel Adams. He printed my first show … Sam and I have developed a system—we’ve been working together for a long time. Sam knows that my images are usually a third underexposed because my light meter is off. He pushes my work an extra stop. He pretests each roll; he takes special care of my work. He’s a die-hard analog. He would make a good hipster— he drives a van [and] has a little hole in the wall place. He went to Brooks, and he

worked with the founder of Brooks.

When you go to Sam to ask him to print your work, he looks at your negatives and decides if he wants to work with you.

When I was studying at Brooks, I heard of this man, and I went down and knocked on his door and introduced myself. He looked at my negatives and said, ‘Come back when you have something worth printing.’ Which is not good for business!

A year later he agreed to print my work, and I’ve been working with him ever since.

Through her explorations, Wilbur has found her own artistic sensibilities. She realized that, compared to landscape photographer Craig Tanner, “I’ll never be that kind of a photographer. I’ll never have the patience for it. I’ll never buy all

of the lenses for it. I’m finally at a place where I’ve put in my time, and I’ve made enough mistakes.” Yet, she has found her own vision and she continues to strive to improve her craft.

I’ve gotten better in the past year because I’ve been shooting everyday. I would like to say that I’ve been shooting for ten years, but the truth is that as a professional photographer you spend equal amounts of time marketing your work, editing your work, and trying to make money as a photographer. You don’t get to shoot as often as you might like. This project has allowed me to grow as an artist, and I’ve gotten better.

She continues: When I was shooting with my 4x5 SUM M E R 2 0 1 4

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camera, my professor told me that eventually you will look through the back of this camera, and it will not be upsidedown and backward to you. And when that day happens, then you can call yourself a photographer. I remember when that happened to me. It was after a year and a half shooting on a 4x5 until I was so comfortable that I didn’t notice anymore.

That’s the craftsmanship.

Learning her craft has been a long process. Wilbur came to appreciate the rigor of the process at Brooks, and she continues to grow as a photographer. A

lecturer at the Rocky Mountain School of Photography told her it would take a decade to become a good photographer.

later, you could learn to break those rules, but it takes a long time. I would say it took me three years to undo what I learned.

I remember that lecture which actually inspired me to become a photographer.

Rocky Mountain School of Photography … encouraged creativity. But Brooks strips you of all creativity and turns you into a really technical photographer. At Brooks, they want you to learn to think about your imagery. You don’t turn in out-of-focus images, over-exposed images, or underexposed images. They force you to learn to see what is high technical work. Of course,

I used to be really uncomfortable having people stand for me for a photo shoot. I used to be really nervous about the process.

I remember studying portraits in college and I would say, ‘It will only take a second.’ People want you to take just one photo, and then they want it to be over because that’s how they take their selfies.

I learned from other photographers when I interned. I remember them being relentless with other people’s time. I remember [photographer and Brooks instructor] Joyce Wilson saying, ‘I will photograph you for as long as you will let me.’

Christine Means, Diné (Navajo Nation), hand-colored silver gelatin print.

Image courtesy of the artist.

I’ve learned from other photographers that it’s okay for me to take 500 or 600 pictures of one person. There’s a moment that happens—if you’re a photographer, you know what I’m talking about.

You shoot and shoot and shoot and shoot, and eventually the person you are photographing allows a vulnerability and an exchange to happen. It’s very intimate; they give themselves to you. They allow their essence to be captured. Some people never do. I think there is something really beautiful about the subconscious meeting the consciousness and you stop thinking about it. It becomes mechanical and then art takes over. It takes a long time to stop thinking about it.

Despite the enormous task for Project 562, Wilbur spends hours with each person she photographs, talking to him or her before beginning the photo shoot. She then uses her digital camera to acclimatize her subject to being photographed, taking many images.

“I used to shoot a lot of Polaroids to warm people up and let them look at them. Now I shoot with a digital camera, and I will shoot maybe a 100 shots until I get something I like before I shoot it with film.”

She wants “to get people warmed up, because I’m not shooting professional models, and people are uncomfortable in front of the lens. I work with them a bit.

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MATIKA WILBUR

Martin Sensmeier, Tlingit and Koyukon-Athabascan (Yakutat Tlingit Tribe), hand-colored silver gelatin print. Image courtesy of the artist.

After you make them feel comfortable and confident with whoever they want to be in that moment, then I switch to film. But the formats are so different that I end up shooting a lot of film too because it has a different feeling.”

In her portraits, Ms. Wilbur uses her training to take the most appealing picture possible. She has taken criticism for working to create attractive images, but says, “I’m not a journalist. I make portraits. That’s what I do. I’m not a documentarian. I don’t go to the reservations and just whip out my camera and start taking pictures.” She continues, “That’s not the way I like to work; I like to take people’s portraits when they give me permission. I like to ask them how they want to represent

themselves and let them choose. I don’t like to just take out my camera and start taking pictures. That seems disrespectful to me.”

Perhaps inevitably, her project has been compared to the work of Edward Curtis. In 1906 Curtis made a similar journey, traveling across the country to take portraits of Native Americans.

With $75,000 in funding (the equivalent of $1.75 million in 2014 dollars) from banker J.P. Morgan, Curtis’ project lasted more than 20 years and resulted in a 20-volume set with 1,500 photographs.

Though controversial, his images had a powerful effect on the relationship between Native American tribes and the federal government. Wilbur hesitates to engage in a comparison between her

work and the work of Curtis, preferring to focus on her own reasons for making photographs. When asked whether she thought about Curtis’ project, she said, “Not really,” and laughed.

“No, I think it all just comes together,” the photographer continues. “I don’t think it is conscious. I think you study and study and study and study, and you seek inspiration as often as you can. You learn from other photographers and you try to learn how to do what they have done. That’s what you do in college.”

She explains, “We studied landscape photographers, like Ansel Adams.

Helmut Newton is one of my favorite photographers. I love Irving Penn. I love Dorothea Lange’s work. Among more contemporary photographers, I love SUM M E R 2 0 1 4

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Joyce Tenneson, her Wise Women portrait book. I love the Ashes and Snow exhibit

by Gregory Colbert.”

Her work also recalls the work of Aaron Huey, whose recent photos focusing on the poverty at Pine Ridge Reservation were featured in the New York Times.

She offers her perspective on Huey’s work: I’ve yet to visit Pine Ridge, but I did go to Lame Deer, which is very near there. I was just asked this question. I think that because of our history and the history of colonialism and relocation and termination and self-determination, we’ve been continuously attacked by the United States’ government in some form since contact so there is a natural mistrust that’s expected. You can’t be shocked about it.

Indian people don’t want to invite nonIndians to their ceremonies. At Tohono O’odham, non–Indians are not allowed into their homes. If a non-Indian comes and knocks on their door, and they don’t recognize them, they won’t let them in, because only 40 years ago, non-Indians were taking their children and not returning them for 15 years. So, it makes sense that when a non-Indian goes to visit a tribe they are going to be treated like an outsider, so maybe he doesn’t get the opportunity to see the beauty.

When Huey had visited Pine Ridge, he did not get the reception Wilbur would.

Wilbur observes: So maybe you go and you visit a place like Pine Ridge, one of the poorest tribal nations in the United States. I imagine it’s kind of shocking. But that represents a strength, also. Through it all, through all the adverse federal court decisions, the people survive. That’s what I see as the enduring strength in the people. It gives me hope. I have to hold on to that because those are my people. That’s what I go home to. So I can’t choose to only see the high diabetes rates and the high suicide rates and matters related to blood quantum that means my people won’t be here in a few generations. I have to have hope that it can get better, that we can recover, as a nation—not just as Indian people.

Though she still has several years to go to finish her project, Ms. Wilbur is already thinking about the ideal situation for showing Project 562. She has an idea for a traveling exhibition space.

“I love the idea of experiential gallery viewing. I would eventually like to create a different platform to show this work. Gregory Colbert did a traveling exhibit that showed in Mexico City and in Santa Monica. It was called Ashes and Snow, and he photographed the communing of man and animal.” She explains, “He went to remote corners of the world, Bali and southern parts of India that people don’t go to—he went all over the place.”

For the exhibit, Colbert commissioned a nomadic museum from the Japanese architect Shigeru Ban, a 672-foot-long traveling museum made of shipping containers, with trusses and columns made of cardboard. The interior was dark and dramatically lit, with the photographs suspended on wires so they appeared to float. The space was filled music, and a film that played continuously in slow motion with images of people and animals.

“I remember walking through his show for the first time. I’d just graduated from Brooks—I’d only been graduated for three days. I was in Santa Monica. He’d stacked all these containers together and it was really dark,” she recalls. “You walked in and turn a corner and there was this big, beautiful image—Big!— printed on rice paper, and they were litho prints, beautiful litho prints.”

A lith print is a photographic printing process that uses standard blackand-white photographic paper with lithographic developer to produce a print with dark shadows and soft, bright highlights.

“I love lith prints. There’s a lot to be said about a person who makes those sort of prints, because development time is 22 minutes, so a single print could take more than 40 minutes—that means that it could take 10 to 15 hours to get a final

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image, which is craftsmanship. There was this big beautiful image of a hawk flying over a little boy. Images of men and elephants bowing to one another, and cheetahs wrapped around little boys, loving images about relationships between men and women and whales.

It was dark, with beautiful quotes being played, and music. It was such an amazing feeling. You felt like you were alone with the images, not surrounded by other people. If there is a way to attract everybody—art should be for everybody. It should be there to inspire the poor person, the brown person, the black person, the white person, the purple person. All people should be allowed to experience art. That’s my goal with this project.”

Realist photographer Dorothea Lange inspired the concept of Project 562.

Wilbur observes, “We only allow glamorous sexy people in our images on television, in media, and in our advertising. But what about the elder who has worked hard his entire life to preserve the language?” She continues, “I shoot people from low angles. I put them in beautiful settings. I make them look like heroes, because they are my heroes. Yesterday I photographed an elder from San Carlos who has been in litigation for 15 years to protect sacred sites from desecration.” She asks, “Why isn’t he on television? It doesn’t make sense. I strongly believe that we have to celebrate everyday people.”

To showcase the exhibit, Wilbur envisions a traveling longhouse: Could you imagine walking through an exhibit where the show times are three times a day, … hoop dancers and bird singers and mask dancers and jingle dress dancers and roundhouse dancers were all there, and you got to eat traditional foods grown from non-GMO seeds? And then you could walk through the exhibit and become acquainted with images from over 500 tribes in the United States. At that point, anyone who saw the exhibit, they wouldn’t be able to deny the existence of Native Americans. If we could somehow create that exchange where Indians were

MATIKA WILBUR

Holly Cook Macarro, Red Lake Ojibwe (Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians), hand-colored silver gelatin print. Image courtesy of the artist.

seen as human beings again, then maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for Congress to pass a bill allowing for the desecration of sacred Native sites. Then maybe my kids could grow up and go pray by their sacred mountain or sacred river. Maybe they can go to school, and they can learn about someone like Geronimo or the Battle of Little Big Horn or the smallpox that wiped out their entire people. We could honestly talk about the holocaust that happened in America. And then maybe some healing could begin.

Until those truths are told, until those historical inaccuracies are brought to light, then young Native Americans grow up in a world not understanding why it is that they experience the ugliness that they experience. It’s unfair. It’s unjust, and it needs to change. That’s why it’s easy for me to commit four years of my life or five years of my life or my entire life to this work, because it’s not about me; it’s about the people.

We have very fundamental belief systems.

Indians don’t like it when your car gets bigger, and your house gets bigger. We

don’t believe in showing off like that.

People don’t say it like that, but they think you are greedy, and that’s the worst thing you can be as an Indian. Our traditional potlatch culture—if you acquire wealth and have an excess of blankets, an excess of knowledge, you would host a potlatch, and you would feed the people, and you would have a give-away. We still have giveaways to this day. If you go to a funeral, and you stay for the whole day, you will leave with gifts from the family. We have burnings, we have give-aways—that’s just what we do. We have naming ceremonies.

It’s to show the younger generations that the real value is in giving to your people, not acquiring more.

Throughout this long process, Ms. Wilbur never loses sight of the body of work she wants to produce.

“I keep thinking about the end result. I think about the exhibit. After a person walks through the exhibit, they will have the opportunity to see elders, youths, activists, poets. They will be exposed to a new contemporary reality in all its forms.” She explains, “I won’t have to

say, ‘I’m addressing the myth of panIndian identity’–there is no such thing as a pan-Indian identity. The viewer will automatically come to that conclusion.

I won’t have to say, ‘I want to break down your stereotypes,’ because it will automatically do that.”

Wilbur cites the difficulties faced by today’s Natives. In an interview with one of the photographic subjects, Star Flower from Taos Pueblo relates that her grandmother said, “Wear your moccasin on one foot and a tennis shoe on the other.”9 For the photography, Project 562 is a jumping off point—an overview of contemporary Native life, especially given the constantly shifting political situation. Though in the year and a half since she started her project, four new federally recognized tribes have been added, and her plan stands. Project 562 is scheduled to have an exhibit at the Tacoma Art Museum in 2014.

matikawilbur.com

9. Matika Wilbur, “Surviving Disappearance, Re-Imagining and Humanizing Native Peoples,” YouTube (Seattle: TEDxSeattle, 2013), web.

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GRAPHIC NATIVES The Indigenous Narratives Collective

By Roy Boney Jr. UR OLDEST IMAGES depict significant events that range from everyday occurrences to scenes from origin stories. Hopewellian effigy pipes and pottery, Lakota winter counts, Eastern wampum belts, and Plains ledger art, just to name a few examples, were all visual expressions of events and stories of importance.

In his book Understand Comics, one of the classic critical examinations of comics as an art form, Scott McCloud considers the pre-Columbian epic picture manuscript The Codex ZoucheNuttall as one of the earliest graphic novels. It tells the story of Eight Deer Jaguar Claw. Its brightly colored sequential images strongly resemble the contemporary comic book. With such a long and rich visual history, it should come as no surprise that Indigenous artists continue this tradition utilizing the graphic novel format.

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The Indigenous Narratives Collective (INC) was formed by a group of Native comic book creators with the aim to publish professional, high quality comic books created

by Indigenous people. According to the INC’s website, www. indigenousnarrativescollective.com: We’ve been written about and drawn in a variety of books like the X-Men, Scout, Turok, Daredevil and Scalped.

Yet, Native artists and writers haven’t been invited to the party! We want to show a generation of young people that comics and graphic novels are still a

Arigon Starr (Kickapoo-Muscogee Creek-Cherokee-Seneca), page 7 of Tales of the Mighty Code Talkers, to be released by INC Comics.

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2011, at the Comic-Con International: San Diego, popularly known as simply as Comic-Con, Starr, La Grange, and Tso met to discuss things further.

Comic-Con is often considered the center of the pop culture universe.

Although Starr was only one of a couple of Natives with booth space there, choosing one of pop culture’s powerhouse media and culture events as a place to challenge the perceptions of Natives in the media is ambitious but very appropriate.

