First American Art Magazine No. 13, Winter 2016/17

ANCESTRAL, HISTORICAL, & LIVING ARTS of INDIGENOUS PEOPLES of the AMERICAS

FırstAmericanArt MAGAZINE

No. 13, Winter 2016/17

Reviving Indigenous Tattooing Zapotec Dyeing and Weaving Tom & Mary James/Raymond James Collection Neoglyphix in Alaska

Norman Akers Ronald Senungetuk Marie Watt Margaret Roach Wheeler

4TH ANNUAL

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NOVEMBER 12, 2016 APRIL 1, 2017 Experience the legacy of Anna Mitchell and the impact she had on the revival of Cherokee and Southeastern pottery.

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21192 S. KEELER DR., PARK HILL , OK 74451 • (888) 999-60 07 • CHEROKEEHERI TAGE.ORG 2 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM © 2016 Cherokee Heritage Center. All Rights Reserved.

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Contact American Indian Art Director Danica M. Farnand indianart@cowans.com 513.871.1670 x215 6270 Este Ave. Cincinnati, OH 45232

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THE KNIFE

Chickasaw Writer

DANIEL WORCHESTER The Knife, A Murder of Crows, Coyote, and other poems dworcester.com 4 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

dw3359@cableone.net

ISSUE NO. 13, Winter 2016/17 FEATURES

DEPARTMENTS

Zapotec Weaving: The Resurgence of a Cultural Artform Kevin Simpson

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Marked for Life: An Indigenous Tattoo Reawakening Lars Krutak, PhD

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The Tom and Mary James/Raymond James Financial Art Collection Michole Eldred (Catawba-Eastern Band Cherokee)

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Neoglyphix Travels North: Anchorage Museum’s Urban Interventions Martina Dawley and Dawn Biddison (Hualapai-Diné)

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52

58

Norman Akers: Osage Painter and Printmaker Jean Merz Edwards

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Ronald Senungetuk: Iñupiaq Interdisciplinary Artist and Educator Nadia Jackinsky, PhD (Alutiiq)

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Marie Watt: Seneca Installation Artist heather ahtone (Choctaw-Chickasaw)

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Margaret Roach Wheeler Chickasaw Textile Artist Vicki Monks (Chickasaw)

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Water Is Life 14 Native Artists Show Solidarity for Water Protectors at Standing Rock Seven Directions

ARTIST PROFILES

COVER: Norman Akers (Osage), Between Places, 2009, oil on panel, 22 × 20 in. Image courtesy of the artist.

Recent Developments

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Callie Chunestudy (Cherokee Nation) Exploring Native Graphic Design Damian Jim (Navajo) Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

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Art + Literature Esther Belin (Diné) RoseMary Diaz (Santa Clara Tewa)

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Spotlight We Remain Haudenosaunee Carla Hemlock (Mohawk)

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Calendar

108

REVIEWS Art Exhibit Reviews

76

Book Reviews

86

Reports

92

IN MEMORIAM 64

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Clara Neptune Keezer (Passamaquoddy)

102

Carm Little Turtle (Apache-Tarahumara)

102

Rollie Grandbois (Turtle Mountain Chippewa)

103

Daphne Odjig (Odawa-Potawatomi)

104

Marcus Alfred (Kwakwaka’wakw)

105

Annie Pootoogook (Inuk)

106

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Power and Prestige Headdresses of the American Plains See it August 26, 2016 – May 14, 2017

Issue No. 13, Winter 2016/17 ISSN 2333-5548 (Print) • ISSN 2333-5556 (Online) Publishing Editor: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Literary Editor: Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD Marketing Director: Barbara Harjo (Cherokee descent) Circulation Manager: Stephen MacMurray Copy Editor: Rosa Cays (Chicana) Proofreaders: Rosa Cays (Chicana), Staci Golar (Cornish-WelshAmerican), and Ronda Rawlins Layout and Design: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Design Consultant: Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa) Advertising Representative: Barbara Harjo (Cherokee descent) Social Media: Jacquie Archambeau (Cherokee Nation), Staci Golar (Cornish-Welsh-American), and America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

Regional Representatives:

Great Basin: Melissa Melero-Moose (Fallon Paiute-Modoc) Northeast: Kelly Church (Odawa-Ojibwe) Northwest: Marianne Nicolson, PhD (Dzawada’enuxw Kwakwaka’wakw) Southeast: Michole Eldred (Catawba-Eastern Band Cherokee) Southwest: Holly Coonsis (Zuni)

Editorial Advisory Board:

heather ahtone (Choctaw-Chickasaw) James T. Bialac, JD Emily Haozous, PhD, RN (Chiricahua Fort Sill Apache) Linda Lomahaftewa (Hopi-Choctaw) Mary Jo Watson, PhD (Seminole) Ken Williams Jr. (Northern Arapaho-Seneca) India Rael Young International distribution by Disticor Magazine Distribution Services.

First American Art Magazine, LLC, is not responsible for the content of any article or for the statements of any advertiser. First American Art Magazine welcomes queries about editorial submissions. The magazine is not responsible for unsolicited manuscripts, photographs, or artwork.

Eagle Feather Headdress, Blackfoot Nation, attributed, ca. 1910, (1991.01.0495)

Copyright © 2016 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. All reasonable efforts have been made to identify and contact copyright holders, but in some cases, these could not be traced. If you hold or administer rights for materials published here, please contact us. Any errors or omissions will be corrected in subsequent editions. First American Art Magazine® is registered with the United States Patent and Trademark Office.

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Letters Policy Letters to the editor are welcome and may be emailed to us at info@firstamericanartmagazine.com or mailed to: First American Art Magazine, Attention: Editor 1000 Cordova Place, #843, Santa Fe, NM 87505

Funding the exhibitionis isprovided, provided,ininpart, part,by byaa grant grant from the (OHC) and Funding forfor the exhibition the Oklahoma OklahomaHumanities HumanitiesCouncil Council (OHC) and theNational NationalEndowment Endowmentfor forthe theHumanities Humanities (NEH).

(NEH). Any views, the views, findings, findings,conclusions, conclusions,ororrecommendations recommendations expressed in thisinexhibition and program do not necessarily representrepresent those of OHC expressed this exhibitions and program, do not necessarily thoseorofNEH. OHC or NEH.

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JUST PUBLISHED! Plains Indian Art of the Early Reservation Era The Donald Danforth Jr. Collection at the Saint Louis Art Museum

Plains Indian Art of the Early Reservation Era The Donald Danforth Jr. Collection at the Saint Louis Art Museum Plains Indian Art of the Early Reservation Era details the extraordinary Donald Danforth Jr. collection at the Saint Louis Art Museum. The fully illustrated catalogue presents richly varied perspectives to illuminate the historical and indigenous significance of genres and specific artworks.

For details or to purchase a copy, visit slam.org/Danforth

WINTER 2016/17 | 7

Editor’s Greetings

America Meredith (Cherokee Nation), Benediction (John Fire Lame Deer), 2005, acrylic and mica on cradled hardboard panel, 32 × 44 in., collection of the National Museum of the American Indian.

T

HE ONLY TWO LIMITATIONS on this magazine’s content have been that the material must focus on art, and the art must be by Indigenous peoples of the Americas. Within this broad framework, First American Art Magazine has had a wild ride for the last four years through subjects esoteric and mundane.

By not further dictating subject matter, our content has been a bubbling foment of topics reflecting current research trends.

By publishing new findings, FAAM has established itself as a journal, albeit not an academic journal. This does not mean we aren’t committed to accuracy; our credo is never knowingly publishing anything that isn’t factual (leading to many negotiations between authors, artists, and editors). Accessibility of our writing is of paramount importance; we want to reach a broad range of communities. My intent is that both a non-Native arts professional with no prior acquaintance with the Native world and a tribal member with no previous initiation into the art world will both find value in our writing—and hopefully find it engaging and illuminating.

With Native art criticism, history, and theory so underexplored, I believe in inductive approaches to research—that is, beginning with specific observations to work toward a theory, as opposed to deductive approaches, or beginning with a theory-based hypothesis that is then tested on empirical evidence. Too much of our tribal histories and philosophies still need to be rediscovered, but every day new knowledge is unearthed. The nascent field of Native art studies is tumultuous and exciting to join in on its exploration. Our pages are an experimental space for questioning and consideration, as opposed to an authoritative tome dictating answers.

In this issue, writers chose to explore efforts to revitalize Zapotec weaving and natural dyeing in Oaxaca, Mexico; the movement to claim Aboriginal tattooing practices; the Tom and Mary James/Raymond James Financial Art Collection and how Native art enters non-Native communities and communicates to the public; and how an aerosol art collective, Neoglyphix, can mentor at-risk youth in Anchorage, Alaska. Norman Akers explores borders

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and border crossing through his use of personal and communal Osage iconography. Ron Senungetuk encourages Alaska Native artists to take pride in their heritage and experiment with the range of new materials and techniques available to them. Marie Watt builds community through her sewing circles and installations of crowd-sourced blankets. Margaret Roach Wheeler weaves fantastical visions of Chickasaw culture, informed by her research of precontact textiles but distinctly her own.

In the spirit of experimentation and on the suggestion of our editorial advisor and board member James Bialac, we added a new department: Spotlight, which examines a single work of art. Quick glances at art markets are insufficient to fully reflect on the content and aesthetics of a work. Observation is followed by critical contemplation, as furnished by our reviews of exhibits and art books.

By sharing voices from the lively, sometimes chaotic Native art world, I hope you find an honest reflection of what is happening today and our current state of research into our pasts.

—America Meredith

Letters to FAAM “The Archive in Contemporary Indigenous Art”

I

AM WRITING TO EXPRESS MY APPRECIATION and respect for the thoughtful, intelligent article you wrote for FAAM [No. 12, Fall 2016]. I am so proud to be listed in the company of Rosalie Favell and Marie Watt and delighted to see museum and tribal archives receive recognition and use from a contemporary audience. My hope is that more Native people will investigate this source of historical treasure and begin to research Indigenous histories to inspire—and inform!—their work.

I am such a fan of FAAM and the brilliant writing. I joined the brag session to the same tune during “Exhibiting Culture,” our MoCNA panel discussion during SWAIA Indian Market, delivered to an enthusiastic and interested crowd. Keep up the great work, and know that your words are read by an appreciative audience.

With kind regards, Shan Goshorn (Eastern Band Cherokee) Tulsa, Oklahoma

SHAN, I AM VERY TOUCHED by your generous words!

Trust me when I say that an artist’s support means a lot to me as I try extremely hard to do justice to each artwork I discuss. It’s wonderful to hear that you’re pleased with the article, and I can only hope that we cross paths again in the near future. Your research and body of work are important and much needed.

I am eternally grateful for the opportunities FAAM has provided me in terms of researching original topics for critical essays and for interacting with the most fascinating artists in the literary section. I hope I don’t sound like a broken record, but I will keep doing my best for the magazine and continue this rewarding relationship.

—Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

New Artists

I

READ EVERY WORD OF EACH ISSUE of First American Art Magazine, even the publisher’s statement!

The recent one, Fall 2016, No. 12, is no different. Each issue has profiles and names of artists that I am not familiar with and have not yet been documented in the Heard Museum’s artist files. Four very notable artists in the recent issue (and new to me) include Jodi Webster, Michael Elizondo Jr., Amanda Beardsley, and Emily Arthur. Great talents—and I am embarrassed to admit I have not been paying close attention (or for your Italian readers, “Non stare attento (che non presta attenzione)”) to some of the exciting developments in the Native art world! Thanks to FAAM. As a subscriber, I know I won’t miss out. Peace and congratulations to all the stellar artists in the recent issue.

Mario Nick Klimiades Phoenix, Arizona THANK YOU SO MUCH, Mario, for your encouragement and support of the magazine and the Native art world in general. The Billie Jane Baguley Library and Archives are an important resource for researchers of art by Indigenous peoples of North and South America. They include the personal papers of numerous influential artists and more than 300,000 photographs. See you at the Heard Fair!

—America Meredith

Unknown Nazca artist, Lobster Effigy Vessel with Bridge-Spout Handle, ca. 300–600, clay slip, earthenware, Coastal Peru, 5 5/16 × 9 1/2 × 4 1/8 in., collection of the Walters Museum, Baltimore, Maryland, 2009.20.55 (CC BY-SA 3.0).

We welcome your letters to the editor! If we print it, we will send you a complimentary copy of that issue of the magazine. Please send your email to us at: info@firstamericanartmagazine.com or mail letters to: First American Art Magazine, Attention: Editor 1000 Cordova Pl., #843, Santa Fe, NM 87505

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Contributing Writers

1519 Rebellion collective on their exhibit, Itom Luturia (Our Truth). Martina cofounded and co-organizes Neoglyphix, the all-Indigenous aerosol art collective.

HEATHER AHTONE (Choctaw-Chickasaw) is the James

ROSEMARY DIAZ (Santa Clara Tewa) is a freelance writer based in Santa Fe. She studied literature and its respective arts at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Naropa University, and University of California, Santa Cruz. Her work has appeared in numerous publications including Beadwork, Collector’s Guide, Native Peoples, and the Santa Fean, and she is featured online at Indian Country Today Media Network.

T. Bialac associate curator of Native American and non-Western art at the Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art, University of Oklahoma, where she remains committed to supporting the Oklahoma arts community and the cultural life of her tribal communities.

JASON ASENAP (Comanche-Muscogee) is a writer,

filmmaker, and information specialist at the Fine Arts and Design Library at the University of New Mexico. He holds a BA in English from the University of Oklahoma and an MFA in screenwriting from the Institute of American Indian Arts. Asenap was a Sundance Institute Native Lab fellow in 2011. He developed an interest in Indian art by watching his father Hollis Asenap (Comanche) paint in his garage for the WPA. Asenap grew up in Norman, Oklahoma, around many notable Oklahoma Indian artists, such as Comanche painters Rance Hood and Doc Tate Nevaquaya, who were close family friends and regular visitors to the Asenap house. Asenap is currently in the post-production phase of his latest short film, Captivity Narrative, and is working on a feature-length, noir script for Navajo filmmaker, Blackhorse Lowe.

DAWN BIDDISON is assistant curator at the Alaska office of the Smithsonian Arctic Studies Center. She worked collaboratively with Alaska Native elders, tribal representatives, scholars, and artists on the website, Sharing Knowledge, and the exhibition, Living Our Cultures, Sharing Our Heritage: The First Peoples of Alaska. She is project coordinator for the exhibition Dena’inaq’ Huch’ulyeshi: The Dena’ina Way of Living at the Anchorage Museum. Biddison works with Alaska Native communities though programming including language workshops, artist residencies, and public lectures.

KATHRYN BUNN-MARCUSE, PhD (English-

American), is the curator of Northwest Native art and director of the Bill Holm Center for the Study of Northwest Coast Art at the Burke Museum, and assistant professor of art history at the University of Washington. Her publications focus on the indigenization of European-American imagery, 19th-century Northwest Coast jewelry and other body adornment, and the filmic history of the Kwakwaka’wakw. In her role as curator, she collaborates with First Nations communities and artists to identify research priorities and to activate the Burke Museum’s holdings in ways that are responsive to cultural revitalization efforts.

MARTINA DAWLEY (Hualapai-Diné) is the assistant curator for American Indian Relations and faculty member at Arizona State Museum (ASM) at the University of Arizona.

Primary among her responsibilities is management of ASM’s Southwest Native Nations Advisory Board, facilitation of tribal consultations related to repatriation and programs at the museum, and providing training and technical assistance to tribal museums, libraries, archives, and cultural centers. She earned her PhD (2013) and MA (2009) in American Indian studies and her BA (2006) in anthropology with a minor in geoscience at the University of Arizona. Dawley has worked collaboratively with Native artists on Neoglyphix: All-Indigenous Art Exhibition and exhibits featuring Jeremy Singer (Dinétah Landscapes, Dinétah People), and the 10 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

MICHOLE ELDRED (Catawba Nation-Eastern Band Cherokee) is a writer, curator, and educator. She received her bachelor’s degree in art and museum studies at University of South Florida and her master’s in education from Berry College.

Much of her work is focused on curating Indigenous art and historical exhibitions. She believes that the process of art making and enjoyment of the arts should be accessible to all peoples. Her work in writing art curriculum and teaching the arts to people with disabilities is reflected in the interpretive planning she implements when creating exhibitions.

SUZANNE NEWMAN FRICKE, PhD (AshkenazicAmerican), wrote her art history dissertation at the University of New Mexico on 20th-century Native pottery. She has taught art history at the Santa Fe University of Art and Design. She co-curated two exhibits that traveled in Russia in 2012 and 2014.

She curated a third show, Woven Together: Celebrating Spider Woman in Contemporary Native American Art, which exhibited in two Russian museums in 2015.

NADIA JACKINSKY, PhD (Alutiiq), is an art historian and an adjunct instructor at the University of Alaska, Anchorage.

She works as a program officer for a grant program dedicated to supporting Alaska Native artists at the CIRI Foundation. Her research interests include Alaska Native art, cultural revival, and identity.

LARS KRUTAK, PhD, is a research associate in the Department of Anthropology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. His dissertation research focused on Rarámuri (Tarahumara) arts-and-crafts producers in Mexico.

He is the author of Tattoo Traditions of Native North America: Ancient and Contemporary Expressions of Identity (LM Publishers, 2014), among other books on the subject of Indigenous tattooing.

Krutak is a curatorial consultant and photographer for the current Royal Ontario Museum exhibition in Toronto, Tattoos: Ritual.

Identity. Obsession. Art., and Museum of International Folk Art exhibition, Sacred Realm: Blessings and Good Fortune across Asia, in Santa Fe. MICHELLE LANTERI is a contemporary art scholar and curator currently serving as interim director of the New Mexico State University Art Gallery. In December 2016, she will complete her master of arts degree in art history with a minor in Native American studies and a certificate in museum studies.

THOLLEM McDONAS is a peripatetic pianist, keyboardist, vocalist, composer, improviser, collaborator, activist, teacher, and author. He has released over 50 albums across the stylistic spectrum on 20 different vanguard labels. He performs

throughout North America and Europe as a soloist and in collaboration with musicians, dancers, and filmmakers. McDonas has contributed articles to Anthology of Essays on Deep Listening and Full Moon magazine.

JEAN MERZ-EDWARDS has studied art history since

2000, when she attended her first classes on the subject at Hunter College in New York. She earned her master’s degree in art history from the University of Oklahoma and was granted a certificate in women’s and gender studies and the Alice Mary Robertson Award for her scholarship on the life and art of Linda Lomahaftewa (HopiChoctaw). Merz-Edwards teaches art history at Bethany College in Lindsborg, Kansas.

VICKI MONKS (Chickasaw) is a prolific multimedia freelancer who works as a writer, reporter, photographer, and radio and TV producer. Her articles and documentaries have tackled global environmental subjects, from the deforestation of Irian Jaya in Indonesia to contamination of the oceans with plastic trash and the worldwide problems of endocrine-disrupting chemicals. She is currently in Oklahoma where she is working on a book about contemporary American Indians and environmental threats to Indian lands a century after Oklahoma statehood.

DENISE NEIL-BINION (Delaware-Cherokee) earned her master of arts degree in Native American art history from the University of New Mexico. 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 and currently resides in Norman, Oklahoma.

KEVIN SIMPSON is the director of Colectika and Peyote People, Wixáritari and Mexican folk art galleries. Both follow fair trade practices and are devoted to promoting Indigenous culture.

Simpson graduated with an honors degree in political science from the University of Western Ontario in 1994. He lives in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico.

MATTHEW RYAN SMITH, PhD, is the curator of the

Glenhyrst Art Gallery of Brant in Brantford, Ontario. He is also a sessional professor of curatorial studies in the Department of Visual Studies, University of Toronto, Mississauga. Currently, Matthew is the Canadian section editor of the Art Market Dictionary to be published by De Gruyter in 2017. His writings have been featured in several Canadian and international publications such as Canadian Art, ESSE, Blackflash, and Afterimage. He has also published in several academic journals including TOPIA: Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies, the Canadian Journal of Native Studies, and Biography: An Interdisciplinary Quarterly.

PETER SZOK, PhD, is a professor of Latin American

history at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth, Texas. He has conducted research in Panama for nearly 25 years and is currently writing a book on Indigenous art in contemporary Panama.

YVONNE N. TIGER (Seminole-Muscogee-Cherokee) is

a freelance writer who holds a bachelor of arts degree with honors from Smith College and two master’s degrees from the University of Oklahoma. She works at Aaniiih Nakoda College and is adjunct faculty at Montana State University, Northern.

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Recent Developments MUSEUMS The Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) selected Wanda Nanibush (Beausoleil Ojibwe) as its assistant curator of Canadian and Indigenous art, a newly created position. An experienced curator, Nanibush earned her master’s degree in visual studies from the University of Toronto.

The Fralin Museum of Art in Charlottesville, Virginia, hired Adriana Greci Green, PhD, as its curator of the Indigenous arts of the Americas. Greci Green earned her doctoral degree in anthropology from Rutgers University and has served as a research collaborator at the National Museum of Natural History. This curatorial position was funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation was created by a partnership between the Fralin Museum of Art, Kluge-Ruhe Aboriginal Art Collection, and University of Virginia College of Arts and Sciences.

The Best of Show award for the 11th Annual Cherokee Art Market went to Glenda McKay (Ingalik Athabascan).

Classification winners were Bryan Waytula (Cherokee Nation), painting, drawing, graphics, and photography; Joshua Adams (Eastern Band Cherokee); Danni Hamilton-Youngbird (Navajo), beadwork/quillwork; Lucille Lossiah (Eastern Band Cherokee), basketry; Chase Kahwinhut Earles (Caddo), pottery; Charlene Laughing (Navajo), textiles; Peter Nez Nelson (Navajo),

The Dennos Museum of the Northwestern Michigan College in Traverse City broke ground on August 15. Its $5-million expansion will include a large gallery devoted to Inuit art.

ART FAIRS Adrian Nasafotie (Hopi) won Best of Show at SWAIA’s 95th Annual Santa Fe Indian Market. The classification winners were Benson Manygoats (Navajo), jewelry; Al Qöyawayma (Hopi), pottery; Jason Garcia (Santa Clara), painting, drawing, graphics, and photography; Adrian Nasafotie, wooden Pueblo figurative carving and sculpture; Ed Natiya (Navajo), sculpture; Berdina Charley (Navajo), textiles; Leonard Gene (Navajo), diverse arts; Joyce and Juanita Growing Thunder Fogarty (Fort Peck Assiniboine-Sioux), beadwork and quillwork; Nicklaus Stanaland (Navajo), youth; Jordan Dresser (Northern Arapaho), Julianna Brannum (Comanche), and Mat Hames, moving images; and Kelly Church (OdawaOjibwe), basketry.

TahNibaa Naataanii (Navajo), Classic Serape Poncho, 2016, wool. Image courtesy of the Museum of Northern Arizona.

jewelry; and Glenda McKay, diverse art forms. Special award winners were Joshua Adams, Culture Keeper Award; Peter Nez Nelson, Innovator Award; Bill Glass Jr. (Cherokee Nation), Anna Mitchell Award.

Henry Payer (Winnebago) won Best of Show at the Northern Plains Indian Art Market hosted in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, by Sinte Gleska University.

Todd Bordeaux (Sicangu Lakota) won the Best of Fine Arts, and Emil Her Many Horses (Oglala Lakota) won Best of Tribal Arts. Division winners were Richard Red Owl (Oglala Lakota), oil and acrylic painting; Jackie Sevier (Northern Arapaho), watercolor, tempera, gouache, and casein; Jackie Sevier, drawing; Roger

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Broer (Oglala Lakota), printmaking; Randall Blaze (Oglala Lakota), 3D, additive process; Alfred Decoteau (Turtle Mountain Chippewa), 3D, subtractive process; Todd Bordeaux, jewelry; Henry Payer, 3D, mixed media; Randall Blaze, pottery; Gerald Yellow Hawk (Cheyenne River Lakota), traditional-style beadwork; Emil Her Many Horses, contemporary beadwork; Ivan Knife (Sicangu Lakota), quillwork; Gwen Westerman (Sisseton-Wahpeton Dakota), quilts; Linda Szabo (Sicangu Lakota), textiles; James Star Comes Out (Oglala Lakota), dolls; Donald F. Montileaux (Oglala Lakota), traditional paintings; Brian Szabo (Sicangu Lakota), tribal arts; and Dwayne Wilcox (Oglala Lakota), mixed media, fine arts, 2D. The Museum of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff, Arizona, hosted its 83rd Annual Hopi Festival of Arts and Culture Juried Art Competition exclusively featuring Hopi artists. Garrett Maho won Best of Show, Davis Maho won the Director’s Award, and Akema Honyumptewa won the MNA Spirit Award. Classification winners were Wallace Lomakema, fine art; Wilmetta Kayquoptewa, basketry–wicker; Alberta Selina, basketry–other; Curtis Naseyowma, katsina–contemporary; Gene Lalo, katsina–traditional, Garrett Maho, pottery; Ron Honyouti, sculpture; Ramon Dalangyawma, jewelry; and Akema Honyumptewa, textiles–weaving.

The Best of Show winner for the 67th Annual Navajo Festival of Arts and Culture, featuring exclusively Navajo artists and hosted by the Museum of Northern Arizona, was TahNibaa Naataanii. Elizabeth Whitethorne-Benally won the MNA Spirit Award. Classification winners were Elizabeth WhitethorneBenally, two-dimensional fine art; Steven A. Darden, cultural arts; Abraham Begay, jewelry; TahNibaa Naataanii, weaving; and Rachel Wilson, youth.

The Chickasaw Nation hosted Southeastern Art Show and Market (SEASAM) in Tishomingo, Oklahoma.

Troy Jackson (Cherokee Nation) won Best of Show. Category winners were Kristie Vann (Cherokee Nation), cultural arts; Troy Jackson, 3D art; and Norma Howard (Choctaw-Chickasaw), 2D art.

ART SHOW The Cherokee Heritage Center hosted its 21st Annual Cherokee Homecoming Art Show open to members of the three Cherokee tribes. The Grand Prize winner was Michael Mounce. Category winners were Hillary Glass, visual arts; Leslie Gates, traditional arts; Teresa Million, traditional basketry; Renee Hoover, contemporary basketry; Carolyn Pallett, contemporary beadwork; Toneh Chuleewah, contemporary jewelry; Troy Jackson, contemporary pottery; Matthew Girty, contemporary sculpture; and Karen Berry, contemporary textiles.

PRECONTACT ART

Nation), Susan Power (Yanktonai Dakota), Tiokasin Ghosthorse (Mnicoujou-Itazipco Lakota), Thea Hopkins (Aquinnah Wampanoag), Laura Ortman (White Mountain Apache), Theresa Secord (Penobscot), T. J. Young (Sgwaayaans-Haida), Luzene Hill (Eastern Band Cherokee), Cannupa Hanska Luger (Mandan-HidatsaArikara-Lakota), Brenda Mallory (Cherokee Nation), Preston Singletary (Tlingit), Bunky Echo-Hawk (PawneeYakama), and Mateo Romero (Cochiti).

In its second year, the Tulsa Artist Fellowship, sponsored by the George Kaiser Family Foundation,

The Grolier Codex, a 13th-century Maya manuscript, has been authenticated by a team of researchers from Brown University. The amatl book was discovered in the 1960s by looters in Chiapas, Mexico. Its illustration style is unusual; however, Stephen Houston and his team have determined that the work is genuine and is the oldest known, surviving codex from the Americas.

Woven fabric from coastal Peru has recently been determined to be the oldest known use of indigo dye.

Archaeologists Tom Dillehay and Duccio Bonavia discovered these cotton scraps, dating from 4200 to 2000 BCE, embedded in a temple ramp at Huaca Prieta. High-performance liquid chromatography revealed the presence of indigoid. Previously, 4,400-year-old fabric from Egypt was thought to be the world’s oldest evident of indigo dyeing.

HONORS and AWARDS The 10th annual BC Creative Achievement Awards for First Nations Art were awarded to Corinne Hunt (Kwakwaka’wakw-Komoyue), Maxine Matilpi (Ma’mtagila-Tlowitsis), Corey W. Moraes (Lax Kw’alaams), Luke Parnell (Nisga’a-Haida), and Xwalacktun (Coast Salish–Squamish-Kwakwaka’wakw).

The Native Arts and Cultures Foundation announced its sixth year of National Artist Fellowships. The 2016 fellows include Erica Tremblay (SenecaCayuga), Kelli Jo Ford (Cherokee

The World Wildlife Fund chose Kevin Pourier (Oglala Lakota) as one of a select group to be the Voice for the Monarch in their 2017 national campaign to restore habitat of the monarch butterfly.

The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Arts’ Fulcrum Fund, now administered by 516 ARTS in Albuquerque, New Mexico, awarded a grant to Candice Hopkins (Carcross/Tagish) and Raven Chacon (Navajo) for their Off Lomas public art project.

ORGANIZATIONS With increased funding, the Qaggiavuut Art Society, based in Iqaluit, Nunavut, has been able to further its goal of bolstering performing arts in the Arctic.

Earlier this year, the organization held a summit and art collaboration with 50 Canadian Inuit artists, and in July, it hosted a workshop to train Inuit performing arts teachers.

CRIME and LAW

Unknown Maya scribe, folio from the Grolier Codex, ca. 1230, paint on stucco-coated amatl, Chiapas, collection of the Museo Nacional de Antropología, Mexico City, Mexico.

has expanded and now offers literary fellowships. Arigon Starr (KickapooMuscogee), Sterlin Harjo (Muscogee Creek), Anita Fields (Osage-Muscogee), and Yatika Fields (Osage-MuscogeeCherokee) were among the 27 selected fellows for 2017.

The Hnatyshyn Foundation of Ottawa, Ontario, bestowed its two Mid-Career Awards to First Nations artists/curators.

Peter Morin (Tahltan) received the Award for Outstanding Achievement as an Artist, and Tania Willard (Secwepemc) received the Award for Curatorial Excellence in Contemporary Art.

An Acoma shield stolen from the pueblo in the 1970s was removed from an auction held by Eve Auction House of Paris. In August, US District Judge Martha Vasquez approved a warrant requested by US federal officials in support of their efforts to recover the shield and return it to the pueblo. The shield was one of seven stolen in a home break-in; the Bureau of Indian Affairs recovered another one from Bozeman, Montana, in 2015.

Senator Martin Heinrich (D–NM) introduced S.3127 Safeguard Tribal Objects of Patrimony Act of 2016 (STOP Act), which would increase penalties for the theft of Native American sacred items and cultural patrimony. It would also make “unlawful for any person to knowingly export or otherwise transport from the United States any Native American cultural object obtained in violation of … the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act” (NAGPRA) and “the Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979.” By clarifying repatriation prohibitions on the theft of sacred items, the goal of the STOP Act would be to prevent items from leaving the United States to be sold in the international market.

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Water Is Life Native Artists Show Solidarity for Water Protectors at Standing Rock

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ABOVE: Pamela J. Peters (Diné), Sending Love from #StandingRock, 2016, digital photograph. Image courtesy of the artist. tachiiniiphotography.com.

BELOW: George Toya (Jemez), Untitled, 2016, pen and ink wash on paper. Image courtesy of the artist. facebook.com/George-Toya-Fine-Art-108445982525029.

INCE APRIL 2016, Native activists have gathered near Standing Rock Indian Reservation near Cannonball, South Dakota, to halt construction of a proposed crude oil pipeline that would cross Lake Oahe and the Missouri River, less than a mile from the reservation. Any oil spill would poison the drinking water for the tribe and countless other communities downstream.

The Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, represented

by Earthjustice, sued the US Army Corps of Engineers since they were not consulted in the project to construct the 1,172-mile crude oil pipeline that will jeopardize their water supply.

Their complaint states, “The construction and operation of the pipeline ... threatens the Tribe’s environmental and economic well-being, and would damage and destroy sites of great historic, religious, and cultural significance to the Tribe.”

Dakota Access, LLC, a subsidiary of Energy Transfer Crude Oil, proposed building this pipeline to transport 470,000 barrels of crude oil per day. The Dakota Access Pipeline, also called the Bakken Oil Pipeline, would travel from North Dakota to southern Illinois where it would connect with a preexisting pipeline to carry the oil to the Gulf of Mexico.

Over a thousand activists—water protectors—representing hundreds of Indigenous tribes and non-Native allies, have gathered in encampments near Cannonball River to oppose the pipeline. Indigenous peoples from as far away as Ecuador have visited the Standing Rock camps to express solidarity in fighting to protect water and Indigenous lands. This is the largest, nonviolent Native American protest in the contemporary era in the United States. To honor this struggle, we want to share some of the artwork inspired by the Water Is Life movement.

—America Meredith

OPPOSITE, TOP: Shaun Beyale (Diné), United We Stand!

No DAPL! Water Is Life!, 2016, ink on Bristol paper, digitally colored, 12 × 9 in. Image courtesy of the artist. shaunbeyale.blogspot.com.

OPPOSITE, RIGHT: Starr Hardridge (Muscogee Creek), Black Snake, 2016, acrylic and black Venetian plaster on canvas, 30 × 10 in. facebook.com/StarrHardridge.

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I CREATED THIS PIECE to voice my support for the protest against Dakota Access Pipeline and what [Energy Transfer is] doing in North Dakota to the Indigenous peoples’ sacred sites. I see what greed can do to people and see the lack of support from our own country, but I also see the strength of people who believe and stand up for what is right, to protect the most precious resource that we as humans need: water. I experienced the hazardous 2015 Gold King Mine chemical spill caused by the EPA that went straight into rivers in my homeland of Farmington, New Mexico. As an artist, I can bring these issues to the public and make them aware of struggles that we all face as humans here on Mother Earth.

—Shaun Beyale THIS WORK IS INSPIRED by the ongoing resilience and resistance of the water and earth protectors against the North Dakota Access Pipeline. Loosely based on Lakota and Seventh Generation Prophecies, the severed black snake signifies the intent of the protest. The seven triangles or abstract tipi shapes represent the seventh generation stepping forward to take action in a peaceful manner. The colors represent not only the Lakota but the rest of Humanity as well.

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Seven Directions Callie Chunestudy

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ALLIE CHUNESTUDY (Cherokee Nation) currently serves as curator for the Cherokee Heritage Center in Park Hill, Oklahoma. She studied fine arts at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado, and at Northeastern State University in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, where she earned her BFA degree.

