First American Art Magazine No. 16, Fall 2017

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

FırstAmericanArt MAGAZINE

NO. 16, FALL 2017

THIS OTHER ME: ALTER EGOS IN ART

KELLY CHURCH

PLAINS HORSE DANCE STAFFS

JAMIE OKUMA

LUMBEE ART TODAY DISPLAY UNTIL NOV. 15, 2017

EDMONIA LEWIS IN ROME

TONY TIGER STAR WALLOWING BULL

CHICKASAW ARTISTS SHOWCASING AT THE 2017 SANTA FE INDIAN MARKET AUGUST 19 & 20

DANIEL WORCESTER

NORMA HOWARD

MARCELLA YEPA

MAYA STEWART

KRISTEN DORSEY

DUSTIN MATER

206 PALACE-N

329 FR-N

720 LIN-W

659 PLZ

333 FR-S

631 PLZ

TYRA SHACKLEFORD

746 LIN-W

BILLY HSENSLEY

905 SHE

THE CHICKASAW NATION ARTS & HUMANITIES DIVISION SEEKS TO CREATE AN AWARENESS, UNDERSTANDING AND ENJOYMENT OF THE ARTS. PLEASE JOIN US AS WE CELEBRATE CHICKASAW ARTISTS AND THEIR WORKS AT THE 2017 SANTA FE INDIAN MARKET.

WWW.CHICKASAW.NET

Shan Goshorn Good luck to all my friends at Santa Fe Indian Market and Cherokee Art Market, 2017!

Defending the Sacred In response to the crisis at Standing Rock, this briefcase was woven to support the courtroom battles of the Water Protectors. Included are prayers, pertinent land treaties, the telling of the black snake prophecy, and more. To read complete statement, please visit website.

Purchased by a private collector for the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, all proceeds were donated to the Standing Rock Sioux legal fund.

www.shangoshorn.com 2017, Arches watercolor paper, archival inks, acrylic paint, antler, artificial sinew, archival glue, brass hardware.

FALL 2017 | 1

THE BUTTERFLY GARDEN • SPIRAL GARDEN • VILLAGE GARDEN

MILKWEED Monarch butterflies cannot survive without Milkweed.

WELCOME to our GARDENS A CHICKASAW ADVENTURE Join us for a celebration of the role gardens play in our lives.

In working gardens, landscapes and demonstrations, we share the tools and traditions that have shaped our culture.

Discover many garden adventures!

Help us fight declining numbers of Monarchs.

ChickasawCulturalCenter.com • Sulphur, OK • 580-622-7130 2 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

FALL 2017 | 3

12 TH ANNUAL

CHEROKEE ART MARKET OCTOBER 1 4 & 1 5

Bryan Waytula - “Girl of the Water” (drawing) Best of Class

Sequoyah Convention Center at Hard Rock Hotel & Casino Tulsa CherokeeArtMarket.com

|

(877) 779-6977

© 2017 Cherokee Nation Businesses. All Rights Reserved.

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30 th Annual SIOUX FALLS, SD | SEPTEMBER 23 - 24, 2017 SIOUX FALLS CONVENTION CENTER

SEPTEMBER 22, 2017 OLD COURTHOUSE MUSEUM

A TRADITION OF WORLD-CLASS NORTHERN PLAINS ART

NPIAM.ORG

WWW.

Dwayne Wilcox - Oglala Lakota - Blue Bull 1st Place Mixed MediaFALL Fine Arts 2017 | 5 2-D

ISSUE NO. 16, FALL 2017 FEATURES

DEPARTMENTS

This Other Me: Uses of the Alter Ego in Contemporary Art Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

22

Equine Effigies: Horse Dance Staffs of the Plains Nations Kim Mariette

28

The Community of Contemporary Lumbee Art Nancy Palm Puchner, PhD

34

Edmonia Wildfire Lewis: An Indigenous Woman in Rome Gloria Bell (Métis)

40

Recent Developments

Seven Directions 16 Tahnee Ahtoneharjo Growingthunder (Kiowa-Muscogee-Seminole) Exploring Native Design 18 I Am Anishinaabe RoseMary Diaz (Santa Clara Pueblo) 48

ARTIST PROFILES Kelly Church 48 Odawa-Ojibwe-Potawatomi Basket Weaver Jean Merz-Edwards Jamie Okuma 54 Luiseño-Shoshone-Bannock Beadwork Artist & Designer Karen Kramer

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Commentary

84 Decentering Durham Nancy Marie Mithlo, PhD (Chiricahua Apache) Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation) James Luna (Payómkawichum-IpiMexican-American) America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Calendar

92

REVIEWS Art Exhibit Reviews

72

Book Reviews

80

Tony Tiger 60 Muscogee-Seminole-Sac & Fox Mixed Media Artist Mary Jo Watson (Seminole), PhD

Film Review

82

Star Wallowing Bull 66 White Earth Ojibwe-Arapaho Painter Sheila Regan

Delbridge Honanie (Hopi) Zena Pearlstone, PhD

90

Charles Pratt (Southern Cheyenne-Arapaho) Harvey Pratt (Southern CheyenneArapaho)

91

54

IN MEMORIAM

60

COVER: Star Wallowing Bull (White Earth Ojibwe-Arapaho), detail of Chief Cadillac, 2011, acrylic on canvas, 40 × 30 in. Image courtesy of the Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

The Cadillac Automobile Company took its name from Antoine Laumet de la Mothe, sieur de Cadillac (1658–1730), the French founder of Detroit, Michigan. The General Motors Pontiac brand was named for Pontiac (ca. 1720–1769), the Odawa war chief, who is an ancestor of Kelly Church (Odawa-Ojibwe-Potawatomi), profiled in this issue.

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66

Art of the Zuni Pueblo

Scottish Rite Temple 463 Paseo de Peralta

Sat. Aug 19 9-6 pm Sun. Aug 20 9-4 pm

Knifewing: Robert Cachini, Jr.