Starr is the creator/writer/artist of Super Indian, the story of a reservation boy who eats tainted commodity cheese and gains super powers. Starr’s interest in comics goes back years. She began by taking her work to comic conventions and talking with everyone she could about the process of comic book creation and how to produce her own book. Super Indian began as a radio show produced by the Native Radio Theater Project and Native Voices at the Autry in 2007. She wrote and acted in the radio show that was recorded live at the Wells Fargo Theater in Los Angeles. The show was broadcast nationally on the Native Voice One radio network. When the show didn’t have enough funding to record further programs, Starr took her unproduced scripts and turned them into a comic book script.

Arigon Starr (Kickapoo-Muscogee Creek-Cherokee-Seneca), cover of Super Indian, Issue No. 6, “The Curse of Blud Kwan’Tum,” Part 2, 2014, published by Wacky Productions, Ltd.

viable means to initiate social change; changing the stereotypical images of Native people we encounter everyday, supporting the work of Native American professional artists and writers, and providing opportunities to showcase work that might otherwise have a limited range.

INC is comprised of a diverse group of Native comic book professionals

that includes Arigon Starr (KickapooCreek), Lee Francis IV (Laguna Pueblo), Michael Sheyahshe (Caddo), Jonathan Nelson (Diné), Jacques La Grange (San Carlos Apache), Theo Tso (Las Vegas Paiute), and me, Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation).

INC began as Starr’s idea when she met with other Native comic creators at Phoenix Comic Con in 2010. In

Super Indian became a webcomic series in 2011. The series developed a strong following, and Starr has since published two volumes of the series in collected graphic novels. Being one of the founding members of INC and a self-described instigator, Starr talks about one of her trips to Comic-Con: I think I met one other Native person at the San Diego Comic-Con who spent the money for booth space and had printed books. Native people were not on the radar at all. When we were featured in a comic series, it was the usual stereotypes and images seen in SUM M E R 2 0 1 4

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Hollywood. Deciding to go forward with Super Indian as a comic book, I kept those negative images in mind as something to put into my work and mess around with. One professional at the Comic-Con also encouraged me to publish my work on the web first in order to build an audience for Super Indian, which turned out to be excellent advice.

Starr says other voices also played into the creation of INC, including larger diverse groups such as the Latino and LGBT communities who had visible presences in the convention circuit, including programming such as discussion panels.

“I knew I couldn’t be effective doing this kind of work alone. It was time to reach out to the other folks I had met and convince them we had to help each other get the word out about our projects,” Starr remarks. ative American characters have been part of the comic book industry for decades.

Most of the time they have not been portrayed in the most positive manner, and very few comic creators were Native themselves.

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Michael Sheyahshe, an author, artist, and writer, wanted to take the portrayals of Native people in the comic book medium to task. His work runs the gamut from contributions to various publications such as Native Peoples Magazine and Games for Windows: The Official Magazine, to developing a Caddo language app for Android, to having credits on a shipped video game for Nintendo Wii. His experience and keen knowledge of popular culture figured heavily in his work. He provides an in-depth analysis on the topic of comic books and Natives in his book Native Americans in Comic Books: A Critical Study. For the book, Sheyahshe interviewed people actually working in the comics industry. These included, among others, Tim Truman, creator of the series Scout which was about

Lee Francis IV (Laguna Pueblo), Pueblo Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Art.

an Apache warrior battling crooked bureaucrats and monsters in a post holocaust United States; Jon Proudstar, co-creator of Tribal Force which followed the adventures of an all Native superhero team; and Mike Grell, creator of Shaman’s Tears, a story about a mixed blood Sioux-Irish man who possesses the powers of all the animals on Earth.

Sheyashe reflects on writing his book.

“While I was able to meet many of the creative talents behind some of the most influential comics that contained Native American characters or representations while authoring my book, only a very few of those individuals were Indigenous in the

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creative seat.” Sheyahshe described why the formation of INC is relevant: It wasn’t until after my book went to publication that I met and became intimately acquainted with Native American comic book creators and other illustrious types. As we continued discussing the importance of continued Indigenous contribution to comic books, we decided to move forward and do so ourselves. These types of conversations were initiated by Lee Francis, Arigon Starr, Roy Boney, and other talented people and continued until INC’s nebulous form became a substantial entity in its own right.

Sheyahshe discusses how terribly Natives have been represented in comic books: It boggles the mind. One title that continues to stand out in my mind as a ‘bad’ example of what NOT to do with an Indigenous comic book character is Scalphunter. The title character is a white man that believes he is Indigenous because he was raised as a Kiowa, a tribe he believes is now extinct.

Despite professing his Indian-ness, he sets off to find his white parents. The stories are little more than flimsy stereotypes assembled from bits and pieces of pan-Indian generalizations.

Starr lists other examples. “Even the ones that are half-way good, like Forge from X-Men or even Little Sure Shot from Sgt. Rock are riddled with stereotypes. However, Max Brooks did a great take on Spirit in his book GI: Joe–Hearts And Minds.” A mainstream author such as Brooks, who wrote World War Z, may be a small light amid all the muck, but it’s not all bad.

Of course, it goes without saying that Arigon’s Super Indian is wonderful and does a fantastic job of shattering stereotypes while still being vastly entertaining,” says Sheyahshe. “David Mack’s Echo character [in Daredevil] is a complex character in Marvel comics on several levels. She’s Indigenous, hearing impaired, and even worked with The Avengers. Despite being killed a couple of times, she’s managed to be an important character without stereotypes, like fringe/feathers, mysticism, or simply being a sidekick.

asked contributors to create a one-page story about their experience in comic books.

Comedian and long time comic book fan Charlie Hill (Oneida-Mohawk-Cree) wrote the forward for the publication. The issue was the first publication from the group featuring work from me, Roy Boney Jr., Beth Aileen Dillon (Anishinaabe Mètis), Spider Moccasin (Wasco-Warm Springs), Jonathan Nelson and Michael Sheyahshe, Ryan Huna Smith (Chemehuevi-Navajo), Theo Tso and Marty Two Bulls Sr. (Oglala Lakota), and Arigon Starr. Wordcraft produced the book and the concept for INC has been building ever since.

With Issue 0, the group created the “Indigenous Comics Code Authority,” a reference to the Comics Code Authority (CCA). The CCA was created in the late 1940s and regulated the content of comic books in the United States after outcry that some comic books contained too much violence, horror, and sexual content. CCA’s regulations were loosely modeled after the Hollywood Production Code, and its primary job was censorship. The code was eventually dropped by the comic book industry in the 2000s.

According to INC’s website, The Indigenous Comics Code therefore is a symbol of our work as a collective, a way of demonstrating our connection

ee Francis IV is the National Director and President of the Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers. He has taken his charge very seriously, and one avenue it has taken him is serving as the Managing Editor for INC Comics. He also writes Pueblo Jones, the story of a Pueblo artifact hunter who gets into numerous adventures akin to Indiana Jones.

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Francis had known Starr for years as a member of Wordcraft. In 2010, Robert Conley organized the Southeastern Writers Gathering hosted by the Museum of the Cherokee Indian in Cherokee, North Carolina. Here, Francis and Starr finally had a chance to meet up and chat about collaborating on a comic book project.

“I thought it would be awesome if we could do some comic book work together through Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers,” says Francis.

Thus, they sent out a call for contributors for INC’s Universe, Issue #0, a mini-comic that would showcase the idea of what the Collective can be. Starr collected emails and contacts from various conventions and other outlets and RIGHT: Michael Sayahshe (Caddo), Soldier for Roy, digital drawing.

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We know that the FIrst exposure young people have of Native people is often in children’s books and comics. to the past, the culture of comics, and our shared future to promote the art and stories of Indigenous People in a progressive and authentic manner. So rest assured, if you see the Indigenous Comics Code seal of approval, you know you are buying an INC book and helping to support all those Native and Indigenous writers, artists, inkers, colorists, and storytellers who wish to add their work to the comics cannon.

ABOVE: Arigon Starr (Kickapoo-Muscogee Creek-Cherokee-Seneca), Super Run, 2014, digital illustration BELOW: The Indigenous Comics Code Seal of Approval, reserved for publications that have been vetted by INC’s editorial board and found to respectfully portray Indigenous people with professional quality writing and artwork.

At a workshop on creating comics for an Indigenous audience at the Martin Regional Library in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Francis stated the code has had some criticism leveled at it, but he is quick to point out that the code is not meant to be a censoring agency.

Rather it is meant that, as a collective, any publication with the Indigenous Code Authority seal on its cover has been vetted by INC’s editorial board as a respectful portrayal of Indigenous people with professional quality writing and artwork. Developing professionalism among Native comic book creators is a large part of INC’s mission.

“If a comic book company like Marvel or DC is looking to do a story about Natives, we want to offer a pool of Native professionals that they can hire in addition to publishing our own creator-owned content,” says Francis.

Francis is determined to make INC a force in the comics industry. Along with various other members of the Collective, he has been active in the comic convention circuit heavily promoting the vision of Native created-comic books.

“INC is first and foremost a comic book company dedicated to promoting the work of Native American and Indigenous artists, writers, and creators,” says Francis.

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We want to get more of our stories into the mainstream consciousness, and comics and graphic novels are a perfect way to do that. We know that the first exposure young people have of Native people is often in children’s books and comics. We want to make sure that we are representing our stories and our people in a way that is authentic and dynamic. We want top quality books that celebrate our cultures in a way that does not become pedantic. ith the publication of INC’S Universe, INC garnered enough momentum to start other projects. Francis names a few.

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“We have Pueblo Jones, The Wool of Jonesy by Jonathan Nelson, Captain Paiute by Theo Tso, Last by Aaron Cuffee, and a Native zombie book we’re working on with a young woman artist we met at the Denver Comic Con.” These projects include characters ranging from a Diné sheep trying to sell his own wool to a Native sci-fi story about being the last Indigenous person alive and trapped in outer space.

INC also has an ambitious anthology in production: Tales of the Mighty Code Talkers. Code Talkers are a vital part of United States’ military history, and various tribes were used during armed conflicts through history as Code Talkers. For decades, many of these stories were classified military secrets. The most famous of the Code Talkers are the Navajo, but other tribes such as the Muscogee Creek, Meskwaki, Comanche, Cherokee, and Choctaw also participated. At the 2013 Denver Comic Con, Francis displayed a preview cover of the book designed

by Starr. She said the reaction was phenomenal.

have made for this country, and they certainly know little to nothing about the other tribes who participated as Code Talkers. Additionally, with so many family members who’ve served in the military, it’s a way for me to honor their memories as well.

The portrayal of natives in the comic book medium still has a long ways to go, and with INC in the game, it hopes to become a major force in that fight.

The medium is extremely popular, with major franchises being turned into other media including film and video games. It’s a good time to be in the comics industry.

“Like film, comics are a wonderful medium that effectively communicates ideas and feelings using a visual presence,” states Sheyahshe.

Comics, however, are even more efficient at this, due to the confined space on the traditional printed page.

There isn’t much room inside a panel to get your idea across. Yet, comic creators do just that, and when they do so the effect and communicated idea can be powerful indeed. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?

Arigon Starr (Kickapoo-Muscogee Creek-Cherokee-Seneca), page 20 of Super Indian, Issue No. 5, 2013, published by Wacky Productions, Unlimited.

“When I was designing the cover art, I knew that Grandpa would be sharing a very special story with his girl —something that might not be the typical horses, buckskin, feathers type of affair,” says Starr.

Code Talkers is a satisfying way for me to tell stories about our people and their contributions to the war effort.

So many non-native people don’t understand the sacrifices our tribes

INC is always looking for more contributors. For more information about INC, visit their website for more information. Submitted content will be reviewed and critiqued.

Native comic book creators with strong concepts and art could become potential publications through INC. As their mission statement proudly proclaims, “Join us as we welcome a new group of superheroes who have been on this continent for a long, long time!”

indigenousnarrativescollective.com

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Wixáritari Yarn Painting Dazzling Art from the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains

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N 1995, I FIRST SAW A “YARN PAINTING” in a small tourist shop in Mexico. I had just moved to Puerto Vallarta but had never heard of the Wixáritari, or Huichol, tribe. Something about these yarn paintings immediately attracted me: the brilliant colors, the way the yarn flowed into intricate designs, the symbols.

Since the beginning of time, the Huichol, or Wixáritari as they call themselves, have communicated with their Gods through symbols. Aesthetics change, but the meaning or significance of the symbols has remained the same. The more examples I saw of these yarn paintings, the more I wanted to know about the people who made them.

The Huichol actually prefer to be called Wixáritari (Wixáritari being the plural for Wixárika); they live in one of the most remote regions of the Sierra Madre Mountains of western Mexico. Their geographical isolation enabled them to remain untouched for almost 200 years after the fall of the Aztec empire. Around 1722 Franciscan missionaries penetrated the Sierra. The Franciscans brought colorful glass beads to trade with the Wixáritari in the hopes of converting them to Christianity. The Wixáritari quickly adapted the beads for use, not only in their personal adornments but more importantly in the offerings that

By Kevin Simpson they made for their ceremonies and rituals. Part of what makes the Wixáritari special is that the beads stuck but the missionaries did not. Frustrated by Wixáritari’s scattered settlement patterns and unable to break the essence of their belief system, the Franciscans abandoned the Wixáritari, leaving them to their own means.

Despite the missionary work in the 18th century, the outside world did not know much about the Wixáritari until the end of the 19th century. Carl Lumholtz, a Norwegian explorer sent into Mexico in 1890 by the American Museum of Natural History in New York to look for the Ancestral Pueblo, first collected Wixáritari artifacts.

Lumholtz was shocked when he initially met the Wixáritari and wrote this: “In spite of the missionary work in the past, to-day there is no priest among them, the churches are in ruins, and the Huichol are living in the same state of barbarism as when Cortes first put foot on Mexican soil.”1 As offensive as some might take Lumholtz’s description of the Wixáritari, I actually would consider it a compliment.

Lumholtz spent the greater part of 1895 and the beginning of 1896 with the Wixáritari and went back in 1898 to collect more artifacts and to answer questions that lingered

1. Carl Lumholtz, “Symbolism of the Huichol Indians,” Memoir of the American Museum of Natural History 3 (1900): 5.

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after his first visit. Lumholtz amassed a large collection of Wixáritari artifacts and eventually became so struck with the Wixáritari and their use of symbols that he named his first essay on the Wixáritari “Symbolism of the Huichol Indians.” He wrote, “All sacred things are symbols to primitive man, and the Huichol seem literally to have no end of them. Religion is to them a personal matter, not an institution, and therefore their life is religious—from the cradle to the grave wrapped up in symbolism.”2 News of this isolated tribe spread, and other institutions sent anthropologists to collect their artifacts. Léon Diguet, a French anthropologist, visited the Wixáritari in 1896 under the auspices of the Musée de l’Homme. In 1907 the Berlin Ethnological Museum sent Konrad Theodor Pruess to collect artifacts from the Wixáritari.

OPPOSITE: Photo: Beck Gusler (CC BY-SA 3.0).