With a history of working not just for the heritage center but also her tribe, Chunestudy created ceramics at Cherokee Heritage Pottery, conducted historical tours, and worked as a cultural specialist for the Cherokee Arts Center and the Spider Gallery, which she named. A lover of both art and the outdoors, Chunestudy is dedicated to studying and defending Indigenous cultures and the environment.

NORTH. I stand with STANDING ROCK. Water is

life. In Cannon Ball, North Dakota, the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) threatens the land and water of not only the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, but also every community and ecosystem downstream. Joining to fight this threat is imperative in order to preserve the Missouri River and all that subsists from it. To support, donate, and sign the petition to protect our water, go to rezpectourwater. com

EAST. A motorcycle club made up of Eastern Band Cherokee Indians out of Cherokee, North Carolina, called BROTHERS IN THE WIND rides the Cherokee Southeastern Indian Artists Association logo, Tahlequah, Oklahoma

removal route every year to Tahlequah, Oklahoma, on their Remembrance Removal Tour and arrive during the Cherokee National Holiday. A philanthropic group, they sponsor charity events like the Brothers in the Wind Toy Run in November to help children and families in need during the holidays. facebook.com/ Brothers-In-The-Wind-164052953649879

Brothers in the Wind logo, Cherokee, North Carolina

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SOUTH. Currently, I am the membership coordinator for the SOUTHEASTERN INDIAN ARTISTS ASSOCIATION (SEIAA), a nonprofit artists organization located in northeastern Oklahoma. We gather once a month to share new opportunities, acknowledge accomplishments, and collaborate on projects. SEIAA seeks to empower and encourage artists and craftspeople in the development of their artistic careers through meetings, workshops, and

exhibition opportunities. SEIAA memberships are available at different levels to all artists and patrons of the arts. seiaa. org

WEST. In Albuquerque, New Mexico, Warren Montoya (Santa Ana-Santa Clara) spearheads REZILIENCE: INDIGENOUS ARTS EXPERIENCE. Held in the spring, Rezilience focuses on Indigenous art processes with educational components, wellness concepts, and includes visual artists, multimedia artists, musicians, poets, and other speakers and entertainers. The project is based on cultivating cultural longevity, knowledge, and sustaining community though art for Indigenous cultures everywhere. This coming spring will mark its second annual event, and the group will hold many smaller local events throughout the year as well. rezartx.com

Bill Glass Jr. (Cherokee Nation), DC Falcon, 2016, ceramic sculpture. Image courtesy of the Cherokee Heritage Center.

ABOVE. I have been afforded the incredible opportunity

to study under my mentor Bill Glass Jr., Cherokee National Treasure and sculptor extraordinaire, from Locust Grove, Oklahoma. Bill studied at Central State University (now the University of Central Oklahoma) in Edmond, and at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He has been honored with numerous awards including the Jerome Tiger Memorial Award, Betty Scraper Garner Elder Award, and the Red Earth Honored One, and has shown at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York and the Cherokee Art Market. He and his son Demos Glass (recently named Cherokee National Treasure himself) create public art throughout the country. Bill is an inspiration and fantastic teacher. bdglassstudio.com

BELOW. The Spider Gallery and Cherokee Arts Center Performers at Rezilience, April 30, 2016, Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Image courtesy of Rezilience.

CENTER. The CHEROKEE HERITAGE CENTER

has been preserving, promoting, and teaching Cherokee history and culture for more than 50 years. Located on the site of the original Cherokee Female Seminary—the first institution of higher learning for women west of the Mississippi, built in 1851—we feature a Diligwa, a replica 1710-era Cherokee village; Adams Corner Rural Village, a replica 1890s-era community on the grounds; and the museum itself. The museum houses our national archives, genealogy center, collections, the Trail of Tears permanent exhibit, and the temporary exhibit gallery. Besides our rotating exhibits, we hold two juried art competition shows a year. The Trail of Tears Art Show in the spring is open to all federally recognized tribal artists, and the Cherokee Homecoming Art Show in the fall is open to artists from all three Cherokee tribes. Sponsorships and partnerships allow us to award $10,000 to $15,000 in prizes in each show. Awarding artists for their work is one of my all-time, favorite things in the world. cherokeeheritage.org

in downtown Tahlequah support Cherokee artists by providing affordable studio space with a wide array of resources, from pottery and printmaking to silversmithing and 3D printing. The Commerce Department of the Cherokee Nation created this program to help Cherokee artists. The Spider Gallery not only displays Cherokee artwork for sale, but the staff members take artists’ work to events when they themselves are unable to attend, such as Cherokee Days at the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC. cherokeeartscenter.com

The Cherokee Heritage Center, Park Hill, Oklahoma, with the columns of the original Cherokee Female Seminary, built in 1851 that burned down in 1887. Image courtesy of the Cherokee Heritage Center.

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Exploring Native Graphic Design

Damian Jim

By Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

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RTIST AND DESIGNER Damian Jim (Diné) is known for his vigorously abstracted digital and mixed media works using Navajo iconography. Jim was born in 1973 in Shiprock, New Mexico, and currently lives and works in Phoenix. He earned a bachelor of arts degree in computer information systems and an associate of arts degree in graphic design. Jim used his interdisciplinary education to compose a breadth of designs incorporating Navajo imagery woven into rugs and baskets by master Diné artists. In 2012, he cofounded Ziindi, a ’zine to highlight early-career Indigenous artists. Jim cofounded 1Spot Gallery in downtown Phoenix, an alternative art space that ran from 2012 to 2016. I spoke with Jim about his art and design practice.

Where does your interest in making art begin?

Art is integral in my life in terms of free therapy. I’ve always had a natural curiosity about various topics in my life, and usually when I didn’t know how to do something, I read up on the subject and learned how to do the task. Because of this, I knew capturing the beauty of the physical world in a painting was a challenge I would learn to master.

To this day, I’m still learning, always searching for new information and new techniques that will enhance my art, but along the way I see art from all over the world—the images that people use, the colors, and the message, three properties of art that allow every piece to be unique. Yet, you can find similarities across continents. Art is a universal form of expression, just like music, designing, writing, and other forms of creation that allow you to show the world a different kind of beauty.

How does your background in information technologies inform your art and design practice?

new reality. Using a tool as convenient as the iPad or an iPhone to paint and draw new ideas allows me to create new works that consume the same amount of time a physical painting can take.

Rome wasn’t built without the help of a few finger painters.

Damian Jim, 2016. Photo: A. Meredith.

I was always interested in technology.

When I was young, I wanted to become an engineer. I was always tinkering with my toys or taking my bike apart to put it back together. And I was there for the first video games, the first computers, and typing exercises on a keyboard in high school. In graphic design school, I learned to animate and to work on the Macintosh computer. I was lucky I learned a “new form of communication” early in my career. HTML 1.0 was barely out there. My PowerBook G3 allowed me to start my own server for hosting websites and to run my own graphic design studio on the side. The technology changed at a fast pace, and I knew I had to go back to school to stay informed.

Media has changed our reality from being the center of the known world to a connected world that allows us to communicate across continents easily. We ingest so many forms of media today that it has become second nature to us. Interface technology has become an extension of our senses. We no longer view the world through our eyes but choose to place a filter over our reality. The technologies hinder while at the same time enable us to create a

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My graphic design experience prepared me for the other inspiration behind my art: advertising. Mainstream marketing is another extension of the iconography of the land. We cannot live, much less navigate the landscape without visual markers hiding beneath the advertisement that surrounds us in the cities. Movies and music are filled with product placements, while the Internet is one ad-based tracking system, and supermarkets track our brand selection and target us with coupons accordingly.

All of these user stories are used to keep us on a well-formed narrative, not too far to the left and not too far to the right, and yet despite all the information overload—the smothering of your intellect and thought—we can create new narratives that show alternate realities. We can form complex habits and a lifestyle that reside outside the common buyer profile that is tacked on to us.

Your paintings incorporate Navajo iconography. How do you approach these cultural frameworks through your work?

True appreciation of my culture and the language started the process for me.

I always fully understood Navajo but never had the opportunity to [communicate] with fluent speakers. This is mostly because I live in the city, but I grew up in a dirt hogan as a baby and had the privilege of being the grandson of a talented rug weaver on my dad’s side, Mary Jim, as well as a grandfather who was a medicine man on my mom’s side, Slim Curtis. But it wasn’t until I started working for Twin Rocks

Damian Jim (Diné), The New Paradigm, 2014, digital painting. Image courtesy of the artist.

Trading Post in Bluff, Utah, that I came to realize that our culture, through reading and researching the complex philosophy and religious practices that make up our world, was beautiful.

Medicine men have the ability to remember long hours of recitation of verses and songs, and remember intricate sandpaintings that take hours to create, only to return the colored sand back to the earth. A medicine man knows the story behind each ceremony and the ailment meant to be cured in the process and to have the whole ceremonial rite happen with the task-mindedness of a project manager.

At first I simply thought of the sandpaintings as mere artifacts of the ceremony, but through process and living with the Navajo way of life, I began to see that reverence should be placed on these depictions of the deities. I began handing any paintings

I had created of those deities out for free instead of selling them. Before I would get to that step, though, I was creating narratives of these ceremonies, pivotal moments frozen on canvas: a painting dedicated to Massacre Cave with a complex geometric background and Spider Woman crosses containing deity portraits; the dance of the wind people in a scene from the Wind Way; the creation of First Man and First Woman, or the death of the giant in the Hero Twins epic. The ideas flowed into Navajo baskets, rugs, jewelry, and sculptures. I had unfettered access to a library full of design, architecture, ethnological books, as well as access to master artists and their artwork.

Studying computer information systems was a means to rewrite the narrative. The designs were generated on the computer. The ability to present, capture, and even manipulate the data

was important to help me realize the impact of contemporary art forms that included digital media. I created my soul-eater characters back in 1992 in Adobe Illustrator; creating designs using a visual interface was natural to me. I created and manipulated ideas in Adobe Photoshop in the late ’90s. For the digital painting Brothers, I used the digital design as a reference to paint the canvas. My painting of corn deities, The Circle of Life, was also created in Adobe Illustrator and printed using a silkscreening process.

All this rich history and culture allowed me to go beyond the design, while graphic design taught me the right processes and techniques to achieve the effect, and the computer allowed me to blend it all until I created my voice, art that is mine.

Do you have a philosophy that dictates your aesthetic process?

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DESIGN

It’s clear some of your works draw on the Rorschach test, the psychiatric system of analysis that uses inkblot motifs. I’m curious to know if there is a subconscious, surrealist element to your practice?

My influences are Salvador Dali and Robert Williams, and I’m interested in creating different toned colors to affect experiences while viewing a painting.

The fantastic represented by a bordertown life, that big dream that comes in many variations, each a little vignette describing an idea.

Master Navajo weavers use your designs in current baskets and rugs.

Can you tell me about how you came to this opportunity, and what it taught you about weaving techniques?

Damian Jim (Diné), Mechanica II, digital iPad painting on birch, 1/1. Image courtesy of the artist.

Lately, I’ve been visualizing layers in paintings. The process is fascinating in that a different process must be followed to ensure the completed painting looks as good as my current skill set will allow. The masters were good at manipulating light on canvas and visualizing statues without any tools other than math. Today, you can use different media, tools, and materials to produce innovative work, but you have to have a good base to build on, and that comes down to the time and work required. Knowledge and time dedicated to each idea ensures a smooth process flow in creating the art, just like solving a problem logically.

As an artist and designer, you have

to negotiate between two different yet interrelated worlds. How did you enter into graphic design and why?

A representative from Al Collins [Graphic Design School] visited my art class in Flagstaff, and since it was my senior year, I was looking for a vocation after graduation. After looking at the benefits of graphic design, I signed up and graduated with the knowledge to launch my own design studio. Besides creating visual solutions for my clients, I built websites and produced printed media. Our world lives and functions with graphic design and visual interfaces, and we can customize the font, the color, the flavor. The process of creating that customization fascinates me.

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It was a pure and simple case of being in the right place at the right time. Even today I’m amazed by how I was able to get a job in southeastern Utah doing graphic design full time. My family members are all hard workers, so my grandmother thought I needed some motivation to look for a job by driving me up to Blanding, Utah, and placing my résumé at the local employment office.

By happenstance, Barry Simpson, who ran the Blue Mountain Trading Post in Blanding, had placed an ad for a graphic designer that same week. The hiring process took two days, since both Blue Mountain and Twin Rocks Trading Post are family businesses, and the brothers, Barry and Steve Simpson, wanted to make sure I would be a good fit.

The job required a good working knowledge of the trading post, the artists behind the art, techniques used for every piece of art in the post, and the amount of work and time that goes into harvesting, gathering, weaving, or soldering. The finished product is always worth the price of the final art piece. This allowed me to see the value of hard work and quality workmanship, both attributes that I apply to my work.

Nothing goes out the door without my having given all my knowledge, creativity, and skill in creating it. The most important aspect I learned from

the whole process is that sometimes the most simple-looking art has complex origins.

What is 1Spot Gallery and how did it come about?

1Spot Gallery was an all-Indigenous contemporary gallery in downtown Phoenix. The gallery was part of a longtime collaboration with my Puerto Rican friend Michelle Ivette Ponce. We met back in 2010 and quickly became good friends. She introduced me to this little anarchist gallery, Conspire, where there was plenty of lowbrow, surrealist, street, and graffiti art. Murals were everywhere, and there was this chill vibe to the whole place and to the whole Roosevelt Row area. Eventually, with other artists, we created a new space, Indie Arthouse, which lasted about a year. After that we started looking at promoting Native arts in the Roosevelt Row Arts District. Our temporary solution was to create a ’zine called Ziindi to

invigorate the scene and promote some of these talented artists in Phoenix. By this time I was working a good job, so I was able to finance the whole venture.

We created a pop-up gallery for the first issue’s release, as well as a market and performances. The Navajo Nation heard about the venture and worked with us to create the amazing, first all-women’s show at the Navajo Nation Museum in Window Rock, Arizona.

I was looking through Craigslist for a new place to live and saw a small space available on Roosevelt Row. And after consulting Michelle, I asked if the space was still available. That space was taken; however, the adjoining space was available. We opened 1Spot in December 2012 and quickly became known for innovative art and artists.

What influences you and your work?

In my 20s, I became disillusioned by all the negativity toward Native Americans in the cities and struggled with the

hatred and discrimination against Natives on the reservation. I gained a deeper perspective on the whole saga of displacement and the perseverance of Indigenous tribes worldwide. From this, I started researching Diné history, which opened up my eyes to the truth hidden from our tribe and the general population. Those stories and my own painful youth led me to start exploring physical and mental tools for control, and how those factors led to our youth becoming disconnected and disillusioned. I decided to start campaigning and teaching about our past and how all this fits in with the current environmental crises and our rights to live in an unpolluted reservation without having to give all our resources away to keep contaminating the world. If the narrative I can present makes you research, look, listen, or actively start participating, I consider myself successful in challenging mindsets.

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Zapotec Weaving The Resurgence of a Cultural Artform Artists from Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca, keep the visions of their Zapotec ancestors alive through naturally dyed and intricately woven textiles

By Kevin Simpson

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S WE APPROACHED THE HOUSE, a sweet aroma rose from cacao beans roasting on the comal. We could hear a faint, click-clack sound in the close distance. “This must be the right place,” I said to my wife as I knocked on the door.

María Luisa opened the door with a big smile on her face. “Welcome,” she said and turned toward the room where the click-clack sound came from. She yelled, “Guta’a saednadan dunun! ” [Come, we have visitors!]

“Wait, what did you just say?” I asked. My Spanish is fairly good, but I didn’t understand a word of what she had just said.

María Luisa turned back to me and said, “That was Zapotec. We are Zapotec, and we still speak our language in our home. Our children learn Spanish in the school, but we believe it is very important that we speak Zapotec in the house so our children will learn to speak it. We are trying to keep our traditions alive.”1 Just then, her husband Jacobo came out to greet us.

“Bala xhte yubtu rebaestu. [Welcome to our home.] As my wife explained, we speak Zapotec here,” he said. “Come, let me show you what it means to be a Zapotec weaver.”

We first met Jacobo Mendoza Ruiz and María Luisa Vásquez del Mendoza in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Jean Pierre Larochette and Yael Lurie, two famous weavers, curated the 2012 exhibition, Esplendor de Textil, at the Peter Gray Museum on the University of Guadalajara’s Puerto Vallarta campus. The exhibition showcased Zapotec tapestries that transcended the utilitarian or

Contemporary Zapotec rug, wool, cotton, natural dyes. Image courtesy of the author.

commercial rug. When organizing the exhibition, the dilemma for the two curators was how to choose who would get to exhibit from the village Teotitlán del Valle,

1. In 2010, according to data from Instituto Nacional para el Federalismo y el Desarrollo Municipal (INAFED), Teotitlán del Valle’s population was 4,357, and 3,727 spoke Zapotec as a first language although 3,440 considered themselves bilingual. Moisés Castillejos Martínez, “Estado de Oaxaca: Teotitlán del Valle,” Enciclopedia de los Municipios y Delegaciones de México, 2010, web.

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Jacobo Mendoza Ruiz receiving the first prize at the Mexican National Textile Competition in July 2016. Image courtesy of the author.

where every family weaves. Jean Pierre and Yael decided the work itself would determine who would exhibit. They would only show artists whose thread count was twelve warps per inch or finer. This quickly narrowed down the field to twelve weavers and is how Jacobo and María Luisa were chosen to show their work.2 Jacobo was born in Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca, on February 10, 1970, and comes from a long line of weavers.

His parents, Emiliano Mendoza and Clara Ruiz, are both weavers. Jacobo’s older brother, Arnulfo (1954–2014), was probably the most internationally known weaver from their village. In 1996, he was recognized by the cultural foundation of the Banamex bank as one of the “grand masters of Mexican folk art.”3 Unfortunately, Arnulfo passed away from a heart attack in 2014, but Jacobo has done a great job filling the void.

Like most children in the village, Jacobo began with carding and washing the wool. When he was eight years old—after years of insisting—his father finally let him work on a small foot-pedal loom. At first his rugs had simple combinations of lines, and gradually he added small shapes like diamonds to the edges. With experience came more complex color combinations as well as historic Zapotec geometric patterns. By the age of 14, Jacobo made pieces with complex figures including representations of Zapotec deities. He honed his weaving skills while experimenting with different types of wool:

TOP: Geometric design in contemporary Zapotec weaving.

BOTTOM: Stone fretwork mosaics at Mitla dating from ca. 600–1250 CE. Both images courtesy of the author.

cashmere, mohair, and alpaca, as well as silk. All the while, he respected the designs and techniques that had been passed down from his Zapotec ancestors. In July of this year, Jacobo’s hard work and perseverance paid off when he won first place at the Mexican National Textile Competition for a silk weaving.4

Giving a Voice to their Ancestors PROUD OF HIS HERITAGE, Jacobo begins to explain to us the history of Teotitlán del Valle, or Xaguixe as it was originally known. As Jacobo spoke, his words mixed with the click-clack sound of the foot-pedal loom. The resulting rhythm was so hypnotic, it felt as if we were transported back in time.

It was the tenth century at the end of the Late Classic Period when the pyramid complex Monte Albán had been abandoned. Petela, a fierce warrior-priest, led a group of Zapotec and took them to a sacred rock at the base of Monte Albán. Xaguixe in Zapotec means “at the foot of the mountain” and is where the people settled and built a temple to honor the Rock of the Sun. Legend states that a large rock, cut perpendicular, is where God

2. Jean Pierre Larochette in discussion with the author, 2016. Yael Lurie and Jean Pierre Larochette, The Tree of Lives: Adventures Between Warp and Weft (Berkeley, CA: Genesis Press, 2010).

3. “Grandes Maestros del Arte Popular Mexicano,” Fundación Cultural Banamex, pamphlet.

4. Jacobo Mendoza Ruiz in discussion with the author, 2016.

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came to earth in the form of a bird accompanied by a brilliant constellation. There, in the Rock of the Sun, the principal Zapotec shrine was carved to commemorate their God’s visit to earth. The temple they built was called Xaquija, which means “celestial constellation” in Zapotec.5 Although archaeological evidence shows people have visited the area since 600 BCE, the town was not founded until 1465.6 The land around the village only provided subsistence agriculture, but there was ample cantera stone, calcium, wood, and palm to build houses. While most neighboring communities had to import salt from the coast of Oaxaca, Xaguixe had its own sources.7 Historically, the Zapotec have always excelled at trading. Since the classic era, Monte Albán established trade routes with the Olmec on the gulf coast, Teotihuacan to the north, and the Maya in the south.

Zapotec trade allowed places like Teotitlán to specialize in stonecutting and back-strap loom weaving and trade finished goods to surrounding villages for the food that it couldn’t produce itself. Records of tributes even show that Teotitlán paid other Zapotec cities as well as the Mexica, commonly known as the Aztec. It was the Mexica who named Xaguixe Teotitlán. In the Nahuatl language, the prefix teotl means “God” and titlan “the place.” So, Teotitlán means “the place of God,” likely in reference to the legend of God appearing as a bird accompanied by the constellation. As subjects, Teotitlán paid tributes to Teozapotlan (Zaachila) and Tehuantepec (Guadalcazar), both important Zapotec cities, and later Cuilapan in what is now Guerrero.8 Before the Spanish arrived, women handspun cotton and wove clothes and blankets on back-strap looms. In addition to cotton, many hard fibers like palm were woven into petates, large mats used to sleep on.

Henequen fibers from maguey cacti were woven into bags. This practice of weaving for local consumption and for paying tributes continued until the arrival of the Spanish around 1530. In 1535, Juan Lopez de Zárate was appointed bishop of Antequera, the Roman Catholic archdiocese in Oaxaca City and was credited with introducing the foot-pedal loom to Teotitlán and with it, Spanish merino sheep. Domestic sheep were new to the Americas. While cotton is still used to create the warp, the weavers quickly adapted merino sheep wool for the weft on their new foot looms.9

TOP: María Luisa Vásquez del Mendoza carding wool.

BOTTOM: She extracts the newly dyed skeins from the dye bath. Both images courtesy of the author.

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5. H. Ayuntamiento and Moisés Castillejos Martínez, “Estado de Oaxaca: Tlacolula de Matamoros,” Enciclopedia de los Municipios y Delegaciones de México, 2010, web.

6. Moisés Castillejos Martínez, “Estado de Oaxaca: Teotitlán del Valle,” Enciclopedia de los Municipios y Delegaciones de México, 2010, web.

7. Joseph W. Whitecotton and Stella Mastrangelo, Los zapotecos: príncipes, sacerdotes y campesinos (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1985).

8. Francisco de Burgoa, Geográfica descripción, Tomo II (Mexico City: Porrúa, 1989).

9. Martínez, “Estado de Oaxaca: Teotitlán del Valle,” 2010, web.

Natural dyestuffs and dyed wool. Both photos courtesy of the author.

At first, many in Teotitlán raised their own sheep, but because of the hot, arid climate, the wool produced wasn’t as good as the wool from colder climates.

Today, the wool comes from villages like San Baltazar Chichicápam, a Mixtec village in Oaxaca. While women predominantly wove with the back-strap loom in the precontact era, mostly men used the foot-pedal loom brought by the Spanish. Women today are responsible for carding, spinning, and dyeing the wool, so the laborious work to create a rug is shared by various family members.

A distinctive feature of Zapotec weaving is the geometric patterning that adorns each rug. Inspired by the symbols left by their ancestors, every piece tells a story. Teotitlán is surrounded by symbols. The local Roman Catholic church was built in 1581 on probably the same spot where the Zapotec temple Xaquija was.

In most parts of Mexico, the Spanish tried to eradicate any evidence of other religious beliefs by destroying temples, shrines, and codices that contained Indigenous traditions and history.

In Teotitlán del Valle, however, parts of the original Zapotec temple were embedded in the church façade.

Large steles with their original Zapotec symbols provide the designs to weavers of Teotitlán del Valle that allow their ancestors to speak once again. Zapotec symbols WINTER 2016/17 | 25

ABOVE: The 15 participants of Porfirio Gutiérrez’s four-day natural dying workshop, Reviving Traditional Zapotec Dye Techniques, sponsored by the National Museum of the American Indian, in Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca.

LEFT: A contemporary, natural-dyed Zapotec weaving. Both images courtesy of the author.

also adorn the ancient city of Yagul, but the nearby city of Mitla is probably best known for its precontact mosaics.

Mitla comes from the Nahuatl word Mictlan, “the place of the dead,” but was called Lyobaa in Zapotec, “the place of rest.” The fretwork that adorns Mitla is astonishing: hand-cut and polished stone fit like a jigsaw puzzle with absolutely no mortar.10 Some of the best-recognized symbols in Zapotec weavings include the snail, an important ingredient for dyes. The original symbol can be found in the façade of the church in Teotitlán. Steps represent the life cycle; one matures into adulthood as the steps go up and then ages as the steps go downhill, until their death where they are laid horizontally to rest. The Zapotec diamond is considered to be the Eye of God as well as the skin of Quetzalcoatl, the great feathered serpent. The four diamonds together are a metaphor for the human body: the mind, the 10. “Retoman Uso de Cal en Monumentos,” Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH), 2010, web.

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heart, the stomach, and the legs. Mountains represent the pilgrimage the Zapotec made to get to where they are today, pyramids are their temples, seeds represent fertility, lightning represents rain, and turtles represent water.11

Colors from the Land IF THERE IS ONE THING that the Zapotec depend on the most from their past, it is their knowledge of plants and how they create dyes to color textiles.

As we talked in his studio, Jacobo started picking away at some white fluff growing on a nopal or prickly pear cactus. At first I thought he was cleaning off mold that had grown, but then Jacobo squeezed a couple of drops of lime onto the fluff and rubbed his finger in it.

“Can you see it?” Jacobo asked as he raised his hand.

“It’s red. Did you cut your hand?” I asked.

“No, this is cochineal,” replied Jacobo. “It is an insect that grows on the cactus. We can make over 60 tones of red depending on what we mix with it. In fact the cochineal Dactylopius coccus is one of the most important ancient dyes.”

I was stunned. “Where do you get the rest of your dyes? Is there a store in town?”

Jacobo laughed. “Today, the cochineal is so important, there are farms in Oaxaca that collect it. We need more than we can produce on our own, so we have to buy it from where it is farmed.” He took me to the window of his studio and motioned to the surrounding mountains with his hand.

“Look, the mountain is our store. Everything we need to dye our rugs comes from the nature around us and was taught to us by our ancestors.” Jacobo continued, “We go as a family to collect the fruit, plants, and flowers that we need to dye our wool. It’s how we teach our children what it means to be a Zapotec.”

Certain mosses make rich, green colors. The black sapote fruit, Diospyros nigra, is used by the Zapotec to make brown. Jacobo mixed some pomegranate seeds in his hand with baking soda, and they turned green. I almost fell off my chair; I was not expecting that. He said that mangoes and other fruits that are found locally have been used for centuries to make dyes. Flowers such as marigolds are used to make yellow. In his garden, Jacobo has a plant he calls añil (indigo) that produces blue dye. The process is difficult and involves fermenting the leaves to make a foam that hardens like a rock. Because of the quantities that Jacobo and María Luisa need to dye their wool, they purchase the indigo in another Zapotec town called Santiago Niltepec, a town in the district of Juchitán on the Istmo of Tehuantepec.

Porfirio Gutiérrez, master Zapotec weaver; Juana Gutiérrez Contreras, master Zapotec dyer; and Keevin Lewis (Navajo), program coordinator at the National Museum of the American Indian, in Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca. Photo: Kevin Simpson.

Porfirio instructing a student about washing wool that is freshly dyed with tarragon. Photo: Keevin Lewis. Image courtesy of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution.

Artist and Advocate ANOTHER WEAVER WHO USES ALL NATURAL DYES is Porfirio Gutiérrez. Like Jacobo Mendoza, Porfirio was taught to weave at an early age. When he turned 18, Porfirio left Teotitlán in search of work in the United States. Porfirio had an especially difficult time, because he did not speak English and his Spanish was rudimentary. Little by little, however, Porfirio adapted to his new environment. For years, his only contact with his family was the occasional phone call.

11. Jacobo Mendoza Ruiz in discussion with the author, 2016.

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ABOVE: Juana Gutiérrez Contreras instructing workshop participants about sources of natural dyes.

LEFT: Juana Gutiérrez Contreras grinding añil, indigo. Both photos: Keevin Lewis (Navajo). Images courtesy of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution.

Eventually, he became disconnected from his culture. Not until he returned to Teotitlán del Valle ten years later did Porfirio realize that weaving wasn’t just a job; it was his identity, which he set out to rediscover after nearly losing his culture.

When Porfirio returned to his village, he noticed that some of the traditions, like speaking Zapotec and using natural dyes, were not as strong as they once had been. Things have changed in Mexico. New infrastructure, cellular technology, and the Internet made villages, once

virtually cut off from the outside world, much more connected. Unfortunately, many Indigenous villages like Teotitlán del Valle saw their cultural practices and languages erode little by little in this new, interconnected world. Chemical dyes were first introduced at the turn of the century, and because of commercialization, many families have opted to use them in an effort to save time and increase production.12 After reconnecting with his own weaving tradition, Porfirio was convinced that it was his responsibility to preserve his culture’s traditions for future generations before they were lost.

Porfirio’s efforts to preserve the Zapotec techniques of dyeing and weaving caught the attention of the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC. In 2015, he was chosen to participate in the prestigious Artist Leadership Program. The program offers two categories, one for organizations and another for individual artists, with only four spots available in each. The Artist Leadership Program gave Porfirio the opportunity to travel to Washington, DC, to visit the museum and Suitland, Maryland, to study their collection. The second half of the program involved returning to his village to share what he had learned with other weavers.

Porfirio said that seeing the pieces in the museum’s collection was incredible. It took him back to his childhood and reminded him of the stories

12. Cheryl Ann Popelka and Mary Ann Littrell, “Influence of Tourism on Handcraft Evolution,” Annals of Tourism Research 18, no. 3 (1991): 392–413.

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his parents told of what the weaving was like before commercialization. He studied 200-year-old textiles dyed with just three or four elements. The number of hues his ancestors created with just cochineal, indigo, and different mosses was astounding. He also studied pieces woven with hard fibers such as palm and maguey with techniques that have been all but forgotten.

In the Gutiérrez family’s studio in Teotitlán, they are exhibiting petates, mats woven from palm that were historically used as bedrolls. The family also offers new marketing skills, finance management, and business classes. Porfirio explained that he learned confidence from other Indigenous people, but seeing the works of his ancestors firsthand strengthened his commitment to honor his culture’s ancestral weaving techniques.13 After studying textiles in NMAI’s collections and learning new marketing strategies, Porfirio went back to Teotitlán de Valle this past July to teach other weavers what he had learned. Accompanied by Keevin Lewis (Navajo), the coordinator of the Artist in Leadership Program, Porfirio held an intensive four-day workshop that involved panel discussions with Carlomagno Pedro Martínez, the director of the Museo Estatal de Arte Popular Oaxaca (Oaxacan State Museum of Popular Art), and Marta Turok, an esteemed anthropologist and curator of the Ruth D. Lechuga Collection at the Museo Franz Mayer. Fifteen young weavers attended the workshop. The goal, Porfirio explained, “was to encourage the younger generation to respect the culture and strive to be artists, not just laborers.” The enthusiastic participants learned about collecting plants to create dyes, as well as new ways to market textiles dyed with natural ingredients. All of the participants received a certificate from the National Museum of the American Indian that verifies that they had learned the principals of traditional dying. Porfirio hopes that this is just the beginning, and that he can host more workshops to help educate other Zapotec weavers in Teotitlán about the importance of using natural dyes and cultural symbols to keep their culture alive.

This was Keevin Lewis’s first trip to Teotitlán del Valle. He said that it was a great experience to visit and meet so many people who still spoke Zapotec.

The workshop was well received by the village, and the participants were eager to learn and asked many questions. Keevin believes that by hosting this workshop, NMAI “has helped in developing a renewed interest among young Zapotec weavers in gaining a better understanding and cultural appreciation of the dyeing process using cochineal and indigo dyes.” Keevin went on to say, “Because the collections of the NMAI

Contemporary Zapotec rug, wool, cotton, natural dyes. Image courtesy of the author.

include many Indigenous communities of the Western Hemisphere, it is important to reach out and make the NMAI collections accessible to as many Indigenous communities south of the US border as possible.” 14 By hosting this workshop, the National Museum of the American Indian recognizes how important it is for the Zapotec weavers to preserve their artistic practices and highlights the international interest in sustaining their culture. To see firsthand how these and other artists are doing just this, please visit Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca.

The studio of Jacobo Mendoza and María Luisa Vásquez del Mendoza is located on Avenida Benito Juárez 91. And to see the studio of Porfirio Gutiérrez’s family, visit Calle Simon Bolivar 6.

jacobomendoza.com porfiriogutierrez.com

13. Porfirio Gutiérrez, in discussion with the author, 2016.

14. Keevin Lewis, in discussion with the author, 2016.

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Marked For Life An Indigenous Tattoo Reawakening

By Lars Krutak, PhD

T

HE SENECA ART AND CULTURE CENTER at Ganondagan State Historic Site is the location of a 17th-century Indigenous town near Victor, New York. In its heyday, this Haudenosaunee community was a large one by local standards, with a population of some 4,000 people living in approximately 150 bark longhouses.

In summer 2009, a small group of historical reenactors led

by Ganondagan public historian and curator Michael Galban (Washoe-Mono Lake Paiute) recreated the 1669 visit to the settlement by French explorer René-Robert Cavelier, sieur de La Salle. Dressed in authentic 17th-century clothing, reenactors representing Haudenosaunee villagers and colonial settlers, Jesuit priests, and Dutch traders converged on the site to present the most historically accurate reenactment ever attempted of the visitation.

Two special visitors attended the event. One was Isaac Walters of Wisconsin. For nearly a decade, Walters has been creating historical tattooing tools based on Indigenous implements located in museum collections from the Great Lakes region. With his tattooing kit in

hand, he applies tattoos for clients who are especially interested in experiencing customary methods, like hand-poking. Another attendee was Alan White. White is Cayuga and a member of the Bear Clan, a medicine clan. He is descended from a long line of healers.