MORE THAN 150 ZUNI ARTISTS Free Admission

theZuniShow.org

Fetish Carvers Inlay Jewelry Petit Point Jewelry Paintings Sculpture

Olla Maidens Pottery Zuni Dance Groups Ethnographic Films Native Musicians FALL 2017 | 7

Artist Residency Program | Fine Print Studio & Gallery | Non-Profit

Issue No. 16, Fall 2017 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: Talullah Begaye (Choctaw-Chickasaw-Navajo) Copy Editor: Rosa Cays (Chicana) Proofreaders: Staci Golar (Cornish-Welsh-American), Jean Merz-Edwards & Michelle Lanteri Layout & Design: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Design Consultant: Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa) Social Media: Staci Golar (Cornish-Welsh-American), Michelle Lanteri, & America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

Regional Representatives:

Great Basin: Melissa Melero-Moose (Fallon Paiute-Modoc) Northeast: Kelly Church (Odawa-Ojibwe-Potawatomi) 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) Jonathan Batkin James T. Bialac, JD Emily Haozous, PhD, RN (Chiricahua Fort Sill Apache) Linda Lomahaftewa, PhD (Hopi-Choctaw) Mary Jo Watson, PhD (Seminole) Ken Williams Jr. (Northern Arapaho-Seneca) India Rael Young

Advertising Representatives:

Barbara Harjo (Cherokee descent), barbara@firstamericanartmagazine.com Pauline Prater (Cherokee Nation), pauline@firstamericanartmagazine.com

Edgar Heap of Birds Neuf for Modoc (detail) eighteen-color lithograph 22.25 x 30 inches, edition of 30 published by Crow’s Shadow Press

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.

Copyright © 2017 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. Any errors or omissions will be corrected in subsequent editions. First American Art Magazine® is registered with the US Patent and Trademark Office.

Crow’s Shadow 25th Anniversary retrospective exhibition & book September 16 - December 22, 2017

Hallie Ford Museum of Art, Willamette University, Salem, Oregon September 22 Gala Reception | September 23 Keynote Address by heather ahtone, followed by panel discussion on Indigenous printmaking

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Inaugural Opening of the

Allan and Judith Cooke Gallery Honoring Hopi Ceramic Art Sponsored by the City of Scottsdale

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Keshi, the Zuni Connection, proudly supports The Keshi Foundation and the Zuni Show.

With150 Zuni artists at that show whetting your appetite for all things Zuni, we invite you to feast at KESHi. We are “all Zuni, all the time” and have been since 1981.

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OPENS SEPTEMBER 16, 2017

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Nampeyo of Hano (Hopi-Tewa), Appliqued Polychrome Storage Jar, c. 1905. Gift of The Allan and Judith Cooke Collection, Western Spirit: Scottsdale’s Museum of the West.

Gomeo Bobelu: Pin/Pendant FALL 2017 | 9

EDITOR’S GREETING

B

ACK IN MY GRAD SCHOOL DAYS at San Francisco Art Institute, the common refrain during critiques was, “Push it further.” Secretly I was thinking an all-Indigenous art critique might suggest, “Be more centered.” Instead of finding the metaphoric edge, why not seek the core?

Based on our viewpoints, cultures, and lived experiences, we come from radically different places.

Art, which can be seen as a crystallization of intention, provides a lightning rod for us to simultaneously reflect upon, examine, and question our perspectives and those of the artist.

Visual arts can be the catalyst for cross-cultural understanding. But are we willing to meet the art halfway?

Are we willing to be open to its possibilities?

All too often, we become entrenched in our preferred corner of the art world—be that Amazonian featherwork, Cochiti pottery, or installation art with the appropriate university pedigrees and Helvetica texts.

In this issue, we invite you to explore diverse artistic media, beginning with performance art, video, and photography that employ the concept of alter egos—stepping outside oneself to create a new identity able to speak and act freely, unencumbered by societal expectations. Northern Plains horse dance staffs from the 19th century to the present speak of respect for nonhumans—horses—and also touch on war against non-Natives and enemy tribes, which can be a taboo subject in today’s world. This uniquely Indigenous artistic media contrasts with the Neoclassical marble sculpture of Edmonia Lewis (ca. 1844–1907), a Mississauga Ojibwe of African-Haitian ancestry. Place is so central to the understanding of Native art, even if that place is in Italy, where Lewis used a quintessentially Western art medium to insert the Native and African diaspora narrative into the mainstream

America Meredith (Cherokee Nation), digitally altered version of Edmonia Lewis: Wildfire, 2007, acrylic on canvas, 40 × 30 in. Original painting is in the collection of the Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art, Norman, Oklahoma.

art dialogue of her time. Three Lumbee artists challenge the idea of artist as lone individual by making community and collaboration central to their painting and photography.

Outside of this magazine’s purview of Indigenous art is our discussion of Jimmie Durham. Nancy Mithlo (Chiricahua Apache) and James Luna (Payómkawichum-Ipi-MexicanAmerican) both wanted to respond to Durham’s retrospective, which was intended not only to consolidate his

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place in American art history but also to incorrectly consolidate his identity as a Native American artist. I invited Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation) to do what mainstream art historians have failed to do and examine Durham’s use of the Cherokee language.

After that single distraction, we will return to devoting all of our space and energy to what we love the most—art by Indigenous peoples of the Americas, in all of its glorious diversity and complexity! —America Meredith

LETTERS TO FAAM

T

HANK YOU FOR YOUR ARTICLE, “The Artistic Legacy of Spiro Mounds,” in Issue No. 15, Summer 2017, of First American Art Magazine. There is not enough written about the mounds, and few people know of Spiro’s significance to the trade economy of the Americas. The amount of mounds that once surrounded Spiro and the amount of objects taken from the site are mind blowing.