BELOW: Detail of Wixáritari yarn painting on a box. Photo: Manuel Chávez R. (CC BY-ND 2.0).

BOTTOM: Map with core Wixáritari (Huichol) lands in the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains.

The Mexican Revolution in 1910 and subsequent Cristeros Revolt prevented any serious study of the Wixáritari until 1934. Then the Laboratory of Anthropology in Santa Fe, New Mexico, sent anthropologist Robert M. Zingg to visit the community of Tupan de Bolanos. Zingg was especially taken at how successfully the Wixáritari had maintained their culture during the last 40 years since Lumholtz first visited.

“Huichol art has changed so little in forty years that my collection of this material for the Laboratory of Anthropology of Santa Fe, New Mexico, is practically identical with Lumholtz’s material,” wrote Zingg.3 In fact, the artifacts, similar to those collected by the first anthropologists, are almost identical to the offerings that the Wixáritari use today in ceremony and ritual. These pieces form what may be considered the phase of votive art.

Zingg believed that for the Wixáritari art and religion were intertwined. Their art had a mythic character that he felt spoke directly to their Gods. Zingg documented a particular myth about one of their most important Gods, Kauyumari, the Blue Deer. Kauyumari created the animals by painting them in yarn: (Kauyumari) was painting prayers that he wished would be granted by the great gods. With beads and colored wool placed in the wax on the board, he painted a snake, a rattlesnake, a fish, a coyote and a skunk…4 This is how the world came to know the animals; by painting their images on a sacred tablet, Kauyumari brought them to life.

Not long after Robert M. Zingg’s visit to Tuxpan de Bolanos, the Wixáritari, with the influence of outsiders, began making commercial art to sell to the outside world.

The transformation from votive art to commercial art marks the second phase of Wixáritari art. According to Hope MacLean, it was Alfonso Soto Soria who first encouraged the Wixáritari to remake their yarn offerings into a commercial art. Soto Soria went up into Tuxpan de Bolanos, where Zingg studied the Wixáritari and in 1945, only ten years after Zingg’s visit, was able to encourage the Huichol to refine their votive art so that it could be brought to the city to be sold. Armed with copies of both Lumoltz’s and Zingg’s books, Soto Soria set out to find examples of the offerings the Wixáritari made that were decorated with yarn. He encouraged them to make the designs on just one side, unlike the offerings that were done on both sides, and

2. Carl Lumholtz, “Symbolism of the Huichol Indians,” Memoir of the American Museum of Natural History 3 (1900): 16.

3. Melissa S. Powell and C. Jill Grady, eds., Huichol Art and Culture: Balancing the World: Featuring the Robert M. Zingg Collection of the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture (Santa Fe: Museum of New Mexico Press, 2010), 89–90.

4. Ibid., 66.

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to spread the yarn over the whole board, using the entire picture plane. The first pieces that Soto Soria collected were simple collages of symbols. This new art became very popular when it was shown for the first time in the Museum of Folk Arts in Mexico City in 1954.5 The new yarn paintings that the Wixáritari created for the market remained consistent until the mid-1960s. During that time, the talented shaman Ramon Medina Silva and the Franciscan Padre Ernesto Loera, who ran the Basilica of Zapopan just outside of Guadalajara, began working together. Ramon Medina took a simple collage of symbols and transformed them into works that told a story,

recounting actual myths and traditions. Through Padre Loera, University of California anthropology students Peter Furst and Barbara Myerhoff met Ramon, who took them on the peyote hunt and made them the first foreigners to be taken on the sacred pilgrimage. Furst and Mayerhoff bought a number of Ramon’s yarn paintings and encouraged him to make more.

In Tepic in the late 1960s, Salomon Nahmad was the head of the Indigenous Institute (INI). As a government agency, INI bought yarn paintings from individual Wixárika artists and sold them to the public. At the time young José Benítez Sanchez had left his training as a shaman for the allure of the city and was working in the INI, sweeping floors.

Dr. Nahmad asked Benítez if he could replicate the yarn paintings being made at the time. Benítez, however, did not just create yarn paintings that told stories like the ones that Ramon Medina Silva or Guadalupe Rios; he worked tirelessly to create works that were not only more complex in their depictions of his cosmic world but also had fluid motion. Benítez created the classic period of yarn paintings with his fluid stories of traditional myths and traditions.

José Benítez Sanchez in his 1998 yarn painting The Path of Our Ancestors, describes Kauyumari, the Blue Deer, just like the myth that Zingg documented: In the path of our ancestors, there is a snake that the Gods have formed through a sacrifice because it represents energy, and although it has no arms to grasp, it becomes the path or way to the desert and will give the shaman the energy to cure. The shaman, accompanied by the serpent to the desert, is met by Kauyumari, who through the power of their ancestors has made a living amongst the Gods bringing their brothers to life.6

Jacinto Lopez Ramirez: Elder Statesman The early history of the Wixáritari and their art is well documented. I devoured just about all the information I could find on the Wixáritari, but there always seemed to be something missing, between reading the anthropological translation of the meaning of the art and its symbols.

TOP: Votive offering (Wixárika), 1995, Muvieri or shaman feather wand with eagle feathers and wooden nierika or disk with yarn and glass beads pressed into beeswax, 10 in. long × 5 in. wide, from San Andres Cohamiata, Mezquitic, Jalisco, Mexico, 1995. Image courtesy of Kevin Simpson.

BOTTOM: Peyote cactus, Lophophora williamsii. Photo: Hans B. (CC BY-SA 2.5)

One day, as I was walking back to my apartment in Vallarta, an elder Wixárika man stepped off the bus. I could tell he was a Wixárika from the white suit he was wearing. He had several handwoven bags hanging off his shoulders; he wore a wide brim hat adorned with pigeon feathers, and he carried a wooden bow with a deerskin quiver. It took me a block or two to catch up with the elder, but I was determined to find out for myself just what the symbols that

5. Hope MacLean, Yarn Paintings of the Huichol (Wakefield, Quebec: Singing Deer Press, 2005).

6. José Benítez Sanchez, The Path of Our Ancestors, 1998, yarn painting.

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Artist unknown (Wixárika), wool yarn painting, early 1970s, 48 × 72 in., Mexico City; simple collage of symbols. Image courtesy of Kevin Simpson.

made up the yarn paintings really meant to the Wixáritari.

My new friend’s name was Jacinto Lopez Ramirez, and I invited him back to my apartment and offered to cook him dinner if he would answer just a couple questions for me. Jacinto, it turned out, was not only an artist and a shaman, but was also a form of ambassador. A renaissance man, Jacinto wanted everyone to understand what his art signified. He would teach me a word in Wixárika and wasn’t afraid to hit me in the head if I couldn’t pronounce it properly.

During 1995 to 2007, I accompanied Jacinto into the Sierra a number of times to participate in ceremonies. A number of his yarn paintings depicted those experiences in his own way. One of Jacinto’s favorite subjects was Kauyumari, the Blue Deer. Although I had read about the Blue Deer, I never fully grasped the entire concept of who he was and what he meant to the Wixáritari until Jacinto made a small yarn painting and explained his role in the world.

Jacinto described Kauyumari, the Blue Deer, as a trickster but, more importantly, the messenger between the people and their Gods. He taught the Wixáritari how to make offerings to appease the Gods and led the pilgrims to Wirikuta, the place where the peyote grows. There in Wirikuta, Jacinto spoke with the Blue Deer; he led Jacinto to the sacred place where the peyote grows and showed him

where to cultivate the peyote, or hikuri as the Wixáritari call it.

“He is the epitome of being human and was sacrificed for his brothers, which is why he is the head of all the ceremonies. Kauyumari leads the peyoteros and is the first that one will see in the desert. If one is lucky, they will see more things and might even become a shaman,” said Jacinto.7 Jacinto Lopez Ramirez was instrumental in creating a market for yarn painting in San Andres Cohamiata, an ancient ceremonial center. He was governor of San Andres Cohamiata in 1967, and during a pilgrimage to Mexico City, he, along with Antonio Bautista and Daniel Castro, was leaving offerings by the basilica. The Museum of Anthropology asked the men to recreate their votive art offerings. There, at the museum, Jacinto and his friends saw the first commercial yarn paintings that the Wixáritari in the lowlands produced. Jacinto and his friends went back to San Andres Cohamiata and made their own yarn paintings to sell in the city.

What truly changed things, however, was when Jacinto as governor asked the Federal Government to build a road to his community. Prior to the completion of the road around 1971, it took five days by foot to get into the ceremonial center of San Andres Cohamiata. Even with easier access to

7. Jacinto Lopez Ramirez, in discussion with the author, 1996.

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José Benítez Sanchez (Wixárika), The Path of Our Ancestors, 1998, yarn painting, 48 × 48 in. Image courtesy of Kevin Simpson.

the outside world, Jacinto’s yarn paintings always reflected the classic storyboards produced in the 1970s.

classic style is undoubtedly the most emulated style of yarn painting.

José Benítez Sánchez and His Classic Narrative Style

I first met José Benítez in 1998 and, like Jacinto, he was also an ambassador of his culture. He took hours to explain in explicit detail the spiritual significance of all the symbols in his yarn paintings. Instead of a generic, out-of-a-book meaning of a symbol, Benítez could make them come alive so they would almost dance across the board.

T

he master artist from Nayarit, José Benítez Sánchez (1938–2009) developed his personal style principally from simple collages of symbols to the storyboards depicting actual myths and traditions. Benítez incorporated fluid motion into his yarn paintings, which made him famous. Today, his

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Benítez eventually completed his training to become a shaman and went on to become one of the best recognized

artists. In 2003 he was awarded the Silver Eagle award in Arts and Sciences by the president of Mexico.

thing that remained constant: the meaning of the symbols the Wixáritari used in their art.

The classic genre Benítez is recognized for starting is one of the most popular styles. Since his passing in 2009, many of his family members including his widow Hilaria Chavez Carrillo, his son Fidencio Benítez, and his former student, Maximino Renteria de la Cruz, keep his legacy alive through the recreation of his classic style.

In the late 1990s, scenes with photographic realism of ceremonies became popular. The artwork of Eliseo Castro, the son of Daniel Castro (one of the pilgrims who was discovered along with Jacinto in Mexico City in 1967), was featured in Art of the Huichol Indians.8 He was one of the first artists to develop a naturalist depiction of symbols, including the personification of his Gods.

The Castro Family and the Realist Style

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s access to the Sierra Madres became easier, the Wixáritari art also evolved. Since the early 1970s when the first roads were put into the Sierra connecting the remote villages and ceremonial centers with the outside world, more and more Wixáritari traveled out of the Sierra to sell their art and provide the world with an increasing variety of styles.

The aesthetics were constantly changing, especially with the advent of satellite TV and access to the Internet, but one

Eliseo Castro’s son, Luis Castro, is one of the biggest upand-coming stars of 21st-century yarn painting. His new ceremony scenes depict their ancestors as skeletal figures playing out sacred rituals just as Kauyumari, the Blue Deer, had taught them how to do.

As the tradition dictates, the Wixáritari take offerings to the Blue Deer to ask for rain and for the peyote to be born and the corn that will be used in ceremony. The Eagle takes the messages from the shaman to the Gods.9

Jacinto Lopez Ramirez (Wixárika), Kauyumari Shows the Way, 1996, yarn painting 20 × 14 in. Image courtesy of Kevin Simpson.

8. Kathleen Berrin, ed. Art of the Huichol Indians (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1978), 86, 95.

9. Luis Castro, Praying to Kauyumari So He Will Lead The Pilgrims to Wirikuta, the Sacred Place Where the Peyote Grows, 2012, yarn painting, 24 × 24 in., handwritten description on the back.

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The Magical Realism of Neikame

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ust when I thought yarn paintings couldn’t get any more interesting, in early 2000 I met a young Wixárika man who said he was an artist, but his yarn paintings were different. Not content with the typical yarn paintings available in Puerto Vallarta at that time, I said to the young Wixárika, “If you think your work is different, bring me two of them.”

Jose Carrillo Morales, or Neikame as he is called in Wixárika, was born on January 1, 1971, in Guadalupe Ocotan, a village on the Nayarit side of the Sierra but connected ceremonially to San Andres Cohamiata. Neikame did a stint in the Mexican army and worked as a teacher in and around San Andres, but his true calling has been as an artist. Neikame felt his time in the army took him away from his culture, so when he returned, he went back into the Sierra to learn as much as he could about his traditions from his grandfather. As a teacher, Neikame hoped to educate young Wixáritari about their traditions but was disappointed with the government’s curriculum. After a couple years working in some of the most rural communities in the Sierra of Jalisco, he left teaching to devote more time to his true passion, his art.

Since then, Neikame has almost single-handedly taken Wixárika art in an entirely new direction.

In the late 1990s, while most Wixárika artists were content to copy José Benítez’s style, and 54 | W W W.F IR S TAM E RI C AN ARTMAG A ZI N E.C OM

ABOVE: Wixárika boy riding a donkey in Guadalupe Ocotán, Nayarit, Mexico. Photo: David Agren, agren.blogspot.com (CC BY 2.0).

OPPOSITE: Neikame, Jose Carrillo Morales, Creation, n.d., mixed media, yarn, and acrylic paint, 24 × 48 in. Image courtesy of Kevin Simpson.

others, like the Castro family, creating realist pieces, Neikame developed his own style that can only be described as Magical Realism. His surreal depiction of his culture’s beliefs and traditions breathed new life into yarn painting.

the aesthetics of his culture’s traditional art while retaining the meaning and significance of the symbols. Like other artists, Neikame often uses the culture hero Kauyumari, the Blue Deer, in his art and described him like this:

Neikame is concerned that as more and more Wixáritari move to the city, they will lose their culture. He sees his work as a reflection of how urban Wixáritari strive to connect with their Gods through their omnipresent symbols.

There are four elements that are indispensable to create life: earth, fire, water and air. In the Wixárika world they are considered to be deer of different colors. One of the deer is very important, the Blue Deer, whose color signifies light and life. He is considered to be the wise one on earth, our elder brother deer. For a long time, during the hunt, he took refuge in the desert and offered peyote to the Wixáritari. Today the hunters or pilgrims travel to Wirikuta to be purified as well as to discover their role in life, and it is the Blue Deer, as

Not content to continually create the yarn paintings, Neikame has developed a whole new medium to express his culture’s beliefs and customs. Mixing beads and acrylic paint into traditional yarn paintings, he feels his new mixed media pieces have completely changed

the representation of the first inhabitant of Wirikuta, the sacred land, who will convert the desires of those who touch his antlers into reality.10

Conclusion It has been 119 years since Carl Sofus Lumholtz first collected works of Wixáritari votive art. During that time, the world has changed dramatically, as has the culture of the Wixáritari and the means they use to express it.

However, through all those changes, from the votive art to today’s mixed media art, only the methods of expression have changed. The symbols and their meaning remain the same.

peyotepeople.com

10. Neikame, Jose Carrillo Morales, Creation, n.d., mixed media, yarn, and acrylic paint, 24 × 48 in., handwritten description on the back.