At one point during the reenactment, Galban began speaking with White about Haudenosaunee tattooing. He explained that Iroquoian people hand-poked tattoos on specific points on the body for the relief of arthritic pain, headaches, and toothaches. After hearing this, White became very interested in acquiring his own therapeutic tattoo because of the severe migraine headaches that plagued him.

By this time, daylight had faded to dusk and a heavy darkness fell upon Ganondagan. Galban summoned Walters and asked him if he would tattoo a Thunderbird figure on White’s forehead. He agreed, and the small party retreated to the confines of the replica barkhouse located at the site. “The mood was very spirited,” Galban says, “and people just couldn’t believe what was happening.” Under candlelight, Walters carefully hand-poked the figure into White’s glowing flesh

(fig. 1). Walters worked quickly, and White remained still throughout the entire process. Galban recollected the scene: “Once the tattoo was completed, everyone lit their pipes.

There was a real density to the moment that is hard to describe. I felt like all the ancestors who lived at Ganondagan were there. It was a powerful moment for me, and I know it was profound for everyone who witnessed it. It was the first tattoo done on a Cayuga in the traditional technique for medicinal purposes in over 300 years. And Alan says he has not suffered a migraine since receiving the tattoo at Ganondagan.”

Therapeutic tattooing was once practiced across much of Native North America. From Canada to California to the Arctic and beyond, these indelible treatments were believed to remedy a variety of complaints, including infertility (fig.

2), spiritual possession, neuralgia, joint pain, vision problems, paralysis, heart trouble, weak limbs, and lack of breast milk.1 But Native North American tattoos had other functions. They reflected social status, documented martial achievement, channeled or directed supernatural forces, communicated lineage and group

1. Lars Krutak, Tattoo Traditions of Native North America: Ancient and Contemporary Expressions of Identity (Arnhem: LM Publishers, 2014).

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affiliation, and celebrated cultural pride and ancestral heritage, among other things.

“Indeed, tattooing was practiced by almost every Indigenous nation across Canada and the United States for these and other reasons,” says Nlaka’pamux tattoo artist Dion Kaszas of Salmon Arm, British Columbia (figs. 3-4). “And the revival of cultural tattooing here has become a medium of reclaiming our Indigenous identities and even our bodies from the colonial machinery, which sought to divide us, control us, and wipe us out,” he says.

For Kaszas, a personal tragedy inspired him to start tattooing in the old way. In 2010 he was working as a kickboxing instructor in British Columbia and mentoring a promising young man.

“I suspected he had Indigenous heritage and asked him about it, to which he replied, ‘No.’ But I knew he had Cree roots. A short time after this conversation, he tragically took his own life. This weighed heavily on my heart, and as I sat at his funeral I decided I needed to find a way to help Indigenous people become proud of who they are … an anchor to reconnect them to their ancestors and cultural heritage. And this is when my tattoo revival movement was born.”

At first, Kaszas looked toward the tattoo cultures of the Polynesia for guidance. “Inspiration and courage came from the voices, practices, and journeys of the many Pacific Island tattoo artists and cultural practitioners. Even RIGHT TOP: Figure 1. Isaac Walters handpoking Alan White (Cayuga) at Ganondagan State Historic Site, 2009. Photo: Michael Galban (Washoe-Mono Lake Paiute). All images courtesy of the author.

RIGHT BOTTOM: Figure 2. Facial tattoos of Anna Aghtuqaayak (Yupik) of Gambell, St. Lawrence Island, Alaska, 1997. The three lines on her outer cheek worked as fertility charms.

Photo: Lars Krutak.

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Figures 3–4. Dion Kaszas (Nlaka’pamux) skin-stitching fellow tribal member Molly Toodlican. The tattoo is significant because it is the first traditional facial tattoo executed in Nlaka’pamux country in more than 70 years.

Photos: Kiano Zamani.

though I had not met many of the people I considered my mentors and teachers in person, it was their work and their courage that led me to my revival efforts. And I was particularly drawn to something one Maori tattoo bearer said: ‘Moko [tattoo] inscribes your soul, it uplifts your senses, and it changes you forever. It is the ultimate engagement of oneself with one’s body, because it cannot be removed.’ ” Kaszas relearned the tattooing techniques of his Nlaka’pamux ancestors—hand-poking and skin-stitching. One of his recent clients is Nêhiyawak (Cree) educator Carla Wells-Listener of Maskwacis, Alberta (fig. 5).

For 20 years she was drawn to a historical portrait of a Cree woman with traditional facial tattoos, and when she found Kaszas she wanted to bring these tattoos to life.

“I wanted an Indigenous person from Canada to make this tattoo.

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“Bringing back practices like skin-stitching helps us heal individually and as a whole.”

—Moriah Sallaffie It has strengthened my tie to the ancestors and brought groundedness in my thoughts and energy. I send him many blessings for helping me to revive this ancient symbol of womanhood. And I’d love to see other Cree women sport the iskwewasâsow [woman’s tattoo].”

Kaszas’s tattoo revival project has made great headway, and he says most of the response and interest has been from people of his generation.

This past summer, he developed and directed a four-week, residency-style training program at the University of British Columbia, Okanagan, to help fulfill the need for trained cultural tattoo artists who can serve their communities and nations.

The training program included coursework in traditional tattoo techniques and tool manufacture, cultural and spiritual safety, and a certificate program in bloodborne pathogens. It also provided a platform from which to inform participants in the meanings and functions of Indigenous tattoos.2 Graduates included visual artists Dean Hunt (Heiltsuk), Amy Malbeuf (Métis), Jordan Bennett (Mi’kmaq), and Jeneen Frei Njootli (Vuntut Gwitchin) (fig. 6).

Up north in Alaska, former Miss Indian World Marjorie Tahbone (Iñupiaq-Kiowa) embarked on her own journey to reawaken the tattooing practices of her Iñupiaq ancestors. “Skin stitching hasn’t been regularly practiced in Alaska for nearly one hundred years,” Tahbone reveals (fig. 7). “When tattooing was still a strong tradition, it was the most skilled seamstresses that performed the tattooing, because

they would have the straightest lines with the most detail. I figured since I had been sewing since I was four, I would naturally pick up the ability to tattoo, and it turns out I did.”

Based in Nome, Tahbone is one of only a very few Native Alaskan artists who has remastered the art of skin-stitching. In 2015,

Figure 5. Carla Wells-Listener (Cree) proudly bears the facial tattoos of her ancestors. Tattoos and photograph by Dion Kaszas (Nlaka’pamux).

Filipino-American tattooist Elle Festin approached her after he had seen pictures of her facial tattoos on Facebook, tattoos that are hallmarks of womanhood and that signify a person is ready to start a family and be a working member of the community.

“Elle told me, ‘You need to become a traditional tattoo artist so you can revitalize something that’s been asleep far too long.’ So I jumped at the opportunity and flew down to his studio near Los Angeles and learned. At first I was scared to tattoo, because it is permanent

and I would be delivering pain to that person. But I realized that this tradition has a purpose, and pain in our culture is part of life. In fact, tattooing helped prepare women for childbirth and other painful experiences in the harsh environment that we lived in.”

During Tahbone’s visit with Festin, she also received her “birthing tattoos.” These are placed on the thighs and meant for the next generation (fig. 8). “When the child enters this world, we want to ensure that the first thing they see is a thing of beauty, and they know they are entering a world full of love,” Tahbone explains.

After Tahbone received instruction, she practiced on her family members. She has completed many more tattoos at cultural events and conferences in Alaska and Nunavut, Canada,3 and also back at home in Nome (fig. 9).

In a recent tattooing session with Tahbone, Moriah Sallaffie (Yup’ik) revealed that reviving aboriginal tattooing practices among Native Alaskans is significant, not only because it bolsters a sense of cultural pride but also for the reason that it is healing deep wounds inflicted upon Native Alaskan communities by outsiders. “We have suffered so many traumas as a result of colonization and assimilation,” says Sallaffie. “The government and missionaries left absolutely no stone unturned when it came to dismantling our cultures and communities.

We have lost so much, and in that sense we have so much left to learn.

It’s both heartbreaking and exciting at the same time. Bringing back

2. Kaszas posts regular updates about his various tattoo projects, research findings, and personal journey to help encourage other Indigenous peoples to reclaim their cultural tattooing practices via his website, indigenoustattooing.com.

3. Tahbone was a 2016 participant at the Inuit Tattoo Revitalization Project in Kugluktuk, Nunavut. For details about the project, please visit facebook.com/ inuittattoorevitalization.

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Figure 6. 2016 graduates of the Earth Line Tattoo Training Residency program at the University of British Columbia, Okanagan. LEFT to RIGHT: Jeneen Frei Njootli (Vuntut Gwitchin), Amy Malbeuf (Métis), Jordan Bennett (Mi’kmaw), and Dean Hunt (Heiltsuk). Photo: Dion Kaszas (Nlaka’pamux).

practices like skin-stitching helps us heal individually and as a whole.”

Technically speaking, plying human skin with needle and thread is a tedious undertaking and requires much skill and patience.

When asked what the hardest part of being a traditional tattooist was, Tahbone replied, “I learned patience from skin-sewing and worked hard to create tight, perfect stitches. I knew if I made a mistake, though, I could take the stitch out and redo it.

But with tattooing I am unable to do that. As a result, I have to put extra energy and patience into each stitch to make sure my lines are straight, and that makes it difficult. I also find it hard to design the tattoos because I believe in doing original work, but I also need to honor the unique patterns and designs our ancestors

left for us. Inuit have been tattooing for thousands of years, and it is difficult to learn and understand all of the meanings and patterns. So I try to build from what I know and what knowledge I gather from elders and through study.”

For Tahbone, however, working as a tattoo artist also comes with certain cultural responsibilities.

These obligations are self-imposed but she is committed to tattooing in the most respectful manner possible.

“Tattooing is so much more than lines on skin, because our tattoos have deep cultural meanings related to clans, families, spiritual beliefs, ceremonies, and legends,” she says. “My biggest challenge practicing tattooing today is trying to learn a tradition that is so very sacred in a respectful way that does

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no harm to our people. Cultural appropriation is something that is constantly on my mind, and I am trying to remain aware of our cultural values and our Inuit way of life as I tattoo.”

She continues, “Because it has been so long since tattooing was practiced, there is limited knowledge about it. That makes it challenging to learn and teach others about this tradition, especially in a way that is respectful to our culture and way of life. I have comfort knowing that my ancestors are with me and that I must always be aware of our cultural values so that I can stay on a path that is respectful, encouraging, and healing.”

Back in New York, I ask Galban why he believes it is important to educate all generations of

Figure 7. Marjorie Tahbone (Iñupiaq-Kiowa) at home in Nome, Alaska. Photo: Kalynna Ashley (St. Lawrence Island Yupik).

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Figure 8. Tahbone’s “birthing tattoos.” Photo: Kalynna Ashley (St. Lawrence Yupik).

Figure 9. Marjorie Tahbone at work in Kugluktuk, Nunavut. Photo: Little Inuk Photography/Cora DeVos (Inuk).

Indigenous people about the meaning and history of Haudenosaunee tattoos through the programs at Ganondagan. He says, “I want to responsibly inform folks about what I have come to understand as the functions of these practices—not to drive the path of the practice, but to expose people to what we know about it, so that the future of the revival has a strong base to work from. For many, it’s simply about what looks cool, but the old designs aren’t simply about aesthetics. They are evocative of culture and worldview. In fact, the old tattoos were taboo for a long, long time.”

Indeed, many elder Haudenosaunee tribal members cautioned those who sought cultural symbols, because the patterns conveyed an ancestral tie or were highly personal or supernatural in nature. G. Peter Jemison (Heron clan, Seneca), historic site manager of Ganondagan and Faithkeeper to the Cattaragus Seneca Nation, explains: “To reuse that, if you are not part of that tradition, raises questions,” if not spiritual risks.4 But gradually over time, the reluctance to embrace these time-honored practices faded. “It started with the very inquisitive Internet generation; questions about 4. Exhibition text panel from Indian Ink: Iroquois and the Art of Tattoos, curated by Colette Lemmon and Stephanie Shultes, Iroquois Indian Museum, Howes Cave, New York, May 1–November 30, 2013.

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worldviews and the past were being asked and answered,” Galban explains. “Back in the 1990s, I began to ask some of the old folks about tattoos, and the answers I received were very conservative. I asked esteemed Onondaga elder Huron Miller about it. He was one of the most informed Haudenosaunee I knew, and he flatly denied the tradition. For him, and his lifetime and even the lifetimes of his grandfathers, he was right. I had to reconcile this long absence of tradition with what I was discovering in the writings of the past.”

Then Galban began to collect his own Woodlands-style tattoos.

And they raised awareness almost immediately.

“I remember getting stopped in my wife’s longhouse—she is Akwesasne Mohawk—during midwinter ceremonies mid-dance to talk about tattoo customs.

People wanted to know. I began to have formal and informal discussions all around Haudenosaunee territory and even back in the late 1990s organized our Native American Dance and Music Festival around body modification! Some of our board members quit because they were opposed to the concept.”

Although Galban certainly did not discourage the tattoo revival, he refuses to take credit for jumpstarting it. But he is very interested in what will happen to it in the near and distant future, especially since he now handcrafts Haudenosaunee tattooing tools (fig. 10).

“I haven’t tattooed anyone with them yet, but I do have a list of folks who want to get tattooed. Originally, I just designed tattoos for people, and it takes a long time. I really spend a lot of time thinking of these people, what they do, what their role is in the local Haudenosaunee community, and how they see themselves. If I am going to tattoo someone I want it to feel right,” Galban says (fig. 11).

“But yes,” he continues. “I think the more informed people are about the old practices, the better and more structured perhaps the practice will become. My hope is that the tattoo tradition returns to the rite of passage ceremonies, which exist in many Indigenous communities around the world today. If we can shift over the ‘warrior’ emblems of the past to our reality as modern Native people and return the power of distinction to them, I think it would extend the life of the revival and only bolster the already strong cultural identities that people have today.”

Figure 10. Michael Galban (Washoe-Mono Lake Paiute) displaying a recently constructed tattoo kit. Photo: Tsioianiio Galban (Mohawk).

Figure 11. Alan White (Cayuga) displays a medicinal Thunderbird tattoo on his forehead and a bear claw on his face. He is a member of the Bear Clan, a medicine clan, and descended from a long line of healers. White finds his healing medicine in dreams and visions sent to him by the Bear Spirit, which he honors with the facial tattoo. Photo: Lars Krutak.

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The Tom and Mary James/Raymond James Financial Art Collection Tom James Discusses a Lifetime of Connecting with Art

By Michole Eldred

W

HAT IS A CORPORATE ART COLLECTION? How does a corporation collect art? What kind does it collect and why? A multitude of answers can describe how a corporate art collection functions. Let’s start with the basics.

An association of corporate art collections, VBCN, describes corporate art collections as groups of artworks purchased by organizations such as banks, companies, and semi-governmental bodies. The book, Corporate Art Collections: A Handbook to Corporate Buying,

by Charlotte Appleyard and James Salzmann, lists several reasons corporations collect art. To put it simply, they decorate the wall space, create an identity or image of the corporation, lend support to artists and the community, or add value. The value in this case can either be of the art itself, for the message it delivers or its financial worth.

A corporation acquires art through auctions, galleries, or the artists themselves. An in-house

curator, an acquisitions board, or an outside consulting firm can conduct these purchases. What makes the Tom and Mary James Collection unique is that Tom and Mary James personally buy art for the collection with assistance from Raymond James curator Emily Kapes. Tom and Mary own approximately 95 percent of the art and share it with the Raymond James’s employees and anyone who visits company headquarters.

Although Raymond James is a financial services company, art is not a commodity at this institute. It is not stored away in some climatecontrolled vault waiting for the value to rise as the art market climbs.

It is not considered to be just a financial asset to the company or to its collectors, Mary James and her husband, Tom James, the former CEO and current executive chairman of Raymond James Financial, Inc., and chairman of its subsidiary, Raymond James and Associates, Inc. The art is hung openly in the hallways, offices, and employee dining hall.

“What if someone bumps into it? What if someone knocks it down?

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What if someone spills coffee on it?”

I asked Emily Kapes. She assured me those things have actually happened, although rarely. As a person trained in museum collection management and preservation, my natural response to shriek in horror had to be controlled. Kapes explained just how important it is to Tom James to share the art he and Mary have collected in such a personal way. He wants others to be a part of the experience of looking at, thinking about, and reacting to art.

Kapes walked me through parts of the Raymond James Financial Center. We viewed just a portion of the approximately 3,000-piece collection, and focused mainly on the 400 paintings and sculptures created

by Indigenous artists in the late 20th and early 21st century—most of who are still working and creating.

I saw paintings by Dan Namingha (Hopi-Tewa, b. 1950) and Tony Abeyta (Diné, b. 1965); pieces by father and son artists Oreland Joe (Diné-Southern Ute, b. 1958) and Hyrum Joe (Diné-Southern Ute, b.

1979), and a striking Earl Biss (Crow,

1947–1998) painting is a feature of the collection. A bronze sculpture by Tammy Garcia (Santa Clara, b. 1969) is on exhibit in a hallway next to the Coca-Cola machine.

There’s no missing that one. A Preston Singletary (Tlingit, b. 1963) bronze totem sits in the employee dining room, and Allan Houser (Chiricahua Apache, 1914–1994) sculptures are exhibited prominently in the entry way and throughout the building. These outstanding pieces of art are presented in spaces that allow the best opportunities to be viewed.

After I saw the collection, I wanted to know what motivates Tom and Mary to collect these pieces. If they are not motivated by the art market or assessed value of an artwork, then what has and what continues to motivate them to collect art? I also wanted to know what inspires a person who is not Indigenous to collect art that is created by Indian artists. Tom James agreed to sit down and talk about all this. I was unsure how much time this busy man would have for me.

However, once James started talking about his collection, I realized his passion for this artwork. He wanted to talk in depth about the artists and their individual pieces of art.

He wanted to share stories about his personal friendships with these artists.

I soon understood that while James is a collector of objects, he is also a collector of experiences and ideas.

While I can describe to you in detail the art that James has collected, only James can describe his personal interactions with the art and artists. I asked him why he started collecting art to begin with. It all started while he was at Harvard and Mary was at Wellesley College.

“When we started collecting, we were essentially students in college and business school,” James said.

“It was a small-time venture then.

I didn’t have a lot of money. I just happened to have some ill-gotten

Fritz Scholder (Luiseño), Cherokee, 1975, oil on canvas. Image courtesy of Raymond James.

gains from playing as a rock and roll musician to spend [on art]. I developed a habit of going around on probably every other Sunday afternoon to an art center.

“I’d go to the universities’ art departments and meet some of the artists and look at their work. What I was trying to do was essentially collect some keepsakes around my experience in New England. I was a Floridian, and [Mary] was a Midwesterner. So the purpose was really to get to know the artists and learn more about art.”

James’s interest in art started at childhood, thanks to his environs.

“I had no formal training in art whatsoever. I have some informal training in the sense my mother painted a little bit. She was heavily

involved in work at the Museum of Fine Arts [St. Petersburg, Florida]. I had a neighbor … where I grew up in southeast St. Petersburg. He had been the head of the art department at the University of Havana in Cuba.” When Fulgencio Batista Zaldívar (1901– 1973) was ousted as president of Cuba, James’s neighbor immigrated to Florida. “He was a terrific artist.

So, when I was young, I would go watch him paint.

“I was a normal twelve-year-old.

I played a lot of sports. I really wasn’t an art person,” explained James. “It’s just that my mother had a lot of art around. I became familiar with art and … always liked to look at it. I’d go to the Harvard Museum in college.

And I’d go downtown to the Boston Museum of Art.” WINTER 2016/17 | 39

ABOVE: Dan Namingha (Hopi-Tewa), Canyon Wren Kachina, 1988, acrylic, 60 × 96 in. Photo: M. Eldred.

BELOW: Tom and Mary James with Magic Thunder in the Northern Sky by Earl Biss (Crow, 1947–1998), oil on canvas (background). Image courtesy of Raymond James Art Collection.

As James matured, so did his reasons for appreciating art.

The meaning behind the visual manifestation of artworks challenged him. He wanted to know what each artist had to share through his or her creations. He explained his eye for art to me. “Over time … your tastes sharpen and even if you aren’t

qualified to become a critic, you become a critic just because you’ve seen so much [art]. You develop tastes and particular likes in the work you see. Obviously I’m eclectic when I can [appreciate] Dali and all the other stuff you see around here.

I love all kinds of styles of painting, all kinds of forms that people look at.

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I like Colorists and Stark Realism. I like near abstraction better than I do full abstraction,” said James. “Look at Dan Namingha, who I collect. … His mesa with an abstract background— he’s abstract but he still has that mesa there. It’s something from his heritage in the back of his mind while he’s painting this. If you talk to him, you find out he’s using colors that mean something to him from where he grew up. And all of a sudden you find out that’s not really abstract. It’s got a lot more meaning in it. I like that.”

James told me a story about a painting that communicated a message. He had hung a painting by non-Native artist James Michaels (American, b. 1945), next to an elevator at the Raymond James Corporate Headquarters. One day one of his employees stopped him to express his dislike for the painting.

James tells the story.

James wandered out on the streets of Denver during a torrential blizzard with money in his pocket in search of art to purchase, and … that fateful day led to his first purchase of American Indian art.

One day my portfolio manager told me, ‘I don’t like that painting that is sitting outside the elevator. Can you move it?’ I said, ‘Yeah, I can move it. What bothers you about it?’

He said, ‘I don’t know, it’s kind of morbid. I don’t like it.’ And I said, ‘Have you ever thought that maybe he’s making a statement about someone coming face to face with middleage-plus and saying to himself death is a potential. I now feel very healthy, but I can see the seeds of my own destruction for the first time.’ People tend to not think about these things much when they are young. He looked at me and turned his head. I said, ‘Tomorrow when you look at that, ask yourself, is he teaching me something? Am I learning something? Why am I reacting the way I am?’ I left the painting up. Art makes you think.

Many pieces in the collection reflect James’s personal preference for art that tells a story and art that shares the thoughts of the artist. Paintings by Salvador Dali (Spanish, 1904–1989), Ben Steele (American, b. 1977), and Jack Barrett (American, 1929–2008) certainly echo this artistic philosophy.

I wondered about the real reason James began collecting Native American art and still collects current Native art.

I’ve read and heard the story several times about how James wandered out on the streets of Denver during a torrential blizzard with money in his pocket in search of art to purchase, and how that fateful day led to his first purchase of American Indian art. But I wanted to know the real facts. I wanted to hear the story from James himself.

“My friend Earl Biss was the first Native American artist I bought [from] when I decided to collect Native American art,” he began. “I’d been looking at it for a long time. I had been going to ski country. Ski country had a lot more Westernthemed art then, much more than they do now. They had traditional Western subject matter, Native art included. I had developed a love of Western art. I attributed that to growing up with these cowboy and Indian movies.” He continued, I decided to go into Gallery One in Denver and buy a painting. I had been in that gallery many times before. Earl [Biss] had brought in a painting first thing that morning.

I was really taken by that painting; it’s beautiful. If you go look at the one [by Biss] I have hanging in the auditorium, it’s even more striking. Earl started talking to me in poetry.

He said, ‘Look I’ve got poetry on the back of my paintings.’

Then I began to realize there’s a lot more to Earl Biss … The day I bought that painting is when I met Earl. I couldn’t take the painting out because it was still wet. I said, ‘That’s fine. I

Preston Singletary (Tlingit), Family Story Totem, 2011, bronze, 86 × 24 × 17 in. Photo: M. Eldred.

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about the Occupation of Alcatraz.

You listen to all that, then you see him doing a sculpture …” he says as he motions to where the sculpture Wounded Knee sits. “That one really resonated with me.”

It was his personal interactions and relationships with the artists that most drew him to the work. James takes his relationship with artists a step further than that of patronage.

When I got here, to the board [of Raymond James], I started putting on art shows in the parking lot. I would exhibit the art. So, one of my goals is to help the artists sell so they can make a living. The combination of buying from artists that I like, seeing their potential and their current art is what causes me to buy their paintings. It’s the connections to artists and art that excites me. Take Dan [Namingha].

I’ve known Dan and his family for 25 years. Dan paints the painting, but Dan is also a great musician.

[He plays] the Native American flute and the rock-and-roll guitar.

Since I’m a guitarist, I can relate.

Adam Fortunate Eagle (Red Lake Ojibwe), Death Song at Wounded Knee, 1991, alabaster, 13 × 12 × 16 in. Photo: M. Eldred.

don’t mind.’ He was very interesting indeed. He was a very hard worker.

Those conversations and his friendship caused me to get interested in his work.

James continued to tell me about more stories of his friendships with other Native American artists.

“Tony [Abeyta] and I met right on the plaza when he was participating in Indian Market. He was probably 17 or 18. You could see in a minute how much talent he had. The very

next year, galleries started to carry his art—tying up a lot of his work. I kept buying his art at Indian Market.

I was really impressed by how he was open to experimentation—trying new subjects, new methods. Then he went to Italy and Chicago and studied there. He gave parties at the end of Indian Market at his house.

Mary and I would go and we’d be the only non-Indians at these parties.

People like Adam Fortunate Eagle [Red Lake Ojibwe, b. 1929] would be there. I’d hear all these stories

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James cherishes the artists he can relate to and learn from. He is inspired by their works as well as their friendships. I am as inspired by the works of art that I have been able to view from the collection as I am by the personal stories and words of Tom James. As he continues to learn and grow intellectually through his interaction with artists and art, I am inclined to do the same.

As the collection has grown in numbers, it seems to have grown in purpose. The walls of the Raymond James headquarters alone can no longer contain this diverse collection.

As a lasting legacy, Tom and Mary James have generously established a museum as an ongoing gift that reflects their passion for art. A portion of the collection is slated to transfer to its own institution in downtown St. Petersburg, Florida, in November of 2017, while much of the collection will remain at corporate

headquarters, although available to rotate through the museum. The James Museum of Western and Wildlife Art will serve the Tampa Bay community and visitors from other parts of the United States and beyond. Programming will include gallery interactions, tours, and artist discussions. The museum has put into motion the plans and construction of gallery structures to include space for Native-created art and jewelry, Western-themed art, Florida art, wildlife art, and other artistic works. The museum will continue to expand the collection at the discretion of Tom and Mary James to include new artworks by currently collected artists as well as artworks by new artists. Through the collection and the James Museum, Tom and Mary invite all to share in their lifetime of connecting with art.

The collection can be viewed by appointment at the Raymond James Corporate Headquarters in St.

Installation view of Tammy Garcia (Santa Clara Pueblo), Andrea, 2009, bronze, 84 in. high and Tony Abeyta (Navajo), Title Unknown, 2012, oil on canvas.

Petersburg, Florida. Arrangements for tours can be made through the curatorial staff on the Raymond

James website at raymondjames.com/ art. Highlights from the collection are also online at thejamesmuseum.org.

WORKSHOPS AND FESTIVAL Idyllwild Arts Summer Program - The summer tradition that began in 1950 to bring the best artists in their fields to teach under the pines continues today. Intensive hands-on workshops in Native American Arts such as Hopi Jewelry, Navajo Weaving, Cahuilla Pottery, and Native Plants; as well as music, dance, theater, visual arts, writing and filmmaking are offered to students from age 5 to 105. Each year more than 1,800 adults and children attend the Idyllwild Arts Summer Program.

Registration opens February 2017 idyllwildarts.org/nativearts summer@idyllwildarts.org 951.468.7265 #iamtheIdyllwild

WINTER 2016/17 | 43

Neoglyphix Travels North Anchorage Museum’s Urban Interventions Arizona artists inspire Native at-risk teenagers in Alaska through aerosol art.

By Martina Dawley and Dawn Biddison

N

EOGLYPHIX is an all-Indigenous, aerosol art collective that strives to empower Native youth through the raw expressions of aerosol art or graffiti art. The collective, now its own independent organization, was established through the generous support of the Arizona State Museum at the University of Arizona. The name originated from the artists in the first live aerosol art event in 2014.

Neoglyphix artists and organizers traveled north to Alaska to partner with the Anchorage Museum’s Urban Interventions Street Art program, created to reach at-risk teenagers in Anchorage. Street Art is a continuation of the Urban Interventions program developed for the Anchorage Museum in collaboration with Dawn Biddison, museum specialist at the Anchorage Museum, and Monica Shah, director of collections. Neoglyphix was represented by Martina Dawley (Hualapai-Diné), curator and co-organizer; Rene “STRIKE 1” Garcia (Tohono O’odham), exhibit designer and aerosol artist; and co-organizer and aerosol artist Dwayne “Dwayno Insano” Manuel (Onk Akimel O’odham). Anchorage artist Arielo “BISCO” Taylor

Neoglyphix, Raven Mural, 2016, aerosol on temporary walls. All images courtesy of the authors.

(Unangax-African-American) also participated in the program.

Community partners also played a key role in this ambitious event, which included Big Brothers Big Sisters of Alaska, Cook Inlet Tribal

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Council, Covenant House Alaska, and Kennecott Youth Center. Together they worked with the youth to paint on temporary walls installed on the museum lawn. The artworks were then moved into the museum for

visitors to appreciate throughout the summer. While in Anchorage, the artists also painted a large-scale mural for the Dena’ina House, a residential group home under construction that will serve low-income Alaska Native young adults, a project of the Cook Inlet Tribal Council.

Events began early in the morning, with an exploration of museum collections for inspiration to design murals. After participants discussed and sketched mural designs and practiced painting techniques, they were ready to outline designs on the walls. After a quick lunch break provided by the Anchorage Museum, they began painting murals.

Urban Interventions Street Art program is focuses on Anchorage youth and gives them access to museum collections to inspire and connect them to the Alaska Native cultures through active art projects, enabling creative, healthy expression.

The first program, Skate Art, held in 2015, was led by New York-based activist and stained-glass restorer Jim Murphy (Delaware descent), skateboard programs director at the Stronghold Society and owner of Wounded Knee Skateboards, with assistance from Alaska artist Holly Mititquq Nordlum (Iñupiaq).

Neoglyphix artist Ryan “ERODE” Webster (Onk Akimel O’odham) was the catalyst for this partnership through the purchase of his skateboard deck at Arizona State Museum’s Neoglyphix exhibit in December 2014.

Biddison considered that the Anchorage Museum might be reluctant to host such a program, given the frequent bad publicity about graffiti. By chance, she was vacationing in Tucson and visited the Arizona State Museum (ASM) on the last day a small gallery was showing work from artists in the exhibition and public program, Neoglyphix: All-Indigenous Aerosol Art Exhibition. She spoke with museum staff and learned about Neoglyphix

ABOVE: Neoglyphix, left to right: Dwayno Insano (Onk Akimel O’odham), Arielo “BISCO” Taylor (Unangax), and Rene “STRIKE 1” Garcia (Tohono O’odham) BELOW: Young artists brainstorm and sketch out their ideas. All images courtesy of the authors.

through Dawley, assistant curator for American Indian Relations and faculty member at ASM. After several emails and phone conversations with Dawley, Manuel, and Garcia, Biddison was able to organize a program that the Anchorage Museum readily supported.

Neoglyphix artists Manuel and Garcia were integral in this partnership. Manuel provided his expertise in working with youth, which stems from his efforts with Thomas “BREEZE” Marcus (Tohono O’odham) for Salt River PimaMaricopa Indian Community’s Labor WINTER 2016/17 | 45

ABOVE: Neoglyphix outlines their preliminary designs in aerosol paint.

BELOW: Dwayno Insano advises a young muralist.

COZIE (Navajo), Douglas Miles (San Carlos Apache-Akimel O’odham), DREMPT (Akimel O’odham), Ryan “ERODE” Webster, Jaime “LOKEY” Jackson (Akimel O’odham), NAVEM (Onk Akimel O’odham), Tim “NGEN” Pasqual (Tohono O’odham), Paul “NOX” Pablo (Tohono O’odham), Natasha “REZMO” Martinez (Navajo), Rene “STRIKE 1” Garcia, and Anitra “YUKU” Molina (Yaqui). In 2015, Neoglyphix added Rocky “CYFI” Martinez (Yaqui), Robert “DYTCH66” Gomez (Apache), Bobby “DUES” Wilson (Sisseton Wahpeton Dakota), Dwayne “Dwayno Insano” Manuel, ROBR (Native Hawaiian), Rose “TRIE ONE” Simpson (Santa Clara descent), UNEK Francis (Tewa-Jemez), and James “Vyal” Reyes (Yaqui).

In 2014, Dwayne Manuel wrote in the didactic text for Neoglyphix: All Indigenous Aerosol Exhibition, The way I see Neoglyphix, neo means “new” or “rejuvenated,” and glyphix means the “writings on walls.” I feel that there is a long tradition of writing on the walls when it comes to Indigenous people. And, when graffiti artists carry on the tradition of writing on the walls, especially at this museum, I think it is great, since museums like this [one] are known for telling stories of Indigenous people, where our voice generally tells the public that “we were here” … I think Neoglyphix at a museum gives Native Americans a voice that says, “WE ARE HERE.”

of Love project, a youth program focused on community building through aerosol art mural projects.

Garcia, also a professional contractor, provided his expertise on equipment and supply budgetary needs, amount and color palette for paint, and a detailed plan on how to construct

the cube walls for the murals at the Anchorage Museum.

The Neoglyphix crew is made up of 21 talented artists from Arizona, California, Hawaii, Minnesota, and New Mexico. The original 13 artists from the 2014 event include Thomas “BREEZE” Marcus, AKERS (Yaqui),

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Manuel graduated from the University of Arizona with a master’s degree in fine arts in 2014. He received his bachelor’s degree from the Institute of American Indian Arts in 2010. Manuel stays active in his community with the Labor of Love project where he mentors and teaches Native youth and works

LEFT: Unknown Deg Xinag artist, Cry Baby Giyema, before 1927, wood, pigment, caribou fur, string, collection of the National Museum of Natural History, E339831. RIGHT: Neoglyphix mural inspired by the mask.

Rene “STRIKE 1” Garcia (Tohono O’odham), Strike Mural, 2016, aerosol art on temporary wall.