I was impressed by your detailed research, and I appreciated the consideration you gave to both the historic and contemporary artworks. Your information regarding the ethical dilemmas of what to do with the objects was particularly interesting. As you point out, the objects have been recognized as sacred by the Wichita and Caddo tribes, but the question remains as to whether or not the objects should be displayed. There is, of course, a great amount that can be learned from historic objects, but the knowledge represented was perhaps not meant for everyone. The objects’ sacredness, as you stated, also creates a quandary for contemporary artists who are inspired by the ancient designs. Since some of the meaning of the symbolism is not understood today, replication of the designs requires sensitivity and respect, which is something that is sometimes overlooked by contemporary artists and scholars. It is good to know there are so many people carefully working to maintain and expand on the history of Spiro Mounds, and there are ways more people can become involved in the preservation of this important site.

Tammi Hanawalt Norman, Oklahoma

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about Spiro!

That was the most difficult article I have ever written, and I’m deeply indebted to the archaeologists, Native artists, and advocates who took the time to discuss the current understanding of Spiro Mounds, its people, and its artifacts. If any Spiro scholars were willing to write a survey summarizing the latest reach at Spiro, such a book would be an incredible boon to understanding the history of our region, which is far more active and fascinating than public perception acknowledges.

—America Meredith We welcome your letters to the editor! If we print your letter, we will send you a free copy of that issue of the magazine. Please email your letters to us at: info@firstamericanartmagazine.com or­mail letters to: First American Art Magazine Attention: Editor 133 24th Avenue NW #126 Norman, OK 73069

Errata IN FAAM ISSUE NO. 15, SUMMER 2017, our cover image Moonrise Over the Little Bighorn by Marcus Amerman (Choctaw) is in the collection of the Minneapolis Institute of Art, #2016.5.16, and was a gift of Loren Lipson.

FALL 2017 | 11

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS GLORIA BELL (Métis) is a writer and researcher based in Vancouver, British Columbia. She is pursuing her PhD in art history at the University of British Columbia and spent the past year in Rome completing archival work. She worked as the web editor for the Aboriginal Curatorial Collective and in collections management at the School of Advanced Research. Her current research focuses on the relationships between the Vatican and Indigenous arts, specifically the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exhibition in Rome. Bell has heritage ties to the Métis at Red River Settlement. She is a Vanier Scholar and holds a Vanier Canada Graduate Scholarship. In the fall of 2017, she will be completing a fellowship at the Newberry Library.

ROY BONEY JR. is an award-winning

artist and writer. He holds a bachelor’s degree in graphic design and a master’s degree in studio art. Working in a variety of forms including comic books, paintings, drawings, and digital media, Boney focuses heavily on Cherokee culture and language in his art.

He is currently the manager of the Cherokee Language Program at Cherokee Nation.

ROSEMARY DIAZ (Santa Clara

Pueblo) is an award-winning writer based in Santa Fe. She studied literature and its respective arts at the Institute of American Indian Arts, Naropa University, and the University of California, Santa Cruz. Her feature stories have appeared in numerous periodicals, including Beadwork, Collector’s Guide, Native Peoples, New Mexico Magazine, and Santa Fean. Her poetry has been set among the pages of Akwe:kon, Neon Pow-wow, North Dakota Quarterly, and Studies in American Indian Literatures (SAIL). She is currently working on her second collection of poetry/prose/narrative, Serpents of November and Other Memoirs of a Pueblo Girl.

ANDREA L. FERBER, PhD, is an art historian and independent curator.

She regularly presents at conferences and has received numerous grants to support research and exhibitions. She has written for the Bruno David Gallery in St. Louis, Missouri, and Art in Print, among other publications. Her most recent curatorial project was Mni Wiconi (Water is Life) for the American Indian Workshop (AIW) at Goldsmiths, University of London, England, July 2017.

SUZANNE NEWMAN FRICKE, PhD (Ashkenazic-American),

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.

NEAL McDONALD HAMPTON (Caddo-Chickasaw-

Choctaw) is an historian and independent scholar. He graduated in 2015 with honors from the University of Central Oklahoma in Edmond with a master’s degree in history.

His emphasis was on Native American and Latin American history, particularly the history of the Lipan Apaches of south Texas and northeastern Mexico in the 19th century. He is currently finishing up a manuscript about Mexico’s Indian policy regarding the Lipan Apaches from the 1830s to the 1850s.

KAREN KRAMER is the curator of Native American and Oceanic art and culture and directs the Native American Fellowship Program at the Peabody Essex Museum (PEM) in Salem, Massachusetts.

Over the past 20 years, Kramer helped produce ten major exhibitions on Native American art and culture at PEM, including Native Fashion Now and Shapeshifting: Transformations in Native American Art. She earned her MA in anthropology from George Washington University and her BA in anthropology from the University of Denver.

MICHELLE LANTERI is a Mellon pre-doctoral fellow in Native American art history at the University of Oklahoma. She has organized Native arts exhibitions for the University Art Gallery and University Museum at New Mexico State University and presented papers on Apsáalooke (Crow) artist Wendy Red Star at the College Art Association and Southeastern College Art conferences. Lanteri earned an MA in art history, a Native American studies minor, and a museum studies certificate from New Mexico State University. She completed BA degrees in art history and media studies with a Spanish minor at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro.

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JAMES LUNA (Payómkawichum-

Ipi-Mexican-American) is a performance and installation artist living on the La Jolla Indian Reservation in California. His artwork has received national and international critical acclaim. He represented the National Museum of the American Indian at the 2005 Venice Biennale and has received numerous honors, including the 2017 John Simon Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship.

KIM MARIETTE is a writer focused on equine subjects. She has written for several magazines, including Art Horse Magazine and The Western Horseman, and is a regular contributor to the Draft Horse Journal and The Morgan Horse. Mariette published When Barn Fire Strikes: How to Protect Your Horses and Facilities from Barn Fires, Wildfires, and Other Emergencies (Alpine Publications, 2015).