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Native Soul

The Bacone College Native Art Program, 1932–2014

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HILE WALKING THROUGH THE MCCOMBS ART BUILDING on the Bacone College campus, one feels the atmosphere of creativity reverberating through the air and corridors. The students work on art assignments, are engaged, ask questions, and are excited about creating their art. Who better to share the story of this historic Native art institution, the school created by necessity in the heart of Indian Territory at the end of 19th century? After spending several years at Bacone College as its art director and assistant art professor, I can appreciate the mission of the beloved institution of education. The mission of the college keeps me inspired.

“Bacone remains committed to serving American Indians through its baccalaureate and associate degree programs, challenges students to develop intellectual and social skills, spiritual values, and healthy lifestyles by providing quality education in a nurturing Christian environment,” reads the mission statement.

My grandfather attended the Indian University as a first grader in 1911 and graduated high school in 1924; his affinity for the school led me to Bacone after earning my education. Many Oklahoma and regional Native families have an ancestor who attended Bacone. My grandfather said, “The time I spent at Bacone were some of the best years of my life.”

Bacone began in 1880 in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, and was founded by a Baptist preacher, Almon C. Bacone. Professor Bacone saw the importance of educating Native Christians in Indian Territory and began Indian University with three young Native boys. Now Bacone College is the oldest continual educational institution in the state of Oklahoma; the college has over 1,100 students on average and offers a number of Bachelors and Associate Degrees. The art program is still currently an Associate Degree program; however, the future looms bright as the college has agreed to actively pursue a Bachelors Degree in art. We are currently in a fundraising TOP: Ataloa Lodge, Native art museum on the Bacone College campus, established 1935. Photo: A. Meredith MIDDLE: Visiting artist Marwin Begaye (Diné) explains serigraphy to Bacone students. Photo: Tony A. Tiger.

BOTTOM: Current director of Bacone College’s art program, Tony A. Tiger with his mixed-media tritych at the Museum of Contemporary Native Art, Santa Fe, NM. Photo: Bobby C. Martin (Muscogee Creek)

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By Tony A. Tiger

campaign to upgrade facilities and make the needed additions for that particular degree.

The institution has a legendary pedigree of Native artists as its former art directors: Acee Blue Eagle, Woody Crumbo, Richard (Dick) West, Solomon McCombs, “Chief ” Terry Saul, and Ruthe Blalock Jones. The students of these legendary teachers are just as impressive in their own right: Fred Beaver, Cecil Dick, Willard Stone, Johnny Tiger, Joan Hill, David Williams, Sharron Ahtone Harjo, Enoch Kelly Haney, Troy Jackson, and Randy Kemp to name a few of many.

TOP: Woody Crumbo (Potawatomi). Image courtesy of Tony A. Tiger MIDDLE: Richard “Dick” West Sr. (Southern Cheyenne) with student.

Image courtesy of Tony A. Tiger BOTTOM: “Chief” Terry Saul (Choctaw-Chickasaw) at the Art Student’ League in New York, 1950. Image courtesy of William T. Saul (ChoctawChickasaw).

ABOVE, RIGHT: Terry Saul (Choctaw-Chickasaw), Ceremonial Dancers, 1954, watercolor on paper, family collection. Image courtesy of William T. Saul (Choctaw-Chickasaw).

The former directors paved the way for many Native artists with their teaching and memorable style of painting on paper or mat board called the Bacone Style. The Flatstyle painting incorporated a strong drawing component with flat applications of opaque water media with minimal shading.

The Bacone Style was adapted from the early ledger art of the Natives painting on parfleche containers and prisoners-of-war paintings and drawings on ledger pages during the prisoners’ captivity.

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Acee Blue Eagle (Muscogee Creek) became the first art director at Bacone College in 1935. A former student at Bacone, he became an internationally recognized artist, dancer, and, later, television personality. Blue Eagle was primarily a painter. A few years before Acee became the art director, Mary “Ataloa” Stone McClendon (1895–1967), a Chickasaw graduate of Columbia University, taught English and philosophy at Bacone.

McClendon established the Indian Art Lodge (later renamed the Ataloa Lodge Museum in her honor) where the aesthetics of Native arts could be fostered and preserved.

Woodrow Wilson Crumbo, better known as “Woody Crumbo,” became the next art director in 1938 to1941.

Crumbo known for his painting and printmaking also believed in a proponent in fostering Native culture, not only in his art but also in his dancing and flute playing. During Crumbo’s tenure, groundwork began on the McCombs Art Building, named for William McCombs, the Muscogee Creek leader and co-founder of Bacone who was instrumental in obtaining the 160 acres on which the school is built.

After Crumbo left in 1941, Richard (Dick) West (Southern Cheyenne) became the art director and remained the director from 1947 to 1970. West left a lasting impact on the Native art world. He was a painter, sculptor, and student of Acee Blue Eagle, and he was a master Flatstyle painter. Under the direction of West, the art program flourished.

Terry Saul who also studied under Blue Eagle became the next art director. Terry was Chickasaw and Choctaw. Saul’s style of painting broke way from the Flatstyle to an experimental application of paint. “Chief ” Terry Saul, as he was better known, was a veteran of World War II and worked as a commercial illustrator and artist.

Ruthe Blalock Jones (Shawnee/Delaware/Peoria) became the art director in 1979 until 2008. She earned her diploma from Bacone High School and her Associate Degree from Bacone College. Jones studied with Dick West, and her mastery of the Flatstyle painting has earned her many awards and honors. Jones earned her Masters of Fine Art from the University of Tulsa.

The Indian Annual at the Philbrook Art Museum and the Gilcrease Art Museum in Tulsa with its artist-in-residency programs help propel the art careers of many of the former directors and students of Bacone. The art of the Bacone artists, both former directors and students, has been collected by numerous private and public collectors across the nation and around the world. The awards, honors, and distinctions are too numerous to count; one can only be amazed by the history of this unlikely Native art institution in the heart of Indian Country.

The future of the institution remains bright, and the art program is strong. The fundamentals of art with a good background in art history, Native and classical, are at the core of 58 | W W W.F IR S TAM E RI C AN ARTMAG A ZI N E.C OM

TOP: Ruthe Blalock Jones (Shawnee/Delaware/Peoria), NAC Breakfast, 2005, acrylic on canvas, 30 × 24 in. Image courtesy of the artist.

BOTTOM: Ruthe Blalock Jones examines a freshly pulled print. Photo: Bobby Chew Bigby (Cherokee Nation).

the program. The visiting art series is popular, and the students are exposed to the area’s art museums. We have excellent instructors teaching in the program. With renewed vigor, the soul of Native Art at Bacone College remains intact and longs for new expression.

www.bacone.edu

Reaching for New Heights Totem Poles from Southeastern Alaska

By Steve Quinn

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ONG BEFORE YOU HEAR THE ADZE œ slice into the tree trunk, the scent of red cedar stops you cold. It travels several hundred feet from a makeshift-carving shed and quickly piques curiosity of those walking along this downtown Juneau side street.

The aroma lures you inside a 13-foot by 23-foot tent set back 100 feet where Haida artists T. J. and Joe Young slowly—one wood shaving at a time— shape a 25-foot totem pole.

These quiet scenes played out daily last fall and will resume this summer when the Youngs, brothers two years apart, continue a carving project that

features two totem poles, crowned by a raven and an eagle. For nearly two months, they relied on artificial light in this windowless tent, which kept at bay wind gusts and heavy fall rains routinely found in this rainforest region. By summer’s end, the art will stand freely and replace two decaying poles currently in front of Gajaa Hit, a transitional housing facility owned by the Tlingit Haida Regional Housing Authority.

The project represents a resurgence in totem poles throughout several First Nations communities in Southeast Alaska and the Pacific Northwest; they reflect cultural reclamation in places

like Metlakatla, Alaska’s only federal reservation; they represent a surging voice heard not just regionally but in places like the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, D.C., where a new pole recently was raised.

“The large number of poles being made now are, among other things, a very, very vivid indication of Native identity in the contemporary world,” says Aldona Jonaitis, director of the University of Alaska Museum of the North. “They are a living art form that is of central importance to Native culture on the Northwest coast,” she continues. “It’s such an important statement of sovereignty. The poles

Haida brothers T. J. and Joe Young collaborating on carving a monumental totem pole. Image courtesy of Steve Quinn.

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carved today are statements of the strength of the southeast Alaska Native culture and the endurance of many decades of being treated poorly.”

A totem pole’s origin traces to Haida Gwaii, formerly known as Queen Charlotte Islands, found just south Hydaburg, across from US–Canadian border, Aldona Jonaitis writes in a recent book she co-wrote with Aaron Glass, The Totem Pole: An Intercultural History.

Native communities themselves are having poles carved for their own use and their own significance She calls totem poles “the most striking form of Northwest Coast art,” adding the prospective value of Youngs’ work cannot be overstated; rather, it will increase long after the poles are raised.

“What’s going on now, and this is why (the Youngs’ project) is so exciting, is that Native communities themselves are having poles carved for their own use and their own significance.”

In Juneau, the Youngs work methodically on their own sections of the pole, breaking to consult sketches and Native art books. Then, it’s back to the cycle of measuring and striking the pole with an adze—a stainless steel blade, bent at the ends, and positioned at a right angle to the tool’s wood handle. An efficient stroke to the wood can bring shavings between six to eight inches long that quickly accumulate underneath the work area.

“When it’s wet, the wood feels pretty smooth,” T. J. says.

“It [the adze] kind of glides right through it. When it’s dry, it’s a bit of a rougher swing. The stroke is not going to last as long. It’s a slower stroke.

“It seems repetitive, but you don’t get tired of it. Each angle you’re finding is different; each angle you’re chasing is different. It’s not like it’s the same thing. It’s the same motions, but you’re finding something different with each series of strokes.”

T. J. and Joe are among a class of emerging artists whose work is becoming a fixture in the southeast region of Alaska.

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National Historical Park; their Eagle pole went up at the University of Alaska, Southeast, five years ago; and a crest pole stands in Hydaburg’s rejuvenated Totem Park.

“The art is definitely coming back; I’m not sure it’s coming back to the level it was in the mid-19th century. Not yet, anyway,” says 33-year-old T. J. “It’s good in a way. It could be better. I just want to be a part of that crowd who brings it back to that level of where it was in the mid-19th century, the 1850s.

“Totem poles told a story about who lives in a house and what clan they belonged to. They were there to document family. A lot of people don’t realize that. They think it was for worship or just art. It’s more than that.”

Their first pole, however, remains their most memorable.

It stands about eight feet tall in the front yard of their late grandfather Claude Morrison, a revered elder who lived to be 100 before passing on in 2011. Completed in 1997, it is a pole very few will see and will not likely pique anthropologists’ interests, but it launched a lifetime of learning and commitment to advancing their culture.

“We quit fishing early that year,” says 34-year-old Joe, who is the second of five children and oldest brother of four who

Frozen lake of Mendenhall Glacier frozen lake near Juneau, Alaska. Photo: Gillfoto.

grew up in Hydaburg. “We wanted to get it done for my grandfather’s birthday. I still like looking at it when I go home.”

The two now live in Anchorage and have worked alongside some of the most established Northwest Coast carvers. For more than a year, T. J. has worked alongside Haida carver Robert Davidson in Surrey, British Columbia. Davidson is a carver viewed among his peers as the best.

Four years ago the Youngs joined Tlingit artist Israel Shotridge and Tsimshian carver David Boxley on a project in Anchorage. Each produced house posts for the Alaska Native Heritage Center to reflect Southeast Alaskan art.

Two years ago, Boxley became the second Alaska Native carver to raise a pole in the National Museum of the American Indian, joining Tlingit artist Nathan Jackson.

In January 2012, Boxley and his son, Davey, spent two

weeks at the museum putting the final touches on the 23foot pole before raising it. The pole will remain a fixture for the foreseeable future, according to Kerry Boyd, the museum’s assistant director of exhibitions. It stands in a 120-foot-square atrium that dwarfs everything else in the space of the 9-year-old museum. It fills a void of not having anything from the Pacific Northwest in that atrium, Boyd says.

The totem pole also satisfies one of Boxley’s longstanding goals.

“I’ve been wanting a totem pole in that place since before ground was broken,” says Boxley, who grew up in Metlakatla and still maintains a home there but lives in Kingston, Washington, just north of Seattle. “There are more than 500 tribes or Indian nations on this continent.

Everybody wants to have something in this museum.

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RIGHT: Robert Davidson (Haida), Gyanna, pigment and cedar totem pole, White Rock, British Columbia. Photo: Joe Mabel (CC BY-SA 2.0) LEFT: Anique postcards of Old Kasaan, Alaska

“I’m not the first contemporary totem pole carver to have a pole in this museum. But I am there.”

At the museum’s atrium, the father and son worked in public view while fielding questions about their project, their heritage, and this little known village called Metlakatla.

They shared thoughts with visitors, curators, and journalists, including a crew from the British Broadcasting Company. The BBC shared Boxley’s work with a global audience while connecting the world to Metlakatla, Alaska’s most southern community, which attracted a migration of Tsimshian settlers from British Columbia, in the late 19th century.

“One of the neatest things about that experience for me was the fact that two words were said all over this country, if not the world, for two weeks: Tsimshian and Metlakatla,” Boxley says. “Or at least they were being heard.”

“Our little village—our little tribe— got so much attention,” he said.

“Those little children in the village, they were watching for the whole two weeks over the Internet. They would text my son and say, ‘Davey, wave to us.’

“We would wave, and the teacher would text back to Davey how we were waving back to the [computer] monitor. My people and my village

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were very proud that we were representing them.”

Boxley is currently working on a pole that will replace a 30-year-old one that honors his late grandmother in Metlakatla. He is also working on a private commission for an East Coast client.

“People don’t understand from the first pole ever commissioned, the artist gets paid, whether it’s his own chief, a chief from another village, or a chief from another tribe,” Boxley says.

“Some of them were paid with commodities, rifles, and canoes. But we are not doing anything different.

Totem poles still represent a pretty part of our culture and represent who

we are to the rest of the world.”

misrepresents the quality of our art.”

Many artists and curators believe commercialization of Native art has lead to mass production of art that is either not made by Indigenous people or manufactured overseas. Tourists purchase the work, often believing it comes from the skilled hands of Indigenous artists. This demeans art produced by people like Jackson and Boxley, masters who have devoted their entire lives to the art, says many artists and curators.

“So when we care, we carve for our peers because we know they will be looking at it. We don’t carve for the general public. We are worried about the people who know what they are doing. That way our level will rival theirs.”

Joe Young says he and his brother enjoy carving in front of visitors and answering questions about their work and culture, but the work must first appeal to accomplished artists and curators.

“Since there are more of the massproduced pieces, it reflects what people think of our art. It misrepresents what we are trying to accomplish. It

Nearly 20 new poles have already gone up in the Youngs’ childhood home of Hydaburg and neighboring community Klawock on Prince of Wales Island, one of the state’s southern most islands immediately north of the Canadian border. More are planned for these and other Prince of Wales communities, plus Wrangell 90 miles north, and here in Juneau.