WINTER 2016/17 | 47

on other collaborative aerosol art projects. He executed the Nike Desert Journey Collection featured at the 2015 Super Bowl, and served as a mentor and master artist at the Heard Museum’s exhibition, Confluence: Intergenerational Collaboration.

Dr. Dawley graduated from the University of Arizona’s American Indian studies program. Dawley cofounded and co-organizes Neoglyphix.

You can follow Neoglyphix on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, or contact them via email at neoglyphix16@gmail.com.

TOP: Workshop participants and museum visitors survey the finished aerosol murals.

BOTTOM: Three nascent aerosol artist celebrate their completed mural inspired by Athabascan floral beadwork.

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neoglyphix.org

MELISSA MELERO-MOOSE C O N T E M P O R A RY PA I N T I N G S

Basket Design, 2016, mixed media on canvas, 30 × 40 in.

Pine Nut Basket, 2016, mixed media with pine nuts on canvas, 30 × 40 in.

melissamelero.com greatbasinnativeartists.com WINTER 2016/17 | 49

HOUSER

(505) 982-4705

fineart@allanhouser.com

www.allanhouser.com

facebook.com/AllanHouserGallery

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art by and about Native creation

SEPT 27 – JAN 28

Jeanene & Ron Hulsey Mary Ann & Ken Fergeson

This project is supported in part by the following: an award from the National Endowment for the Arts, Jeanene and Ron Hulsey, Mary Ann and Ken Fergeson, the Chickasaw Nation, the Oklahoma Arts Council, OSU/A&M Board of Regents, and the OSU Museum of Art Advocates. In addition, the OSU Museum of Art would like to extend a thank you to Bockley Gallery in Minneapolis, Minn., and the Institute of American Indian Arts Museum in Santa Fe, NM

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PROFILE

Osage Painter and Printmaker

Norman Akers

By Jean Merz-Edwards

T

URN LEFT AT THE GREEN MAILBOX; go through a tunnel of trees up a hill, and at the top you’ll find our place.” Norman Akers gives me these directions over the phone while I am driving and lost in Lawrence, Kansas. Fifteen minutes later, I pull into his driveway where he and his wife Rose wait to welcome me. After introductions and refreshments, Rose disappears into the house while Norman and I visit in his studio. Over the course of the afternoon, I learn how Norman Akers got to this place.

Currently an associate professor at the University of Kansas, Akers also serves as the director of art graduate studies, positions he carefully balances with his art making. On the day of my visit, Akers apologizes that he does not have more work to show. He explains a lot of it is out—some in the exhibit, Back Where They Came From, at Sherry Leedy Contemporary Art in Kansas City and other work pulled for upcoming exhibitions.

Aker’s work is and has been in numerous other venues: permanent collections of museums like NMAI, Gilcrease, and Heard; countless solo and group shows over the past two decades; and in more than 50 books, catalogues, and periodicals. But nothing trumps a conversation with the artist in his studio filled with his lithographs and monoprints.

Artists measure their success in a variety of ways: through awards, shows, and the price their work fetches in the art market, to name a few. By these standards, you are a successful artist. A snapshot of your life and work, however, suggests a different standard of success. What do you teach your art students at the

happens. It is the same thing with students. They need to make work they feel can engage the community. I don’t always think of myself as a successful artist; I think of myself as a person who makes work. That’s it. It’s not about fulfilling an ego or being seen. It is just about doing work that is meaningful.

Your artist statement begins, “My art actively seeks to engage people in examining important issues. I address the topics of personal and cultural loss. Instead of speaking out words, I pursue a visual dialogue.” Who are you engaging in this conversation?

Norman Akers in his studio. Photo: Rose Akers.

University of Kansas about success, and how do you measure your own?

It has always been about making work I believe in. When you talk about success, I enjoy flying below the radar; it is my nature. I try to be productive—to find the voice to communicate with and be true to, because when you become an old man or an old woman, you want to know that you spoke your mind with your work. So, I talk to my students a lot about that. Making art is not easy … you have to have a commitment and you have to push the work as far as you can. You can’t be scared, and you have to take chances.

Also, we all have to set our own standard for what success is. For some people, yes, it’s about getting in that museum or it’s about doing a show in New York. When I’m looking at art, I find it successful if I can find something about the work that is meaningful. If someone goes to a gallery or museum and they have a conversation with a work that’s meaningful, the work is successful. I feel good any time that

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You know, my work has always been about trying to connect with viewers.

Is there a very specific audience in mind? No, because people [view] the work through their own experiences.

I am intrigued by how people bring their experiences back to me; how they interpret the work and the dialogue we have that makes these exchanges richer.

That is the joy in putting my work out there for people to engage, and people telling me their stories as much as me telling my stories. Let’s face it: not everybody is going to agree with the work or read it the same way. I see the work as a meditation between the viewer and myself, and opportunities to engage with the public are always exciting.

What do you hope to accomplish through the visual dialogue?

I don’t believe that artwork can change the world per se, but I believe that through this engagement I can educate people to the issues they may not see surrounding them. I may not change minds, but I can bring awareness.

That’s what I hope to accomplish with the work.

NORMAN AKERS

The other side is to present something formally sound and well crafted. I keep looking at contemporary work today, and I don’t know if it’s just that I’m getting older or teaching in a university situation, but I fluctuate in my thoughts about it. I see a lot of work heavy on the conceptual [side, but] not as well crafted. There are people who are very articulate with writing and speaking about their work, but their work lacks depth. In other work, you see incredible depth. As a viewer begins to spend time with it, that work unfolds in a way that you see the richness of one’s life, one’s culture, and one’s history. This is the successful aspect of making a work— when it unfolds in a way that unveils new aspects about the piece and about the artist. It engages you. When you look at it, you start to see more.

I remember bringing graduate work home from the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, and doing a show in Fairfax [Oklahoma]. An elderly lady about my grandmother’s age came in. I watched her as she looked and looked at these big paintings done in a very Abstract Expressionist kind of way.

She stopped, she came over to me, and she said, “I know what your painting is about. You miss home.” She connected to that, and it was very validating to have someone from home engage with the visual dialogue of my work.

Much of your art consists of the complex layering of symbolic images without “hierarchical order.” What is your process in choosing and layering images, and how do you keep them from competing with one another?

I’ve been working with personal symbolism for a number of years, and over those years I’ve gravitated to a number of images. Sometimes I use them for an extended period because they have relevance. Other times, some symbols enter the picture, are there for a while, and they disappear. I don’t want to say it’s a culling, but it’s that process of working with a lot of iconography to find the right combination to communicate my ideas.

Border Crossing, 2011, oil on panel, 48 × 44 in. All images courtesy of the artist.

In terms of hierarchy, I usually situate the work on the picture plane in a dialogue between the pieces. I tend to have these fields with many symbols because it allows the viewer to engage with the work at different points in time. What’s in between the symbols, the negative space, is also an important element in the work because it’s about transition, revealing that sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.

The images themselves come from a variety of sources. I’m looking at little books, science manuals, and some are carried over from drawing. I do a lot of collage where I am cutting out and pasting images together. I will scan images into the computer and when the scan is too mechanical, I will draw over them. Through the process, there is a nonlinear layering, and each layer

reveals something important about a specific, unified theme. No layer is more significant than another.

Past, present, and future are blurred in these layers. There is a blur when you come from a tribal community.

Regardless of your place in the present, you can’t help but think about your history, and you can’t help but think about your home, because these are the things that form you as a being. At the same time, as a tribal person, as an artist, and as a community, you want to move forward. There is a danger to looking back too much, and I try to find a place where all three, past, present, and future, exist. The future that exists in these works is creating opportunities for new ideas—the third space.

Fragments of maps often serve as the background in your work, leaving

WINTER 2016/17 | 53

PROFILE

Transience, 2010, oil on panel, 22 × 20 in.

viewers with a sense of dislocation.

What purpose do you think maps serve in the world today?

Throughout history, maps have always been a means of showing people place, marking land, and serving as guides for us as we travel. Also, maps have been used politically because they are connected with laying claim to land.

I use maps in my art as a reclaiming of place. Many of the maps that I’m working with have modified place names or changed borders that have

been moved around as a means of showing that the practice of mapping has not been consistent. Borders and boundaries have constantly changed throughout history.

What do you mean when you write, “Maps also have been used deceptively to create false borders, and they work to rewrite history?”

Looking at how maps evolved in the United States reveals politics.

Constructed borders have defined

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a separation of a people from their homeland that became a new person’s homeland. These maps don’t have a connection to the people who were first on the land. When you look at place names and borders, you see the history of colonialism and conquest. All of a sudden you realize these maps don’t relate to you, and you see the negative side. That’s part of what I look at as an artist. When I begin to play with maps in my work, I distort the borders and boundaries and place names because I

NORMAN AKERS

am questioning history and refining the world we live in. Every time I modify a map in my work, I am defining place on my terms.

Various images from nature such as deer, trees, acorns, and birds reoccur in your art. What significance does nature have in the themes of identity, culture, mythos, place, and transformation?

It’s about the landscape. Growing up in a rural community, I spent a lot of time wandering around in the country.

That had a profound influence on me in terms of the images I am working with: the elk, the trees, the acorns, and the birds. Also, these images allow me to express stories because they have roots in cultural stories from home. There is a connection. It is about these objects trying to find a place, much like me trying to find a place. I talk about home.

I am constantly making the transition back. These images, in a sense, serve as a metaphor for being away from home.

Will you eventually go back to Oklahoma?

Yes, I will. When, I don’t know. I’ll go back to the Fairfax/Gray Horse area. It’s home. One of my colleagues said, “How can you go back to your community?

It’s going to be boring!” I said, “You go where people take care of you,” and that’s it. I know that I can go back to that community. I have extended family and other people that will be there. They have an understanding of where we come from, and that’s important. There’s nothing worse than being isolated at the end of your life. People move around so much now, but home will be there and the people will be there.

Another aspect of your narrative includes education: a BFA in painting from the Kansas City Art Institute, a certificate in museum studies from the Institute of American Indian Arts, an MFA from the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, and 25 years of academic teaching in the arts. What significance does education hold in your unfolding story?

Retribution, 2013, lithograph, 33¼ × 26½ in.

Learning is a lifelong activity, but I didn’t realize I’ve been involved in education that long! [Laughs.]

Education has given me a framework to make my art. I always have been interested in academics, and artwork comes out of that interest. Being part of a university system allows me to engage with others who are dealing with important ideas, and that is nurturing.

Another part of academia is access to information. Technology has changed over the years; now we can sit at home and access information. That said, I think about libraries. There is something important about picking up a book—something tangible you can have in your hands.

In graduate school, I was used to this place called “the Stacks,” with I don’t know how many floors of books in the university library. When I moved back home to Fairfax after graduate school, I remember the little town library. I had a studio next door. I remember being at that little library and asking myself, “Well, what do I do here?” All the books were antiquated. Through investigation, I found a marvelous set of books: old biology, science, and nature books.

The old nature books did not contain photographs but rather illustrations.

That was an exciting discovery for me.

How do you balance teaching and administrative duties with creating your art?

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What is your legacy as a teacher?

[Long, thoughtful pause.] In the end, I want my students to do better than I have done. That is what makes me feel good: when my students go out and they are successful.

Another hope for my legacy? Since I have been graduate director at KU, I’ve wanted to bring more Native students into the program, keeping in mind that getting into an MFA program is very competitive because a number of students are vying for a limited amount of openings. It has always been important to try to bring Native students into the program. We currently have two in the master’s program. I’d like to see the visual art program and the school as a whole bring in more Native students because it adds to the richness. Native people are still extremely underrepresented.

How long have you been in Kansas?

Six and a half years.

Border Crossing II, 2014, oil on panel, 66 × 60 in.

You just really have to carve out the time. Someone a while back asked about my studio time. I said, “I work out of desperation.” He asked what I meant, and I explained that I work trying to meet deadlines. That’s the best way right now, because everything is on a deadline. If a creative project is left open-ended, then something begins to replace it. So, when deadlines are given, you work to meet that.

I use Christmas vacation, spring break, fall break. Those times I spend in the studio, and I am apt to go to New Mexico and print. Summer is complicated, because with Osages we dance in the month of June when we have our In-Lon-Schka. I begin work in July. There are times, like in the fall, when I paint after I come home from work. I come home after I leave work at 6:30 p.m., I’ll sit down and have a bite to eat with some coffee, and then hit

the studio and paint until I can’t do it anymore.

When did you start printmaking?

I’ve been printmaking off and on since the early ’80s. Printmaking took precedence when I started teaching, particularly here at KU, because I found that printmaking was more conducive to my schedule. With printmaking, I can go in, work on a body of work, get it ready, and get out to New Mexico for printing—or I could work on it in stages. Printmaking allows me to focus when I need to focus.

Painting is different. It’s more contemplative. I have been doing more prints than painting; however, I am transitioning back to painting.

The Osage Nation Museum is looking at doing a show in early 2018. My objective is to have at least six new, large-scale paintings for that exhibit.

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In the larger narrative of arts and culture, Kansas is often depicted as a “fly-over state.” What is your response to this characterization? Where are the art “hot spots” and happenings in Kansas?

[Laughs.] One thing about Kansas and making art in Kansas that people forget about is there are four directions; north, south, east and west. In Kansas, you are right in the center. While it may not be what you would call “the hotbed of the arts”—it’s not New York, L. A., Santa Fe—you are situated geographically in the center. This goes back to technology.

You don’t have to be at these places because technology allows you to know what’s happening in New York, to know what’s happening in L. A., but that [geographically] central location I think is important.

On the other side, I believe Kansas City and Lawrence are good communities for the arts. They do not get the credit they deserve. You look at the NelsonAtkins Museum of Art, particularly the shows, The Plains Indians: Artists of Earth and Sky and Brad Kahlhamer:

NORMAN AKERS

Bowery Nation, a few years ago; those were incredible shows. Also, the Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art at the Johnson County Community College. Here’s a community college showing contemporary Native art. The directors and the curators have a real commitment to it.

A lot is happening at the Spencer Museum of Art … I can’t help but talk about places like the Nerman because they have done a number of contemporary Native art shows.

Currently they have Fritz Scholder [Super Indian: Fritz Scholder, 1967– 1980]; they’ve done exhibits with Brad Kahlhamer, Jeffrey Gibson, and other Native artists. It’s a great place to see contemporary Native art. These institutions are also collecting, which is extremely important.

The Haskell Indian Art Market brings in artists. So, there is quite a bit going on here. There is an interest in Native art in Kansas.

Have you connected here in Kansas, not just with places but with people?

Well, my students [laughs]. I have not met a whole lot of artists outside of students, but there are curators and museum directors who are strong supporters of Native art. Bruce Hartman is one. He is the director of the Nerman.

Here’s a man who is very passionate about Native art.

Crowded, 2011, monoprint, 9 / ×

/ in.

Kansas is a place where you are free from many of the financial challenges in places known for their art communities.

There are a number of tribes, Haskell Indian Nations University, and we are near Oklahoma, Nebraska, South Dakota, and Iowa. Kansas is a good gathering point.

Most of the work we’ve been looking at today is clearly about immigration and that notion of land and place— whose place? I’ve been fascinated with immigration issues for a long time, ever since they started talking about building a wall a number of years ago when I was living out in New Mexico—that notion of actually creating a fence.

Your artist statement ends with, “I see the content of my art expanding from an interest in personal expression to a higher awareness of social issues.”

In this highly charged election year in the United States, what social issues do you find most pressing, and how might we see these issues surface in your new work?

Many of my prints deal with migration, immigration. I think about this notion, “Who’s Indigenous, Native, immigrant, and alien?” These are all terms that keep popping up. In my own work, particularly lithographs, I started to play with iconography like historical US figures from our currency, and they are depicted in these little flying saucers.

Of course, in a playful way, they are aliens. However, these figures truly are aliens when you are looking from an Indigenous perspective. They are newcomers.

The reality is, people move to places to find a better way of life, and that’s simplifying it. This whole issue of immigration is very complex … My work tends to explore these complex factors. Think about illegal alien, Native, Indigenous … It’s all about this terminology we use. What we are looking at is the politics of place, and that is what people struggle with today.

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Iñupiaq Interdisciplinary Artist and Educator

Ronald Senungetuk

By Nadia Jackinsky, PhD

M

ETALSMITH, WOODWORKER, TEACHER, CURATOR, ARTS ADVOCATE, AND MENTOR, Ronald “Ron” Senungetuk is often credited with charting the course for the development of contemporary Alaska Native art. Senungetuk was one of the first Alaska Native artists to attain formal training and helped many emerging Alaska Native artists to follow along this path. Encouraging others to push artistic boundaries and categorizations, Senungetuk has long sought to challenge how Alaska Native art is defined. As he has noted, “The term ‘Native art’ may be deceptive, for it implies a static classification of materials, processes, and styles. We need not equate the evolution of Native art forms with a loss of culture; rather, we must welcome the new developments as signs of cultural vitality.”1 Senungetuk was born in 1933 in northern Alaska in the village of Kingigin (Wales), situated on the western tip of the Seward Peninsula at the edge of the Bering Strait. As an apprentice whale/walrus hunter, Senungetuk grew up with traditional Iñupiaq values. He began carving sea mammal ivory as a young boy as a way to supplement his family’s income. As he explains, “The expectation in the village for the boys was to start learning how to carve ivory, because this was a way of earning an income so that you could buy something at the store to supplement the local diet.”

Because schooling was not available in Wales beyond eighth grade, Senungetuk was sent to the Bureau of Indian Affair’s Mount Edgecumbe High School in Sitka. According to Senungetuk, “At the time I left Wales, I was 15 years old. I spoke almost no English and I really went through cultural torment. For example, I had to copy people eating in the airplane. I really did not know how to use forks and spoons. The plane that took me to the boarding school in Sitka left lasting impressions. It was a social shock but it probably taught me to be quite observant.”2 At Mount Edgecumbe High School, Senungetuk met George Fedoroff, a Russian-born field

Ronald “Ron” Senungetuk in his studio, 2015. Photo: Sven Haakanson Jr., PhD (Sugpiaq).

representative for the Indian Arts and Crafts Board and accomplished designer and woodworker. Fedoroff instructed students in wood and ivory carving and also taught Western art history and design.3 Through Fedoroff, Senungetuk was introduced to the work of a wide array of European-American and European artists such as Jackson Pollock, Pablo Picasso, and Henry Moore, whose abstract imagery would come to influence his work. Recognizing Senungetuk’s talent, Fedoroff encouraged him to continue studying art and design at the School for American Craftsmen at the Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT) in New York.

At RIT, Senungetuk gained an appreciation of Danish modern design while studying under professors Tage Frid (1915–2004) and Hans Christensen (1925– 1983), known for their work with wood and metals, respectively. Ron’s studies at RIT were interrupted by a two-year tour with the United States Army that took him to West Germany, but he eventually graduated with a bachelor of fine arts degree in 1960. With the support of the dean of the School for American Craftsmen, Senungetuk went on to continue his studies with a one-year Fulbright scholarship at Statens håndverks- og

1. Festival of the Arts, Contemporary Alaska Native Art, Festival of the Arts (Fairbanks: University of Alaska, 1971): 3.

2. Ronald Senungetuk, “Statement of Ronald Senungetuk, University Of Alaska,” Alaskool, 1969, web.

3. F. Seymour Faurot, “Field Report of F. Seymour Faurot, Supervisor of Arts and Crafts Board, May 2, 1947,” Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearinghouse Records; 1938–1956 (Anchorage: University of Alaska Archives), microfiche.

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RONALD SENUNGETUK

Old Wales, 2008, silver maple, oil stain, 33 × 22 in., private collection.

kunstindustriskole in Oslo, Norway, where he studied sculpture and metalsmithing.

Senungetuk’s time in Oslo greatly influenced him, and he “absorbed new knowledge from a wide spectrum of [inter]national styles and languages.”4 He also met his wife Turid, an accomplished metalsmith and jeweler, who accompanied him when he returned to Alaska at the completion of his studies.

In 1961, Senungetuk was hired as a visiting Carnegie Professor of Design at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks (UAF) and became the university’s first Alaska Native faculty member. He was instrumental in developing the university’s art department, and his appointment expanded the department from one to two professors. Although Senungetuk initially started teaching metals and Western art and design, he saw that there was a great need for instruction in Alaska Native arts and began incorporating Indigenous art practices into his teaching and curriculum.

With federal funding from the Manpower Development and Training Act, Senungetuk embarked on a nine-month program in 1964 to provide training in design and multimedia arts to students in the Bering Straits region at the William E. Beltz School in Nome. He taught along with faculty members from the Cranbrook Academy and the University of Washington.

According to Senungetuk, “I particularly wanted to stimulate interest in non-traditional materials, tools and equipment to make art. … ”5 Thirty students successfully completed the program to learn about design, metalwork, carving, and printmaking. Some of the participants were recruited to continue their studies with Senungetuk in Fairbanks, and he was able to help secure grant funding to cover the cost of their training.6 In 1965, Senungetuk founded and became the director of the Native Arts Center at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, where he taught art and design until his retirement in 1986. Senungetuk envisioned the center as a space to encourage students to branch

4. Quote revised by Senungetuk. Original quote appeared in Ronald Senungetuk, “The Artist Speaks,” in Cross-Cultural Arts in Alaska, ed. O. W. Frost (Anchorage: Alaska Methodist University Press, 1975): 47.

5. Hank Rosenthal, “New Skills for Nanook,” in Alaska Journal 2 (Autumn 1972): 25.

6. University of Alaska, College, Alaska Native Arts and Crafts: Potential for Expansion; Final Report to Bureau of Indian Affairs, U. S. Department of the Interior (College, Alaska: University of Alaska, 1964): 142.

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Migration 1, 2, and 3, 2008, silver maple and oil stain, 22 × 56 ¾ in. each, collection of the Pratt Museum, Homer, Alaska, PM2008.019.0001-3.

out of the stereotypical forms of Native art that were made primarily for a tourist market, and instead he inspired students to experiment with new materials and techniques.

As Senungetuk explained, “When I was teaching I really wanted to see artists become artists, regardless of race. And especially to try to provide some sense that you don’t have to be demeaning to anybody … I want to tell people not to limit themselves. Use plastic if you want to, not just ivory! Provide a statement; don’t limit it on account of you have to use sinew or ivory.”7 Senungetuk kept the program fresh and innovative by regularly inviting visiting artists and Elders to come to campus and share their work in the studio.

Senungetuk also helped to organize and teach art programs in rural parts of the state such as Nome, Shishmaref, Gambell, Wainwright, and other villages, enabling him to encourage students to come to Fairbanks to gain formal training.

According to one of his students, Abraham Anghik Ruben (Inuvialuk), “He came at a time when Alaska Natives needed an infusion of culture and art to prepare for the changes that were coming. He was able to change the course of Alaska art history singlehandedly, both Native and non-Native contemporary art.”8

Other students who were fortunate to work under his mentorship include Bernard Tuglamena Katexac (Iñupiaq), Sylvester Ayek (Iñupiaq), Beckie Etukeok (Iñupiaq-Tlingit), John Oscar (Yup’ik), Kathleen CarloKendall (Koyukon Athabascan), David Shanon Gallant (Tlingit), Florence Nupok Malewotkuk (St. Lawrence Island Yupik), and Peter John Seeganna (Iñupiaq), among others. Speaking of Senungetuk’s influence, Sylvester Ayek has explained, “Ronald was a good teacher. His idea of art was different … He inspired me to be fearless in my experiments with using different material other than traditional forms.”9 Senungetuk encouraged his students to look to their heritage for inspiration “to understand a little more about what kind of people they were, going back two thousand years, for example, learning about the Okvik culture or Punuk or Ipiutak culture, or any of these cultures the anthropologists point out to us, that the museums point out to us.”10 He also stressed the importance of moving beyond creating historically based art forms and materials. As he once said, “In order for traditions to remain traditional, they must change and adapt to present ways. Otherwise they become part of dead cultures.”11

Susan W. Fair, Alaska Native Art: Tradition, Innovation, Continuity (Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press, 2006): 157.

Heather A. Resz, “Changing: The Face of Native Art,” First Alaskans Magazine (Summer 2002): 33–34.

Sven D. Haakanson Jr. and Amy F. Steffian (in press), Creative Alaska: A Ten-Year Retrospective of Support for Alaska Artists, 2004–2013 (Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press, 2016).

10. Ronald Senungetuk, “Native Arts and Education,” in Native Arts Issues 81/82, ed. Suzi Jones (Anchorage: Alaska State Council on the Arts, 1982): 29–31.

11. David McFadden and Ellen Taubman, Changing Hands: Art Without Reservation 2; Contemporary Native North American Art from the West, Northwest & Pacific (New York: Museum of Arts and Design, 2005): 116.

7.

8.

9.

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RONALD SENUNGETUK

Aurora Borealis I, II, and III, 2006, silver maple and oil stain, 56 ¾ × 22 in. each, collection of the Pratt Museum, Homer, Alaska, PM2006.023.0001-3.

Senungetuk’s own work subtly references designs found on precontact Iñupiat artifacts. His concentric circles, circle-and-dot motifs, and stylized representations of humans and animals are derivative of engravings found on historical artifacts. As Senungetuk explains, “I studied Old Bering Sea art on my own and began using that old concept, but I’m also interested in contemporary modernism.” Some of his work is directly influenced by designs of historical Alaska Native artifacts such as 19th-century masks, precontact tools, and other artifacts, which he has studied in museums around the world and from images in books.

He borrows elements of these designs but reinterprets them in his own style, sometimes exaggerating the scale.

Other examples of his work show influence from the landscape and nature of Arctic Alaska where he grew up, such as images of drifting sea ice, representations of dancing aurora borealis, and mountains depicted in bold geometric lines that highlight Alaska’s impressive natural features. Images like Bering Sea Imaqmew (2015), an abstract outline of Sedna (the goddess of the sea), brings in themes and stories from Iñupiaq history. Some of his work has had a political tone, addressing issues around alcoholism, stereotypes about Alaska Native cultures, and environmental concerns.

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ABOVE: Cosmos, 2008, silver maple, oil stain, diptych, 26 × 39 in. each, collection of the Musée du quai Branly, Paris, France.

BELOW: Reindeer Herd, 2003, carved and stained maple panels, triptych, 24 × 36 in. each, collection of the University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, UA2003-28-1, UA2003-29-1, and UA2003-30-1.

blues, white, and yellow. These works often highlight the wood’s natural beauty, keeping its grain, lines, and knots visible. He has also created large-scale installation work in glass and metal, abstract metal jewelry, and elegantly carved wooden dishes and bowls.

Since retiring from UAF, Senungetuk has made his home in Homer on the shores of Kachemak Bay. He continues actively participating in the arts scene in Alaska by serving on artist panels, curating exhibitions, teaching occasional workshops, and creating in his home studio alongside his wife. In a recent statement, he recalled how much the arts have changed over his life: When Alaska was colonized by pioneers, outsiders tried to change us to American ways of thinking and being. We were still functioning as people of the land. Along the way, Alaska Native art, as we know it, became art of their choice, not necessarily ours. It became commercialized, for example, and sometimes not meaningful to us, except for meager pay in return.

And then we said goodbye to the meaningful art of our ancestors. We no longer had that value of hunting or relationships with hunted and what we wanted. We became producers of remnants of our art form.12

He sees the current Alaska Native arts scene as an exciting time, where there is leadership among younger Alaska Native artists, a growing awareness of Alaska Native art, history, and culture in the general population.

And there is an expanding group of young artists whose work is breaking boundaries, innovating, and developing with a keen understanding of the past and Alaska Native artists’ place in the future. As Senungetuk notes, “We’re attempting to put life into our symbols, our shapes, and our stories, and so on, through art. I think we’re rediscovering creative elements of what we are and who we are.”13 Senungetuk has been recognized for his leadership in the arts in Alaska. He won the State of Alaska Governor’s Award for the Arts in 1979, became a distinguished fellow from the Rasmuson Foundation in 2008, was recognized as the 2014 Governor’s Awardee for Lifetime Achievement in the Arts and Humanities, and received an honorary doctorate from the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, in 2015. His work has been exhibited widely, nationally and internationally, and his legacy as a leader in Alaska’s arts will continue into the future.

12. Asia Freeman, Decolonizing Alaska (Homer: Bunnell Street Arts Center, 2016): 4, PDF catalogue.

13. Haakanson and Steffian, Creative Alaska, 2016.

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International Folk Art Market Online

A program of International Folk Art Alliance

Travel an online world of artist made goods. Shop at IFAMOnline.org Felted Wool Kyrgyz Woman on Yak, Artist: Erkebu Djumagulova, Bishtek, Kyrgyzstan

Use code FAAM to receive free shipping on orders over $50 WINTER 2016/17 | 63

PROFILE

Seneca Installation Artist

Marie Watt By heather ahtone

W

HILE THE FABRIC OF OUR SOCIETY feels stretched beyond its capacity with antagonisms at every turn, one artist creates new, social connections through reclaimed wool and thread. As with many poignant synergies, building community was not her initial intention, but it has become a critical component of Marie Watt’s creative process. For an artist who is comfortable working in diverse materials, the process of engaging a diverse audience seems a natural extension.

A member of the Seneca Nation, Watt grew up near Seattle, Washington, and remained connected to her tribal community through the close guidance of her mother, grandmother, and extended family. Her mother was an Indian education specialist for 27 years, and the relationships and respect for cultural knowledge and sharing were part of Marie’s upbringing. Watt and her sister were raised in an intercultural community that often shared potlucks, storytelling, and other forms of communal celebration of knowledge.

The artist completed a bachelor’s degree in speech communications and art with a focus on art history from Willamette University. From 1991 through 1994, she served as director of education at the Institute of American Indian Arts Museum, where she earned an associate degree in museum studies in 1992. While there, she earned an associate degree in painting and, more importantly, confirmed her desire to be an artist. She applied to Yale University’s competitive graduate art program and completed her master of fine arts degree. Watt relocated to the Portland area, where she currently lives with her husband and two daughters.

After she finished at Yale, Watt found herself blessed with new work opportunities, including a faculty position at Portland Community College. PCC provided her a sabbatical to prepare for a solo show at the National Museum of the American Indian George Gustav Heye Center in New York.

The project was ambitious and would need to be handstitched to match the concept.

As she described, I didn’t really know how I’d meet the deadline. Craving social interaction, I started to invite friends over to stitch with me, saying I’d feed them and no sewing experience was necessary. Using the Internet, pre-social media days, I began inviting groups of friends and urged others to

Marie Watt in a sewing circle at the University of Washington, Seattle, 2015. All images courtesy of the artist.

extend the invitation to others. My studio was at my house at the time, and I remember using sawhorses and hollow doors to extend the length of the table to fit the large work, but also to fit everyone who was participating.

Her guests contributed toward Watt’s wall-sized textiles while sharing company and a meal. When her guests said they would return to do it again, she knew she would extend the invitation. “Shortly thereafter, the sewing circles took on a life of their own.”

In many ways, these “sewing actions” (similar to print actions) are reminiscent of the early Fluxus happenings led by artists like Yoko Ono, where audience participation completed the artistic production. Watt’s sewing circles, though, are constructive events, with each participant’s hand-stitched marks serving as a signature of sorts and contributing to the finished whole. These events have grown from a circle of friends and family gathered in Watt’s home to museum happenings on their own merit. This community participation creates not just the stitching in the finished project but the relationships forged between the participants, including the artist. The process through these events is integral to the work.

Watt’s largest action yet was held at the National Gallery of Canada with 230 participants. Her website describes the sewing circles as “public events by which anyone with time and interest can participate, and in which the fellowship and storytelling around the table can be more

1. Marie Watt, “Blanket Stories: Talking Stick, Works Progress, Steward,” Marie Watt Studio, 2016, accessed August 6, 2016, web.

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MARIE WATT

important than the resulting object.”1 That statement reflects her natural humility and willingness to recognize the value of those personal experiences beyond her own.

These unique events are fertile spaces, ripe for the creation of relationships often grown between strangers sitting side by side, with hands busy at the task set before them.

Each stitch physically binds materials together and, as Watt acknowledges, the sewing circle creates community by “uniting cross-generational, crosscultural, and multidisciplinary people together who bring a range of different perspectives.”2 That is a very powerful stitch indeed.

With the seeds of these events having started in her home, the artist continues to work with communities beyond museum walls. For her installation in SITE Santa Fe’s 2015 Unsuspected Possibilities, Watt says, “We hosted sewing circles at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe Indian School, Tierra Encantada [Charter] School, and the Santa Fe [University] of Art and Design. This created an opportunity for me and SITE Santa Fe to introduce ourselves to local communities, and for these communities to later visit Unsuspected Possibilities and artwork that they contributed to. In this way, I am interested in conversations that are ongoing and multidimensional. I appreciate the opportunity to return to communities and pick up familiar and new conversations.”3 The concept of return engagement and exchange are values shared within Indigenous practice that have been supported by SITE Santa Fe and other institutions, including the Denver Art Museum, Tacoma Art Museum, and the National Gallery of Canada.

For Watt, the location of art and community is much broader than a gallery. She recognizes it takes more than a passive experience such as walking through an exhibit for people to connect. Connection with one

Transportation Object (Lamp), 2015, reclaimed wool blanket, satin binding, thread, embroidery floss, 12.25 × 13. 5 in. Photo: Aaron Johanson.

another is as important as connecting to the art, but if her artistic process can provide the context for both experiences, then Watt sees both as valuable. The sewing circles become an axis mundi, a centralizing point of connection drawing together otherwise unrelated energies, thus mimicking traditional concepts for gathering such as the placement of a ceremonial drum or fire. While the projects are limited in time, the sharing that takes place has the potential for creating a natural fusion of personalities, evident in the finished projects.

Watt’s textile installations, already large, have grown in scale. Her now room-sized, hanging installations are filled with hand-stitched images that traverse the cosmos through the symbolic metaphors stitched within the composition. Her reclaimed wool blankets testify to the intimacy and warmth of human connections as she maps ideas that transcend temporal and spatial location. These large

pieces are often deconstructed from their previous lives and collectively reassembled into the final presentation.

Despite her use of wool, Watt is not a conventional textile artist. She dismisses this categorization because “I’m rogue in the way that I assemble things. Sewing is not what motivates me. It’s the community and the stitch as a form of mark making that intrigues and engages me.”