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 (Hopi-Choctaw). MerzEdwards teaches art history at Bethany College in Lindsborg, Kansas.

NANCY MARIE MITHLO,

PhD (Chiricahua Apache), is a writer and scholar based in Los Angeles, California.

Her curatorial work has resulted in nine exhibitions at the Venice Biennale. Formerly an associate professor of art history at Occidental College and chair of American Indian studies at the Autry Museum of the American West in Los Angeles (2017–18), she is currently a University of California, Los Angeles, Institute of American Cultures, American Indian Studies Center Visiting Scholar, a Brown University George A. and Eliza Gardner Howard Foundation Fellow, and a Getty Research Institute guest researcher.

ZENA PEARLSTONE, PhD, is professor emerita of Native American art history at California State University, Fullerton. She has written numerous essays and books, including Katsina: Commodified and Appropriated Images of Hopi Supernaturals (2001) and Hopi Gold, Hopi

Silver: 12 Contemporary Jewelers (2014), and she is currently writing a book on Hopi carver Brian Honyouti (1947–2016).

HARVEY PRATT (Southern Cheyenne) is a Cheyenne peace chief living in Guthrie, Oklahoma. Pratt served as a police forensic artist for the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation (OSBI) but is now a full-time painter and sculptor. His artwork has won numerous awards, and in 2005 he was chosen as the Red Earth Honored One. NANCY PALM PUCHNER, PhD, is an assistant professor of art history at the University of North Carolina at Pembroke. She earned a doctoral degree in art history and American studies from Indiana University in 2011. Puchner’s research topics include American landscape painting, cultural identities of American Indians, and representations of Indigenous peoples in American art.

SHEILA REGAN is a freelance writer based in Minneapolis. She has written online pieces for Hyperallergic, ArtAsiaPacific, American Theatre, Salon, PRI, and Broadly, as well as print articles for

local publications such as the Minneapolis Star Tribune, City Pages, and The Growler.

Regan earned her BA degree in theater from Macalester College in St. Paul and her MFA in acting from Indiana University in Bloomington.

MATTHEW RYAN SMITH,

PhD, is the curator of the Glenhyrst Art Gallery of Brant in Brantford, Ontario. He is also a sessional professor in the Department of Visual Studies at the University of Toronto, Mississauga. Smith is the Canadian section editor of the forthcoming Art Market Dictionary and resides on the editorial board of the Yearbook of Moving Image Studies (YoMIS).

SARAH TAMASHIRO is a master’s degree student in the history department at the University of Hawai’i at Mānoa. Her thesis focuses on the social history of the establishment of the Anglican church in Hawai’i. She received her BA in art history from Occidental College.

THOLLEM is a peripatetic pianist,

keyboardist, vocalist, composer, improviser, collaborator, activist, teacher, and author.

He has released over 60 albums across the stylistic spectrum on 21 different vanguard labels. He performs regularly throughout North America and Europe as a soloist and in collaboration with musicians, dancers, and filmmakers. He has contributed articles to Anthology of Essays on Deep Listening and Full Moon Magazine.

MARY JO WATSON, PhD (Seminole Nation of Oklahoma), is director emeritus and regents’ professor of art history at the School of Visual Arts of the University of Oklahoma. She earned her BFA in art history, MLS in Seminole aesthetics, and PhD in philosophy from the University of Oklahoma. Watson’s curatorial practice spans decades. She serves on the Seminole Tribal Arts Council and several Native art committees including those at the Oklahoma History Center and American Indian Cultural Center and Museum. She was inducted into the Oklahoma Higher Education Heritage Society’s Hall of Fame in 2014. Dr. Watson developed the current Native American Art History Program at the University of Oklahoma.

FALL 2017 | 13

RECENT DEVELOPMENTS MUSEUMS The McMaster Museum of Art in Hamilton, Ontario, has selected Rhéanne Chartrand (Métis) as its curator of Indigenous art. She just completed a yearlong Aboriginal curatorial residency at the museum.

The Cherokee Heritage Center in Park Hill, Oklahoma, hired Charles Gourd, PhD (Cherokee Nation), as its new executive director. Gourd has served as executive director of the Oklahoma Indian Affairs Commission.

The Winnipeg Art Gallery has instituted the Indigenous Advisory Circle with 24 First Nations, Inuit, and Métis advisors to bring Indigenous perspectives to curation, programming, education, and outreach, as well as advising the planned Inuit Arts Centre.

Julie Nagam, PhD (Métis), and Heather Igloliorte, PhD (Inuk), will serve as the inaugural co-chairs.

ART SHOWS The Heritage Center at Red Cloud Indian School held its 49th annual Red Cloud Indian Art Show in Pine Ridge, South Dakota. Division winners were Gordon Coons (Lac Courte Oreilles Ojibwe), painting; Keith BraveHeart (Oglala Lakota), drawing; Roger Broer (Oglala Lakota), graphics; Willi White (Oglala Lakota), photography/ computer generated; Jim Yellowhawk (Itazipco Lakota-Onondaga), mixed media; Nelda Schrupp (Pheasant Rump Nakota), 3D; and Hattie Dunham (Sicangu Lakota), cultural items. Daniel McCoy Jr. (Muscogee-Potawatomi), whose artwork will be used for next year’s show, won the Brother C.M. Simon, S.J., Award.

ART FAIRS The Chickasaw Nation hosted its third annual Artesian Arts Festival, open to all tribes, in Sulphur, Oklahoma.

Bill Glass Jr. (Cherokee Nation) won

Daniel McCoy Jr. (Muscogee-Potawatomi), Shoshone Madonna II, 2015, acrylic on canvas.

McCoy won the Brother C.M. Simon, S.J., Award at the 2017 Red Cloud Indian Art Show.