In Hydaburg, the town’s mayor Tony Christianson says the town has replicated 17 poles and house posts over the last five years. Four more poles need replacing.

He says the ongoing project quickly became a community priority and has helped restore cultural pride in the town. The poles turned a park once an eyesore into a gathering place.

“Not only was it an eyesore. It was a hazard to the community,” Christianson says. “It was symbolic of how we were taking care of ourselves and the community. If we were going to allow our history to fall by the way side, something is not right.”

“Unilaterally we got the community back, got control of our finances, and started to replicate the poles. It’s been a healing process, pulling poles from dilapidation and helping our culture revive itself. Our communities are struggling in the region. We look at our culture and the poles, we see a future economy on our identity. We can be ourselves. Most important, we can be Haida.”

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Albuquerque

Melanie Yazzie: Geographies of Memory University of New Mexico Art Museum

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O WALK INTO A GALLERY filled with Melanie Yazzie’s work is to be transported to a different world, a space of pure colors and open light. For more than four decades, Ms. Yazzie has explored this familiar yet distant space, offering a sense of the past, present, and future simultaneously. With lush hues and defined forms, her work brings together seemingly contradictory ideals, both profound and straightforward, sacred and secular, worldly and regional.

Melanie Yazzie: Geographies of Memory opened on February 7, 2014, at the University of New Mexico Art Museum (UNM AM). The first show by the museum’s new director Lisa Tamiris Becker, Geographies is a new biennial series of solo exhibitions featuring the work of contemporary Indigenous artists.

Yazzie’s work is given a greater focus than usually found in museums, which rarely include Native artists or, if they do, only as part of group shows. To have such a comprehensive show in a university museum, in a place of learning, places Yazzie’s work where it should be.

Born in 1966 in Ganado, Arizona, Melanie Yazzie grew up on the Diné Reservation and studied art at the Westtown School in Pennsylvania before completing her Bachelor of Fine Arts at Arizona State University in 1990 and her Master of Fine Arts at the University of Colorado at Boulder in 1993. She has taught at a number of institutions, including Evergreen State College and the Pont-Aven School of Art in France, and is now a full professor of printmaking at the University of Colorado, Boulder.

Ms. Yazzie has received numerous awards, including the 2011 Ford Foundation Diversity Fellowship to subsidize her research in American studies. She often collaborates with Indigenous artists from

Melanie Yazzie ( Navajo), Early, 2012, mixed media monotype with gouache; 22.75 × 15.125 in.

Courtesy of the artist, © Melanie Yazzie. Photo: Margot Geist.

other parts of the world, including the Arctic, Russia, New Zealand, Siberia, and Australia. Her work has been included in over 100 group and solo exhibitions in United States and abroad.

As a retrospective of her long career, the show highlights her skills in many types of media, including drawing, painting, ceramics, and metal sculpture. It especially shows her range of printmaking techniques, such as woodcuts, monotypes, dry point, collographs,

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etchings, engravings, pronto plate, and lithographs. As an artist, she responds to the different surfaces, a copper plate, a stone, or a piece of plastic, found in the different techniques. Foremost in all her work is Ms. Yazzie’s commitment to preserving life on earth. Known for her printmaking, Yazzie ensures her work reflects a deep commitment to using only environmentally friendly, nontoxic materials. She always considers the global impact of her art, and, to protect her body and the earth, she

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avoids toxic chemicals commonly used in printmaking.

Throughout the different media, Yazzie explores iconography that is both personal and part of her Diné heritage.

Her emphasis on narrative comes through strongly, telling the stories of her life.

Her work follows the Diné belief in hózhó, the state of order and beauty in the world. Her work explores the dictum “walk in beauty” literally, since, as Ms. Yazzie writes in her personal statement, “The artworks stem from the thought and belief that what we create must have beauty and harmony from within ourselves, from above, below, in front, behind and from our core. We are taught to seek out beauty and create it with our thoughts and prayers. I feel that when I am making my art, be it a print, a painting or a sculpture, I begin by centering myself and thinking it all out in a ‘good way,’ which is how I was taught from an early age.”

The title for the show is reflected in the artist’s attention to place, both exterior and interior. In Metamorphosis, a series of mixed-media monotype on handmade paper made at the Brodsky Center for Innovative Editions at Rutgers University in 2002-2003, Yazzie layers winged insect-like creatures over maps, including maps of northern New York, Montreal, Albany; Washington State; and Dinétah.

Woven together from thick, textured paper she made herself, the designs look almost like textiles.

The artist also considers the geography of her own body. In a series of three mixedmedia works titled Early, Midmorning, and Afternoon, the artist uses light yet pure hues, like watercolors. Each has floating numbers, like 105 and 110, along with series of lines. Painting over monotype images, the numbers represent blood sugar levels, and the lines represent the markings on the meters used by diabetics.

Given the prevalence of diabetes among Native communities and in Ms. Yazzie’s family in particular, these images consider the landscape of the interior body. The curvilinear lines running across all three suggests a river or a vein, part of the journey of life.

The images Yazzie includes are often part of her heritage, but she also uses her own personal iconography. In History Speaking, a pronto plate and silk screen print from 2003, a corn plant is featured next to the words “armed plants,” referencing an ear of corn as a common motif to Native cultures across the Americas. The artist also includes hieroglyphic markers in many of her works; inspired by Egyptian and Maya hieroglyphs, these forms represent her own personal visual marker.

Geographies of Memory offers Melanie Yazzie’s vision of the world as a space that is literal and figurative. Her stories are personal and involve her travels and experiences she has had meeting other Indigenous peoples across the globe.

Given the logistics of putting together such a large and representative show and the costs of shipping, it is likely that the UNM Art Museum will be her works’ only venue. —Suzanne Newman Fricke

Norman

Allan Houser Drawings: The Centennial Exhibition Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art

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HE FRED JONES JR. MUSEUM OF ART (FJJMA) is just one of nearly a dozen institutions launching exhibitions across Oklahoma to celebrate the centennial of Allan Houser’s birth.

Of the hundred drawings featured in this exhibition, the majority are exhibited for the first time, thus providing museum visitors with a unique opportunity to explore Houser’s art from a fresh perspective. The drawings range from sketchy, quickly made works demonstrating the artist’s creative process to highly finished artistic renderings.

Themes evident among Houser’s wideranging subjects include female nudes; animals, land, and nature; figures and portraits; music and dance; book illustrations; and abstractions.

W. Jackson Rushing III served as guest

curator; he states the purpose of the exhibition is to “expand our knowledge and appreciation of a much beloved figure, whose art speaks across cultures and generations.” Although well known for his work as a painter and sculptor, Houser was always an “inveterate draftsman, and his oeuvre includes thousands of compelling drawings.” The majority of works on display are on loan from the Allan Houser Foundation; the Foundation’s collection of drawings is expansive and includes 239 notebooks and nearly 30,000 sketches. Rushing had the daunting task of selecting works for the exhibition that convey the variety of media, styles, and subjects found in Houser’s drawings and produced as early as 1934 until his death in 1994.

Rushing writes, “many of the drawings are unrehearsed,” and “they permit the audience to look behind the curtain, allowing them to see Houser visually thinking out loud.” These images allow the viewer to “track and trace the evolution of his subjects and styles, noting both differences and continuities.”

It is these “differences and continuities” in Houser’s drawings that can be seen throughout the exhibition.

The drawings fill the Records Gallery on the museum’s lower level. Introductory text provides an overview of the exhibition, beginning with the engaging, oil stick drawing, Apache Father and Son (c. 1992). Artworks are roughly divided thematically, offering the viewer an opportunity to compare the drawings and appreciate the variety of ways in which the artist depicted similar subjects.

In the gallery space dedicated to the theme of music and dance, the visitor can view Plains fancy dancers, buffalo and eagle dancers, a Navajo singer, and the Apache Ga’an dancers that were a common subject in Houser’s art. The large-scale works, Fancy Plains Dancer (c. 1992) and Large Ga’an Dancer in the Glow of the Fire (1994), are particularly captivating images. Other themes found throughout the exhibition include figures and portraits that range from a very personal portrayal of Houser’s parents in Portrait of Sam and Blossom Haozous (c.

1992) to the “almost cinematic” image

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of the Apache man depicted in Portrait of a Man in a Hat Smoking (c. 1992).

These two images demonstrate the wide variety of styles and artistic media employed by Houser within the same time period. Diversity in subject matter is evident through the inclusion of abstract drawings in this exhibit. Houser became increasingly interested in abstractions in the 1990s, and the drawings included are all tentatively dated circa 1992. Houser was knowledgeable about the history of modern art, and these drawings convey his modernist sensibility.

Although divided thematically, the exhibition does not have to be explored on a prescribed path. The visitor is free to move throughout the space and

discover the wide range of drawings on display. Allan Houser Drawings: The Centennial Exhibition is well curated; it provides the visitor with both unique images as well as thematic subjects.

Through these thematic divisions, the viewer is allowed to make comparisons of the differences and continuities seen in Houser’s drawings. The show has little to criticize although some visitors might appreciate additional information through text panels that explore the prevalent themes. I would argue that the decision to limit the text was right.

For additional information, the FJJMA produced an accompanying exhibition catalogue, which specifically explores the artist’s illustrations for children’s books.

Allan Houser (Chiricahua Apache, 1914–1994), Apache Father and Son, c. 1992, oil stick on paper, 23.75 × 18 in. Courtesy of Allan Houser, Inc.

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Museums across Oklahoma, as well as the United States and internationally, have displayed the art of Allan Houser, but in this exhibition, museum visitors are given the opportunity to see a sampling of Houser’s drawings and gain an appreciation of these previously unseen works of art.­—Denise Neil-Binion

Toronto

Kenojuak Ashevak: In Memoriam Isadore and Rosalie Sharp Gallery, Art Gallery of Ontario

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ENOJUAK ASHEVAK passed away on January 8, 2013, at the age of 85. Born in an iglu on Baffin Island in 1927, Ashevak was largely nomadic in her youth—hunting, fishing, and foraging at the behest of the seasons. She learned embroidery in the Inuit tradition from her grandmother. Eventually, she took up residence in Cape Dorset, Northwest Territories, with her first husband Johnniebo Ashevak to send her children to school. A meeting with the Torontobased artist James A. Houston in Cape Dorset proved to be a turning point in her career. Houston represented the interests of the Canadian government and the Hudson’s Bay Company; both sought a new economy for the region through art and craft after the demise of the fur trade. Out of Houston’s consultation came the sale of Ashevak’s prints at the Hudson’s Bay department store in Winnipeg, Manitoba. In 1970 her stonecut print Enchanted Owl appeared on a postage stamp in Canada. This image of a fantastical owl exploding with plumes of red and black feathers helped entrench Ashevak’s work, and Inuit art and craft more generally, into the Canadian cultural consciousness.

The Art Gallery of Ontario’s recent exhibition Kenojuak Ashevak: In Memoriam opened in the modest Isadore and Rosalie Sharp Gallery on September 28, 2013.

Essentially, the exhibition commemorates the aesthetic legacy of Ashevak, but it also represents a major turning point

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Event Report Kaikohe, Aotearoa

Kokiri Putahi 7th International Indigenous Visual Arts Gathering

T Kenojuak Ashevak (Inuk), A Vision of the Animals, 1961, stonecut print, 23 × 26.5 in.

in Canadian art history: when a female Inuit artist working largely in illustration, carving, and painting entered into the predominantly white, Eurocentric sphere of contemporary art in the 1960s. In doing so, Ashevak made it possible for other artists and artist organizations such as the Indian Group of Seven, which included Daphne Odjig, Norval Morrisseau, and Carl Ray, among others, to follow her lead and mark history with their own legacies.

Although only eight works in total are on display here, the grouping powerfully demonstrates Ashevak’s technical range, diversity of vision, and enchanting aesthetic. While the majority of the works in the exhibition are comprised of engravings, stonecuts, or stencils on paper, one is reassured to see that Ashevak’s sculpture is represented in three works. The strongest of these is the only work made of marble in the exhibition (the other two are mottled green-brown stone). In keeping with one of her favorite themes, Ashevak carved Owl out of white Andrew Gordon Bay marble. It appears closely linked to the Inuit sculptural tradition in its adherence of idealized form, solidity, and heavy line. Circles for eyes are cut roughly into the polished marble, the owl’s beak gapes open, and its wings hold tight to its body: a bird ready to take flight. Owl is a dynamic fusion of quiet grace in a cubic structure that engages Ashevak’s

idiosyncratic sense of beauty.

Arguably the strongest work in the exhibition is Two Ravens, a stencil on paper featuring two large birds with exaggerated claws. Like Owl, Two Ravens relies upon line to render distinct forms, particularly in the ravens’ wings. What is remarkable here is Ashevak’s use of negative space to demarcate line. The same can be said for her 1961 stonecut on paper A Vision of Animals. Here a conglomeration of animal forms sweep across the paper like a rolling tide.

Each dog, bird, or deer is adjoined and rendered in thick blocks of deep black color presumably to represent the interconnectedness of all matter and life itself. Ultimately, A Vision of Animals is a strong example of Ashevak’s masterful fusion of fantastical images and idealized form; however, it’s much more than that—it is a powerful metaphor for community, something that Ashevak valued immensely.

Although this commemorative exhibition of Kenojuak Ashevak’s work is quite meager in terms of the number of works on display, it does, however, signify the importance of her life and artistic legacy to Canada. What we should remember when we speak Ashevak’s name is a female Inuit artist who ruptured social, racial, and cultural lines to reconsider how Canada and the world approaches Inuit art making. —Matthew Ryan Smith

WENTY-SEVEN NATIVE AMERICAN ARTISTS contributed to a cultural wave of creativity at the Kokiri Putahi: 7th International Indigenous Visual Arts Gathering. Kokiri Putahi was hosted by Toi Maori in the Ngapuhi community at the Kohewhata Marae, Kiakohe, Aotearoa, the Land of the Long White Cloud (New Zealand).

Toi Maori and Ti Atinga led the organization of the Kokiri Putahi Hui. The Ngapuhi Maori community in the Northland hosted the gathering; the Ngaphui iwi, or tribe, is the largest iwi of all the Aotearoa Maori. They are situated in the Northland of Aotearoa.

Kokiri Putahi was a perfect storm of artistic creativity for a two-week period from January 14th to 26th, 2014. The artistic disciplines engaged included carving and sculpture, fiber arts, clay, painting, printmaking, jewelry and adornment, glass, mixedmedia, photography and multi-media, and ta moko (traditional Maori tattoo).

International Indigenous visual artists from Australia, Samoa, Hawaii, Canada, and the United States attended the gathering. Twenty-seven Indigenous artists from the States, including Alaska and Hawaii, represented the various artistic disciplines. Native American cultures were well represented from coast to coast with artists from Shinnecock to the Seneca of the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy, Lakota, the Southwest, to the Pacific Northwest of Oregon and Washington, and the coastal peoples of Alaska, Hawaii, and American Samoa.