The artist acknowledges the sewing circles might be the most “traditional” aspect of her creative practice and references an Indigenous approach to sharing knowledge rooted in communal activities where knowledge was not parsed into separate disciplines. She is interested in the way that art has been a means of “manifesting cultural knowledge in a physical form.” The customary manner of relating knowledge through graphically coded designs and materials is expressed with welldeveloped local knowledge including

2. Marie Watt in discussion with the author, May 31, 2016.

3. Marie Watt, email message to author, September 1, 2016.

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Trek (Pleiades), 2014, reclaimed wool blankets, satin binding and thread, 4 × 123 1/2 in. Photo: Aaron Johanson.

geography, meteorology, political science, and agriculture.

Through art and highly refined aesthetic systems, knowledge has been an encompassing experience available to all ages and accessible through participation in the ceremonial lifeways of the community. The relationships that have historically been constructed between humans and the environment are rooted within the cultural narratives as foundational to Indigenous cultures and practices. Watt is keenly aware of these relationships and familiar with how they inform her own Seneca experience. Further, as contemporary Indigenous people, multiple types of cultural experiences surround us and collectively inform our identities. The sewing circles invoke Indigenous-centered, informal educational and social experiences with broader communities.

Collective layers of cultural experiences inform Watt’s work. Trek (Pleiades) is a large hanging work that positions the Starship Enterprise within

a field of the Pleiades constellation.

Watt creates a playful dialogue between materials, stitched images, and the layers of pop and tribal cultures. A child of the 1970s, she plays on the title’s double entendre, drawing our attention to the exploration of the “last frontier,” a popular cultural reference to the futuristic TV series, Star Trek.

She described that the show was an important social vanguard: “Star Trek’s format allowed for challenging topics of the day to be addressed, thinly veiled in the context of the future. One of my favorite examples is television’s [early] interracial kiss between Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura in 1968.”

Trek (Pleiades) is also a reference to the “last frontier” of westward expansion of the United States.

Through this second meaning, she reminds us of the impact of colonization upon Indigenous people.

The reference to the constellation Pleiades, a formation widely recognized by many cultures from the Northern Hemisphere, informs us

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that Indigenous star knowledge also holds the keys to our oldest knowledge.

Watt’s installation shows us that through our past we find the future, a tenet held by many communities.

Watt’s imagination, like the night sky, is grand and suited to large-scale works. Watt has only recently increased the scale of her textile installations. Her Blanket Stories series began in 2003 as a body of sculptures constructed from layers of carefully folded blankets.

Watt had already worked with blanket remnants, thinking of how blankets protect us at our most vulnerable.

Watt invited the public to contribute blankets and to record the stories associated with them. She assembled stacks from these gifts. The emergent structures are vertical forms that defy gravity as they reach skyward.

The Blanket Stories columns have been compared to Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși’s Infinity Column. His sculpture consisted of repeating cast iron, rhomboidal shapes that reached to the sky—a monument

MARIE WATT

to the endless dedication of soldiers.

Brâncuși’s work has been considered a key 20th-century modern sculpture.

Watt’s towers are also tall and narrow, but in contrast, are made from the softness of used blankets. They serve as a monument to home, family, and the power of vulnerability. Brâncuși’s title describes an unquantifiable quotient, but Watt titles her work in reference to Seneca teachings and, by extension, the protofeminism that is part of Seneca and greater Iroquois matrilineal values, the history of Native people in the context of where the sculptures are located, and other emergent stories that come with the blankets.

Guided by her matrilineal Seneca culture, Watt acknowledges mothers, aunts, grandmothers, and female ancestors as central in the formation of a Seneca identity through the titles she gives to the sculptures. This acknowledgment has been passed through generations who have honored Sky Woman, the progenitor of the Seneca people. Their story begins with Sky Woman’s descent from the sky and her arrival on Turtle Island. Each of these blanket towers is a potential landing spot for Sky Woman, whose spirit continues through each new generation of Seneca women, including Watt and her own daughters.

The recognition that all relationships inform our identity is an expression of kincentricity. The term was coined by Dennis Martinez, a practitioner of Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK), to address the Indigenous relationships that extend to the energy and life forms within which we are intertwined—physical and metaphysical, animate and inanimate.

These relationships have largely been seen as symbolic or metaphoric by Western culture. However, within Indigenous communities, these relationships are intrinsic to the formation of individual identity.

In Watt’s work, her relationship to her children and her tribal community as an extension of Sky Woman include the incumbent

Blanket Stories: Beacon, Marker, and Ohi-yo, 2016, steel armature, folded blankets, 240 × 108 × 48 in.

Photo: Aaron Johanson.

responsibilities and celebrations of femininity. The Blanket Stories then become markers of the continuum of matriarchal responsibility. Their individual titles, such as Blanket Stories: Cousin Rose, Four Pelts, Sky Woman and Relations (2004), invoke that line of feminine, creative power.

The towers sometimes wind, drape, or even solidify into yellow cedar. Their flexibility may be interpreted as that Native capacity to respond to external forces without losing one’s core, internal identity. As these forms have become larger and bolder—a tower of wool blankets placed in dialogue with a totem pole at the Denver Art Museum or emerging from the exterior of an institutional wall as bronze casts at the Tacoma Art Museum—these towers speak to Native tenacity to remain Native, despite changes in the superficiality of materialism.

Perhaps what is most powerful in Watt’s work is its defiance of being categorically textile or installation.

As much as the actual blankets are critical to her concept, they need not be physically present in the final work to be recognized. The burnout method used to form the cast bronze at the Tacoma Art Museum is a good example of this absent presence.

However, Watt’s references to blankets in her printmaking work are equally as effective. In this process, we can read the blanket as present even when it is not.

Herein lies a powerful understanding of kincentricity. The blankets, their stories, and the people are related, even when they are not physically present. The reference to the blanket has become enough to know it is part of the story. The transmission of the blanket into a metaphorical reference positions WINTER 2016/17 | 67

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Generous Ones: Chair, Observer, Ancestor, 2015, reclaimed wool blankets, thread, 5 × 1 4 1/2 in., collection of Lori Uddenberg. Photo: Aaron Johanson.

Watt’s work in a long continuum of Indigenous metaphor. At that point, in the same way that tribes have developed complex color theories that express cultural ethos and philosophy, Watt has transformed a blanket into a symbol of Seneca matriarchy and the long line of stories related to blankets within Native culture.

But blanket stories are not restricted to Native experience. Watt has never limited who can donate a blanket. The stories attached to the individual blankets come from a broad community, much like the community formed through the sewing circles.

So, while a complex and diverse population shares community through the sewing circles, similarly Watt builds community through the exchange of stories and blankets as they become foundational to the towers.

The strength of sharing fellowship resonates throughout Watt’s work.

From that power, Watt offers a glimpse into how working from Seneca ethos and philosophy, we all gain from the

experience. It is likely from the strength of that message that she was selected as a featured artist for SITE Santa Fe’s Unsuspected Possibilities.

On the SITE Santa Fe website, Watt says, “We are received in blankets, and we leave in blankets. The work … is inspired by the stories of those beginnings and endings, and the life in between … Blankets hang around in our lives and families—they gain meaning through use.” The acquired layers of meaning are critical to her continued vision while blankets remain a core material. They allow her to draw upon her Seneca cultural identity without demeaning her German-Scot ancestry. She embraces these as mutually informed and informing her work, which is based on Seneca philosophy but not rejecting her father’s European heritage, nor antagonistic to Watt’s identity as an American citizen.

In many ways, complex experience may be challenging for certain American sensibilities, though

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it is not unique to Indigenous people.

That a person can be both grounded in Native cultures while embracing the experience of living in a fully American experience is quite common.

Some have tried to describe this as “walking in two worlds,” though that concept has been criticized as implying a schizophrenic cultural experience. The Blanket Stories allow non-Native people to relate to the structures without losing their unique identities due to the blanket becoming part of an art object made by an Indigenous person—because their stories and objects are part of the whole. Reciprocally, Native artists, like Watt, are able to be Native while fully participating within American culture without checking their identity prior to that participation. This critical interpretation speaks to the broader Native experience.

Watt is interested in these stories, both shared and personal. She also is interested in how the sewing circles have created their own community and

MARIE WATT

Butter y, 2015, reclaimed wool blankets, satin binding, thread, cotton twill tape, tin ingles, 94 × 12 in., collection of the Denver Art Museum.

Photo: Aaron Johanson.

have informed the art being made. She tells the story of how she learned about the jingle dress from two powwow dancers while conducting a sewing circle at the Denver Art Museum (DAM). During this event, she was inspired to make Butterfly, a large construction from pink, blue, and red blankets that borrow a Northern tribal motif for a butterfly and jingles from the Native dance dress and, collectively, form a wall of femininity. Watt also mentioned that she references “the color studies of Josef Albers and the patterning of deftly made log cabin quilts applied to a triangular motif gone askew.”4 When Butterfly was purchased for the DAM’s permanent collection a few years later, she felt it

had returned home, like a butterfly ending its migration.

The power of the stories, such as those about Sky Woman or the jingle dress, permeate her work. Like a grandmother whose tales create a sense of home and belonging for children, Watt’s installations serve as markers for our relationships to the stars and each

other. Watt is building community one stitch at a time.

Watt’s work is currently on view at the Oklahoma State University Museum of Art in Stillwater as part of the author’s exhibition, From the Belly of Our Being: art by and about Native Creation, on view through January 28, 2017.

Further Reading Rebecca J. Dobkins, Marie Watt: Lodge. Salem, OR: Hallie Ford Museum of Art, 2012.

James H. Nottage, Into the Fray: The Eiteljorg Fellowship for Native American Fine Art, 2005.

Indianapolis: Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art, in association with University of Washington Press, 2005.

Simon J. Ortiz, Marie Watt: Blanket Stories: Almanac. Casper, WY: Nicolaysen Art Museum, 2006.

mariewattstudio.com

4. Marie Watt, email message to author, September 6, 2016.

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Chickasaw Textile Artist

Margaret Roach Wheeler

By Vicki Monks

M

ARGARET ROACH WHEELER delights in her designation as a provocateur. Sitting in her pleasant country home near the Chickasaw Cultural Center in Sulphur, Oklahoma, Wheeler laughs as she describes attending a reception for Native Fashion Now, the Peabody Essex Museum’s touring exhibit of masterworks by Native American designers. At age 73, Wheeler is among the eldest living artists in the show, and her contribution to the exhibit, The Messenger (The Owl), had been assigned to the boundary-challenging, on-the-edge category called “The Provocateurs.”

Pushing the boundaries of textile and fiber art has long been a hallmark of Wheeler’s career. From her haunting textile panels, The Ancestors, to her astonishing handwoven costumes for Chickasaw composer Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate and Chickasaw writer Linda Hogan’s production Lowak Shoppala (Fire and Light), Wheeler’s innovations in weaving and design forge new territory for textiles in fine art.

The Messenger (The Owl), made of hand-loomed fabric, belongs to Wheeler’s series, Spirit Animals. Before threading her loom, Wheeler studied the shapes and colors of owls. She identified that the owl resonated most strongly with her, and selected colors and designs for her warp and weft to replicate the pattern of her chosen owl’s feathers. Then she wove a headdress with a beak and glowing eyes.

Like much of Wheeler’s work, The Messenger is innovative yet informed by her Chickasaw culture. She has researched archives and collections at the Smithsonian, British Museum, and Marischal Museum in Scotland to discover how her Chickasaw ancestors and other Southeastern tribes dressed and adorned themselves at the time of contact with Europeans. For centuries, wearable art, clothing, and adornments were among the highest expressions of art in Native cultures. That’s a practice that Wheeler is continuing, and she’s pushing the concept to new levels.

At Mahota Studios across from the Artesian Hotel in Sulphur, Wheeler graciously shows a visitor the rooms crowded with looms, weavings for sale, and magical closets stuffed with her past works—astonishing treasures. As she draws each item out, the intricacies of the weave reveal patterns that resemble beads or feathers.

Wheeler has woven for more than 40 years and founded her company Mahota Handwovens in 1984. Mahota comes from Wheeler’s great-great-great-grandmother Mahota, who was removed from Mississippi to Indian Territory. Two years ago, Wheeler established Mahota Studios as a Chickasaw weaver’s cooperative. In the 1960s, Wheeler attended high school in Tahlequah, where she 70 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

Margaret Roach Wheeler at the Santa Fe Indian Market, 2009. Photo: Tony A. Tiger (Muscogee-Seminole-Sac & Fox).

learned about the Cherokee’s Sequoyah Indian Weavers Association. She had admired their business model and had hoped to one day do the same with Chickasaw weavers.

Twelve weavers now work at Mahota Studios and sell their weavings in the adjoining gallery.

At the moment, Wheeler’s walnut loom is threaded for her new work, The Swan, a weaving inspired by the capes worn by mincos (leaders) in historic times to convey their honored status. The Swan will show with Visual Voices, a touring exhibit of contemporary Chickasaw art planned for 2018.

Wheeler’s résumé lists pages of museum, gallery, and fashion show credits dating back to 1986, and major awards from the Heard Fair, Red Earth Festival, Eiteljorg Market, Santa Fe Indian Market, and others.

The daughter of a Choctaw father and Chickasaw mother, Wheeler was born on the Lake Traverse Indian Reservation at Sisseton, South Dakota. Her father, Diamond Roach, worked as a Bureau of Indian Affairs schoolteacher

MARGARET ROACH WHEELER

and superintendent, with postings at several reservation schools during Wheeler’s childhood. That early exposure grounded her appreciation for the stories and histories of many tribes, as well as her own, and inspired her development as an artist.

You knew you wanted to be an artist by the time you were six years old, when your family was living in Browning, Montana, with the Blackfeet Nation. What inspired you?

Around that time, I first began noticing the murals. The WPA artist program paid Indian painters to do murals—that beautiful flat pattern, just gorgeous, huge murals—and we had them in some of the schools. You’d go to the post office, and there’d be this beautiful mural, always with Indian subject matter. I would look at those and was so impressed. So my paintings for years were the flat pattern of [Allan] Houser and Acee Blue Eagle.

As a child, I sat for hours, just drawing anything I could see. By the time I was out of grade school, I was a pretty good artist. I had good hand-eye coordination. It was one of those things I just worked at and worked at until I succeeded. And it’s continued my whole life, going after that dream of becoming an artist.

I also credit my brother for some of my creative energies. He was almost ten years older, and he’d take me out in the woods and tell me that fairies and elves lived in the woods, and they came out of the little curve at the base of trees, in the little hollows back in there. I sat in the woods for hours making up stories, waiting for them to come. We had two creeks on either side of us, so we were in nature all the time. To this day, I love being in the woods.

When I did graduate research for my master of fine arts degree at Pittsburg State University in Kansas, I went back to that woodland environment [and created] an installation with a huge tree and a hollow you walked into.

Forest Dweller: The Bear from the Spirit Animals series, handwoven cotton, feathers.

What drew you to weaving?

I began my master’s program studying with the world-renowned jeweler Marjorie Schick, but I discovered that I hated making jewelry. Marjorie had inherited a textile program at the university, and the whole time I was filing away on silver, I’d watch these women over there working with the looms, working with the fibers, and felting, and I was so drawn to it. The minute I sat down at that loom, I knew it was what I wanted to do. Marjorie knew nothing about weaving or fibers, but she was wonderful at teaching design and great at critique. Those are crucial things you need for any art—the basics. It doesn’t matter what techniques or materials you are using.

I was surrounded by fibers growing up because my mother knitted and crocheted, my grandmother embroidered and tatted, and they were always working. Everything was beautiful.

Growing up admiring the textile work of your mother and grandmother, did you perceive that as art?

No, I never thought of handiwork with textiles, embroidery, and crochet as artwork. It was utilitarian, for sheets and pillowcases, not for art. I never saw it as an art form back then. After I started [giving] textiles a different connotation and thinking about the principles of art and design, I saw I could use these same techniques with the fibers and make it artwork.

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mystical and spiritual things; how the owl could transform. My grandmother was frightened of owls. If she heard one by the house, she knew someone was going to die or something bad was going to happen. As a child that fascinated me.

I created The Owl when Ellen Taubman invited me to participate in the Changing Hands: Art Without Reservation 2 exhibit at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York. Another of my spirit animals, The Bear, toured with that exhibit through 2008. The Owl is on tour now with Native Fashion Now. The Owl and The Bear are designed as chief ’s robes with headdresses, something that could be worn. Much of your work is designed for the human form. When did you make the transition from wall art and installations to what might be called “wearable art?”

Marriage of the Snow Goose from the Mahotan Collection.

You created textile wall panels called The Ancestors that you’ve installed in several exhibits. They carry an emotional charge; they’re powerful.

What is the significance of The Ancestors?

I created six panels that represent the four directions and the earth and the sky. The figures are six-foot-tall, handwoven faces formed over hand-cast life masks. I wove robes for them all in white or off-white. Each ancestor holds a shield depicting who they are. The shields tell their stories.

The Ancestors were six figures on panels [with] stands. I set them up to make a curve, so that people coming in the door are funneled into a smaller space. I covered the top of this and made it a tunnel.

I was thinking of the installation as a gauntlet that Native Americans once used. The gauntlet in Native history

used to be horrendous as far as people going through it and being hit and kicked and spit on, but if you made it through, often then you were accepted into a tribe. The installation was more of a spiritual gauntlet with ancestors watching you as you came through it.

My gauntlet was all in whites to cleanse the soul as you came into a sacred area.

That was my idea for this exhibit.

Is your work as spiritually inspired?

Some of my ideas come from my dreams. I wake up in the morning with an idea and I know what to do. But most of my design work has [come from] looking at photographs of beadwork or quillwork and trying to figure out how I can make it look like that, so it’s very pragmatic and not as spiritual, per se. But artwork like my Spirit Animals, where I’m trying to make a statement, like The Owl that’s touring right now—I felt that it had come from thinking about

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Getting ready for a new fiber exhibit, I thought, “Why don’t I make a dress to wear to the opening?” When I put it on, I realized I had made a Plains buckskin [style] dress out of loomed fabric. It was all happenstance. I had left fringe on the sleeves. I had fringe coming around the bodice. All at once light bulbs came on, so I came off the wall and onto the body. And from that day, I created fashion with Native American influences. I would look at beadwork and I realized that I could do designs on the loom that looked like beadwork, and I could do feather work, ribbonwork, even quillwork.

So I experimented with the threading with these different designs that I could incorporate into my garments.

Your piece The Horse is currently touring with Return from Exile: Contemporary Southeastern Indian Art. Why did you choose the horse?

I am a storyteller more than anything else. I love the research. The hunt is the exciting part. Return from Exile is about how the tribes were forcibly removed to what is now the state of Oklahoma, but it’s more than that.

MARGARET ROACH WHEELER

It’s about removal, relocation, and resilience.

Reading a Chickasaw historical journal, I learned about the Chickasaw horse.

The origins are unclear, but it was a small horse that was very fast, very sturdy. We became great horsemen, and that was one of our biggest trading items while we were in Mississippi.

When we hit the trail during removal, they came with us. I think there were almost three to five horses per person.

Hundreds of horses were brought to Indian Territory. But when I got to the “resilience” part, I could find no Chickasaw horses. Then I discovered that the Chickasaw horses were bred into the quarter horse. That’s one of America’s greatest horses, so there’s resilience. The Chickasaw horses were bred to be something more. We adapted them, and they are one of the most sought-after horses in America.

In Tribute to Diamond, you used a shadow weave to create one light side and a brilliantly colored side on the reverse. Why did you choose that pattern?

Long ago, I saw a Curtis photograph of a Cheyenne man wrapped in a white blanket. He’s leaning up against a tree, and the blanket is over his head so that all you see is his eyes. In thinking about Tribute to Diamond, I’d always felt that my father was a pillar of strength in our communities, and I wanted to reflect that pillar. I remembered hearing the Hopi jeweler Charles Loloma speaking about a domed bracelet he created. It’s very plain on the outside, just a silver dome when it’s worn, but when it comes off the arm, all the beauty is inside. The whole inside of the bracelet was inlaid in coral, ivory, and turquoise. I loved that idea. That’s what I wanted to do with Tribute to Diamond. The outside of the robe is a pure white column, but then all this color is inside. I felt like that really depicted my father. He was strong with a tremendous inner beauty.

As an artist in residence with the Chickasaw Nation, you created the

Chikasha Issoba’ (Chickasaw Horse), handwoven cotton, glass beads, incised brass bells, 3 × 25 × 25 in. Image courtesy of the Return from Exile exhibition.

costumes and set design for the stage production of composer Jerod Tate’s Lowak Shoppala (Fire and Light) that was based on Linda Hogan’s poem by that name. You wove elaborate clan costumes that have gotten a lot of attention. Which is your favorite?

After my first meeting with Jerod and Linda, I remember going back to the hotel and writing down each scene.

The one that hit me the most was the removal scene where we are leaving our homelands. I knew immediately

what I wanted to do for the costumes in that part. I was up most of the night drawing and thinking. I wanted to create two costumes, male and female, of people leaving. We have the mounds in the background on the stage, so [the characters are] coming out in traditional outfits, with the long skirt and blouse for the woman and the hunting coat for the man. They would have striped ribbons, of color, color, color, and in the scene would also be another dancer, a character that was called the Gatherer.

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Prairie Spirit: The Buffalo from the Mahotan Collection, handwoven cotton, brass bells, buffalo horns. Image courtesy of the artist.

The Gatherer had long tendrils from a piece that I’d seen at Gilcrease years and years ago. It was probably 30 years ago when I saw this piece and took photographs of it. It was a robe from a dry cave in Arkansas. It was made of grasses and tendrils and it was very long. At the top, you could see what would have gone over the head and the horns. I was so taken with it. For years I thought of that piece but had never done anything with it. For Lowak Shoppala I got to use it.

I made casings for the ribbons on the costumes so they could be pulled out with little round rings at the end of the ribbons. The Gatherer could grab the rings, pull the color from them, and make it so the color was leaving their lives as they were leaving their homelands. People saw the Gatherer as bad, but I didn’t. He kept these colors to give them back when they reached their new homelands and became comfortable. Then the color could

come back into their lives.

The Lowak Shoppala production represents one thousand years of Chickasaw history. The clan costumes for the Mississippian period were all handwoven—the minco, alligator, squirrel, bird, panther woman. Those were drawn from my Smithsonian fellowship research—from what I’d seen in shell carvings, what the men were wearing. Those were rewarding to do. The skunk and the raccoon came from my imagination.

You won an Eiteljorg Purchase Award for one of those costumes. Why was that a special piece?

It was The Squirrel. It was one with swirls in it that I based on what I think was mud cloth that I’d seen at the Smithsonian [National Museum of Natural History]. In Suitland, Maryland, the research center had many Spiro artifacts that were

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handwoven and twined—large pieces of cloth that I then imagined were parts of mantles or kilts. In some of the twining at the Smithsonian, I thought I saw an eye twined into a garment.

And you know how the eye was so important. Now I’m wondering if they were mud painted or mud cloth, because being on the river, they’d have all the silt they could use. They used black and rust colors. I’m still researching that because I’m getting ready to do a mud cloth.

What is mud cloth?

It’s literally getting mud, adding water to it, putting it on cloth, and letting it stain. I took a class with Judy Dominic, who is a master in mud cloth. She asked us to bring mud for our next workshop. In Ada [Oklahoma], I saw a school constructing an addition, and there was a huge, bright, red-orange pile of dirt, so I circled the school three times, pulled in, filled my little

MARGARET ROACH WHEELER

container, put the lid on, and jumped back in my car and went on. Coming out of Ada, I saw this huge black pile of dirt, and I did the same thing. And then I got fresh dirt from my land.

I had three different colors from a 30-mile radius to work with. I’ve got those pieces in the car. We’re supposed to let them sit for a year, so I’ve left them in the car where I can’t see them and don’t think about them.

You use a computer to work out your designs for the loom. That might strike some as odd, since your work is so strongly rooted in historical practices.

Most tribes, maybe Chickasaw especially, have been quick to adapt innovations that we see as beneficial.

When I first started, my designs were on graph paper—figuring out how to thread the looms. Then I found some computer programs at conferences.

I input what my threading will be on the loom, and the program will show what the weave structure will look like.

So you can play—almost like you’re playing the piano. But I don’t use computerized looms. That’s boring to me.

The looms I work on are walnut looms.

I learned years ago that Indians always believed the tools they work with, that beauty goes into the product. The beauty of the weaving comes out of the beauty of the tools. So I’ve always wanted my tools to be beautiful, not only because it’s wonderful to look at them, but I also think they add to the product. You love what you’re seeing and that comes out through your work.

My first loom is native walnut cut out of Beaver Lake before they flooded it.

That lake was fairly close to where I lived at the time, and a craftsman in Eureka Springs built the loom for me.

You’re preparing for a new exhibit of Chickasaw artists,Visual Voices, sponsored by the American Indian Cultural Center and Museum in Oklahoma City and the Chickasaw Nation. What’s that about?

Chickasaw Removal Jacket II from the Handwoven Collection, 2009, wool, feathers.

Our whole idea for this exhibit is to bring Southeastern art to the forefront—Chickasaw art—and we feel like we have some elite Chickasaw artists. Contemporary art expresses our identities as individual Chickasaw artists. But it’s also in keeping with our ethnic ties to our homelands and our iconography, because this is who we are. We have Norma Howard, Brent Greenwood, Paul Moore, Joanna Underwood Blackburn, and other wonderful artists.

Right now I’m weaving The Swan for Visual Voices. The mincos of the Mississippian period wore swan feather capes. I’ve always been fascinated by this idea that the swan was the elite garment, but you cannot buy swan feathers legally, so I’m going to weave a cape that simulates swan feathers.

I’ve done feathers before in handwoven cloth with stitching. With the weave structure I can do an elongated feather.

I’m still working out how I’m going to make this garment.

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Albuquerque

As We See It 516 ARTS

T

HE SPIRIT OF AMERICAN PHOTOGRAPHER Edward Sheriff Curtis pervades in As We See It, an exhibit held in the downtown Albuquerque gallery, 516 ARTS. Several of the photographers in the exhibit are influenced in many ways by the infamous, early 19th-century, photo documentarian of “historical” and “traditional” Native imagery. I’d say Curtis lacked imagination if it weren’t for his very inventive ways of placing objects and clothing in the hands and on the bodies of Natives, where they may or may not have belonged but for the sake of Curtis’s fascination with his own aesthetics, later to be sold as “authenticity.”

But I digress, and as I said, many of these photographers have their own things to say about him. Matika Wilbur (Swinomish-Tulalip) traveled across the country in an RV to effectively recapture and correct the erroneous pictorial narrative that Curtis created. Will Wilson (Diné) uses similar photographic accoutrements as Curtis. With old tintype techniques, he captures contemporary Native figures in the here and now, such as NMAI curator Joe Horse Capture (A’aninin) holding an iPad displaying Curtis’s photogravure of Horse Capture’s great-great grandfather. Larry McNeil (Tlingit-Nisga’a) and Tom Jones (Ho-Chunk) also convey commentary on the matter of Curtis. Tiffiney Yazzie (Diné), Wendy Red Star (Crow), and Jamison Chas Banks (Seneca-CayugaCherokee) don’t overtly react to Curtis, but they, too, have things to say.

Each photographer has a unique vision. Some utilize text to tell stories within their photographs; Larry McNeil does this in several of his works.

Others prefer to let the photo tell the story. Some use the latest tech tools to enhance their visions. I appreciate Wilbur’s dedication to process, i.e., her crowdfunding campaign and subsequent cross-country road trip to document every federally recognized tribe, which is an achievement in itself. But I wonder

what her photos would look like if our eyes weren’t directed via her use of spot color. Will Wilson’s explorations of methodology continue to fascinate me and I always look forward to seeing what he and his chosen process reveal.

Wendy Red Star’s lone contribution to the exhibit, Peelatchiwaaxpáash/Medicine Crow (Raven): Aappiiwaaxaaxiish/Shining Shell, is a powerful introduction, as it is the first thing you see upon entering the show. Red Star’s images are digitally printed on cotton and connected via patchwork cloth. The work is arresting— the multiplicity of colors and fabrics interweaving and surrounding the digitally printed images dazzle the eye.

One can get stuck looking at this piece quite easily, tracing the patterns on the cloth as they surround the photos.

Will Wilson reimagines Edward Sheriff Curtis’s settler gaze through Indigenous eyes, using the equipment available to Curtis at the time. Subjects have to sit still for a minimum of eight seconds for the tintype images to take properly (I should know; I’ve sat for him), and the sitting can result in an overtly serious, dare I say, stoic look.

“Photography is an equalizer. It’s universal in the sense that people can understand it easily.”

—Larry McNeil The difference in Wilson’s photos is that the subjects exude agency, unlike in Curtis’s photos. The effect creates a sometimes-defiant response in his photos, sometimes with a hint of a smile, but more importantly this time, a collaborative response.

Matika Wilbur follows Curtis’s approach to photography but captures her own contemporary images of Native Americans, replacing Curtis’s outdated and controversial narrative. Of note here is that Wilbur provides specific details of the subjects being photographed.

There is no mistaking the backstory of any of the Indigenous subjects in Wilbur’s photographs. She painstakingly tells their stories to make sure we know exactly who they are.

Jamison Chas Banks reimagines older imagery to new perspectives. His photos fascinate me, if only because

Jamison Chas Banks (Seneca-Cayuga-Cherokee), USAAF B-29 “Big Bad Wolf” Crew, 2011, digital photograph.

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REVIEWS

he tells new stories based on historical ones. Here, Banks recreates a World War II photograph of Native pilots, one of which is the young filmmaker Echota Killsnight (Northern CheyenneKeetoowah Cherokee). Banks writes in his artist statement, “I often advance my own imagined personae into representing some other idea or thing, in that the personae become symbols.” His work is thought-provoking juxtapositions of old and new.

Continuing the theme of subverting and responding to Curtis’s legacy, Tom Jones shot a photographic series of toy trees, The North American Landscape. Jones shares in the wall text, “The title [of the photos in this series] is in reference to photographer Edward S. Curtis’s early 20th-century epic series of portraits and landscapes titled The North American Indian. I have used Curtis’s photography as a resource in associating specific tribes with the landscapes he documented over a hundred years ago.”

Larry McNeil believes photography to be the perfect medium to connect with the public at large. McNeil has said, “Photography is an equalizer.

It’s universal in the sense that people can understand it easily. It’s kind of an instant message … [I]t can break down these artificial barriers that we’ve set up for ourselves.”

I have grown weary of the heavy-handedness of gas masks in Native artwork such as in McNeil’s photo Raven Bears Witness (2013). To be fair to McNeil, many Native artists do this nowadays, and I’m not sure why this symbol has picked up so much steam. It was novel in Pawnee-Yakama painter Bunky Echo-Hawk’s earliest paintings, but even he has overused the motif at this point. I’d like to see something new to signify Indigenous environmental frustrations. McNeil’s other works in this exhibit use text to create strong, personal statements. They are effective.

As We See It was thoughtfully co-curated by Suzanne Fricke, PhD, and India Rael Young. It was great to see a show dedicated to contemporary Native photography. I hope to see more shows like this.

—Jason Asenap

Martinsdale, Montana

Memory and Identity: Apsáalooke and Hidatsa Ledger Art Charles M. Bair Family Museum

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ENTRALLY LOCATED between Great Falls and Billings, Montana (a 240-mile stretch), the Charles M. Bair Family Museum is situated outside the rural town of Martinsdale, along the Musselshell River and with a scenic view of Crazy Mountain. The art museum is a relatively new addition to the estate that was once the family home of one of Montana’s most prominent families.

It opened its doors in 2011 and was designed to preserve and exhibit the Bair family’s vast collection of art. It is 7,300 square feet in size, with five exhibition areas equipped with low lights and climate control in an effort to protect the art.

The museum was privileged when for the second time since opening its doors, they were able to attain 21 pieces of ledger art on loan from the Montana State University, Billings, Barstow Collection. The exhibition, Memory and Identity: Apsáalooke and Hidatsa Ledger Art, was curated by the museum’s director and chief curator, Elizabeth M. Guheen. The first ledger art exhibition from the Barstow Collection, shown in 2013, was a matter of aesthetics that demonstrated the expected: beautifully crafted images created in vivid colors that presented scenes of tribal life, ceremonies, and battles from a besieged time in the lives of Native peoples across the land. According to Guheen, the pieces currently on exhibition were carefully chosen for different reasons.

This second show is a departure from the expected, though not a complete one.

The ledger art in Memory and Identity consists of works created by the Crow and Hidatsa at Crow Agency during the 1880s and 1890s. Most of the works have descriptions handwritten on them by Barstow, though one might question the accuracy of his notes.

The pieces created by Chief Medicine Crow (Apsáalooke [Crow]) are most

prominently featured and make up the majority of the Barstow collection. Chief Medicine Crow recreated on paper the sights he saw in Washington, DC, in 1880. He was one of a delegation of six men sent to DC to meet with President Hayes to discuss the status of Crow land rights and other critical negotiations. His ledger art, later drawn from his recollections after his return home, are the memories of that time that tell the story of this visit. He drew detailed pictures of ships on the Potomac River, numerous trains, and the US Capitol building. He also visited the zoo and encountered animals that were foreign to him, such as giraffes, elephants, and zebras. Keeping in mind that his drawings are more simplistic than other ledger art in the exhibition, such as the war record by New Bear (Hidatsa), which vibrantly and strikingly depicts a fight between a Hidatsa and a Sioux warrior, Medicine Crow’s works represent an interesting archive of information attained by a visit to a foreign land. It is an interesting recounting of his history different in content from other ledger art, but retains the spirit and purpose of ledger art as a means of maintaining their own methods of recording history on buffalo hide in an age when the buffalo population was 200 million and reduced to less than 2,000.

These pieces were produced in an era in which identity was challenged and even changed. One piece in particular speaks to these identities in flux, it is the drawing of three brightly pigmented American flags with an eagle in the middle. On the drawing is written in cursive, “Drawing by Robert Rasseiys. I am the Indian Boy.” A cursive statement written by an Indian Boy at this time suggests he had attended a residential boarding school. It is doubtful this is his given name but a name given to him by assimilating forces of the schools. Maybe “Robert” is the eagle in the middle of the American education system torn between two competing identities. It is hard to know. Guheen notes that a few of the drawings in the exhibition appear to be signed by the artist in their English names. It is likely these artists attended a boarding school where their names were replaced with foreign ones.