Best in Show, while category winners were Troy Jackson (Cherokee Nation), sculpture; Jimmie Harrison (Navajo), jewelry, stone/metal; Verna Bates (Cherokee Nation), jewelry, beaded; Chase Earles (Caddo), pottery; Tyra Shackleford (Chickasaw), textiles; Wendy Ponca (Osage), contemporary fashion; Melvin Cornshucker (Keetoowah Cherokee), three-dimensional open; Norma Howard (Choctaw-Chickasaw), painting; Benjamin Harjo Jr. (Absentee ShawneeSeminole), drawing; Tony Tiger (Muscogee-Seminole-Sac & Fox), graphics; J. Ross Davis (Cherokee Nation), photography; Jackie Sevier (Northern Arapaho), two-dimensional open; Kristie Vann (Cherokee Nation), baskets; Martha Berry (Cherokee Nation), beadwork/quillwork; Paul Hacker (Choctaw), flutes; John Timothy II (Muscogee Creek), drums; Toneh Chuleewah (Cherokee Nation), adornments to regalia; Daniel Worcester (Chickasaw), weaponry; Vivian Garner Cottrell (Cherokee Nation), cultural open; and Jimmie C. Fife (Muscogee Creek), miniatures.

In the 31st annual Red Earth Festival in Oklahoma City, Alberta Henderson (Navajo) was the Grand Award Winner. Benson Manygoats (Navajo) won the President’s Award and Gene

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Smith (Oglala Lakota-Choctaw) won the Kathleen Everett Upshaw Award. Division winners were Connie Hart Yellowman, beadwork; Alberta Henderson, clothing, textiles, weaving; Wayne TaySha Earles, cultural items; Daniel Worcester, diversified; Lester Harragarra, drawings/graphics/photography; Abraham Begay, contemporary jewelry; Clifton Aquilara, traditional jewelry; Victoria McKinney, painting, oil/acrylic; Ron Mitchell, painting, watercolor; Jeri Redcorn, traditional pottery; Carolyn Bernard Young, contemporary pottery; and Tom Farris, sculpture.

The Best of Show winner at the 25th annual Eiteljorg Museum Indian Market and Festival in Indianapolis was Dana Warrington (Prairie Band Potawatomi-Menominee). George Neptune (Passamaquoddy) and Tyra Shackleford (Chickasaw) won Harrison Eiteljorg Purchase Awards. Division winners were Gilmore Scott (Navajo), paintings/drawings/prints/photography; Walter Torres (Acoma), sculpture; Kevin Horace-Quannie (Hopi), dolls; Abraham Begay (Navajo), jewelry; Chase Kahwinhut Earles (Caddo), pottery; George Neptune, basketry; Tyra Shackleford, weavings and textiles; Dana Warrington, cultural items; and Katrina Mitten (Miami), beadwork.

Peter B. Jones (Onondaga) won Best of Show in the 2017 Woodland Indian Art Show and Market in Oneida, Wisconsin. Classification winners were Dawn Dark Mountain (Oneida Nation), two-dimensional art; Peter B. Jones (Onondaga), three-dimensional art; Sayokla Williams (Oneida Nation), functional items; Elaine SkenadoreCornelius (Oneida Nation), apparel and textiles; and Wilma Cook-Zumpano (St. Regis Mohawk), raised beadwork. Mark Fischer (Oneida Nation) took first place in this year’s theme of “Water: It Gives Us Life.”

Angela Babby (Oglala Lakota) took Best of Show at the fifth annual Native POP: People of the Plains art festival in Rapid City, South Dakota.

Division winners were Jhon Goes In Center (Oglala Lakota), adornment;

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Keith BraveHeart (Oglala Lakota), two-dimensional; Brian Szabo (Sicangu Lakota), three-dimensional; and Tasha Abourezk (MandanArikara-Hidatsa) won both the Emerging Award and the Innovation Award. Keith BraveHeart won the Publicity Award, and Bonnie LeBeau (Cheyenne River Sioux) won the People’s Choice Award.

AWARDS & HONORS Painter and printmaker Jane Ash Poitras (Cree) and artist and curator Gloria Cranmer Webster (‘Namgis Kwakwaka’wakw) were named to the Order of Canada. Poitras is from Edmonton, Alberta, and Webster lives in Alert Bay, British Columbia.

The National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) selected Anna Brown Ehlers (Tlingit), a Chilkat weaver from Juneau, Alaska, as one of its 2017 National Heritage Fellows.

Demian DinéYazhi’ (Zuni-Diné) won the biennial 2017 Brink Award, which recognizes visual artists under the age of 36 living and working in British Columbia, Oregon, and Washington who are on the “brink” of major careers. The award includes a $12,500 grant and a solo show with catalogue at Henry Art Gallery in Seattle.

Raymond Boisjoly (Haida) was shortlisted for the Aimia/AGO Photography Prize. He is among four international finalists who will exhibit their photography at the Art Gallery of Ontario beginning September 6. The public will determine who wins the $50,000 prize.

The Southwestern Association for Indian Arts (SWAIA) chose Adrian Pinnecoose (Navajo-Southern Ute) and Holly Wilson (Delaware NationCherokee) as their 2017 Discovery Fellows. The SWAIA fellowship

includes a $3,500 stipend. Micqaela Jones (Te-Moak Shoshone) is SWAIA’s Design Fellow.

CRIME & LEGAL MATTERS The Inuit Art Foundation is assuming control over the igloo tag trademarking system that authenticates artworks made by Canadian Inuit artists. The Canadian government created the program in 1958.

Vandals at Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado used precontact charcoal fragments—archaeological artifacts—to leave graffiti on cliff faces. Others have carved letters into grinding slicks, flat stretches of stone once used as metates, and painted social media messages on rocks as part of a scavenger hunt. With evidence of human occupation dating back to 7500 BCE, Mesa Verde is best known for its 12th- and 13th-century Ancestral Pueblo cliff dwellings.