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their communities and ability to network.

The Kokiri Putahi artistic exchange experience the artists are inspired by will be spread further once they return home, so many more people will benefit.”

Te Pu O Te Wheke, an art exhibit that included an exhibition catalogue, highlighted the artistry of the Kokiri Putahi participants and was featured on Maori Television. The artwork of 127 contemporary Indigenous artists was represented in the contemporary Indigenous art exhibit and exhibit catalogue during the 8th Ngaphui Festival in Kaikohe, the largest town in the Far North District of Aotearoa. One of the exhibit organizers remarked that the exhibit is the largest Ngaphui Festival art exhibit yet. The exhibit’s inclusion of the Indigenous artists from throughout the world sets the bar for the future exhibit quality.

Personally, I have attended three of the International Indigenous Visual Arts Gatherings, the Matariki Festival of Feasts and Arts hosted by the Te Wanaga O Aotearoa Hastings, (2011); Te Tihi: 4th International Indigenous Visual Arts Gatherings hosted in Rotorua, Aotearoa, (2010); and the PIKO: 3rd International Indigenous Visual Arts Gatherings hosted by the Keomailani Hanapi Foundation in Waimea, Hawaii, in 2007.

Photo: Tim Parkinson (CC BY 2.0)

The Maori never cease to amaze me with their overwhelming generosity of friendship and hosting. Attending

these gatherings for me is to polish the Covenant Chain of cultural artistic friendship. The intensity of creativity and artistic collaboration in Kokiri Putahi was inspiring beyond words. We came together in a statement of collective cultural sharing through ceremony of art and culture. The serene, creative moment, like a return to the cultural womb, was a swirl of beauty in simultaneous voices of song and prayer and catalyst for tears of beauty in the power of shared culture.

Our sharing of oral traditions that inspire our creativity brings us all closer together as human beings, because we share similar values. We share friendships and exchange experiences that empower us creatively and culturally and will sustain us for a lifetime. I am amazed at the beauty of the Maori people, their language, stories, song, dance, and protocol. Our Indigenous arts circle of fire grows in size and strength to nurture and empower Indigenous artistic representation internationally; we strengthen each other collectively.

Toi Maori Aotearoa (Maori Arts New Zealand) is a charitable trust sponsoring a collective artists’ forum, that furthers the development of Maori arts. It is supported by Creative New Zealand through Te Waka Toi and is a national network of contemporary Maori artists.

Toi Maori Aotearoa promotes the vital, potent art and culture of a thriving contemporary people called Maori. As their website proclaims, “Maori art is inseparable from Maori culture. It is like a living organism that exists in the spirit of our people and drives them toward wider horizons and greater achievement.”

Ti Atinga, a committee within the Indigenous arts organization, and Toi Maori organize huis, that is, art gatherings throughout Aotearoa, and assist in hosting the international gatherings.

The Maori assert, “He mana tangata, He toi whakairo: Where there is artistic excellence, there is human dignity.”

Kokiri Putahi has inspired human dignity and cultural pride in all of us through our life of arts in the art of life.

—Linley B. Logan

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Book Reviews Catalogue

Before and After the Horizon: Anishinaabe Artists of the Great Lakes Edited by David W. Penney and Gerald McMaster Smithsonian Institution, NMAI, 2013

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XPLORING WAYS IN WHICH ANISHINAABE ART reflects the artists’ relationship to land, community, and family, the essays of this catalogue abandon the safe confines of a chronological presentation of Anishinaabe art and replace it with an attempt to examine shared qualities found in Anishinaabe art over time.

The method is admirable, and the essays are eloquent; however, from my perspective, the quality of Anishinaabeness is more easily applied to some artists than others. Additionally, not all artists represented in the essays are Anishinaabeg. While they are from cultures that are closely related, one can argue that for many Native Americans and First Nations peoples a close relationship to land and community is common, and this is not unique to

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being Anishinaabe. That being said, the catalogue does bring to the forefront the many ways in which land, community, and family are commonly-found concepts represented by many Anishinaabe artists.

The book features four essays as well as an excerpt from Gerald Vizenor’s novel Shrouds of White Earth (2011).

The essays by David W. Penney and Gerald McMaster offer overviews in support of the exhibition’s goals, but I was particularly impressed by the essays “Animikii Miinwaa Mishibizhiw: Narrative Images of the Thunderbird and the Underwater Panther” by Alan Corbiere and Crystal Migwans and “Things Anishinaabe: Art, Agency, and Exchange Across Time” by Ruth B. Phillips. Both are particularly interesting in their methodology and warrant further exploration than the limited space available to them in this exhibition catalogue.

Co-curator David W. Penney’s introductory essay uses socio-historical methodology to lay the groundwork for the catalogue’s argument that there is an Anishinaabe approach to art making that stretches across time. He writes on page 10, “The land, the doodem (totem), the family, the community, the language— these are the dimensions of Anishinaabe.”

In support of his argument, Penney presents an analysis of art and artists whose works are exemplary of his thesis.

The essay examines a wide range of art, from works by Norval Morrisseau, whose emergence as an Indigenous artist continues to influence contemporary Anishinaabe artists, to 21st-century works by artists such as Wally Dion and Keesic Douglas, who live and work in urban settings. In many instances the theme of the exhibition resonates in the art discussed, but despite the Penney’s efforts, examples such as Wally Dion’s Nurse Tracy (2008) are less convincing

examples of his argument. The task of writing such an essay was no doubt difficult. I appreciate the attempts to explore the common bonds that can be found in Anishinaabe art; however, I am not convinced that the concept of Anishinaabe-ness can be equally applied to all artists.

The second essay, “Animikii Miinwaa Mishibizhiw: Narrative Images of the Thunderbird and the Underwater Panther,” by Alan Corbiere and Crystal Migwans, examines the importance of these two powerful beings frequently found on 19th-century twined and quilled bags. The authors first want to show that the Thunderbird and Underwater Panther are not generic representations but are “distinct characters in an orderly system of interrelated oral traditions and visual signs.”1 The second goal is to explore the sky/sub-surface relationships as being complex and complementary, rather than diametrically opposed. Its use of Anishinaabe oral histories in support of visual analysis makes this essay unique.

The combination of the visual in conjunction with oral history makes for an enhanced and effective argument for understanding the power of this imagery as an essential part of being Anishinaabeg.

In the third essay, “Things Anishinaabe: Art, Agency, and Exchange Across Time,” Ruth B. Phillips argues on page 53, that agency is not located solely in human beings but is “also distributed across material, human, and animal realms [which] is fundamental to traditional Anishinaabe thought.” Acknowledging the limitations of a short essay in the exploration of the rich histories of art and exchange in Anishinaabe culture, Phillips limits her discussion to four visual strategies: ornamentation, spatial zoning, spatial ambiguity, and personification.

Phillips provides the reader with

examples of each type of strategy, and her discussions are well developed with the exception of personification through representations of animacy.

This section seems slightly rushed, as if there were more to say, but time and space constraints did not allow additional exploration of the subject. Additionally, the conclusion is tied into one sentence, the thesis, at the end of this section.

...we all live in highly contestable spaces—spaces that continually collide and mix.

Gerald McMaster’s essay, “The Anishinaabe Artistic Consciousness,” examines the art and lives of numerous contemporary Anishinaabe artists.

McMaster notes, “Contemporary art by those who identify as Anishinaabe can be seen to have developed as a response to the rapid decline of ancestral culture. This decline was owed largely to colonizing forces of modernity (acculturation and assimilation) especially between the 1880s and 1950s.”2 He acknowledges the role that artists such as Norval Morrisseau, George Morrison, Daphne Odjig, and Patrick DesJarlait played in reclaiming their cultural past and the ways in which their “recuperative visions launched generations of younger artists.”3 The remainder of the essay is devoted to the many Anishinaabe artists working in the 20th and 21st centuries, such as Arthur Shilling; Carl Beam; Robert Houle; Blake Debassige; Frank Big Bear Jr.; Star Wallowing Bull; and others. Due to the many artists addressed in this essay, the author’s exploration of their artwork is superficial.

1. Alan Corbiere and Crystal Migwans, “Animikii Miinwaa Mishibizhiw: Narrative Images of the Thunderbird and the Underwater Panther,” in Before and After the Horizon: Anishinaabe Artists of the Great Lakes, ed. David W. Penney and Gerald McMaster (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of the American Indian, 2013), 37.

2. Gerald McMaster, “The Anishinaabe Artistic Consciousness,” in Before and After the Horizon: Anishinaabe Artists of the Great Lakes, ed. David W. Penney and Gerald McMaster (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of the American Indian, 2013), 71.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid., 105.

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Despite the lack of concrete analysis of the artists, McMaster’s conclusion does raise an interesting point. Although the exhibition strives to find a commonality in Anishinaabe art, he calls attention to the importance of acknowledging the many influences on the lives of contemporary Aboriginal artists.

Although Penney alludes to this in his introduction, McMaster further acknowledges, “Contests over the representations of personal and collective identity, and the categories through which identity is filtered, now come with the recognition that we all live in highly contestable spaces—spaces that continually collide and mix.”4 Land, community, and family are important subjects in Anishinaabe art, but equally important is the recognition that the artists bring their personal experiences to their art. These experiences include outside, non-Indigenous influences.

The final section of the catalogue is an excerpt from Gerald Vizenor’s Shrouds of White Earth. Although Vizenor’s text relates to the themes of the exhibition, it added little value to the information already presented in the catalogue.

The catalogue would have benefited by allotting these pages to other essays.

In conclusion, Before and After the Horizon is a well-written catalogue, and each essay is clear in its intent. The essays by Corbiere and Migwans and Phillips were particularly interesting and informative.

The primary concern might be in the construction of the theme of the exhibition. Does the concept of doodem (totem) apply equally to all Anishinaabe artists? How do these same concepts apply to non-Anishinaabe artists? How does the acknowledgment of the personal experiences and outside influences on contemporary Anishinaabe art affect the concept of an Anishinaabe-ness common to these artists?

As Penney noted in his introduction on page 35, “an emphasis on personal perspective emerges as a powerful characteristic of Anishinaabe art,” I would argue that this is true for all artists.

—Denise Neil-Binion

Monograph

Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: An American Modernist

By Carolyn Kastner University of New Mexico Press, 2013

Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. After presenting a paper about Smith’s work at a Native American Art Study Association (NAASA) conference and curating the 2012 solo exhibition of Smith’s landscapes at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Kastner expanded her research into this monograph.

Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: An American Modernist is based on Kastner’s primary research—sorely needed in the field of Native American history—based on personal interviews with the artist, her husband, and her son Neil AmbroseSmith, a successful printmaker and educator. The author also studied Smith’s extensive personal archives. On page 2, Kastner writes of Smith that “scholars have not written about her work,” yet Joni Murphy Thompson, the late Muscogee Creek professor at Haskell Indian Nations University, wrote a 216-page doctoral dissertation on Smith in 2008.1

I

N 2006, I WAS ELATED to see Jaune Quick-to-See Smith’s work in The Missing Peace: Artists Consider the Dalai Lama at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in San Francisco, California. Although I don’t know Smith personally, I have watched her art over decades and was gratified to see her art in this inspiring, international exhibit. Likewise, I was pleased to see this book published, since monographs of Native American women artists are few and far between.

The influence Jaune Quick-to-See Smith (Sqelix’u-Métis-Shoshone) has had on Native American art through her painting, printmaking, and curatorial practices over the last three decades cannot be overstated.

The book’s author, Carolyn Kastner, earned her doctoral degree in American art history from Stanford University and is the curator at the

The monograph is organized into six chapters. In “Born in the USA,” Kastner briefly describes Smith’s biography and curatorial practices while contextualizing her art within the frame of 20th-century American modernism. “Seeing Red: Indigenous Identity and Artistic Strategic” examines one polyvalent and shifting symbol from Smith’s personal vocabulary: the color red.

“American Modernism and the Politics of Landscape” compares Smith’s abstracted and iconographic landscapes with those of 19th-century and early 20th-century European-American artists. “Chief Seattle: Visualizing Environmental Disaster” discusses Smith’s Chief Seattle series of prints and other works on paper inspired by the 1854 speech attributed to Duwamish Chief Si’ahl (or Seattle), but later embellished by William Arrowsmith, Ted Perry, and numerous

1. Joni L. Murphy, “Beyond Sweetgrass: The Life of Art of Jaune Quick-to-See Smith” (PhD diss., University of Kansas, 2008).

2. Albert Furtwangler, Answering Chief Seattle (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1997), 24–26, 73.

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other European-American authors.2 “The Discourse of Modern Art in a Post-Columbian World” features a close reading of Paper Dolls for a Post Columbian World with Ensembles Contributed by U.S. Government (1992).

Color plates conclude the book.

Kaster’s designation of Smith, the subject of the 2004 solo exhibition and book Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: Postmodern Messenger, as being a modernist is a bold statement, asserted in the title and throughout the book.

The terms modern and postmodern in art are certainly contested; however, to make the argument that a living, contemporary artist whose career began in the mid-1970s is a modernist is an uphill battle. Page 8 declares, “At the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, where I am a curator, we define American modernism as the period from the late 1800s to the present,” with the observation of a former curator and director that, “We are still too close to what has gone on to set limits and boundaries on the meaning of American Modern.” There may not be consensus on definitions; however, a vast corpus of scholarship distinguishes the modern, postmodern, and contemporary eras. While I understand Kastner’s perspective, I cannot agree that a late-20th/early 21st-century Sqelix’u-Métis-Shoshone painter, printmaker, political activist, and curator is a modernist.

Kastner goes on to state that “the term modernism comprises the activities and artwork of those who felt that ‘traditional’ forms of art were inadequate in the new economic, social, and political conditions of

an emerging industrial world.” The United States is clearly no longer in an “emerging industrial world,” and American sociologists, notably Daniel Bell in 1972, argued that the United States shifted to a post-industrial society, since the labor force and wealth moved from manufacturing to service sectors.3 Since the 1970s, we are seen as a part of an increasingly global information society.4 Our changing society is reflected in the art world. In the 1970s feminist art shattered the modernist myth of universality and the grand narrative.