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One of the most compelling pieces in the collection is the piece described

by Barstow as, “Drawing in 1891 by boys from Carlisle Indian school. Major Wyman, U.S. Indian Agent at Crow Agency, Mont. with his chief of police ‘Boy That Grabs’ trying to get Indian children for the school. A Crow Indian squaw leading her little girl by the hand to deliver her.”1 This image is an historical account of the predicament facing Native peoples wherein their children were often taken or kidnapped without the family’s knowledge or consent. By 1891, Carlisle had been in the “Kill the Indian, Save the Man” business for 12 years. They had an organized system of sanctioned coercion and kidnapping. My reading of this piece is very different than Barstow’s; I do not see a woman handing over her child. It reads of intimidation and anxiety.

This exhibition is an interesting contribution to our understanding and appreciation of the ledger art and of the artists. The historical record that these images create is indicative of this era of extreme change in the lives of Northern Plains Indians. Other pieces

in the exhibition show the customary depictions of people in traditional clothes, of men and their horses in battle, of tipis, and illustrations of courtship. While these works may be “standard” in the genre, they still tie the artist to their tribes and customs. They are still powerful.

Although the museum is not entirely dedicated to Native art, the family’s collection of Native art on permanent exhibition and these temporary exhibitions make it a worthwhile trip. For example, there is a wall entirely devoted to the Bair family’s 90-piece collection of Native American bead and quillwork on leather pants, saddle bags, and moccasins, to name only a few of the items. Numerous baskets are also on display. The museum owns 15 Navajo rugs, of which three are permanently on display and seasonally rotated. The family also owned 180 original Edward Curtis photogravures bought directly from Curtis. In fact, after the museum reopens next year, additional Curtis images will be on display where Memory and Identity currently hangs.

—Yvonne N. Tiger

Unknown Crow artist, U. S. Indian Agent and Chief of Police Take Child to School, 1891, graphite and colored pencil on paper, collection of Montana State University, Billings, 1930.51.

1. Colin G. Calloway, Our Hearts Fell to the Ground: Plains Indian Views of How the West Was Lost (Boston: Bedford Books of St. Martin’s Press, 1996), 170.

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Santa Fe

Jicarilla: Home Near the Heart of the World Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian

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N ORDINARY SEPTEMBER MORNING dawned with the anticipation of an extraordinary art experience. Setting out just north of Apache Ridge, I followed the chamisaand aster-lined roads that run parallel along the eastern edge of the Old Santa Fe Trail to Museum Hill. Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the perfectly manicured grounds of one of New Mexico’s oldest museums, then walked up the stone-bordered paths that wind into its courtyard where several life-size, Allan Houser bronzes gracefully welcome each morning sun as it rises over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

Stepping out of the day’s brightness into the more subdued light of the Wheelwright Museum’s main gallery, I was greeted by warm, friendly staff members. Thus began my journey through Jicarilla: Home Near the Heart of the World.

Titled in reference to the tribe’s centuries-old homeland along the New Mexico–Colorado border, Jicarilla is composed primarily of basketry, beadwork, and micaceous pottery dating from the mid-19th century to the present. The Wheelwright Museum staff worked in collaboration with the Jicarilla Apache Nation, its arts and crafts department, and its archives department, which allowed for members of the tribe to be directly involved and to consult on object placement and identification of some of the items and their creators, a gracious and virtually unprecedented gesture in the world of museum exhibitions.

Other items in the exhibit are from the Center of Southwest Studies at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado; Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center; the Anderman family; the Robert F. Keel family; the Voorhees/Mee collection; and from the original collection of Hortense Goodman, long-time

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proprietor of Goodman’s Department Store in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. The Jicarilla tribe purchased Goodman’s extensive collection in 2011, amassed mostly by trading with store patrons for more than 40 years between the 1920s and the 1960s.

Artists and members of the Jicarilla Arts and Crafts Department contributed to the exhibit, and photographs taken by Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa) of the department’s members feature various stages of willow reed and sumac branch collecting and processing. Rowena Mora (Jicarilla Apache) gathered and prepared splints and rods. Shelden Nuñez-Velarde (Jicarilla Apache) loaned his assemblage of basket-making tools.

Text panels throughout the gallery explain Jicarilla history, their arts and cultural practices, and their contribution to the sophisticated economic system in New Mexico prior to statehood.

My next turn held a greeting from the exhibit’s curator, Cheri FalkenstienDoyle, who was quick to stress the importance of “the timing being right” for curating the collection of nearly 90 individual objects and getting them onto the gallery floor. “Everything just sort of came together,” continued Falkenstien-Doyle as she led me toward Jicarilla’s treasures. “We thought it was an important project, and it gave us the chance to bring out some of the baskets from the museum’s collections.” The Joan Evans Anderman Collection and the Byron Harvey III Collection reside permanently at the Wheelwright. “It’s good to let them breathe,” I said as we neared the tall, rectangular case directly under the exhibit’s title panel.

Standing close enough to see the raw edges of the wool broadcloth headdress draped with eagle feathers, I traced the faded lines on the parfleche (from the French parer meaning to “ward off ” and fleche for “arrow”) on loan from the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center. I expressed surprise at my own lack of reference to these items within Apache culture.

“I never knew the Apache had headdresses like this,” I confessed.

“A lot of people are surprised by that,” responded Falkenstien-Doyle.

Contemporary Jicarilla coiled baskets, sumac, willow, dye. Image courtesy of the Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian. Photo: Addison Doty.

“This piece really illustrates the long history here in the Southwest.”

In my mind’s eye, I pictured the pointed tips of the horns casting shadows against the smooth, smoked-hide walls of a tipi and wondered what might have been concealed within the secrets of the parfleche so long ago.

Moving left into a further section of the gallery, we paused at every step.

There was so much to see, so much to take in, so much to learn about the Jicarilla. We weaved our way through coming-of-age ceremonial dresses and capes, dance regalia, moccasins, baskets, hampers, handled jars, and vases, only to reach the exhibit’s halfway point in about an hour. Under the sharp and handsome, sepia-toned gazes of Santiago Largo, Huerito Mundo, and Augustine Vigil, Jicarilla delegates who traveled to Washington, DC, in March 1880 to lobby for a permanent reservation for the Jicarilla Nation, I observed the elegant aesthetic of the exhibit and the sense that everything in it is displayed exactly as it should be. Falkenstien-Doyle credited her colleague Jack Townes for this, attesting to his exceptional “eye for placement.”

Beyond the portraits were beaded bags, loom-beaded panels, handled jars and vases, lidded hampers, and suitcases—the latter suggesting influences that perhaps arrived with the first waves of tourists from the East.

Another display held several fishing creels in varying sizes, once dyed with bright reds and yellows, now faded

by time, that surely possess stories of their own. In the momentary quietness of the gallery, I could almost hear the rushing of a cold, clear stream whose gifts of sustenance once filled the vessels; the splashing of the shiny, plump trout that once tossed about within.

Reaching the end of Jicarilla, I turned back to take a final look at the old, resin-coated, micaceous cooking pots, and caught a flash of color from the corner: three paintings by Apache artist Darren Vigil Gray seemed to bid me a final goodbye. I headed back into the chamisa and asters and thought about what a beautiful show this is, so thoughtfully and lovingly presented—an experience my memory and spirit shall long cherish.

Jicarilla brought to mind a young Apache woman with whom I attended university more than two decades ago.

As a child, she had been adopted by a non-Native couple and raised without any further reference to her Indian ancestry. There was a melancholy distance about her, as if she was in constant reflection of another time and place. She often spoke longingly, with a few remembered Apache words from childhood, of her wish to step back into her Native-ness and back into life as an Apache. I imagined her walking through the exhibit, beholding every piece at length, her reflection in the glass looking back at her from among the sacred artifacts—and her knowing, at last, that she belonged to the Jicarilla, the people from near the heart of the world.

—RoseMary Diaz WINTER 2016/17 | 79

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Santa Fe

The Lloyd Kiva New Project Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, and New Mexico Museum of Art

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ECALLING A CONVERSATION about how Lloyd left his multimilliondollar fashion design studio to help cofound the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA), Aysen New said, “That was his lifelong dream. He just left everything and moved to Santa Fe. I said, ‘I’m sure your people will always appreciate you.’ He said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re too young. Just wait. Once I die, 15 minutes after my memorial, they won’t remember who I was.’ I almost had tears. … I said, ‘Well, you know, [all] good people, great people like you, have been remembered.’ He said, ‘Like who?’

I said, ‘Well, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln.’ He said, ‘You must be in love with me.’ I said, ‘Well, Mr. New, I’m going to see to it that they will remember you.’ That was 1996.”1 Lloyd Henri “Kiva” New, a Cherokee art educator called the father of Native American fashion, was born on February 18, 1916, and passed away on February 8, 2002. In 2012, in anticipation of the centennial anniversary of his birth, Aysen approached her friend Della Warrior (Otoe-Missouria), director of the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture (MIAC) about hosting a show of Lloyd’s art and design, to which Della agreed. IAIA then approached Aysen about curating a commemorative show at their Museum of Contemporary Native Arts (MoCNA). Carmen Vendelin curated Finding a Contemporary Voice: the Legacy of Lloyd Kiva New and IAIA, an exhibit exploring Lloyd’s influence

on Native and non-Native artists affiliated with IAIA, at the New Mexico Museum of Art. The Lloyd Kiva New Project (or affectionately, the LKN Project), as these various projects have been collectively coined, also included two books, an academic symposium, and a flurry of talks, presentations, and articles. Lloyd always pointed the spotlight on his students and not himself; this project celebrates the extraordinary accomplishments of this profoundly humble individual.

The logistical challenges posed by such a complex collaboration between individuals and institutions would daunt lesser curators and authors, but the LKN Project carried on Lloyd’s spirit of teamwork and service to others. This coordinated effort to honor a single artist is unprecedented in Santa Fe, but echoes the 2014 celebratory exhibitions of work by Allan Houser (Chiricahua Apache, 1914–1994) at art museums throughout Oklahoma.

Each individual component can stand

on its own merits, but the sum is far greater than its parts in this unique, community-building partnership.

A catalogue for all three exhibits, Lloyd Kiva New: A New Century, is forthcoming. Lloyd’s memoir, The Sound of Drums: A Memoir of Lloyd Kiva New, has been available since February. “Just before he died, he had finished the very rough manuscript, but I had a heck of a time getting it published until recently,” explained Aysen. Ryan Flahive, the IAIA archivist, edited the manuscript, which IAIA published through the imprint Sunstone Press. Ryan strove to preserve Lloyd’s original voice as much as possible, so the book is idiosyncratic, focusing extensively on Lloyd’s first seven years spent on his mother’s allotment lands in northeastern Oklahoma and barely discussing his studies at the Chicago Art Institute.

Lloyd’s family was isolated, even by the standards of rural, Cherokee living in the 1920s. He had no access to visual arts or literature but had a vivid imagination and yearning for Native

He had no access to visual arts or literature but had a vivid imagination and yearning for Native culture.

Lloyd Kiva New (Cherokee) and Charles Loloma (Hopi), Kiva Bag, ca. 1950s, women’s leather handbag with cast metal. Image courtesy of the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, Santa Fe, New Mexico. Photo: Blair Clark.

1. All quotes from Aysen New in discussion with the author, June 28, 2016.

2. William Harlen Gilbert Jr., “The Eastern Cherokees,” Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin (1943), 307.

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culture. He moved in with a sister and attended school in Jenks, Oklahoma.

Lloyd’s mother and sister recognized his artistic talent and convinced the BIA agent to loan them money for his college tuition using their own land as collateral. Lloyd was the youngest of ten children in a desperately poor family, but Cherokees historically practiced ultimogeniture,2 so it fits that he was given this opportunity. He studied art education at the Chicago Art Institute and taught at the Phoenix Indian School. After serving in the Navy in World War II (something Lloyd barely mentions in his memoir), he established a design studio in Scottsdale, Arizona, then a sleepy, cotton-farming town. Partnering with his former students, including Charles Loloma (Hopi, 1921–1991), Lloyd designed the Kiva Bag and a clothing line, which were successful beyond anyone’s expectations.

Being a wealthy fashion designer was not Lloyd’s mission; he wanted to teach young Native students art to give them tools to build their confidence and strengthen their Native identities.

Even his memoir was written for Native youth: “Lloyd told me that every young Indian kid should read it and be inspired. If he made it, [they] can make it, too,” said Aysen. Any profits from the sale of The Sound of Drums goes toward student scholarships.

Lloyd Kiva New: Art, Design, and Influence, the tripartite exhibit hosted

by MoCNA, is actually three distinct shows. Ryan Flahive curated a show of Lloyd’s sketches and paintings, including early notebooks from his school days to show experimentation and his influences, from the Mexican muralists to Russian Constructivism.

Even the earliest works still reveal his unique palette and aesthetics that carry over to his fashion design.

Independent curator and IAIA alumna Rose Marie Cutropia painstakingly recreated Lloyd’s 1950s Scottsdale boutique stocked with original Kiva handbags, belts, and men’s and women’s clothing made of Lloyd’s exquisite fabric with designs inspired

by Southwestern landscapes. Tatiana

Lloyd Kiva New (Cherokee), Untitled, ca. 1938, watercolor on paper, collection of Aysen New. Image courtesy of the IAIA Archives, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Lomahaftewa-Singer (Hopi-Choctaw), the IAIA curator of collections, showcased textile designs from IAIA’s permanent collection. She had more than 200 fabric samples from which to choose and mixed Lloyd’s designs with those of his students. An interactive element enticed viewers to create their own designs that were projected on the wall, which was playful but simultaneously demonstrated how challenging effective design could be. Art, Design, and Influence is the most successful use of this challenging museum space that I have witnessed in 21 years of observing exhibits at the MoCNA. At MIAC, Tony Chavarria (Santa Clara) curated a chronologically based exhibit, Lloyd Henri “Kiva” New: A New Century, divided into four stages of his life: childhood in Oklahoma, service in World War II, fashion design in Scottsdale, and IAIA in Santa Fe. Most striking were his plein-air watercolors painted during the Battle of Iwo Jima in World War II. That he was steady enough to paint during one of the worst battles of the Pacific Theater, as ordered by the Navy, is the very definition of sangfroid. In contrast, Chavarria paid homage to Lloyd’s lighter side by strategically placing

silhouettes of Lloyd’s beloved pet cat throughout the gallery.

“I’m so totally grateful to every museum and particularly to the curators,” said Aysen. She loaned much of New’s artwork for the project, of which many of his paintings had never been exhibited before. “He had his heart in educating young people, young Indians, and he never wanted to be known as an artist,” explained Aysen.

“He said, ‘Please just keep telling everyone I don’t want to be a famous artist, but I’d like to be known as an educator of the young Indians.’ ” This unprecedented collaboration demonstrated what amazing accomplishments can be achieved by Santa Fe museums. It also highlighted the diversity and unique strengths of each individual museum. The New Mexico Association of Museums is recognizing the accomplishments of this project with their prestigious 2016 Hewett Award. Despite drawing inspiration from the same man, each exhibit is utterly distinct, and the published works leave a lasting contribution to Santa Fe’s rich art historical record. “I think if he was alive,” mused Aysen, “he would be very happy with the results.”

—America Meredith WINTER 2016/17 | 81

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Patrick Dean Hubbell (Diné), Admiring Your Timeless Presence, 2016, earth pigments, oil on canvas, 84 × 2 in.

Santa Fe

Patrick Dean Hubbell Earth: Untitled Peters Projects

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HE TWELVE PAINTINGS in Patrick Dean Hubbell’s solo show, Earth: Untitled, at the Peters Projects gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico, join the chaos of the human world with the beauty and perfection of nature. The abstract paintings, which were on display in August, combine orderly grids with energetic, gestural lines. Hubbell is Tó’áhaní (Near to Water Clan), born for Dibé Łizhiní (Black Sheep), and grew up in Dinétah (his people’s lands). He earned a bachelor of fine arts degree

from Arizona State University in 2010 with a specialty in painting and drawing, and a minor in American Indian studies.

Inspired by natural elements, like water, air, vegetation, and wind, works in Earth: Untitled consider the relationship between the natural world on its own and the effects of human intrusion. For the paintings in the show, Hubbell used paint he made himself, gathering dirt and sand from different areas within his Diné homeland, where he has lived since graduating from ASU. Hubbell ground the local, natural pigments by hand and mixed them with an oil binder.

As he collected the elements for the paintings, Hubbell visited familiar locales but also traveled to areas on the reservation where he had never been

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before, allowing the process to further bind him to his homeland. Many of the symbols in the paintings also reflect Diné iconography, including zigzag patterns, which resemble lightning, and crossed lines, reminders of the four directions.

His aesthetic combines Native and non-Native influences. The paintings in this exhibit reflect Hubbell’s interest in the mid-20thcentury painters who focused on abstract compositions. He integrated the order and harmony seen in Agnes Martin’s grid paintings with the free-hand, calligraphic lines of Cy Twombly. Hubbell also pays attention to the work of other Native artists, especially Diné painters such as Emmi Whitehorse, who uses abstraction as a way to describe her homeland.

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Patrick Dean Hubbell (Diné), The Essence of Your Natural Process, 2016, earth pigments, oil on canvas, 84 × 2 in.

Hubbell created the twelve works in the Earth: Untitled show specifically to fill the large, white walls in Peters Projects. All of the paintings in the show measure seven feet high by six feet wide and are painted vertically.

The repetition of the size and shape of the canvases along with the use of similar patterns create an overall sense of harmony in the room. Each piece relates to the size of a human, large enough to be absorbing but not so large that it overwhelms the viewer. Though the tones vary from earth tones to black and white to reds and yellows, the use of similar elements allows the paintings to form a harmonious, yet lively body of work. The titles, which include Her Balance, My Chaos, and Her Soothing Touch Surrounds Me,

further link a human presence to the larger environment.

Hubbell associates painting on canvas to creating a sand painting, a link he illustrates by including a sand painting in the center of the gallery.

A circle of sand with spokes made of pigments, also gathered in the Navajo Nation, make a wheel that has no ceremonial significance but was intended to join the paintings together visually and culturally. As Hubbell wrote in an exhibition statement, “The land and its people are directly interdependent of each other.” After the show closed, Hubbell returned the sand from the circle back to his homeland, returning the elements to their home.

The show fits the goal of Peters Projects, which is affiliated with Gerald

Peters Gallery. The space was opened to bring important contemporary artists to Santa Fe, and recently it has been focusing on the theme of Outside-In, artists inspired by the land. Seen in this space, Hubbell’s work joins a number of internationally known artists such as Agnes Martin, Chuck Close, and Kiki Smith, and can be seen as an important link between the Native cultures and the contemporary art world.

As Hubbell wrote in the text for the show, “By being in alignment with nature, we remain in balance and harmony with our environment. It is also how we retain the communication and secure our place in the natural universe. The motivation behind creating this body of work is to honor this respect and significance of the earth.”—Suzanne Newman Fricke, PhD WINTER 2016/17 | 83

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Santa Fe

much wider than a line: SITElines.2016; New Perspectives on Arts of the Americas SITE Santa Fe

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HE SECOND INSTALLMENT of a series of three biennials focused on contemporary arts of the Americas, much wider than a line: SITElines.2016 (July 16, 2016–January 8, 2017) feels like a winding river with an endless number of tributaries that await courageous audiences. For those who submerge themselves into these knowledge-bearing waters, a decided path through the biennial does not exist. This is because much wider than a line is thematically organized after the indigenized design of the Paolo Soleri Amphitheater (1970–2010), a now-dormant space commissioned by Lloyd Kiva New (Cherokee, 1916–2002) in 1965 for the Institute of American Indian Arts on the former Santa Fe Indian School campus. As such, beyond SITE Santa Fe’s initial galleries, one must chart a path through this mosaic of sensory expressions that signify the ongoing overlapping of communities in the Americas. The biennial takes “the border” as its point of departure and activates a space of resistance against the displacement of past, present, and future histories by imposed boundaries.

This central theme is articulated by three curatorial guideposts: “Vernacular Strategies,” “Indigenous Understandings,” and “Shared Territories,” embodied in works by 33 artists. Curated by Rocío Aranda-Alvarado (Chilean), Kathleen Ash-Milby (Diné), Pip Day (British), Pablo León de la Barra (Mexican), and Kiki Mazzucchelli (Brazilian), much wider than a line gives voice to the influx and malleable particularities of culture with a constant emphasis on unexpected materiality and dialogical

performance, present in all of the artworks on display. In this biennial, the artists embrace the trope of “being exhibited” on the gallery stage and use the spotlight to directly confront the multitude of ways selfhood and community are defined.

In Remnant (2016), a commissioned work for the biennial, Sonya Kelliher-Combs (Iñupiaq-Athabascan) speaks to the artificiality and constrained quality of natural-history museum specimen cases through her replacement of clear glass with yellowbrown, soft acrylic covers. An entire room installation, this body of work features a series of isolated “artifacts,” each one individually encased in a wall-mounted shadow box. The objects under examination—revealing as much as Kelliher-Combs allows viewers to see—speak to humans’ inherent reliance on nature and the artificial. Moreover, the artist visually expresses the tension in these relationships though her inclusion of tautly covered, “suffocated” objects, where the materials press against the acrylic surface to simultaneously pierce the picture plane and visually reject normative display methodologies.

Kelliher-Combs features framed antlers, braids of human hair, quills, bones, feathers, and walrus intestines, among other potent remnants of place and culture. Through an inversion of the concept of artificial transparency in museal display, the artist puts forth an Indigenized narrative that disrupts many Western notions of “exhibition.” Kelliher-Combs’ use of the semitranslucent, acrylic skin as a visual metaphor suggests that the identities of subjects on display cannot be fully known through the typical glass-box spectacle of fragmentary remnants.

Another performer on the biennial stage, Jeffrey Gibson (Choctaw-Cherokee) merges dance, drumming, text, and smoke with pop culture idioms in Like a Hammer (2016), a 27:48-minute video. As such, the artist proclaims his heavy heartbeat and plays with this concept by editing his drumbeats to a fast

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pace and slyly alluding to the “Indian” drumbeats of Hollywood film. In Like a Hammer, Gibson records his memories of movement through careful montage, where he sometimes portrays himself as multiple figures dressed in invented jingle dance regalia. The artist’s headdress covers his face entirely, symbolic of his value of aural, tactile, and olfactory senses over that of sight. During his performance, the artist writes phrases like, “Flirt Like a Fox,” “Jack Like a Rabbit,” and “Horse Power” in oil sticks on paper. He follows each phrase with a dance of honor and, for a moment, transforms into each animal. Gibson’s act of inscribing these words while his sight is impaired demonstrates his trust in experiential knowledge gained through feeling. But, in a trickster move, these pages of oil-stick writings on paper are on display as part of the Like a Hammer installation, which also includes Gibson’s regalia. Thus, viewers are encouraged to visually scrutinize the jingle ensemble and scrawled texts—evidence of Gibson’s journey of knowing through being.

A commissioned performance for much wider than a line, Maria Hupfield’s (Wasauksing Ojibwe) It Is Never Just about Sustenance or Pleasure (2016) is a video recording of her trek through a wooded area near Santa Fe while wearing arm-length mittens and tall boots made of industrial felt over her clothes. Here, Hupfield uses her body as a locus for processing the contradictions between her Great Lakes-oriented felt gear—of which she said the boots were reminiscent of those for Anishinaabe fly-fishing—and the northern New Mexico desert environment. The artist’s actions speak to displacement, migration, and relocation, and the disconnection between many Native cultures’ ancestral homes and the places where they have been forcibly or have circumstantially moved. The liminal space between Hupfield’s clunky attire and the natural environment is one where questions of identity and borders reside. How does one negotiate

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their cultural past, present, and future with the physical and sociopolitical landscapes of our time? Hupfield’s performance challenges viewers to consider a never-ending struggle: Indigenous epistemologies and ontologies that embody commitments to honoring the land and keeping it healthy, and the ongoing fight for the control of natural resources and Indigenous people by federal governments.

In a sound-based gallery in the biennial, Diné musician Raven Chacon’s ongoing work with Native high school students from institutions on the Diné, Hopi, and Salt River Pima-Maricopa reservations is presented to audiences. Part of the Native American Composers Apprenticeship Project (NACAP), this collaboration offers a few students from each school the opportunity to channel a variety of influences into avant-garde compositions, which are then performed by renowned musicians during the annual Grand Canyon Music Festival. This project, of which Chacon is a composer-inresidence, is one of empowerment, with students fusing their influences into aural exhibitions of identity as they know themselves to be in the current moment. Blurring borders of culture, place, and selfhood, the students cull from mainstream music, video games, nature, and anything else they find integral to their lives.

From my perspective, some of the song recordings on display in much wider than a line cycled through a prism of emotions and evoked wonder, sadness, regret, and calmness. Of course, musical concepts, like visual art, have an uncertain chemistry to them. The blend of the catalyst—the art—with the experiences of each beholder will be unique. More songs were added to the biennial after the Santa Fe Indian School students’ NACAP compositions were performed in October at the Armory for the Arts in Santa Fe. This biennial, managed by Candice Hopkins (Carcross/Tagish),

TOP: Sonya Kelliher-Combs (Iñupiaq-Athabascan), Remnant (installation view), 2016, installation, organic and synthetic materials, SITE Santa Fe commission. Both photos: Eric Swanson.

BOTTOM: Sonya Kelliher-Combs (Iñupiaq-Athabascan), Remnant: Caribou Antler (detail), 2016, installation, acrylic polymer, caribou antler, organic and synthetic materials, SITE Santa Fe commission.

was commendably provocative.

From the start, audiences are thrown into chaos and must use their own judgment to sort their way through much wider than a line. The simultaneous waves of spatial confusion, the desire to locate, and ultimately

unresolved feelings speak to the biennial’s kaleidoscopic display of peoples of the Americas, who are constantly in motion and coloring their cultures well outside the lines artificially imposed onto this hemisphere.

—Michelle Lanteri WINTER 2016/17 | 85

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Book Reviews Poetry

Antología de poetas kunas Arysteides Ikuaiklikiña Turpana and Manigueuigdinapi Stanley, editors Editorial Urrigan, 2015

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N 1925, GUNA FIGHTERS adopted the fylfot as a symbol of rebellion and revolted against an abusive Panamanian government, which since its 1903 separation from Colombia, had been attempting to consolidate its national territory by asserting authority over Indigenous-controlled areas, and by pursuing the destruction of Native American culture.1 As James Howe emphasizes in his masterful narrative of the so-called Dule Revolution, state authorities had provoked the violent uprising by insisting on political and ethnic unity and by pursuing these goals via such measures as the regulation of female clothing and the establishment of schools, police barracks, and religious missions in a steadily increasing number of Guna villages. The promotion of carnival, cantinas, and popular music was another key part of the efforts to eliminate Indigenous people by linking Native women to potential partners who were Mestizo or AfroPanamanian. Officials hoped to defeat the Guna by literally breeding them out of existence.

The short-lived rebellion took more than two dozen lives and forced the eventual recognition of one of modern Latin America’s most successful, autonomous Indigenous regions. Today, the Guna number around 80,000. While many Guna have established themselves in Colón and Panama City, the country’s principle urban areas, about half of them live in Guna Yala, a 232-mile land strip along the eastern Caribbean coast, where the majority of the population resides on littoral islands and uses the mainland for hunting and agriculture. The area is commonly referred to as San Blas, a name that the Guna vigorously reject given its associations with colonialism. The Guna are an urban and rural community, and today they employ a wide variety of methods in defense of their culture and political autonomy.

Antología de poetas kunas is the first edited collection of Guna poetry and was published in honor of the 90th

anniversary of the Dule Revolution. With the provocative swastika adorning its cover, the book offers selections from 13 Guna writers, as well as contributions from a handful of individuals “who stand in solidarity with Indigenous peoples.” The offerings span the entire gamut, from amateurish dabblings to polished efforts by one of the Gunas’ most accomplished literary figures, Arysteides Turpana. He is a leading Guna poet whose verses, along with those of Aiban Wagua, helped to fuel Indigenous mobilization through the 1970s and 1980s and to connect the organizational efforts in Panama to the broader Native American movement. Turpana, Wagua, and other Guna intellectuals have long accepted their role as global citizens, as reflected in the volume’s occasional references to Geronimo, to Naso and Mapuche “brothers,” and to the

1. The fylfot or swastika is a cultural motif used in Guna basketry according to anthropologist James Howe, who suggests that its appearance on a Guna flag in 1925 was probably the work of Richard O. Marsh. Marsh was a US adventurer and former diplomat who became involved in the 1925 rebellion. In several trips to Guna Yala, he had become fascinated with the Guna propensity for albinism and had interpreted it as a racial feature, which demonstrated the essential whiteness of the Guna people and their ties to the greatest achievements of pre-Hispanic civilization. Marsh, who had earlier played a role in deposing the country’s only black president, despised the Panamanian officials who were often of African descent and who were implementing the state’s efforts to colonize the Guna region. Howe suggests that like many North Americans of this period, Marsh likely associated the swastika with “Aryanism, but not yet with Nazis.” For the contemporary Guna, the swastika is a symbol of the Dule Revolution. James Howe, A People Who Would Not Kneel: Panama, the United States, and the San Blas Kuna (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998), 262.

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critical issues affecting other Indigenous groups. Antología is intermeshed with the well-established networks that have encouraged the Guna to look beyond their community and to adopt transnational perspectives.

Several poems, including Turpana’s “Homage to Barro Blanco,” examine the problematic subject of hydroelectric projects under construction across Latin America that negatively impact the Ngäbe-Buglé of western Panama. The Ngäbe-Buglé are Panama’s largest Indigenous population and number nearly 300,000. At key places such as Barro Blanco, they face the deliberate inundation of their territories, while in other areas the threat comes from foreign-financed mining. Turpana angrily denounces the outside exploitation, depicting it as a new form of colonialism and portrays its sponsors as morally bankrupt criminals. Turpana holds very little back, and in the cadences of the Old Testament, he calls on God to “wash away all those kingdoms.”

The plight of the Ngäbe-Buglé and other groups is a central concern of the Guna writers, as are the broader maladies associated with Latin America’s turn toward neoliberalism. Neoliberalism, which gained traction in the 1980s and remains influential in Panama and many other countries, embraced the concept of multiculturalism while ignoring the region’s deep-seated problems, exasperated by an insistence on market-driven solutions and the encouragement of free trade and foreign investment. With neoliberalism’s implementation, Indigenous people and many other low-income Latin Americans generally found themselves submerged in a host of new challenges, as well as presented with certain opportunities fostered by this economic-political ideology. Antología de poetas kunas reflects some of the modest openings that emerged in the midst of Turpana’s pillage and plunder.

Cebaldo de León Smith Inawinapi is an interesting case: a Guna anthropologist who lives in Portugal and whose formation, in many ways, reflects the process of globalization. Naturally, his academic and poetic undertakings find themselves grounded in diverse locations, which include Spain and the former Soviet Union where he pursued his undergraduate studies. De León writes of his birth in Usdub, one of Guna Yala’s largest villages, “amidst cocoa smoke and traditional songs” and of his “births in other skins, in other territories, and in other rivers.” He practices what he calls an “anthropology of urgencies” shaped by his experiences in varied contexts.

Abdil Brenes, a younger writer, likewise has navigated an assortment of circumstances as a consequence of the changing economic and social conditions that encouraged Guna people to leave Guna Yala to settle in other parts of Panama. Born in Colón, one of the oldest points of migration, Brenes was educated at the Universidad de Panamá and today works as a psychologist. His poetry is partly therapy in which he treats the topic of virulent

discrimination that unfortunately accompanied the process of globalization. Taira Edilma Stanley Icaza offers a more positive outlook. She writes from a vocal feminist perspective, shaped by her experiences as a student in Bolivia. Her poetry breaks through historically maledominated narratives and praises the women of the 1925 revolution.

Of course, not everything is so serious in Antología de poetas kunas. Many poems take delight in Panama’s natural beauty, while others explore the wisdom and complexities of the Guna foundational stories. There are also a remarkable number of erotic poems.

Perhaps most intriguing is the contribution of Sue Haglund. Haglund is a US academic and the granddaughter of the Guna boxer Ricardo Walker. Known as Baby San Blas in reference to his small frame and stature, Walker competed for national titles in the 1930s and 1940s.

Haglund’s writings reflect on his struggles to gain respect from the public and the tendency, common in Panamanian society, to refer to Guna men as boys. Assuming the voice of her deceased relative, Haglund writes, “I am not a boy, I am a man.”

Editor, professor, and poet Arysteides Ikuaiklikiña Turpana (Guna), Panama.

Photo courtesy of Peter Szok.

Antología de poetas kunas is a book that breathes rebellion as informed by varied transnational influences and by the legacies of the Dule Revolution. Even its title suggests nonconformity in its insistence on using the word Kuna, instead of the now officially sanctioned term Guna.

In his introduction, Turpana emphasizes the importance of orality in the Guna system of governance, philosophy, medicine, and daily life. He also underlines its longstanding function as a form of resistance among the Guna. “We sing to defy death,” writes Turpana, whose words are echoed by those of Brenes. Brenes insists that if his ancestors took up weapons in defense of their community, he now follows their example “but with verses and with poetry.”

—Peter Szok, PhD WINTER 2016/17 | 87

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Art Criticism

Art in Motion: Native American Explorations of Time, Place, and Thought John P. Lukavic and Laura Caruso, editors Denver Art Museum, 2016

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HE YEAR 2012 proved to be a momentous one for anthropologist and associate curator of Native arts at the Denver Art Museum (DAM), Dr. John Lukavic. He began his tenure at DAM and in the same year organized the symposium, Motion: Native American Explorations of Time, Place, and Thought, at the museum.

Inspired by the work of Charlene Holy Bear (Cheyenne River Lakota), Lukavic gathered artists and scholars together for a conversation around the central theme of motion as a lens for discussing contemporary Native arts.

This year, the Denver Art Museum published a collection of essays in the companion text to the symposium, also organized, and edited, by Lukavic. The publication provides readers access to a varied and valuable resource on the topic of contemporary art by artists and scholars of today.