FALL 2017 | 15

SEVEN DIRECTIONS

TAHNEE AHTONEHARJO GROWINGTHUNDER

K

IOWA-MUSCOGEE-SEMINOLE CURATOR and beadwork artist Tahnee Ahtoneharjo Growingthunder grew up immersed in the Native art world, thanks in part to her celebrated artist mother, Sharron Ahtone-Harjo (Kiowa). Tahnee earned her master of liberal arts degree in museology from Harvard Extension School and her BFA degree in museum studies from the Institute of American Indian Arts. She recently served as curator and collections manager at the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center, where she curated Without a Theme, a group exhibition of contemporary Native art. She and her husband, George, own and operate GT Museum Services, providing art handling and consultation. She interned at the Kiowa Tribal Museum, Red Earth Art Center, and Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University. Her artwork has won numerous awards at competitive shows and is featured in several public collections across the country. She lives with George and their children.

Tahnee Ahtoneharjo Growingthunder. Photo: Jason S. Ordaz.

WEST. One up-and-coming designer that I’m excited about

is Jontay Kahm, the son of the hard-edge, abstract painter Jeff Kahm (both Plains Cree). Jontay studied fashion at Blanche Macdonald Centre in Vancouver. I appreciate his aesthetic style, inspired by Alexander McQueen. This spring, Jontay shared with me his techniques as we journeyed through the labs of the New School in New York. He creates exciting patterns and has a dramatic design aesthetic. I recognize the strength of his portfolio. His fashions are not necessarily ready to wear; he creates custom, one-of-a-kind pieces that are appropriate for New York City or Los Angeles or Vancouver.

His creations are on Instagram at @underlining_desire.

CENTER. It seems like not enough museums are collecting contemporary Native art, but the Minneapolis Institute of Art is committed to collecting and exhibiting contemporary work. They are doing exciting things. Not only are they connected to the local Dakota and Ojibwe communities, but they are also very inclusive of other Native artists. I’ve been following their efforts to work with Native artists since the late 1980s and look forward to them incorporating Native narratives in more upcoming projects. I appreciate the free membership, which means a lot to Native communities who might not otherwise have an opportunity to be members of an urban art museum, and their Native American Affinity Art Group to engage audiences with Native art. new.artsmia.org

Jontay Kahm (Plains Cree), Nautilus Dress, couture dress and shell wreath. Image courtesy of the artist.

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EAST. Elizabeth James-Perry (Aquinnah Wampanoag) has a complex, labor-intensive, handmade process that should be shared. She starts with plain quahog shells and hand-grinds them into wampum beads and pendants. A bead can take an entire day to make. You won’t find store-bought looms or

store-bought materials near her art. I’ve been contributing to her biography so people will know about and understand her wampum jewelry is of high value because of how much work goes into a finished product. It’s not only the natural dyes and textiles —her tribal knowledge that’s been handed down to her adds an even higher level of worth to her art. In Martha’s Vineyard, there’s still a Native tribe that maintains their cultural values and lifeways. elizabethjamesperry.com.

ABOVE. A new documentary, Spirit Game: Pride of a Nation (One Bowl Productions, 2017), is about Native lacrosse and the Iroquois Nationals Lacrosse Team getting back into the international standard as a sovereign nation, when the World Indoor Lacrosse Championship was held in the Onondaga Nation in 2015. Lacrosse is the Creator’s game, and it’s inspiring a lot of Native youth to not only participate in this sport but to also listen to the oral teachings of who we are.

There’s always a greater good that’s watching us, and we’re here to entertain them in this life. Spirit Game features Oren Lyons Jr. (Seneca), Bill O’Brien (Onondaga), and the Thompson brothers—Lyle, Miles, Jeremy, and Jerome Thompson, who are all professional athletes and Guinness World Record holders from the Onondaga Nation. This documentary was just released and is now available on iTunes. It’s a $9.99 download and it’s suitable—and great—for children. It encourages storytelling and active body movement that inspires creativity no matter if it’s on the field or in the classroom. facebook.com/pg/SpiritGameLax SOUTH. Matt Bigos (Schaghticoke) is one of the most amazing graphic designers. He has worked for companies like PUMA and has done large-product marketing. I believe he is the best in the business. His clean designs are easy on the eye, but he also knows the psychology behind the graphics. He’s able to adapt mainstream aesthetics to something cultural, and he employs the cultural color theories that many of us do. He knows the gender roles and seasons of color and also understands the marketing side of the graphic business and how it will communicate to different audiences. He’s awesome to work with and his design company is StudioRED. linkedin.com/in/urbannative

Spirit Game: Pride of a Nation (One Bowl Productions, 2017).

NORTH. Some great powwow music from the north would

be SharpShooter, which includes A.J. Redman (DakotaLakota) and Jeremy “Worm” Dearly (Oglala Lakota-Ojibwe).

They are a drum group with a catchy beat the powwow people like to rock out to. They were in other drum groups and came together to create a new contest style that is pretty impressive for those of us who dance. The name SharpShooter comes from Worm’s great-grandfather, who participated in the Battle of Little Bighorn as a child. The guys are from everywhere, but most of them are from Midnight Express, another northern drum group. Dearly is from St. Paul, Minnesota, and Redman is from Standing Buffalo, Saskatchewan. facebook.com/SharpShooter1919

BELOW. The fashion editor at Footwear News in New

Minneapolis Institute of Art language circle with Šišóka Dúta from the Dakĥóta Language Society. Photo: Emma Freeman. Image courtesy of the Minneapolis Institute of Art, ©2016.

York is Christian Allaire (Nipissing Ojibwe). He’s a great writer who has confronted the fashion industry about misappropriation of Aboriginal cultures by the fashion industry. He contributed an essay, “Hey, Mr. GQ! Building my own runway on the reserve,” to Dreaming in Indian: Contemporary Native American Voices (Annick Press, 2014), an anthology for young adults. His writing is sharp and witty.

I always look forward to his adventures in shoe fashion by following his Instagram @chrisjallaire.