Judith K. Brodsky and Ferris Orrin write that, “[T]he feminist art movement pioneered postmodernism.”5 Postmodernism was first applied to architecture, tentatively in the 1950s and robustly by the 1970s;6 though, feminist artists applied postmodern principles to myriad art disciplines, including: ...the use of specific events, personal experience, and narratives drawn from daily life to challenge abstract expressionism; the use of pleasure and play to protest the oppressions of the status quo; art inspired by and responsive to social, cultural, scientific, and political conditions rather than art for art’s sake; the development of embodied narratives tied to the temporalities of daily life rather than art linked to notions of transcendent form …. Art as a collaborative practice rather than a product of individual male genius; and art that blurs the boundaries between craft, popular culture, and high art.7 Many of these same strategies can be found in Smith’s politically charged, cultural-informed works. Smith

studied under Harmony Hammond, celebrated feminist artist and activist, and together they curated the now legendary Women of Sweetgrass, Cedar, and Sage (1985), one of the earliest group shows of contemporary Native American women.8 Yet, Hammond is only mentioned once in Kastner’s monograph and not included in the index. Likewise, Native artists, Smith’s contemporaries and collaborators, whom she actually exhibited with, receive passing mentions if mentioned at all. Meanwhile, Albert Bierstadt, John Choate, Thomas Cole, and other artists who died decades before Smith was born received multiple mentions and are included in the index.9 In contrast to the experiences of 19thcentury European-American artists, as art historian Bill Anthes writes, Native Americans’ experience of modernization (aka Americanization) comprises the shocks of genocide, colonization, and displacement, followed by the shifting tides of federal and locally policy, assimilation, and not least, commodification as icons of authenticity and Primitive vitality.10 The mid-19th century dawning of the modern era coincided with the reservation era. Early Native American modernist women artists, Edmonia Lewis and Angel De Cora, both successful and widely exhibited in the mainstream art world during their heydays (1870s and 1900s respectively), were pushed out of the artistic canon, forgotten, until their histories were recuperated by women scholars in recent decades.

Scholarly writing about the late Native American modernist artists George

3. Malcolm Waters, Daniel Bell (London: Routledge, 1996), 106–8.

4. Alistair S. Duff, Information Society Studies (London: Routledge, 2013), 3.

5. Judith K. Brodsky and Ferris Olin. “Stepping Out of the Beaten Path: Reassessing the Feminist Art Movement.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 33, no. 2 (2008): 330–331.

6. Piet Lombaerde, Bringing the World into Culture: Comparative Methodologies in Architecture, Art, Design and Science (Brussels: Academic & Scientific Publishers, 2009), 255.

7. Judith K. Brodsky and Ferris Olin. “Stepping Out of the Beaten Path: Reassessing the Feminist Art Movement.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 33, no. 2 (2008): 330–331.

8. Joni L. Murphy, “Beyond Sweetgrass: The Life of Art of Jaune Quick-to-See Smith” (PhD diss., University of Kansas, 2008).

9. Carolyn Kastner, Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: An American Modernist (University of New Mexico Press, 2013), 83.

10. Bill Anthes, Native Moderns: American Indian Painting, 1940–1960 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), xxi.

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Morrison and Allan Houser has only built up momentum in the last decade.

Contemporary artists work in a globally influenced, culturally diverse, and technologically advancing world.

The events that fractured modernism in Native communities include the 1962 founding of the Institute of American Indian Arts, the Red Power movement, the passage of the 1975 Indian Self-Determination Act and 1978 American Indian Religious Freedom Act, and increasing urbanization, access to higher education, and growth of tribal media. The expansion of the Internet in recent decades has fasttracked Indigenous self-representation, especially in Indigenous languages, on a global scale. What postmodernist artists fought for in the 1970s and 1980s remains vital to us today: ending the grand narrative and the illusion of universalism; rejecting designations of high and low art; including textiles, ceramics, and other non-easel arts in the art discussion; restoring cultural and social context in art; and, most fundamentally, fostering pluralism.

Increasingly, the definition of “contemporary art” is being honed down to pinpoint the spirit of art of our age. New York University, Steinhardt eloquently defines the term: Contemporary art is the art of today, produced by artists who are living in the twenty-first century. ... Contemporary artists work in a globally influenced,

culturally diverse, and technologically advancing world. Their art is a dynamic combination of materials, methods, concepts, and subjects that challenge traditional boundaries and defy easy definition. Diverse and eclectic, contemporary art as a whole is distinguished by the very lack of a uniform, organizing principle, ideology, or ‘ism.’ Contemporary art is part of a cultural dialogue that concerns larger contextual frameworks such as personal and cultural identity, family, community, and nationality.11 I can only agree with Arthur C. Danto, when he wrote, “I think the ending of modernism did not happen a moment too soon.” He follows with what would be a perfect description of Smith’s artist strategies, “For the art world of the seventies was filled with artists bent on agendas having nothing much to do with pressing the limits of the art or extending the history of art, but with putting art at the service of this or that personal or political goal.

And artists have the whole inheritance of art history to work with, including the history of the avant-garde…” 12 Kastner is correct that Smith’s artwork is in dialogue with modernism. A 1993 Artforum review of her work reads: “Smith has been criticized for being retardataire in her use of various European and American modernisms—an unfair criticism, considering that the appropriation of Modernist styles is a common denominator of recent post-Modern art.”13 However, Smith’s work is also often in dialogue with the precontact Indigenous artists who carved the petroglyphs that she has successfully fought to protect. Smith is in dialogue with modern and postmodern Native American artwork.14 She is also in dialogue with her family, her

tribal community, Montana artists, Southwest artists, Native artists, the international artistic communities with which she exhibits and collaborates, and the times in which she lives. She doesn’t need comparisons to long dead, European-American men to validate her art; she’s already celebrated on a global scale and deservedly so.

—America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

Catalogue

Modern Spirit: The Art of George Morrison

By W. Jackson Rushing III University of Oklahoma Press, 2013 THIS THOUGHTFUL AND THOROUGH catalogue examines the

artistic achievements of the Chippewa modernist George Morrison (1919– 2000). Published as a companion to the 2013 traveling exhibition of the same title, the lengthy and scholarly essay provides the reader with eloquently written visual analyses of Morrison’s art while historicizing his artistic journey.

W. Jackson Rushing is particularly

11. “Definitions: Contemporary Art,” New York University, Steinhardt: Department of Art and Art Professions, 2014, steinhardt.nyu.edu/art/education/definitions.

12. Arthur C. Danto, After the End of Art: Contemporary Art and the Pale of History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), 15.

13. Jenifer P. Borum, “Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: Steinbaum Krauss Gallery,” Artforum 31 ( January 1993): 87–8.

14. Julie Sasse, Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: Post-Modern Messenger (Tucson: Tucson Museum of Art, 2004): 2-3, 10; Gail Tremblay, Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: Flathead Contemporary Artist (Missoula, MT: Missoula Art Museum), pdf.

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interested in “the process by which Morrison became a Native American artist over time [which] is inexorably linked to his evolving relationship to his Chippewa heritage.”1 Rushing supports his thesis by examining Morrison’s career as a modernist, his re-connection to his Native roots both in his life and his art, and his evolution from artist to Native American artist. Rushing employs multiple art historical methods including biography, close reading of works of art, connoisseurship, and a comprehensive analysis of the historiography on Morrison’s art.

Rushing details Morrison’s early life and his rise to international acclaim.

Born and raised in rural Minnesota near the Grand Portage Reservation along the shore of Lake Superior, Morrison showed artistic potential at an early age. After high school, he attended the Minneapolis School of Art. By 1943, he made his way to New York and the Art Students League. Morrison had developed an appreciation of modern concepts, and soon after his arrival in New York, Morrison’s “conversion to a modernism that synthesized cubism, expressionism, and surrealism was swift and complete.”2 Rushing points out that Morrison’s “embrace of modernity… had both costs and benefits.” He argues, “A culturally informed discourse on Morrison’s art must consider certain historical assumptions about the authenticity or degradation of aboriginality.”3 Despite Morrison not playing the Indian card, art critics frequently found ways to relate his art to his Indianness, but with few exceptions his work was also excluded from exhibitions of Native American art because his work did not meet the expectations for Indian art. These issues bring to the forefront the question of what it means to be a Native American artist, which is an overarching theme that runs throughout Rushing’s essay.

Intertwining Morrison’s biography and historiography with a close and thorough visual analysis of the art he produced

from 1940 to 1999, the author establishes the artist’s importance as a modernist painter, exclusionary of his Native American heritage. If Morrison had not returned to Minnesota and re-established a connection to his Chippewa ancestry, his contribution to modernism of the 20th century would have stood on its own. However, Morrison’s experiences beginning in the late 1960s and his eventual acceptance as a Native American artist make it difficult, if not impossible, to detach his work from his Native American heritage.

The second section of the essay turns the reader’s attention from Morrison as a modernist painter and introduces the concept of his transformation into a Native artist. Rushing argues this evolution begins in the late 1960s and that it more fully reveals itself with Morrison’s return to Minnesota in 1970. The discourse of Morrison’s transformation begins with Rushing’s analysis of Morrison’s wood collages. In Rushing’s description of these assemblage sculptures, he writes, “the first phase of his collage production weathered wood is puzzled together in a quasi-cubist fashion; geometry and an insistent linearity are softened by a few curved shapes that bespeak organic vitality; and texture and tactility emphasize tangibility.”4 In these works, Morrison retained his modernist sensibility, yet the medium suggests a renewed interest in nature and Morrison’s memories of the driftwood that washed up on the shore of Lake Superior.

The wood collages received positive reception by both non-native and Native institutions, and Morrison’s New England Landscape II took the Grand Award at the Fourth Invitational of Indian Arts and Crafts in 1968. This was a noteworthy achievement because, as Rushing points out, “since early in his career he [Morrison] was rebuffed in his efforts to show his work in juried exhibitions of American Indian art because it was not Indian in style.”5 After the emergence of the wood collages, Morrison found a new way of working in wood, one

1. Rushing, W. Jackson, Modern Spirit: The Art of George Morrison (Norman: University of Oklahoma, 2013), 11.

2. Ibid., 12.

3. Ibid., 11.

that allowed him to transition from assemblages on the wall to freestanding, three-dimensional sculptures he called totems.

Rushing discusses the totem sculptures in detail, describing the circumstances that led to Morrison’s construction of his first totem. Red Totem I was first exhibited in the 1977 as part of The Native American Heritage: A Survey of North American Indian Art at the Art Institute of Chicago.

According to Rushing, “Red Totem I is a key component in the historiography of Morrison’s totemic art,” and the catalogue written for the exhibition noted that Morrison “began working with wood because of its associations as a traditional [Chippewa] material.”6 Although Morrison had been uncomfortable with critics identifying Indianness in his work earlier in his career, after 1970 he began to embrace his role as Native American artist. In Morrison’s own description of Red Totem I, he said, “I chose a red earth color called Indian Red to assimilate a certain Indianness because, otherwise, it’s just a modern, abstract version of a totem pole.”7 In the 1980s and 1990s, Morrison returned to painting, producing hundreds of works of art inspired by his love of Lake Superior. After retiring from teaching in 1983, Morrison built a studio/home on the Grand Portage Indian Reservation. Rushing describes the paintings produced during this time, writing, “[H]e pursued, like a Zen master, the paradoxically tangible yet ineffable truth of nature in a series of paintings and collages of varying scale that seek not to picture the visible but to offer an abstract equivalent for the artist’s response to land, water, and sky.”8 Although Morrison never abandoned his love of abstraction, Morrison’s return to Minnesota brought a new dimension to his work in these landscape paintings.

By examining the progression of his art and life, Rushing finally arrives at the question he has avoided to this point in the essay: Had Morrison’s Chippewa heritage always been a part of his art?

4. Ibid., 28.

5. Ibid., 27.

6. Ibid., 34.

7. Ibid.

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Monty Singer (Navajo), Great Party, Isn’t It?, 2006, acrylic on canvas, 15.75 × 16 in. Private collection. www.montysinger.com

“This is a reference to a line of dialogue in Stanley Kubricks, The Shining, which is a subversive visual metaphor about the genocide of Native Americans disguised as a horror film. But then it really is a genuine horror film because the genocide of Native Americans was horrific.” —Monty Singer

In “An Indian Artist of Today,” Rushing addresses this issue of Native American identity, writing, “As an art-historical or Native American studies ‘problem,’ this aspect of his life and work is rather complicated and admittedly subjective. Ultimately, it is a matter of interpretation and always has been, and the historiography reflects this.”9 Despite the difficulties of finding a concrete answer to the question of Native American identity in Morrison’s work, Rushing rejects a formalist methodology that disassociates Morrison’s Chippewa experience from his art. Furthermore, to understand the relationship of Morrison’s art to his Indian experience, Rushing turns to an examination of the social and

cultural environment of what it was like to be a Chippewa born in 1919. He notes that, “As Morrison grew up, to him it meant a mixture of loss and survivance, and an ever-increasing consciousness of class and ethnicity.”10 Morrison had left his rural home and embraced modernity; in many ways his is a story of government assimilation. However, as with many Native Americans, complete assimilation is never achieved. As Morrison himself said, “I wanted to come back to the Indian connection, to Minnesota and my family. I felt an inner need to come back, not realizing the consequences of what I was doing. I felt the need to put certain Indian value into my work.”11

8. Ibid., 39.

9. Ibid., 43.

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10. Ibid., 46.

11. Ibid., 50.

Although the text’s terminology may not be readily accessible to the novice art enthusiast, Rushing’s essay is well researched and well written. His use of multiple art historical methods allows him to examine Morrison’s art in a comprehensive manner. Rushing weaves biography, historiography, and visual analysis together, providing an understanding of the works themselves as well as their place within Morrison’s prolific artistic career. As a text for scholars of Native American art, Modern Spirit: The Art of George Morrison is a contribution to the literature and our understanding of both his art and what it means to be a Native American artist.

—Denise Neil-Binion

Beginner’s Luck A Collector’s Point of View

By Franci Hart

N

ATIVE AMERICAN ART became an important part of my life when I was very young. My grandparents’ game room, my favorite place in their home, was a treasure trove of Native art with a large Navajo rug in front of the fireplace, deep black San Ildefonso Pueblo pots on the mantle, and Kiowa artist Woody Bigbow paintings on the walls.

My cousin, sister, and I played for hours on the rug in front of the fireplace; we knew that because of the grey colors, we could not stain or ruin it. The rug was very comfortable.

We would try to mimic the poses of the dancers in Bigbow’s art because the color of the dress, the flow of the dancer, and the striking nature of his work fascinated us. The results of our attempts were usually comical.

On special occasions, if we were very careful, we were allowed to handle the pots—some of them so black and glistening we could almost see our faces in them. I treasured the peaceful feeling I got from the pots’ rounded smoothness.

I loved that room and everything in it. However, when the household was broken up after my grandmother’s death, all these treasures went to my mother’s brothers. Because she did not like Native art, my mother did not think her four girls would either. Since I was only nine years old at the time, I did not question her decision. Unfortunately, all the stories about the collection were lost with the distribution. Knowing my grandparents, I am certain there were some good ones.

My interest in Native art was also lost for a while as I focused instead on attending school and then raising my family.

But good friends, such as Mary Ellen Meredith, a Cherokee publisher and curator, collected Native art. And these friends were friends with Native artists whose work they had collected. What

Photo by Eric Dunlap.

a treat! I respected their collections and envied their knowledge of art. I honestly thought, you see, a person had to be an expert to buy art.

Then, as a guest of Mary Ellen’s at a fundraiser for the Jacobson House Native Art Center, located in Norman, Oklahoma, I fell in love with a work

by Cheyenne artist Archie Blackowl, considered one of the important Oklahoma traditional Southern Plains artists. Blackowl and his art still provide inspiration to young artists because of his technique and accurate depiction of Cheyenne traditions.