As testament to the success of Art in Motion: Native American Exploration

of Time, Place, and Thought, all six symposium participants—three artists and three scholars—contributed essays to the publication. The artists are Charlene Holy Bear, Leena Minifie (Gitxaala Tsimshian), and Kent Monkman (Cree). Holy Bear writes about Lakota sculptural representation as art in motion, Minifie discusses technology as a tool of moving Native arts forward, and in his essay, “Altering Sight Ideas in Motion,” Monkman takes a methodological approach, using motion as a means to disrupt conventional approaches of looking at Native art.

Academic contributors include Dr. Kristin Dowell, associate professor of anthropology at Florida State University; Dr. Aldona Jonaitis, director of the University of Alaska Museum; and Dr. Daniel C. Swan, curator of ethnology, Sam Noble Oklahoma Museum of Natural History, and professor of anthropology, University of Oklahoma. In “Experimental Digital Media on the Cutting Edge,” Dowell uses the theme of motion to argue that “the work of Aboriginal media artists articulates visual sovereignty” through analysis of the work of three Aboriginal media artists. Jonaitis uses motion as a vehicle for looking at dance in Tlingit ceremonies over the years, and Swan pens an essay titled, “Peyote Arts in Motion: Religious Diffusion, Artistic Change, and Museum Collections,” and claims “the Peyote Religion has inspired one of the most enduring and widespread genres of contemporary Native American art.”

The success of this anthology lies in Lukavic’s approach to the symposium and subsequent publication. Lukavic writes, “ ‘Motion’ turned out to be a wonderfully fruitful theme for a symposium, and the perspectives explored within these texts provide examples of ways in which scholars and artists can use overarching themes, such as motion, to investigate the materiality of arts and culture.” Art in Motion presents a useful method of looking that one can transport across media, genre, time, and location.

1. “What is Anthropology?” American Anthropological Association, accessed September 24, 2016, web.

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Lukavic’s ability to energize the theme of motion by curating a panel that included three artists in the realm of contemporary Native art and three scholars contemplating various media from painting to film further contributes to the success of Art in Motion: Native American Explorations of Time, Place, and Thought. Entering the art and museum scenes with such force indicates Lukavic’s status as a rising star. Further evidence of his skill at curating include his work on the wildly successful show Super Indian: Fritz Scholder, 1967–1980, and the exhibition, Why We Dance: American Indian Art in Motion, which he co-curated with Nancy Bloomberg and Russ Tallchief (Osage) and that premiered at the Denver Art Museum this past summer.

While overall a successful piece of literature, Art in Motion poses one major challenge: of the three scholars on the panel, two work within the discipline of anthropology at major universities in the United States.

The disproportionate presence of anthropology scholars in this text about Native arts raises questions about the role of anthropology in the scholarship of Native American art.

According to the American Anthropological Association, anthropology is “the study of humans past and present.”1 If anthropology is the study of humans, does it then follow that an anthropological approach to the study of Native American art is a means of studying Native Americans?

If so, what is the colonial history of this practice in the United States, what are the implications for the field today, and how does that read in this text?

Overall, Art in Motion: Native American Explorations of Time, Place, and Thought provides readers with access to imagery and scholarship about Native American art. It is a wonderful resource for students, scholars, and art enthusiasts. Lukavic suggests a useful and thoughtful approach with regard to “motion,” leaving readers with lingering thoughts about art and moving the discussion forward.

—Jean Merz-Edwards

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Monograph

Melvin Sandoval: A Very Special Fetish Carver Alan Livingstone-Smith Self-Published, 2016

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HILE ON HOLIDAY in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in 2008, Alan Livingstone-Smith discovered Southwest fetishes. By the end of his trip, he had a collection of nine fetishes and a copy of a survey of Zuni fetishes by Kent McManis, coowner of Grey Dog Trading Company.

Livingstone-Smith’s curiosity piqued; he started collecting fetishes online, only to realize that he kept collecting the work of San Felipe-Zuni carver Melvin Sandoval. Livingstone-Smith hazarded an essay describing Sandoval’s aesthetics that he shared with Bronwyn Fox-Bern, owner of Keshi the Zuni Connection.

Fox-Bern shared the essay with Sandoval who contacted LivingstoneSmith, and a multiyear friendship and collaboration began.

While Livingstone-Smith estimates 500 fetish carvers are currently active in Zuni Pueblo alone, this book is the first monograph on a single fetish carver. The

author read everything he could about the subject, corresponded with Melvin Sandoval, and finally stayed in the artist’s home in April 2011 to directly observe Sandoval’s day-to-day practice.

Alan Livingstone-Smith is a retired professor from England and lives in France. His perspective as an outsider to Southwestern Native art is refreshing as he compares Pueblo fetish carving to sculptural practices from Asia, Africa, Europe, and even Easter Island. While he does not have an art background, his wife Odette is an art historian and no doubt influenced his desire to express Sandoval’s aesthetics through writing.

The author examines Melvin Sandoval and his artwork from every conceivable angle: his personal biography, his family, his tribe, materials, equipment, practices, outlets, subject matter, and styles (which change over time). He lists galleries that carry his work, eight other individual’s observations of Sandoval’s artwork, details of a day’s work routine, a description of the cosmological perspective of the fetishes who are the “Guardians of the Six Directions,” a family tree, a bibliography, and Sandoval’s own writings about his work.

Most importantly, the book is utterly devoid of romanticism and stripped of marketing hyperbole that dominates writing about New Mexican Native art.

Melvin Sandoval was born into a family of jewelers, but his love of lapidary work led him to fetish carving. While he has experimented with painting, pottery, jewelry, poetry, and guitar playing—and still makes moccasins—stone carving captured his interest beginning in the 1980s, when fetish carving took off as an art form independent of jewelry.

The artist’s openness about his personal tragedies is heartrending but makes him immediately relatable as a person. His wife Erma Vacit (Zuni) and their family play a central role in Sandoval’s art practice, and help him with some of the preparation and finishing of the stones. The book is frank about their financial situation. Until recently, Sandoval worked day jobs to stay afloat and he still supplements his income through farming.

The Sandoval family has ceremonial and civic commitments to San Felipe Pueblo and Zuni, which are both financially challenging and time consuming; however, they are of paramount importance to him. The author explains, “I have wanted to include some of the more tangential aspects of his and his family’s lives … so that the reader may set against this background the picture I shall be painting in the coming chapters of an artist who refuses to compromise his artistic integrity when there must be so many pressures to accept shortcuts and easy ways out.”

Sandoval is a profoundly spiritual person, and although his approach may seem cliché, it is real. He says when it comes time to carve, the stone chooses him, and “there is a voice deep within that creates its form from what it wants to be.” Livingstone-Smith immediately sees a connection to Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși and compares the two artist’s philosophies and aesthetics at length.

Back in the 1980s, Robin Dunlap, founder of Keshi the Zuni Connection, influenced Sandoval by suggesting he strive for minimal carving as opposed to a highly representational carving style he employed at the time. Like Brâncuși, Sandoval seeks the essence of the animal’s form, stripping down details to the core.

Sandoval almost exclusively sculpts animals. Livingstone-Smith’s detailed analysis of Sandoval’s oeuvre provides real and valuable information.

He counted 80 species of animals among Sandoval’s carvings, with a core of 50 animal types to which the artist keeps returning. “I am aware of no other fetish carver who comes anywhere near him in terms of variety—not only of subjects, but of the way he treats individual subjects,” writes Livingstone-Smith.

The book describes Sandoval’s materials, process, and equipment in detail, including a reference guide to 48 stones Sandoval carves. Unable to find Mohs ratings for hardness, Livingstone-Smith convinced Sandoval to create his own scale of hardness and rate each stone accordingly. The artist’s experiments carving cottonwood root, cedar, gourds, and various shells are WINTER 2016/17 | 89

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described. The scale of the works is quite small, typically 2-1/2 to 3-1/2 inches.

The artist’s influences include Pueblo oral history and cosmology, direct observation of animals and their movements (he is a hunter), Frank Cushing’s Zuni Fetishes (1880), and television nature shows that inspired Sandoval to carve whales, dolphins, and even stingrays. While Sandoval is aware of his fellow carvers’ work, LivingstoneSmith writes, “There is a deeply rooted, if unwritten, understanding among fetish carvers that one does not plagiarize one’s neighbour’s ideas.”

“Melvin is above all else a sculptor of forms,” states the author. At one point, he compares a photograph of a bobcat with Sandoval’s range of highly abstract “bushy-tail” fetishes and a representational bobcat fetish. Studying Sandoval’s aesthetic range, the author shows varying representations of the same animal as it becomes “divested of unnecessary detail.”

I found the author’s comparison of five of Sandoval’s fellow fetish carvers in five styles identified by the author most illuminating, which made me appreciate the full diversity of fetish carving. The book contains more than a hundred thumbnail images; however, some larger images would have been helpful.

Livingstone-Smith is transparent about his thought processes and discusses the task of writing throughout the book. Both artist and author have a disarming openness and informality about them. “I believe Melvin Sandoval to be one of the outstanding fetish carvers of his generation, and I hope that this book may contribute to his being properly recognized during his lifetime,” explains Livingstone-Smith.

Conversely, exploring the life and practices of one artist in depth is an illuminating way to learn more about fetish carving in general.

The book is self-published and would have benefited from a professional editor, but the heavily illustrated 125 pages are a quick and enjoyable read, packed with information. Melvin Sandoval: A Very Special Fetish Carver provides an intimate look at a master practitioner of an under-appreciated, Indigenous art form.

—America Meredith

Art History

Oklahoma Cherokee Baskets

By Karen Coody Cooper The History Press, 2016

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KLAHOMA CHEROKEE BASKETS by Karen Coody Cooper is clearly the product of a lifetime of study and patronage and an act of love for this unique art form. An enrolled member of the Cherokee Nation and a former museum professional, she demonstrates care and attention to a genre that has received little attention from scholars. This book integrates studies of Native American basketry dating from the 18th century with various archival materials. By combining her detailed knowledge of the lives of the weavers, collectors, and histories of individual baskets with the complicated history of the Western Cherokee people, Cooper delineates how the provenance of the baskets is integral to the history of the Cherokee people. Her clear, concise writing offers a straightforward account

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of the people, places, and events that changed Cherokee basket making.

Cooper displays a deep knowledge of the form in tracing the background of individual baskets to a comprehensive identification of the different materials used. Though short, this book gives readers a greater appreciation for this art form, the complexity of the production, and the complex nature of Cherokee history.

Cooper offers useful guidelines for evaluating the quality of a basket.

For example, she notes that weavers pay attention to how the splints made of split river cane have a dull pith side and the other side is naturally glossy.

Skilled weavers place the shiny side on the outside of the basket and hide the cloudy side. They also tuck the ends of the long fibers into the corners to give the baskets cleaner lines and stronger corners. The designs incorporate an intricate system based on mathematical principles in which the patterns must be divisible horizontally, vertically, and diagonally. To create a pattern using multiple splints requires precise planning in three dimensions. Cooper quotes basket maker Shawna Morton Cain: “To do these designs, you have to understand mathematics and you have to be able to divide and multiply. … If you didn’t have an understanding of higher math … you couldn’t have been a basket weaver.” Cooper’s in-depth description of techniques is illustrated with photographs, but readers could benefit from diagrams to show the formation of the designs.

Cooper connects the intertwined nature of the baskets, their designs, uses, and materials with the history of the Cherokee people. Since most Western Cherokee were forcibly removed from their homes to new areas with almost nothing, the weavers needed to create baskets using resources they found in new areas.

Moving from river cane to hickory or oak splints required the adaptation of techniques. Shapes and motifs changed

over time, illustrated in the late 19th-century Victorian influence of curlicues in the designs. Making baskets was an important part of the Cherokee economy, allowing women to trade for staples. Many Cherokee baskets were destroyed during the Civil War due to both armies’ scorched-earth policies on Cherokee lands. The impact of forced removal, warfare, and land allotment on education meant that many girls grew up away from their grandmothers, which limited learning basket weaving techniques. Cooper links the present with the past, and suggests current distinguished weavers like Bessie Russell (Cherokee Nation) and the expansion of gallery and museum collections have revived interest in basketry in the past few decades.

Though well researched, the book repeats a common misconception in Native basket making.

Cooper mentions the figure of $2,000 paid for a single basket in 1914, citing Clark Field’s 1964 book The Art and Romance of Indian Basketry. Cooper does not identify the basket, but she is referencing the piece Beacon Lights by the Washoe basket maker Louisa Keyser, also known as Dat So La Lee. This figure has been repeated by many scholars as a sign that Native arts were respected, yet, as noted by Native basketry scholar Dr. Marvin Cohodas, the $2,000 amount was advertised by Abe and Amy Cohns, the owners of The Emporium where Keyser sold her work, and was an exaggeration. The actual price was $1,400, but it was sold with more 60 other baskets bringing the total to $1,950. These totals are still impressive if much less than the amount claimed by the Cohns.1 Oklahoma Cherokee Baskets introduces an art form too often overlooked, though is beginning to receive more attention due to the success of contemporary Cherokee weavers like Lena Blackbird and Mike Dart, the opening of new markets such as Spider Gallery, and to community efforts, like the 2012 exhibition Cherokee Baskets: History Woven in Art at the Cherokee Heritage Center.

This volume could benefit from color images rather than the small black-and-white photos provided.

Regardless, for Cooper, basket making was more than a useful item for storage. Within Cherokee cultures, she observes, “Baskets have been venerated for generations … and are seen as a tool of enlightenment and advancement.” Cooper’s Oklahoma Cherokee Baskets puts forward the depth of the art form and offers an introduction to the topic for further studies.

—Suzanne Newman Fricke, PhD

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1. Marvin Cohodas, “Louisa Keyser and the Cohns: Mythmaking and Basket Making in the American West,” in The Early Years of Native American Art History: The Politics of Scholarship and Collecting, ed. Janet Catherine Berlo (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1992), 103.

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Reports Juneau

Celebration 2016 Sealaska Heritage

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OUR DAYS OF ACTIVITIES. Hundreds of hours of song and dance. A street full of dancers in regalia as far as the eye can see. Dozens of artists’ booths.

Lectures, juried art shows, and even a dramatic fashion show. This doesn’t even begin to sum up the excitement of Celebration, a biennial event sponsored

by Sealaska Heritage Institute that took place this year from June 8 to June 11 in Juneau, Alaska. This event highlights the arts, foods, and fashion of the Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian cultures.

More than 5,000 people attend. It’s an amazing gathering with an estimated financial impact of $2 million on the local economy—particularly impressive considering that the dancers comprise 40 percent of the attendees.

Dancing is the heart of Celebration.

Two venues accommodate twelve hours of dancing each day for three consecutive days, with each group allotted 30 minutes. Some groups have been together for decades; others are

new. Particularly noteworthy are the many children and teens involved in these multigenerational ensembles. In recent years, the number of youth has increased even faster than the number of overall participants. The quality of new regalia has also become more refined in recent years, and the increase in new Ravenstail weavings is especially impressive. Old regalia—Chilkat robes and clan hats—some of which is clan at.oow, testifies to the fact that this is not simply a performance. Cultural protocols are strictly followed, with dance leaders addressing the history of each song and how ownership of the song originated with or was gifted to the clan or dance group. These protocols are strictly enforced as the day unfolds, and any transgressions are duly noted and acted on. In addition to elders, younger leaders address the crowd in Łingít (Tlingit), Ýaad Kíl (Haida), or Sm’algyax (Tsimshian), demonstrating the power of ongoing language revitalization efforts. Cultural pride is evident at every turn as family and friends reconnect and support each other.

Celebration is an overwhelming, visual feast. There’s something for everyone, including black seaweed and soapberry preparation contests.

Many artists’ booths feature samples

Participants in the Celebration 2016 parade in Juneau. Image courtesy of Sealaska Heritage Institute.

Photo: Brian Wallace.

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of customary foods as well as their artwork. I had a little taste of dried halibut from Kake that Mike A. Jackson (Tlingit-Haida) offered—delicious!

Erin Brillon (Haida-Cree), who was visiting from her home in Comox, said, “If you were ever going to have regalia envy, this is the place to have it—a feast for the eyes,” as she admired a Ravenstail robe woven with sea otter fur. There were countless opportunities to add a bit more bling to regalia or modern Northwest Coast fashion, with many talented artists selling jewelry, nose rings, appliquéd vests, and beaded patches, among other wares.

Fashion was on prominent display, featured for the first time at this year’s Celebration. Sealaska’s inaugural fashion show was so popular that tickets sold out in advance, though luckily a few stand-by seats were given away at the last minute. The fashion show ranged widely, from feastware by designer Dorothy Grant (Haida) to locally made ensembles, including an electric-blue dress with a wide cedar bark belt and bustle by Lily Hope (Tlingit). It was a treat to sit with Pam Baker (Kwakwaka’wakw-Squamish), a designer from British Columbia, and watch her designs hit the runway, including a Chilkat-inspired cape draped over a black dress fluttering with layers of small black circles and worn by artist Alison Bremner (Tlingit). (I should note that the day before, Bremner’s Cat Lady won Best Print in the two-dimensional division.)

The grand finale featured two creations

by Crystal Worl (Tlingit-Athabascan) who had spent five hours painting her models with formline and floral designs. The event, showcasing 18 designers, was so popular, Sealaska is considering making it a regular part of Celebration.

The juried art show was on view in the new Walter Soboleff Building, with an impressive assemblage of sculpture, textiles, prints, and jewelry.

David R. Boxley (Tsimshian) took Best in Show as well as Best of Formline for his drum, Txaamsem. Women

Members of Git-Hoan, lead dance group for Celebration 2016, perform in Juneau, Alaska. Image courtesy of Sealaska Heritage Institute.

Photo: Brian Wallace.

artists were well represented, too, in a variety of categories: the luxurious Sea Otter Coat by Jennie Wheeler (Tlingit), which won Best of Skin and Fur; weaver Clarissa Rizal’s (Tlingit) Child Chilkat, Best of Chilkat; Kandi McGilton’s (Tsimshian) meticulously appliquéd octopus bag, Lax’o, which won Best of Sewing, and the monumental Chilkat killer whale textile by Anna Brown Ehlers (Tlingit).

All provided a powerful counterpoint to the monumental works commissioned by Sealaska and incorporated into the center from Robert Davidson (Haida), David A. Boxley and David R. Boxley (both Tsimshian), and Preston Singletary (Tlingit).

David A. Boxley’s Git-Hoan (People of the Salmon) was the host dance group this year, and their Friday

night performance brought down the house, building to a crescendo from their very first song. That opening number featured the largest mask ever danced at Celebration, a salmon head almost three-and-a-half-feet long and two-feet wide, with an equally large, articulated tail swishing along behind.

A new dance commented sharply on the current pop culture “selfie” phenomenon and young people’s obsession with smartphones. The lyrics’ admonition was softened by the gentle humor of the performance, when all the dancers (and many, many of the audience) whipped out their phones to join a choreographed comic selfie-fest. By the end of their performance, the crowd was on their feet and the rousing calls of “Hoo haa!” brought Git-Hoan back on stage, where

they called for all Tsimshians in the auditorium to join them in the beloved Celebration Exit Song that the whole audience knew. While some may think the group has earned their super-star status through their dynamic masks, thrilling syncopated drumming, and strong singing, ultimately I think it is the strength of their message that resonates most deeply. Boxley’s words sum up the whole spirit of Celebration, where Tsimshian, Haida, and Tlingit come together to braid the generations together in their cultural traditions: “Every time we sing, every time we dance, every time we use our language, the rope is getting thicker, the rope is getting stronger.”

—Kathryn Bunn-Marcuse, PhD WINTER 2016/17 | 93

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New York

NATIVES New York Style Fashion Week SS1

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N SEPTEMBER 10, 2016, New York Style Fashion Week presented a show called NATIVES, which showcased two designers, Orlando Dugi (Navajo) and Patricia Michaels (Taos), at the Manhattan Center’s Hammerstein Ballroom in midtown Manhattan, one of the main centers for high fashion on the planet. The organizers, designers, models, and attendees were celebratory and engaged in a very encouraging community. It was a highly spirited event overall.

Dugi’s show was accompanied by a piece of music he commissioned of Randall Warren Heavilin (Diné). The deep sonorities of the cello gave the show a sense of structure and gravitas, and a unique, authentic experience.

The music illustrated Dugi’s broader, artistic sensibilities and further contextualized his work. Heavilin, a cellist and composer in Austin, Texas, has most notably composed the score for the documentary film, Yellow Fever: Uncovering the Navajo Uranium Legacy (2013).

The show began with Dugi’s

work, followed by Michaels’s designs. I had a chance to speak with both of the artists after the show.

Though a couple ensembles were designed for men, the majority of Dugi’s fashions were for women, a good portion from his Red Collection, which is “all about empowering women,” says Dugi. “Women are very important in my life—a long history of independent women are in my family history on both sides, and I think a lot about the Navajo prayer, ‘Walking in Beauty.’ I just think about elegance and beauty.” His inspiration stems from 19th-century “Navajo textiles that utilized Italian bayeta cloth with raveled yarn woven into textiles for wearing robes.”

ABOVE: Orlando Dugi (Navajo), Red Collection Gown, 2016, beaded, embroidered silk gauze dyed in cochineal. BELOW: Model wearing an Orlando Dugi gown on the runway at New York Fashion Week show, NATIVES. Orlando Dugi (Navajo).

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REPORTS

Dugi continues, “I built this fantasy of a pee-Colombian matriarchal society. That’s where the idea of using cochineal came from.

It was a color reserved for royalty, and only female beetles produce the dye. Matriarchy is a balance between femininity and masculinity.

I always search for the balance between the woman, the dress, and the natural world … It’s all handmade, including the beaded, gold embroidery of symbols representing natural elements.”

The response to his designs has been positive. “Women find them elegant and appreciate that they aren’t overly sexualized. All the garments can be ordered and altered to fit any size.”

When I visited with Patricia Michaels, she described her process: “In the studio, I find ways to incorporate … my community. I give different pieces of fabric to different hands. In this show, 30 different pairs of hands worked on these pieces. I hope to encourage people to see the value of wearing something that has significant meaning behind it.”

“The show starts off with pottery vessels,” continues Michaels. “I took canvas and started painting, which feels like a vessel as it starts to take shape and form. From there, I created part of the collection with male and female rain, like the velvet with fringe.

Some of the harsh, dark colors are the

Patricia Michaels (Taos), PM Waterlily.

Models wearing PM Waterlily designs by Patricia Michaels (Taos). All photos in this article: ©ACVilla, 2016, acvillaphotos.com.

male rain, and the soft colors are the female rain.

“As Native American women, we are gatherers,” Michaels explains.

“I used to gather wild berries with my grandmother, who was always so full of life. That collection starts to pick up that happy feeling.” Her color choices were inspired by “the berries that stained our clothes when we would pick them.”

The Taos designer is proud to source her fabrics locally. “All that wool comes from local farms. I buy it all from the different ladies in Northern New Mexico and Southern Colorado. That’s all dyed in the studio.

After that, we tried more experimental fabrics with the horsehair and mica.

Taos Pueblo is known for micaceous

clay pottery. So, rather than add actual pottery beads, I adhere the mica directly onto the silk with my own formula. It takes about three days.”

Her experimental fabrics included clear vinyl, which Michaels found to be “liberating and fun, because the other pieces are so much work. I make the molds for the beads and the sequins before I sew them on by hand. It was so liberating to throw the beads on this vinyl and they stick!

It sparkles. Then I add the horsehairs on it so it’s got that wild feeling. As an artist, you have to give yourself that sense of abandon.”

Her presentation ended with the eagle dress, which Michaels says represents her “flying away, what I love to do.”

—Thollem McDonas WINTER 2016/17 | 95

SPOTLIGHT

We Remain Haudenosaunee Carla Hemlock (Mohawk), We Remain Haudenosaunee, 2016, cotton, digital photo on canvas, glass beads, wampum, embroidery floss, cotton batting, 5 x 58 in., collection of Seneca Art & Culture Center, Ganondagan State Historic Site.

Photos: A. Meredith

F

OR SOME TIME NOW, I have wanted to cover the subject matter of George Washington’s order of the Sullivan Campaign for the complete and total destruction of our homelands. The problem was how to present the subject matter to the public in a way that would make them want to know more and not turn their backs on it. This is a brutal part of history that should not be buried and forgotten.

The research itself took quite some time. Although I was familiar with the Sullivan Campaign, I was not prepared for the extreme brutality of it all. An historian friend of mine once told me, “If you want to research history, go into the soldiers’ diaries. They will give more detailed information than the generals will.”

And he was right; the diaries of the soldiers were almost too much to bear. The emotions I was left with

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were a mixture of anger, sadness, and pride. What our people survived is incomprehensible.

I spent many sleepless nights deciding how to present this. I decided to try something that I had never attempted before: my first staged photo shoot. My intent was to have the most calming and serene scene of our young women, children, and babies. I wanted to put a “face” to the orders issued

by George Washington, who is also

SPOTLIGHT

known as the father of the country.

With this photo, I also wanted to show that this mission was a failure.

We are still here, and we still have our original seeds that we still plant yearly.

I completely flew by the seat of my pants with this photo shoot.

I am not a trained photographer, nor have I ever attempted anything like this before. But with the help of my family, it all came together. All of the women and children in the photo are close family members: three nieces, three great-nieces, and my daughter-in-law. Just about all of the props used were either made by myself, family, or someone I knew. The corn is also seed that is used in our community garden. My son came over with a truck loaded with bins of corn. It was important for me to use this corn, for it is the same corn that was destroyed to break the backs of our people.

That afternoon I took close to 350 photos. The photograph that I finally chose was sent off to a printer to have it digitally transferred onto canvas. Once I received the canvas back, I noticed that some of the ink had run across my daughter-in-law’s collar. I tried everything to blend the ink

into the collar but black blotches remained. So, I decided to bead the collar in the exact design. The covering of the mistake actually added a nice touch! The remainder of the photo was hand quilted and lightly beaded. The top and bottom were also beaded in the designs to represent the hearts, or the “fire,” of our women. The text on the sides comes from historical documents

by George Washington.

What would people’s response be? When I started to show family and friends, they cried. When it was shown at Santa Fe Indian Market, I was unprepared for the reaction. People were truly touched by it. There were tears, many tears for so many people. Just about everyone said they had never known this part of history. They were drawn in by the beauty of the photo, then received the harshness of the text. The conversations that weekend will stay with me forever.

As a quilt maker, I have not shied away from difficult stories or subject matter, but the challenge is to present it where the viewer will be engaged and not offended. If my work can spark a dialogue, well, then it has done its job.

—Carla Hemlock

THE SENECA ARTS & CULTURAL CENTER at the Ganondagan Historic Site in Victor, New York, purchased We Remain Haudenosaunee for their permanent collection. Historic Site Manager G. Peter Jemison (Seneca) explains, “One of the things that we didn’t have as part of our exhibit is a real discussion of the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign, which was the campaign directed against us by the then president, George Washington, and led by two generals, [John] Sullivan and [James] Clinton. When they came through Cayuga and Seneca country, they pretty much decimated our corn, destroyed peach and apple orchards, and destroyed our homes.

They made living for us very difficult because we depended on the corn, beans, and squash to sustain us, and these were destroyed in this very punitive campaign.”

This strategic campaign of destruction took place near the cultural center, but previously they had no artwork addressing it. “It seemed appropriate to purchase that piece, which is clearly about that campaign and clearly about the instructions that were given by President Washington to those two men,” Jemison continues. “Of course, I think the piece is of very high quality, as well. The way it is made and the way it conveys the message is a very beautiful and poignant in terms of the message of the piece.”

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ART + LITERATURE

Diné Poet

Esther G. Belin

By RoseMary Diaz

S

LICING THROUGH THE SILENCE of a blank page with Samurai-like precision, the poetry of Esther G. Belin is undaunted in negotiating the sharp and often precarious edges of the written word. On the contrary: her work has found its footing on those unforgiving outcroppings where voice and verse meet memory, where there is no room for the overindulgent ego nor tolerance for the miserly and critical self-censor, where nothing save complete surrender to the duties of the sacred scribe is allowed to take up space on the ledge.

Deservedly recognized as one of the most expressive and honest voices of her generation, Belin is more than adept at weaving together universal metaphors with tribal and cultural symbolism. Her personal accounts are of the urban Indian experience in America, still among the sparsest chapters in the annals of Native literature.

Seeing herself as “an interpreter of what happened in my parents’ generation,” Belin’s work goes headfirst into the deep end—plunging into themes of racism, assimilation, alienation, and substance abuse, sexism, and cultural estrangement, and “telling what it’s like for Native people.” In 2000, Belin received the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation for her 85page debut collection of poems titled From the Belly of My Beauty (University of Arizona Press, 1999), two of which have been excerpted for this feature. She is a graduate of the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and the University of California, Berkeley.

I had the pleasure of interviewing the dynamic and ever-forward-moving Belin, truly a wordsmith of exception by any measure. Let’s get to know her a little better, shall we?

What words do you use to describe your work?

Poetry, multigenre.

How have those definitions changed over the course of your career?

The poetry has been disciplined—playing with new forms, new meter. The multigenre is really about grafting visual art and writing.

When did you know writing was your calling?

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Esther Belin

As an undergraduate at UC Berkeley, I took an English class with Maxine Hong Kingston. She inspired me to dive into historical CNF [creative nonfiction] and hybrid writing to really tackle spaces with absence of memory.

How has your work evolved over time?

I have become more confident in my content and craft. I truly treasure my ability as a gift that needs to be nurtured and shared. I also have been doing more two-dimensional and installation art, which has been a complement to the writing. They feed each other.

What do you hope your work evokes in the reader?

I want the reader to be challenged. When you really think about how adaptable Indigenous [languages] are— to transfer the English language as one of our own, to forgive, to create beauty from trauma—there are variable layers of content woven in and around the English alphabet. Tribal writers continually find new ways to craft

ESTHER G. BELIN

and intertwine metanarratives using the English language, so I really hope audiences understand and value the artistry involved in those techniques.

There are inherent risks—political, social, etc.—in putting an honest pen to the page, perhaps especially so in the Native/Indian world, so to speak. How do you decide when to take those risks? What makes something risk worthy?

In many ways, I believe I am obligated to take risks. In regard to the collective, Indigenous diaspora, I am part of the privileged. I am indebted to many who have sacrificed in order for me to succeed. There are an infinite number of tribal voices that don’t have a vehicle to be heard.

I enjoy being able to interpret and expand the conversation about Indigenous manifestations in the modern world.

What do you consider some of your greatest accomplishments/most important achievements as a writer?

In many ways I feel like I am emerging—that my greatest achievements are forthcoming. Being a mother to four daughters has been my priority for the last two decades. I have continually written and published during the past 20 years but not in a fully invested way.

How has your work contributed to the canon of contemporary Native literature, in a philosophically expansive sense?

My work contributes by creating a deeper understanding about the complexities to recent narratives of relocation and examinations of that effect … on political identities.

I write from a fractured worldview of sorts, a place of recalculations. My parents did an excellent job of recreating Diné perspective in L.A. I am blessed because of their strength and insight. I have been examining particular meters within specific tribes. I really believe there is a distinct Navajo meter. The way Navajo poets

particularly are using and embracing and denying the English language is an emerging genre.

How do you envision the future of Native literature?

I envision a bit of a struggle. As younger writers begin to sort through the layers of their gifts as writers/storytellers, that exploration will be evident in their writing—it will be complex and multigenre. The hope is that they will nurture their gifts and truly embrace the hard work involved.

What do you hope your work will represent in the literary archives of the future?

I view my work as a legacy for my children and grandchildren. I leave a partial retelling, a hopeful contribution to a traumatic history.

I leave poetic narratives—they are offerings. The ideal is that others will benefit from my work as well.

If you could collaborate with any writer from any place and time in history, who would you choose and why?

I would love to work with Emily Dickinson. I am fascinated with her experience as a woman in the particular time that she lived and wrote. I can relate to her isolation and her technical approach to … writing and observing….

I love the glimpses of intimacy and humor she creates.

What’s coming next? Any new books or projects on the horizon?

A second book of poetry and an historical narrative in poem on relocation/termination policies.

Any advice for Native literature’s up-and-comers?

Writing is most powerful for the self—it heals, reveals, and is quite forgiving. Most of all, keep doing it.

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ART + LITERATURE

Blues-ing on the Brown Vibe I. And Coyote struts down East 14th feeling good looking good feeling the brown

I.

melting into the brown that loiters

The beckon for liberation itches on my back. I scratch desert-dried arroyos littered with fading Budweiser cans and roadside crosses dangling plastic flowers. I stumble

rapping with the brown in front of the Native American Health Center talking that talk of relocation from tribal nation of recent immigration to the place some call the United States

from the grotesque reflection recycled. I stumble with my commod-filled body running a Wheaties race. I stumble at my shadow raised by Los Angeles skyscrapers.

My expression is a liberation functioning as a contrived reality boxed into Indian.

Identifying the branches of soul wounds into another contrived reality called

home to many dislocated funky brown ironic immigration more accurate tribal nation to tribal nation and Coyote sprinkles corn pollen in the four directions to thank the tribal people indigenous to what some call the state of California

American AKA United States. In power until we salt our tongues bridging callused shoulders. A great wall of burnt flesh.

Ideographs. Tongue swollen from word arrows. Our stories etched on our backs.

Reading our backs does not start the healing process. To be cleansed with winds from Canyon de Chelly. Luster of precious stones hundreds of years smooth.

—Esther G. Belin

the city of Oakland for allowing use of their land.

II. And Coyote travels by Greyhound from Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA thru Dinétah to Oakland, California, USA laughing Interstate 40 is cluttered with RVs from as far away as Maine traveling and traveling to perpetuate the myth Coyote kicks back for most of the ride amused by the constant herd of tourists amazed by the mythic Indian they create at a pit stop in Winslow Coyote trades a worn beaded cigarette lighter for roasted corn

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ESTHER G. BELIN

from a middle-aged Navajo woman squatting in front of a store

benches pause he pushes his lips out toward the Ponca slowly gesturing

and Coyote squats alongside the woman

that he too

talking that talk

is from Oklahoma

of bordertown blues of reservation discrimination blues-ing on the brown vibe a bilagáana snaps a photo the Navajo woman stands holding out her hand requesting some of her soul back instead she replaces her soul with a worn picture of George Washington on a dollar bill and Coyote starts on another ear of corn climbing onto the Greyhound the woman still squatting waiting tired of learning not to want waits there for the return of all her pieces.