FALL 2017 | 17

EXPLORING NATIVE DESIGN

I AM ANISHINAABE Delina White, Lavender Hunt, and Sage Davis, Leech Lake Ojibwe Fashion Designers

By RoseMary Diaz

W

HEN ANISHINAABE (Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe) artist Delina White was six years old, her grandmother Maggie King taught her to do beadwork. White has carried those teachings with her ever since, knowing that making her tribe’s art “is the connection to [our] ancestors and to our beliefs and values. When I’m sewing beadwork, I know my grandmother is pleased.”

White explains her philosophy: “Making beautiful jewelry and clothing is one way we honor the gifts given to us by the Creator. It is an expression of who we are as people; it is the way we say, ‘I am Anishinaabe.’ ” Lori Todd, the McKnight Foundation’s reception and facilities director, says, “Delina’s flag skirt is a striking statement of culture and community. [Her] process and the artwork itself align perfectly with the intention of the exhibition, which is to celebrate the work of the Anishinaabe Arts Initiative.”

White’s formal art career has been nearly two decades of nonstop creation, punctuated with recognition from some of our most esteemed art institutions, including a Mentorship Award from the Native Arts and Cultures Foundation (NACF) in Vancouver, Washington; a fellowship with the Bush Foundation in St. Paul, Minnesota; and a Community Arts Leadership Award from Five Wings Arts Council in Staples, Minnesota.

White has shared her grandmother’s teachings with her daughters, Lavender Hunt and Sage Davis (both Leech Lake Ojibwe), with whom she often collaborates. Together, the talented trio creates garments from materials and designs that are customary to the Ojibwe, an Indigenous Northeastern

LEFT TO RIGHT: Lavender Hunt, Sage Davis, and Delina White (all Leech Lake Ojibwe). Hair: Gilbert Lasley Jr. All photos: Lacey Criswell, Hunt+Capture Photography.

Woodland culture from the Great Lakes region of Canada and the United States.

The Ojibwe are part of the Anishinaabeg, a cultural group that includes the three Council Fires— Odawa, Ojibwe, and Potawatomi—as well as Algonquin people. Anishinaabe design features the vast and varied flora and fauna of the forests, lakes, rivers, and wetlands that

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surround the artists’ respective homes near Walker, Minnesota.

On their website they state, “Nin zaagiiaag sa miigiwe aang enwe aang biizikonan miiniwa manidoominensag.

We love sharing our way of life through cloth and beads.” By collaborating on fashion design, “we intend to bring our Native culture into daily life.”

DESIGN

Delina White (Leech Lake Ojibwe), Christi Belcourt-Inspired Appliqué Skirt. Model: Sage Davis (Leech Lake Ojibwe).

“I feel like it’s blood memory,” says Hunt of her inherent gifts, “like I already know what I’m doing. I’m confident and comfortable with whatever I’m working on.” She says even “with new techniques, I feel like I’ve already done it.” Davis agrees, adding, “When I’m going through a hard time, I like to do beadwork because it makes me feel like I’m creating something. I’m moving forward. I think about our ancestors who faced difficult times. They kept moving forward. They did that so we could be alive today.”

Many important foods and medicines are harvested from these ancient Woodland environments, and White and her daughters’ work often include their life-sustaining forms: stylized, beaded vining leaves and flowers elegantly unfurl across a flat plane of wool or velvet or wrap

Lavender Hunt (Leech Lake Ojibwe), Wild Rice Skirt. Model: Johanna Jackson (White Earth Ojibwe).

around the width of a soft, smoked-hide moccasin. Lacy water patterns swirl over shiny bands of hand-cut, hand-stitched blue satin, resembling the quick, moving currents of birch-lined rivers and streams. Bright, plump berries sprout from the pleats of perfect ribbonwork or reveal themselves from within the gentle folds of a calico skirt—a quick, sparkly flash of red, a promise of summer sweetness to lift the spirits. It’s virtually impossible to be heavy of heart where berries abound!—if you can get to them before the little green birds foraging near the ribbon’s edge do.

“In Minnesota, we hunt mostly whitetail deer these days,” explains White, when I asked her to elaborate about her Woodland-inspired choice of materials and design principles. “We used to hunt elk, moose, and buffalo, but they moved elsewhere. We never

hunted bear, unless we were starving and had no choice, because they are considered our close relatives. We use trade cloth, such as cotton calico, wool, and ribbon,” which was introduced to the Great Lakes during the Fur Trade era of the 17th and 18th centuries, and velvets and satins that became abundant in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

“Our clothing has to be able to withstand 40-degrees-below-zero cold snaps in winter and up to 90-degree heat waves in the summer. Our work depicts all of these elements, plants, and animals through symbols, colors, and materials,” White continues.

White, Hunt, and Davis also draw heavily from historical Ojibwe designs when creating their exquisite and functional jewelry and accessories.

They employ bone, hide, shell, teeth, and copper, alongside introduced media FALL 2017 | 19

Sage Davis (Leech Lake Ojibwe), Leaf Earrings, glass cut beads, amethyst, and red agate, 4 × 2 ½ in. Model: Laura Clark (Leech Lake Ojibwe). Hair: Gilbert Lasley, Jr.

such as brass, glass, gold, silver, and gemstone beads. Bells add an element of sound to their attire.

The mother and daughters’ successful blending of local and introduced media carries the message of the Eastern Woodlands so well.

Sterling silver butterflies rest on the waist, fluttering above sparkling sequins that twinkle with every movement. The artists specifically seek out materials that flash and reflect light when in motion, such as sequins and mirrors, recalling sunlight reflected on the cool surface of a freshwater pond, the dappled light of a fall, forest evening, or starlight illuminating the edge of an icy wave churning across one of the Great Lakes scattered throughout the expansive Anishinaabeg homelands, or Anishinaabewaki.