This Blackowl piece was a tempera painting of a Cheyenne dancer very similar to the Flatstyle art that I remembered from my childhood, only better. The very lack of background emphasized the beauty of the dancer and his traditional regalia. In particular, I loved the fine details of the belt and arm cuffs where one could almost see the beadwork, the flow of the feather tips looking almost as if they were blowing in the wind, and the vivid green, blue, and red. Blackowl managed to depict the power of the dancer, especially his legs. And the pride on the dancer’s face

is magnificent. This convinced me that I had to have this piece, even if I was not an expert on Native art. I did not even know who Archie Blackowl was. I just loved the piece.

Since I was not an expert, I did ask for advice on the value of the piece. Mary Ellen told me what she thought it should be worth, and I decided how much I was willing to spend. Fortunately, only two were bidding on this silent auction work, and I won the auction without going over my maximum. The Blackowl was mine and became the first piece in my collection of Native art.

At first the Blackowl hung in the family room with its massive white wall space.

Then, it migrated to other parts of the house as my collection grew. However, the Blackowl has always had a place of prominence, because I still love the look of pride on the dancer’s face. The piece makes me feel like I can conquer anything. Most recently, I redecorated my dining room, painting it a grey-blue to make the artwork and their colors stand out. The Blackowl is the featured piece in that room.

After this purchase I began attending local Native art markets with friends, listening to the friends’ stories, studying what they purchased, understanding how much was paid, and learning about Native art. I have always bought only pieces that I love and never ever as an investment.

At the first Cherokee Art Market, I received excellent advice about recordkeeping from a workshop for collectors. Over the years, I have attended art auctions and markets, including the Heard Museum Guild Indian Fair, Haskell Indian Art Market, and the SWAIA Indian Market. In addition to acquiring beautiful works, I made friends with some of the most creative people I have ever known. I love listening to the artists talk about their work, and I always learn something new. I treasure getting to know the people who created the art in my collection.

Most importantly, I learned that I do not have to be an art expert to purchase art. I only have to love the piece and be willing to look at it every day in my home or office.

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White Nude

by Bob Haozous She was damn lonely.

She had satisfied all her needs, yet she was still damn lonely.

Sounding much like a mantra, she repeated, ‘Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking.’

Still, questions of inadequacy crept into her mind disease like when her weaknesses were exposed.

Was happiness a remote possibility, something attainable?

It was difficult to remember what it felt like to laugh, a real laugh, a sudden and genuine display of emotion.

Those laughs were purposeless, and yet so satisfying.

What had happened to that joyfulness?

Unfortunately she was cursed with a searching introspection that led to question upon question, beginning with the reason for those laughs and to the purpose of those laughs?

What the hell, so what, who cares, why wonder?

Her need for answers always stopped short of any meaningful resolution.

Was she honest enough to face the truths she needed so much?

My god, when was the last time she so much as smiled?

In all truth there seemed to be no relevance in finding real answers.

Even the memory of laughter felt distant, hollow.

How long ago was fun something real, natural, unconstrained, uninhibited, needed and unforced, maybe even instinctive?

Grade school, junior high, high school, college, or later as a professional?

She did remember sharing laughter with her intimate friends, but the memory seemed unimportant.

What led to those laughs?

Does it matter?

When did her happiness become so serious?

In retrospect, a laugh for nothing more than itself, done for no rational reason, seemed an absurd exercise.

Her laughter had now transformed into a morbid expression of sarcasm and ridicule.

Why? It seemed that she was always favored, always selected and chosen for her intelligence and station in life, not for her human qualities.

Was this causing the loneliness?

She had special, above average attributes.

Wasn’t she the most attractive, the most

Bob Haozous (Chiricahua Apache), White Nude, mixed media. Image courtesy of the artist.

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athletic, the smartest and the most capable?

And, wasn’t her step into leadership her obvious transitional role acknowledged by all?

Of course her talent and leadership qualities were never the result of her race, status or birthrights, were they?

She was never insecure and needy for the simple reason that her pragmatism and rational nature were immune to the pettiness of sensitivity.

Isn’t that something we all understood and accepted?

Of course she could never be faulted for inheriting love, compassion, and selfpreciousness from her mom.

Obviously she could never have jealousies that would hinder her judgment and rationality.

That was beneath her.

Yes, without a doubt, she was the special one.

And now she wonders at what level of happiness she would have attained in her adult life if she hadn’t been that special, shielded from the realities of life, mistreated by abundance and afforded everything.

In her natural place the ascension into leadership would have been her inheritance without regard to experience or capability.

All that was required was power.

Did that assumption of her rightful place become the root cause of their anger and

her loneliness?

Hadn’t she pulled herself up unassisted from damn near nothing to become the quintessence of all that was require of someone destined for the leadership role?

Jealousy could be the only explanation for their emotional pettiness.

Of course this form of irrational thinking was beneath her.

Could something be missing in her introspective search for answers and fulfillment?

She had serious religious training and had completely accepted the fundamental and inflexible dogmas necessary.

She knew that others had challenged her beliefs, calling her irrational, illogical, selfserving, and even provincial.

There had never been a need for her to look into other religious answers and seriously consider other faiths.

To do this would be threatening to the principles of her faith, and, of course, their rules refused to consider any questioning.

She could logically claim unique bloodline inheritance, couldn’t she?

Didn’t her great something or other claim to have Indian blood?

And didn’t this fact give her an indigenous pedigree, plus membership with this elite segment of this Indian cultural group?

And also, didn’t this inheritance include a right to claim special knowledge and philosophical sensitivity including specific legal rights?

Isn’t that why the concept of mother earth, father sun, brother moon (or whatever) makes total sense, and wasn’t her connection to her own femaleness the reason for her uncontroversial mother earth connection and rapport?

Of course she is an Indian.

She was educated, she understood; this was not beyond her, was it?

So, why the loneliness?

Men were attracted to her and desired her, claimed and used her if for nothing more than her physical beauty.

Why not use the Indian princess and romantic fantasy to achieve more of her needs?

Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Forget all the idealism, this is just about money and power, isn’t it?

They used her, she used them.

Now she has the best flat screen TV and movie player, a great computer, iPhone, sexy clothing, good (expensive) wheels, great teeth, a surgically enhanced body, and all that stuff to measure happiness.

She earned it, she really earned it.

If it sells, than set the price high, right?

She may be a bit weathered, but she can prove her worth and value.

So, if those, or ‘we’ Indian people believe that

idea of reciprocity and balance with all things, then why shouldn’t we indulge in the superabundance this nation provides?

To hell with those people who provide and can’t keep up.

When she speaks of our evolutionary right to be dominant, her superiority and leadership includes all things, not just people.

Why should she care if there are others who are not as fortunate as she?

Is it honestly a real responsibility to care for the masses of needy people who search for handouts?

Yes, as an Indian, she realized that she should also mention our responsibility for the earth, but isn’t the earth just dirt, dead, unfeeling and unthinking stuff that we were provided to use?

It didn’t matter, she had earned hers!

Let the future generations create and repair their reality.

They can solve their problems just like we did.

Yes she is lonely, but she still has her face, her looks, her sex appeal, and her money.

There is always someone waiting to love her for what she is.

She can afford a little bit of nip and tuck, here and there even though she still looks good, still feels good, especially to others.

One thing she knows with certainty and that is her desirability.

Otherwise why would there be such an intimate interest in her?

It certainly isn’t because they are using her, is it?

They seem so powerful, so vigorous, so hungry and needy of her love.

Maybe she should renew her approach.

She’s sure that god is giving her his personal protection and guidance.

And with that she doesn’t want to wander into a rational path of thinking that would replace faith with questioning.

She was disturbed by this quote she once heard “To obtain an honest and meaningful perspective you must obliterate wishful thinking, day dreams and sentimentality.”

What total nonsense.

To do that she must first admit her individual, cultural and spiritual imperfections.

And also, aren’t we representatives of modernity, destined to be the beneficiaries of this culture, consumers of the fruits of our wonderful technology, sciences, and other developments?

Isn’t this contemporary lifestyle we share the epitome of thousands of years of development?

Are we honestly related to their concept of ‘Ugly American’ or ‘Great Satan’ by those who are driven by their jealousy and mimicry in their desire to be our replicas?

Bob Haozous (Chiricahua Apache), EuroAmerican Zombie, 2012, mixed media. Image courtesy of the artist and Ahalenia Studios.

We are proven to be the good people of this earth.

With our science and engineering we will find answers and solutions to their problems without threatening the status quo of the ‘we’ on the top, especially me.

Someday, hopefully, they will better understand our sacrifice to improve their lives.

Perhaps her loneliness is the end consequence of the stewardship she inherited, the inevitable aftereffect of leadership.

They also should acknowledge the special considerations that we undeniably deserve.

When mankind discovered the power of individual economic might he began the march from the caves to the mountaintop (with a view).

From this elevated viewpoint we could now cast our sympathetic eyes downward to their drudgery and subservience.

Without her what meaning would their lives hold?

What she pondered was not a white or Indian, black, brown or yellow thing.

She had now the assumed responsibility to maintain this wonderful world as we make it.

Her aloneness was the natural response to her role as white goddess, bestowed upon her as the responsibility to maintain this wonderful world as we know it.

It is absolutely necessary for her to maintain total control of this vast domain to prevent chaos.

She is indeed a beautiful example of human development, still capable of supplying man’s present needs, still available to serve and to be serviced for their betterment for all their needs.

Her loneliness is not loneliness at all.

She may be experiencing the purist form of love.

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IN MEMORIAM

in Soboba, we were reminded Bill Soza Warsoldier While who Bill was to us as artists by a poem.

January 3, 1949–January 18, 2014

W

ILLIAM PAUL SOZA WARSOLDIER entered life in Santa Ana, California, on January 3, 1949, and entered eternal life in Loma Linda, California, on January 18, 2014.

He was Soboboa Cahuilla and Apache .

Billy Soza Warsoldier’s parents both shared the dream for their son to be a lawyer. That makes perfect sense, since the protection of an important Native American religious right was spearheaded by Billy—the right to one’s own hair. According to Warsoldier’s faith, his long hair embodied the strength and wisdom he has acquired over his lifetime. If he cut it, he would lose that strength and wisdom and jeopardize his status in the afterlife. Billy Warsoldier had only cut his hair once in 1980, in mourning, when his father died. According to his religious beliefs as a Cahuilla tribal member, he was prohibited from cutting his hair except when a loved one passed on.

In Warsoldier’s own words: “I don’t understand why I’m being punished for practicing my faith.” He further explained, “My tradition tells me that if I cut my hair, I may face taunting and ridicule from deceased members of my tribe. I would prefer to take the state’s punishment than violate my faith.” And indeed he did.

Bill was like our Indian uncle who often taught us through action and tough love what life is really about. The poem goes something like this: Bill being our eagle father cried out to us, “Come to the edge, come to the edge, we cowered in the back of the nest we were afraid, he then repeated and demanded of us again in an even a louder tone come to the edge!! Then shivering we came to the edge/he then pushed us and we flew.”

That was Bill pushing us Native artists to fly through Indian art and Santa Fe, New Mexico, its Mecca.

We saw how Bill had a calm beautiful family life in his tribal lands and brought much happiness to his family.

songs are carried on generation to generation. We were saddened to lose a brother. The last goodbye was filled with sorrow, beauty, and the love of his family and community and especially his Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) colleagues who guided the way for the mourners.

Bill was deeply loved by family and friends and, like any art illusionist, he lived two lives—one on the rez, one off the rez. Limousine rides and top-shelf whiskey and, like any general of his art army, he led the troops by example. He drank with his men and loved them. And his art men loved him back.

—James Fendenheim and Magdalena Velasco

ABOVE: Bill Soza Warsoldier as a student at IAIA in the 1960s. Image courtesy of the IAIA Archives, iaia.libguides.com/iaia_archives. BELOW: Bill Soza Warsoldier (Soboba CahuillaApache), Swimmin’, 2005, oil on canvas, 30 × 40 in.

His successful 2004 court case, Warsoldier v. Woodford, extends the US government’s commitment to religious freedom. The ACLU and the team of lawyers who filed the lawsuit were proud to represent Warsoldier in his effort to vindicate the right to practice his religion.

As we arrived at the traditional Indian wake ceremonies, Billy’s close relatives and friends welcomed us. It was a great honor to say a last goodbye to our mentor and friend in the sacred tribal lands where ancient traditional 78 | W W W.F IR S TAM E RI C AN ARTMAG A ZI N E.C OM

SUM M E R 2 0 1 4

| 79

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CALL FOR ARTISTS “Native Now: Contemporary Arts from Colorado’s Historic Tribes,” an exhibition marking the grand reopening of the Duhesa Gallery.

Accepting all mediums; awards offered for Best in Show and Honorable Mention. Submission deadline 6/15/2014. Juried by Melanie Yazzie, Diné Artist and Professor. More information at: http://lscarts.colostate.edu/nativenow.aspx.

ORGANIZATIONS The Southeastern Indian Artists Association is a Native American-run not-for-profit organization, whose mission is to promote and educate about the arts and artists of tribal peoples. SEIAA, while a network of primarily Southeastern tribal artists, is supportive of all Federally Recognized Native artists. Visit www.seiaa.org for more info.

WRITING Writing/Editing. Fun, dedicated, detail-oriented writer/editor/ proofreader is ready to help you with your dissertation, thesis, magazine, white paper, etc. I have written or edited legal documents, brochures, employee handbooks and manuals, textbooks and educational materials, websites, advertisements, health materials, classified government material, college applications, etc. How can I help you? Contact me at: mcunigan@bellsouth.net.

Advertiser Index

A Gathering of People, Wind and Water | www.nativeartsgathering.org

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6

Allan Houser Gallery | www.allanhouser.com

3

Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries, & Museums | www.atalm.org

interior front cover

Cherokee Heritage Center (CHC) | www.cherokeeheritage.org

2

Cherokee Heritage Press (CHP) | www.cherokeeheritage.org

9

Kelly Church | www.woodlandarts.com

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Benjamin Harjo Jr. | www.benjaminharjojr.com

interior back cover

Fortune Hunting Horse | fortunehuntinghorse.com

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Idyllwild Arts | www.idyllwildarts.org

7

Legacy Art Albuquerque | www.legacyartabq.org

9

Noksi Press | www.noksi.com

80

Red Earth, Inc. | www.redearth.org

4

Southwestern Association for Indian Arts (SWAIA) | www.swaia.org

1

Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian | www.wheelwright.org

80 | W W W.F IR S TAM E RI C AN ARTMAG A ZI N E.C OM

exterior back cover

benjamin harjo jr. american indian artist

Pondering, 2014, gouache on paper, 21 x 28 inches

www.benjaminharjojr.com

Will Wilson

Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian May 11, 2014 - April 19, 2015

Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian 704 Camino Lejo, Santa Fe, NM 87505 Open daily from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm www.wheelwright.org

This project is made possible in part by the City of Santa Fe Arts Commission and the 1% Lodgers’ Tax; New Mexico Arts, a division of the Department of Cultural Affairs and the National Endowment for the Arts; and several private donors.