III. And Coyote wanders right into a Ponca sitting at the Fruitvale Bart station next to the Ponca is a Seminole Coyote struts up to the two

Coyote wanders “Where ‘bouts?” the Ponca replies “Ponnca City” pause the Seminole replies “Seminoole” Coyote gestures to the Ponca “You Ponca?” the Ponca nods his head in affirmation Coyote nods his head in content to the Seminole Coyote asks “You Seminole?” pause the Seminole now watching some kids eating frozen fruit bars nods his head and Coyote shares his smokes with the two and ten minutes later they travel together on the Richmond train headed for Wednesday night dinner at the Intertribal Friendship

“Where ya’ all from?” the Ponca replies “Oooklahooma” pause the Seminole silent watches a rush of people climb in and

House.

IV. And Coyote blues-ing on the urban brown funk vibe wanders

out of the

in and out of existence

train

tasting the brown

headed to Fremont

rusty at times

the Seminole stretches his arms up and back stiff from the

worn bitter from relocation.

wooden

—Esther G. Belin WINTER 2016/17 | 101

MEMORIAL

Clara Neptune Keezer

Carm Little Turtle

August 3, 1930–August 2, 2016

June 4, 1952—October 16, 2016

I

N THE EARLY 20TH CENTURY, basket weaving flourished among Maine tribes, and now in the early 21st century, it flourishes once again. In the mid-20th century when weaving was in decline, Passamaquoddy artist Clara Cecilia Neptune Keezer kept brown ash and sweetgrass basketry alive and played a key role in its recent revitalization.

Clara’s great-grandparents wove baskets, as did her grandmother and mother. In 1938 at age eight, she wove her first basket. She lived where she was born on the Pleasant Point Reservation and was a fluent speaker of the Passamaquoddy language. She married Larry Keezer Sr. and raised five sons, two who are also leading basket weavers, Rocky and Kenneth.

After mastering the Northeastern Woodlands strawberry basket form early on, Clara invented new designs for fruits, vegetables, and even bumblebee baskets with ash splint stingers. Her baskets were often boldly colored with aniline dyes, but some she left natural. Keezer mastered the challenging pillow-shaped star basket design. She taught many young weavers their skills and, in 1993, helped cofound the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance along with other Indigenous Maine weavers, including Theresa Secord (Penobscot) who studied under her in 2014.

“Clara’s artistry and generosity was an inspiration to us all,” wrote Theresa for the National Endowment of the Arts.

“Always focused on sharing, Clara kept the art alive with only a handful of others, during a time when there was very little financial gain and no awards … Clara’s high standards and gifted artistry in her own work, encouraged us all to do better.”

Despite numerous health challenges, Keezer worked daily. In 2007, she told the Maine Historical Society, “I can’t wait to get started. Every night, I go to sleep thinking, tomorrow morning I get to make baskets.”

In 2002, the National Endowment for the Arts recognized Clara as an NEA Heritage Fellow. For decades, her baskets only sold locally for a pittance. Today, they are internationally recognized, artistic masterpieces.

—America Meredith

Clara Neptune Keezer. Photo: Tom Pich/National Endowment for the Arts.

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Carmelita Carm Little Turtle and her beloved 19 8 Land Cruiser. Image courtesy of Richard Tirzo (Navajo).

I

’VE READ A LOT, experienced a lot, traveled a lot, and I listen closely to other people’s stories,” Little Turtle told Lawrence Abbott in an interview for I Stand in the Center of the Good (1994). She was a registered nurse at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque, where she explored relationships and witnessed much human drama unfold.

Of Tarahumara and Apache descent, Carmelita “Carm” Little Turtle was born in Santa Maria, California. She studied photography at the University of New Mexico and became a professional photographer in 1979. She shot in black and white, developed the gelatin silver prints in a dark room, and hand-tinted her photographs. Her preferred tool was a vintage Minolta camera with a 55-mm lens. “To me, the color photograph is very clean and sterile … In my work the use of black and white allows room for the surreal,” she said.1 Her artwork also explored relationships, especially between a woman and man. Her Earthman series from the early 1990s was one of her most popular. In these narrative works, Little Turtle carefully choreographed scenes with her husband Ed Singer (Navajo) and other family members and friends who acted out characters. She obscured their faces to promote the universality of her themes.

Little Turtle’s son, Richard Tirzo, announced her death and wrote, “She had a great life that she always lived on her own terms with an upbeat spirit. Though we rarely saw things the same way, I’m very fortunate and thankful to have been exposed as a child to art, culture, people, and places that I would not have been otherwise.” He concluded, “I love you very much and wish you safe journeys. I’m sure your horse Sierra will be there waiting for you to ride the Rio Grande trails again.”

—America Meredith 1. Lawrence Abbot, I Stand in the Center of the Good: Interviews with Contemporary Native American Artists (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 143.

MEMORIAL

Rollie Grandbois May 8, 1954–May 5, 2016 A generous man devises generous things and by generosity he shall stand.

—The prophet Isaiah, Isa. 32:8 NKJV

R

OLLIE ANTHONY GRANDBOIS was a Chippewa Indian and gifted stone carver. Born in 1954 on the Turtle Mountain Indian Reservation in Belcourt, North Dakota, he was one of ten children. As a young man, he enlisted in the United States Army and served from 1972 to 1974, and later in the 101st Airborne Division.

Like so many of his colleagues whose work collectively represents the beginnings of contemporary America Indian art, Rollie studied at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe. There he refined his natural gift for working with stone and embarked on what would become a lifelong journey of creative inquiry.

Both the artist and his art made their way around the globe. Travels to Zimbabwe forged friendships with other Indigenous sculptors; acquisitions in Japan placed his work in the Noyuki Soga Collection and in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. In recent years, Rollie’s stone-carving workshops exemplified a longtime commitment to sharing his artistic insights with others; his giving spirit was nonexclusive.

Rollie’s work—grounded in ancient principles and brought to fruition through of-the-moment techniques— inspired his students to pursue their own creative callings.

His instruction was insightful and patient and flowed from a profound and seemingly inherent understanding of his medium: where to tap the first strike to ensure full cooperation from the stone; what to chisel away to allow the light through just so; and how to follow its natural grains and curves to reveal the hidden treasure within.

In the days immediately following Rollie’s departure from this earthly plane, generosity was the word most often chosen by his family, friends, and contemporaries when setting pen to page in his honor. Celebrated, innovative, and motivating were also in the descriptive ink.

Rollie also had a gift for the art of friendship. His expansive personality and open mind made him easy company. He always had a supportive word to offer and he carried a genuine appreciation for the successes of others, which endeared him to so many. He was quick to laugh and was fast to remind us of the healing power of humor.

Creative energy was another of Rollie’s defining characteristics and, of course, he was generous with that, too.

If you were among those who visited the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture’s tribute to the late Chiricahua sculptor Allan Houser that ran from 2014 to 2015, you certainly recognized Rollie’s contribution to the exhibit.

The Tewas believe that when a powerful person embarks on their journey to the next life, only the force of a strong-

blowing wind can push them beyond this physical realm and into the next. As the unseasonably heavy breezes of this past May rushed over still-blooming irises and tall, fragrant sweetgrass, traveling west toward the Jemez Mountains, I thought about what a fitting send-off it was for Rollie. And I hoped the winds would be kind to those of us who knew him by allowing part of his spirit to remain here, with us, near the blue mountains he came to call home.

—RoseMary Diaz

Rollie Grandbois. Image courtesy of the Archives of IAIA.

I WAS WALKING in my favorite little park the day before I left for Scotland when I got the inspiration to call my close friend of 34 years, Rollie Grandbois, just to check in with him.

He told me he was teaching at a stone-carving symposium in California, and I told him I was hitting the road and crossing the pond. Having shown, taught, hustled, and shared our art together, from Japan to South Africa, we wished the other were with us on our present journeys (I liked traveling with him because everyone we met loved him, so they would put up with me).

Generous as he always was, he urged me to come and stay with him down in New Mexico. “I’ve got a room for you and a studio you can use,” he said. We ended our all-too-brief conversation with an “I love you” and an “I love you, too.”

Yesterday, after a full and wonderful day of events at the National Museum of Scotland, I got back to my room to find out that he had died suddenly in California of a heart attack.

I came to think how lucky, honored, and privileged I was to have him as a friend for so long and through so much life. He will be missed. So, take my advice, call those people you are close to and let them hear the truth in your voice when you tell them that you love them. You really never know if it will be the last time you get to hear their voice, telling you … and you knowing … that they love you, too. —Marcus Amerman WINTER 2016/17 | 103

MEMORIAL

Daphne Odjig September 11, 1919—October 1, 2016

I

F MY WORK AS AN ARTIST has somehow helped to open doors between our people and the nonNative community, then I am glad.

I am even more deeply pleased if it has helped to encourage the young people that have followed our generation, to express their pride in our heritage more openly, more joyfully than I would have ever dared to think possible.”1 These are the words of OdawaPotawatomi artist Daphne Odjig, CM, OBC, who passed away on October 1. The quote is indicative of the importance that Odjig placed on art for people of the First Nations in Canada, and her aspiration that art could serve as a conduit for intercultural exchange, political activism, and cultural pride.

Daphne Odjig was born September 11, 1919, and raised on the Wikwemikong Unceded Indian Reserve on Manitoulin Island, Ontario, Canada. As a child, Daphne dreamed of becoming a teacher, but when she fell ill with rheumatic fever in seventh grade, she was forced to quit school.

During this time, she spent her hours sketching on the porch, but despite the talent she exhibited at a young age, becoming a professional and well-regarded artist would come only after moving away from the reserve where she was raised. During World War II, she found factory work in Toronto, and it was during this time that she faced the barriers of racism, which would ultimately influence her art and lead to her promotion of Indigenous artists in Canada.

While busy raising her children,

Odjig made time to study art and visit galleries. She began “quietly but intensely teaching herself how to paint.”2 She and her late husband, Chester Beavon (1933–2010), opened the first Canadian gallery dedicated to First Nations art, which became a magnet for what came to be Professional Native Indian Artists Inc., also called the Indian Group of Seven. Alex Janvier (Dene SulineSaulteaux) stated, “Daphne was the one who pulled us together. Daphne had the vision to recognize that it was as a group we would be able to make

a breakthrough with the art we were doing.”3 In an interview with the CBC, Odjig explained, “The doors weren’t open to us. So we had a reason to tell the people who we are and what we can do.” In her desire to promote Aboriginal art and culture, Odjig’s art often expressed themes of spirituality, identity, and politics.

These themes are each depicted in perhaps her most well-known painting, The Indian in Transition (1978). Commissioned by the

Daphne Odjig, Gallery Gevik, Toronto, Ontario, 2008. Photo: Mister Lobat.

1. Daphne Odjig, Bob Boyer, and Carol Podedworny, Odjig: The Art of Daphne Odjig, 1960-2000 (Toronto: Key Porter Books, 2001), 78.

2. “We Want the Biggest Damned Painting You Can Do,” Maclean’s, accessed October 12, 2016, web.

3. Ibid.

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MEMORIAL

National Museum of Man (now the Canadian Museum of Civilization), the painting represents her trademark style of elegantly woven ovoid shapes, flattened perspective, swirling lines, and vibrant color as she skillfully told the story of treaties, persecution, and hope in this monumental work of art. Beginning on the left side of the composition, Odjig depicted the arrival of Europeans and continues through the devastation and destruction of Aboriginal cultures, but she ends with an expression of rejuvenation and hope for the future.4

“Daphne was the one who pulled us together.

Daphne had the vision…”

—Alex Janvier Odjig’s artistic career was prolific as she worked using a variety of artistic media including oils, acrylics, silkscreen prints, pen and ink, pastels, and watercolors.

In addition to large-scale paintings, she produced illustrations for Dr. Herbert Schwarz’s book, Tales From the Smokehouse, as well as the ten children’s readers, the Nanabush Book Series.

Her artwork was exhibited in Canada and abroad in numerous group and one-woman shows, including a major retrospective, The Drawings and Paintings of Daphne Odjig: A Retrospective Exhibition, organized by the Art Gallery of Sudbury and the National Gallery of Canada (2007–2010).

For all of her artistic accomplishments, Odjig was widely recognized by both the First Nations community and the Canadian government. Throughout her life, she received seven honorary doctoral degrees and, in 1989, she became an elected member of the Royal Canadian Academy of Art. In 2007, she was awarded the Governor General’s Award for Visual and Media Arts, Canada’s highest honor in the field of visual arts.

Daphne Odjig was a dedicated artist who embraced art with enthusiasm and passion that allowed others to see what could be accomplished through the promotion of First Nations art. Her images depicting stories of Aboriginal history and culture opened the door for wider acceptance and understanding of Indigenous culture in Canada, and her legacy will influence artists for generations to come.

—Denise Neil-Binion 4. For a more detailed description of The Indian in Transition, see Lee-Ann Martin quoted in Jann L. M. Bailey, “Daphne Odjig,” Herizons (Spring 2011), accessed October 13, 2016, web.

Marcus Alfred September 14, 1981 September , 201

M

ARCUS MATTHEW JUSTIN ALFRED accomplished an extraordinary amount in his all-too-short life. He was an talented dancer, woodcarver, painter, and jeweler who shared his profound knowledge and respect for Kwakwaka’wakw culture with the younger generations.

Marcus was born in Alert Bay on Cormorant Island, British Columbia, to Brenda and Wayne Alfred, a prominent artist. Marcus Alfred was Kwakwaka’wakw, a member of ‘Namgis First Nation, but also of Tlingit and Nuu-chah-nulth descent. He was a direct descendant of the ethnographer George Hunt (Tlingit, 1854–1993) and the first grandson of Pat Alfred (1937–2008), chief of the Nimpkish band of Kwakwaka’wakw.

Marcus Alfred’s father, Wayne, was a full-time woodcarver, who taught Northwest Coast art at the U’mista Cultural Centre. Wayne launched Marcus on his woodcarving journey and taught him how to dance. At age twelve, Marcus was initiated in the Hamat’sa Society, for whom his haunting animal calls and spirit cries perfected for the Hamat’sa dances were immortalized in recordings

by Hein Schoer’s research project, The Sounding Museum, sponsored by the Nordamerika Native Museum in Zürich.

Apprenticing first with his father, Marcus also studied woodcarving with preeminent Kwakwaka’wakw carvers, Beau Dick and Don Svanvik. Carved in alder and cedar, his boldly painted masks were enhanced by his profound, firsthand cultural knowledge from dancing with masks, some of which had uncannily, representational human faces.

Under the guidance of Patrick Seaweed (Kwakwaka’wakw), Marcus had also studied jewelry making and crafted striking repoussé bracelets in silver and copper.

In October 2012, Marcus Alfred, his father, and three other Kwakwaka’wakw woodcarvers completed sculptures installed on the shore of Alert Bay to commemorate the five first ancestors of the ‘Namgis clans. In 2014, Marcus led a team of young carvers to sculpt Guardian Poles for the entrance of the U’mista Cultural Centre. He generously shared his knowledge with local youth by serving as a cultural teaching assistant at the T’lisalagi’lakw School, ‘Namgis First Nation’s day school.

“Goodbye today to one of the best Kwakwaka’wakw artists we’ve had—a brilliant dancer and beautiful young man,” wrote his fellow Kwakwaka’wakw artist, Marianne Nicolson. “My thoughts and prayers are with the family and the nation today as he is laid to rest. Marcus Alfred, you will be deeply missed.”

—America Meredith WINTER 2016/17 | 105

MEMORIAL

Annie Pootoogook May 11, 1969—September 19, 2016

I

did not know Annie Pootoogook personally; I never had the opportunity to meet her, nor did I have the opportunity to know those closest to her. I knew her as most in the south of Canada did—through her artwork and through her presence in the media. As such, I can only speak to what I feel toward her, what I’ve read about her, and what she has taught me.

Pootoogook’s body was found on the shores of the Rideau River in Ottawa, the nation’s capital. She was only 47 years old. Her life was not without struggle. She made a choice to move from Kinngait, known in English as Cape Dorset, to Ottawa a few years ago, assumedly to seek a fresh start, a chance to make a new home, to renew herself.

Annie Pootoogook’s life began in her birthplace of Kinngait, recognized as a major hub of artistic production in Northern Canada, particularly for its contributions to contemporary printmaking. She was never far from this fire of creation. Her grandmother, Pitseolak Ashoona (Inuk, ca.

1906–1983), was a prolific artist known for radiating prints and drawings, while her mother, Napachie Pootoogook (Inuk, 1938–2002), produced a number of works on paper from which Annie Pootoogook would draw influences. So, she inherited a rich familial practice of art making and continued its legacy far beyond expectation. She made many things possible for Inuk artists. Her impact ripples far beyond the shores of Cape Dorset.

In the early 2000s, Pootoogook’s visibility in Canada increased. Her major breakthrough came when she was awarded the prestigious Sobey Art Award in 2006, the most significant contemporary art award for artists under 40 in Canada. That same year, she had her first major solo exhibition at Toronto’s Power Plant Gallery before showing work in 2007 at Art Basel and at documenta 12 in Kassel, Germany; she was the first Inuk artist to participate in the event. Later, her work was included in the 17th Sydney Biennial in Australia and the National Museum of the American Indian George Gustav Heye Center in New York.

These are extraordinary achievements, and clearly her work has made deep impressions.

Everyone seems to know when a drawing is an Annie Pootoogook drawing. She gave us an idiosyncratic, visual language, both refined and considered, that will grow in appreciation in the coming years. Consciously or not, she picked apart the idealized and fictionalized image of the North perpetuated by non-Native filmmakers like Robert J. Flaherty, among many others, since the early 20th century.

Pootoogook’s work is gracefully complex and intensely sophisticated. Her drawings are honest, uncompromising, even painfully blunt, with no embellishment or panache—just real stories told from deep inside that reflect real experiences, real life, real hurt, and real celebration. She made the everyday monumental. It is difficult to separate her life from her

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Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation), Annie Pootoogook, 2016, digital drawing. Image courtesy of the artist.

artwork. There are scenes of domestic violence, suicide, and alcoholism. Then there’s my favorite work of hers: a selfportrait drawn after she won the Sobey Art Award with her back turned to the viewer; the one where the Sobey banner hangs loosely in the background, and she’s surrounded by the press staring at and interviewing her in a moment of triumph.

It’s so humble, as I imagine her to be.

Pootoogook introduced many Northern truths to the South of Canada and the rest of the world, often to nonIndigenous peoples who are not aware of the realities she presented (or flat chose to ignore them). In this light, her body of work indicates how the project of colonialism is unfolding in Northern communities; how it has and continues to set up conditions for further economic marginalization and social disenfranchisement. Her death, under suspicious circumstances, is yet another reminder that Indigenous women and girls in Canada are subject to systemic violence more than any other group. Annie Pootoogook has died, and I fear that nothing will change.

I feel thankful to Annie Pootoogook. I am thankful for the art that she has chosen to share with us. I have showed it to my students. I have discussed it with others. I have seen it touch others. I am thankful.

—Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

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CALENDAR

Arctic and Indian arts for the 21 century

Calendar

st

26 Maine Street Kennebunkport, Maine 207 967-2122

November 2, 2016–February 28, 2017: Oklahoma City, OK

Vivid: A Showcase of Native Female Artists at Exhibit C, 1. E. Sheridan Avenue. Opening reception Saturday, November 5, 2:00–5:00 pm | (405) 767-8900 | exhibitcgallery.com

November 3–26: Seattle, WA

Isabel Rorick & Robin Rorick | Roots That Connect Us All: A Mother & Son Collaboration at Stonington Gallery, 125 S. Jackson Street. Opening reception Thursday, November 3, 6:00–8:00 pm (206) 405-4040 | stoningtongallery.com

November 4 & 5: Clewiston, FL

American Indian Arts Celebration at the Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki Museum at 30290 Josie Billie Highway, 9:00 am–5:00 pm (877) 902-1113 | ahtahthiki.com

November 4 & 5: Oakland, CA

Jeremy Frey

Sculpture | Prints | Jewelry |Beadwork |Baskets shop online: www.homeandawaygallery.com

RAVEN MAKES GALLERY Offering Native American & First Nations Artwork Authentic art from significant artists of the Far North, Great Plains, Northwest Coast & American Southwest

Third Annual California Indian Market, cohosted by News from Native California, at the Oakland Museum, 1000 Oak Street Friday, November 4, 3:00–9:00 pm; Saturday, November 5, 10:00 am–4:00 pm | (510) 318-8551 | museumca.org

November 4–December 18: Albuquerque, NM

37th Annual Native American Student Art Show: Gifts of the Creator at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, 2401 12th Street NW (505) 843-7270 | indianpueblo.org

November 4, 2016–January 20, 2017: Minneapolis, MN

On Fertile Ground: Native Artists in the Upper Midwest, third segment, at All My Relations Gallery, 1414 E. Franklin Avenue.

Opening reception Friday, November 4, 6:00–8:00 pm. Artists talking circle hosted by Dyani White Hawk (Sicangu Lakota) and Rory Wakemup (Bois Forte Ojibwe) on Saturday, January 20, 6:00–8:00 pm | (612) 284-1102 | allmyrelationsarts.com

November 6: Oklahoma City, OK

First American Art Magazine No. 13 Launch Party at Exhibit C, 1 E. Sheridan Avenue, 2:00–4:00 pm. Light refreshments served.

Free and open to the public | faamevents@gmail.com

November 6: Albuquerque, NM

6th Annual Pueblo Fiber Arts Show and Sale at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, 2401 12th Street NW, 9:00 am–4:00 pm (505) 843-7270 | indianpueblo.org

Paintings | Jewelry | Beadwork Rugs | Kachinas | Dolls | Sculptures Zuni Fetishes | Baskets | Masks | Drums

November 7, 2016–January 8, 2017: Lawton, OK

ravensmakesgallery.com

November 11, 2016–January 7, 2017: Santa Fe, NM

Sisters, Oregon | (541) 719-1182 108 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

Re-Riding History: From the Southern Plains to the Matanzas Bay at the Museum of the Great Plains, 601 NW Ferris Avenue (580) 581-3460 | discovermgp.org

Native Nacimiento at Adobe Gallery, 221 Canyon Road. Reception Friday, November 11, 5:00–7:00 pm. A group show of Pueblo ceramic Nativity scenes | (505) 629-4051 | adobegallery.com

CALENDAR

November 11, 2016–June 4, 2017: Washington, DC For a Love of His People: The Photography of Horace Poolaw at National Museum of the American Indian, 4th Street and Independence Avenue SW | (202) 633-1000 | nmai.si.edu

November 12 & 13: Los Angeles, CA Autry American Indian Arts Marketplace, hosted by the Autry National Center, at the Autry in Griffith Park, 4730 Crystal Springs Drive, with 200 artists | (323) 667-2000 | theautry.org

November 12, 2016–February 5, 2017: Indianapolis, IN Titan of the West: The Adams Collection of Western and Native American Art at the Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art, 500 W. Washington Street. Collection of the late Bud Adams (Cherokee Nation) | (317) 636-9378 | eiteljorg.org

November 12–April 1, 2017: Park Hill, OK Anna Mitchell Legacy Exhibit at the Cherokee Heritage Center, 21192 S. Keeler Drive | (918) 456-6007 | cherokeeheritage.org

November 18–20: Albuquerque, NM Indigenous Comic Con at the National Hispanic Cultural Center, 1701 4th Street SW | (505) 246-2261 | indigenouscomiccon.com

November 19: Albuquerque, NM Niłch’its’ósí: November Time of Slender Winds, solo exhibit with Sheldon Harvey (Navajo), at Grey Dog Trading Post, 400 San Felipe NW. Reception from 12:00–5:00 pm (505) 243-0414 | greydogtrading.com

November 19, 2016–April 23, 2017: Winnipeg, MB Boarder X at the Winnipeg Art Gallery, 300 Memorial Boulevard.

Indigenous snowboarding, skateboarding, and surfing with Jordan Bennett, Roger Crait, Steven Davies, Mark Igloliorte, Meghann O’Brien, and Les Ramsay | +1 (204) 786-6641 | wag.ca

NATIVE AMERICAN ART APPRAISALS, INC. SINCE 1936

November 25–27: Carefree, AZ Carefree Southwest Art and Indian Market at the Sanderson Lincoln Pavillion, 101 East Street, Friday–Sunday, 10:00 am–5:00 pm | carefreeazfestivals.com

November 25, 2016–April 17, 2017: Ottawa, ON Alex Janvier at the National Gallery of Canada, 380 Sussex Drive, Station A. Retrospective for this Dene Suline-Saulteaux painter (613) 990-1985 | gallery.ca

November 26: Albuquerque, NM 4th Annual Pueblo Market at Isleta Casino, 11000 Broadway SE, 9:00 am–6:00 pm, free | (505) 250-5996 | isleta.com

December 3: Victor, NY Native American Winter Arts Festival at the Ganondagan Historical Site, 7000 County Road 41, 10:00 am–5:00 pm, free with museum admission | (585) 398-6151 | ganondagan.org

(855) NAAA-INC INFO@NAAAINC.COM VISIT WWW.NAAAINC.COM

CALL EMAIL

December 3 & 4: Anchorage, AK Holiday Bazaar at the Alaska Native Heritage Center, 880 Heritage Center Drive | (907) 330-8000 | alaskanative.net

WINTER 2016/17 | 109

CALENDAR

December 3 & 4: New York, NY, and Washington, DC

December 16–18: Santa Fe, NM

NMAI Native Art Market at the National Museum of the American Indian, 4th Street and Independence Avenue SW, and National Museum of the American Indian George Gustav Heye Center, One Bowling Green | DC: (212) 514-3700 NY: (202) 633-1000 | nmai.si.edu

December 16, 2016–March 18, 2017: Rapid City, SD

December 3, 2016–April 23, 2017: Vancouver, BC

We Come to Witness: Sonny Assu in Dialogue with Emily Carr at the Vancouver Art Gallery, 750 Hornby Street +1 (604) 662-4700 | vanartgallery.bc.ca

December 9, 2016–January 12, 2017: Tonalá, Jalisco

Segundo Concurso de Arte Indígena Contemporáneo y Artesanía Contemporánea de Jalisco hosted by the Museo de Arte Indígena Contemporáneo at the Centro Cultural Herencia Milenaria, Ramón Corona 451, Villas de Guadalupe | facebook.com/MAICmuseum

December 10, 2016–March 26, 2017: Tulsa, OK Looking West: The Rumley Family Collection at the Gilcrease Museum, 1400 N Gilcrease Museum Road, including Navajo weaving and Pomo basketry | (918) 596-2700 | gilcrease.org

December 12, 2016–November 22, 2017: Clewiston, FL

Rekindled: Contemporary Southeastern Beadwork at the Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki Museum, 30290 Josie Billie Highway (877) 902-1113 | ahtahthiki.com

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SWAIA Winter Indian Market at La Fonda on the Plaza. Opening celebration Friday, December 16, 6:00–9:00 pm (505) 983-5220 | swaia.org

The Horse Nation of the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ at the Dahl Arts Center, 713 7th Street. Multimedia, traveling, group exhibit of Dakota, Lakota, and Nakota artists | (605) 394-4101 | thedahl.org

December 16, 2016–April 22, 2017: Missoula, MT Ryan! Feddersen: Resistance at the Missoula Art Museum, 335 North Pattee Street | (406) 728-0447 | missoulaartmuseum.org

January 10–March 17: Davis, CA

Remembering Alcatraz at CN Gorman Museum, University of California, Davis, 1 Shields Avenue #1316 (530) 752-6567 | gormanmuseum.ucdavis.edu

January 20–June 15: Santa Fe, NM

Athena LaTocha: Inside the Forces of Nature at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place. Preview reception Friday, January 19 | (505) 983-1666 | iaia.edu/museum

January 20–June 15: Santa Fe, NM

New Impressions: Experiments in Contemporary Native American Printmaking at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place | (505) 983-1666 | iaia.edu/museum

© 2016 Cherokee Heritage Center. All Rights Reserved.

Hair: Chris Tsosie MUA: Mariah Lee Donnelly Photographer: Brian Eric Sena Models: Ēnjēlīkā Padilla & Keely Doherty

© All Content Copyright, 2016 Orlando Dugi, All Rights Reserved.

January 20–22: Cave Creek, AZ Cave Creek Indian Market at Stagecoach Village, 7100 E. Cave Creek Road | vermillionpromotions.com

January 23–May 5: Brantford, ON Reading the Talk at Woodland Cultural Centre at 184 Mohawk Street. Traveling exhibit featuring Michael Belmore, Hannah Claus, Patricia Deadman, Vanessa Dion Fletcher, Keesic Douglas, and Melissa General | (519) 759-2650 | woodland-centre.on.ca

BUYING OR SELLING

INDIAN ART? KNOW THE LAW

For a free Act brochure, contact: Indian Arts and Crafts Board U.S. Department of the Interior Toll Free: 1-888-ART-FAKE or 1-888-278-3253 Email: iacb@ios.doi.gov Web: www.doi.gov/iacb

January 26–April 2: Norman, OK PHOTO/SYNTHESIS at the Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art, 555 Elm Avenue. Solo exhibit for Will Wilson (Diné), curated by heather ahtone (Choctaw-Chickasaw) | (405) 325-3272 | ou.edu/fjjma

January 27–April 16: Santa Fe, NM Now Is the Time: Investigating Native Histories and Visions of the Future at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place. Works by previous IAIA artists-in-residence (505) 983-1666 | iaia.edu/museum

January 28 & 29: Fountain Hills, AZ Fountain Hills Indian Market, hosted by Magic Bird Festivals, at Fountain Park, 12925 N. Saguaro Boulevard, 10:00 am–5:00 pm (480) 488-2014 | carefreeazfestivals.com

For more events, visit our online calendar at

Under the Indian Arts and Crafts Act (Act), all Native American art and craft products must be marketed truthfully regarding the tribal enrollment and Indian heritage of the producer.

Oscar Howe, Yanktonai Sioux, Dakota Eagle Dance, 1948 (from the collection of the IACB’s Sioux Indian Museum, Rapid City, SD)

Take Home a Treasure from Indian CountryBuy works produced by members of federally recognized tribes.

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Advertiser Index Joan Caballero | collectorsguide.com/jcaballero

91

Cherokee Heritage Center | cherokeeheritage.org

2

Cherokee Heritage Press | cherokeeheritage.org

110

Chickasaw Nation, Artesian Arts Festival chickasaw.net

interior front cover

Cowan’s Auctions | cowans.com

3

Orlando Dugi | orlandodugi.com

111

Exhibit C Gallery | exhibitcgallery.com

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Grey Dog Trading | greydogtrading.com

109

Benjamin Harjo Jr. | benjaminharjojr.com interior back cover Heard Museum Guild | heard.org/fair

assifie

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Advertise in First American Art Magazine Classifieds provide affordable advertising solutions for art professionals, service providers, and more.

Contact us today: (505) 4 3-0149 or ads firstamericanartmagazine.com.

ARTWORK WANTED: Seminole Indian antiques, pre-1950: Patchwork Clothing, Beadwork, Baskets, Early Photographs, Carvings, etc. Contact Keith Reeves @ ISKR5@aol.com, or P.O. Box 1210, Winter Park, FL 32 90, or 40 . 20.9 44.

Cherokee Woman Online Boutique, www.cherokee-woman.com.

We carry Authentic Native American Art, including jewelry, pottery, carvings, etc. Our mission is to support and promote Native American Artists and bring the highest quality art to our customers.

Get 20 OFF your first purchase at www.cherokee-woman.com — use Code “NEWORDER” at checkout.

1

Home & Away Gallery | homeandaway.gallery

108

Allan Houser, Inc. | allanhouser.com

50

Idyllwild Arts | idyllwildarts.org/nativearts

43

Indian Arts and Crafts Board | doi.gov/iacb

111

International Folk Art Market Online | ifamonline.org

63

Keshi the Zuni Connection | keshi.com

91

Mahota Studios | margaretroachwheeler.com

21

Melissa Melero-Moose | melissamelero.com

49

National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum nationalcowboymuseum.org

6

Native American Art Appraisals, Inc. | naaainc.com

109

Noksi Press | noksi.com

112

Oklahoma State University Museum of Art museum.okstate.edu

51

Raven Makes Gallery | ravenmakesgallery.com

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ORGANIZATIONS

Jack Sabon | sabonart.com

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The Southeastern Indian Artists Association is a Native American-run, nonprofit 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.

Saint Louis Art Museum slam.org/Danforth

Great Basin Native Artists is a collective of Native American professional artists in Nevada and Eastern Sierra Nevada range providing support through our online directory, image gallery, exhibiting opportunities, art business workshops, forum for Native artists, and interested community members to connect and interact, and an online presence for rural Native artists. For more info, contact Melissa Melero at ( 5) 424-3159 or gbnativeartists@gmail.com and visit www.greatbasinnativeartists.com.

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Southwest Traditions southwesttraditions.com Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian wheelwright.org

back cover

Kenneth Williams Jr. | kwilliamsjr2@hotmail.com

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Daniel Worcester | dworcester.com

4

benjamin harjo jr. american indian artist

i ain’t lion, 2016, ink and gouache on arches paper, 13 × 17 inches

www.benjaminharjojr.com

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Wheelwright Museum OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN

W

Center for the Study of Southwestern Jewelry An Essential New Mexico Experience

www.wheelwright.org 704 Camino Lejo, Santa Fe, NM 87505 505-982- 4636 or 1- 800 -607- 4636

Come See All the What Buzz About Is !

The most important exhibition of Native American jewelry anywhere.

Jicarilla: Home near the Heart of the World Through April 16, 2017

A major exhibition of the work of Jicarilla Apache artists, with emphasis on basketry, micaceous pottery, and beadwork.

Eveli: Energy and Significance Through January 15, 2017

The Wheelwright Museum celebrates the multicultural story of Southwestern jewelry with a retrospective of work by Eveli Sabatie, protégé of and collaborator with the great Charles Loloma.

Support for these projects is provided 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; the Daniel and Janet Hidding Foundation; and several other donors. Photos by Addison Doty and Neebinnaukzhik Southall.