During a recent telephone conversation with the artist, White affirmed something I have long suspected. Fashion designers have an almost supernatural knack for being in several places at any given time. White is among those dressed-to-the-nines time travelers. Having just returned from presenting a haute couture show at Minneapolis Institute of Art (MIA)

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and still riding the wave of that success, she was preparing to leave for the McKnight Foundation in Minneapolis to oversee mannequin fittings for several ensembles that were recently selected for feature at the organization’s headquarters.

But White was nowhere beyond the moment when she spoke on behalf of all three artists to share this final thought: “Our legacy goal is the same. We like to think of our relatives from long ago and know they love us the same way we love [our] unborn great-great-great-great grandchildren.

We believe that artists are the history keepers, and it is our responsibility to instill our knowledge to the next generation. It’s a promise to our ancestors to keep our culture alive through art.”

White, Hunt, and Davis will be at the Minnesota Indian Education Conference at Treasure Island Casino, Welch, Minnesota, on November 15, 2017.

IAMANISHINAABE.COM

Babe Hemlock Mohawk Carla Hemlock Mohawk Santa Fe Indian Market August 19 & 20, 2017 Booth 743 LIN-W FALL 2017 | 21

THIS OTHER ME Uses of the Alter Ego in Contemporary Art

By Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD The shadow escapes from the body like an animal we had been sheltering.

—Gilles Deleuze1

I

N 1921, MAN RAY photographed artist Marcel Duchamp’s alter ego Rrose Sélavy for the first time.

Swathed in a fur-trimmed coat with glistening rings and a diamond bracelet, her patterned hat barely hides the wisp of hair that crawls down the side of her face. Sélavy’s soft, posed hands gently cradle the fur of her coat, hands that may not even be hers but those of another artist.2 Rrose Sélavy is Marcel Duchamp is Rrose Sélavy. Her name derives from a cheeky phonetic appropriation of the French “eros” and the expression “c’est la vie.” Taken together, it translates as “sexual desire, such is life,” a pun indicative of Duchamp’s staunch commitment to trickery and farce. The aftermath of Sélavy “coming out” through Ray’s photographs continues to unfold in art historical discourse. Duchamp’s androgynous alter ego deconstructed sexual identity and self-imagery to challenge the performativity of gender, question heteronormative social behavior, and eroticize the everyday. Though Sélavy was a critical event, she is certainly not alone.

Indigenous artists have formed alter egos using a cosmology of media including performance, video, film, and photography; yet, despite its frequency,

Man Ray (1890–1976), Rrose Sélavy (Marcel Duchamp), 1921, gelatin silver print, in public domain.

critical response remains sluggish. “Alter ego” derives from the Latin meaning, “second I” or “another I.” One of the earliest known examples of this concept occurs during the 1st century CE, when Roman politician Cicero employed the phrase “second self ” to describe a “trusted friend” in a philosophical treatise.3 However, the first use of “alter ego” in full does not occur until 1537 when English diplomat Richard Layton wrote to statesmen Thomas Cromwell about the suppression of monasteries: “Ye muste have suche as ye may trust evyn as well as your owne self, wiche muste be unto yowe as alter ego.”4 Later

still, it was not until the 19th century that experiments in hypnosis offered further evidence that “another self ” could be exhumed from an individual while they experienced an altered state of consciousness.5 In the Western philosophical tradition, the alter ego continues to play an important role in the theoretical formation of identity and representation, as seen in the writings of Lacan, Derrida, Husserl, Merleau-Ponty, and Levinas, among others. Speaking generally, they come to define “Other” as “the other human being in his or her differences,” as quite literally an ‘other ego.’6 Of course, these models of thought are positioned within Western epistemology and more specifically, continental philosophy. The development and practice of alter egos may have existed in Indigenous cultures since time immemorial, though it has not been called as such and takes on different guises and iterations.

The practice of oral storytelling implicates and induces the orator in a complex performance that utilizes voice and movement in an economy of knowledge, pedagogy, and exchange.

It is possible that one assumes alter egos when embellishing certain moments and events in a story or when embodying the identity or appearance of a character, animal, or being in a story.7 Moreover, the alter ego draws a

1. Gilles Deleuze, Francis Bacon (London: Continuum, 2005), 16.

2. Deborah Johnson, “R(r)ose Sélavy as Man Ray: Reconsidering the Alter Ego of Marcel Duchamp,” Art Journal 72, no. 1 (Spring 2013): 93.

3. William H.F. Altman, The Revival of Platonism in Cicero’s Late Philosophy: Platonis aemulus and the Invention of Cicero (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016), 8.

4. Thomas Wright, ed., Three Chapters of Letters Relating to the Suppression of Monasteries, Volume 26 (London: Camden Society, 1843), 156.

5. David Pedersen, Cameral Analysis: A Method of Treating the Psychoneuroses Using Hypnosis (London: Routledge, 1994), 20.

6. Robert Bernasconi, “Other,” in The Oxford Companion to Philosophy, 2nd edition, ed. Ted Honderich (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005).

7. Adrian Stimson, email message to author, May 15, 2017. Adrian Stimson likens the performative aspect of storytelling to embodying an alter ego.

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James Luna (Payómkawichum-Ipi-Mexican-American) as Shame-man, 1993. Images courtesy of the artist.

strong conceptual link to the trickster, who becomes visible in the alter egos of several indigenous artists including James Luna, Lori Blondeau (CreeSaulteaux-Métis), Adrian Stimson (Siksika), and Marcus Amerman (Choctaw). Allan J. Ryan describes the trickster as a figure who transcends “geographical boundaries and tribal distinctions” and is “most often characterized by frequent teasing, outrageous punning, constant wordplay, surprising association, extreme subtlety, layered and serious reference, and considerable compassion.”8 In this sense, the trickster is a social phenomenon that functions as a therapeutic form of compartmentalizing everyday realities and experiences, be they positive or otherwise. The embodiment of the trickster as a central facet of the artist’s alter ego—as one struck with good humor, earnest critique, and tireless play—says much about the multidimensional characteristics of indigenous social identities as opposed to conventional Western concepts of the self as static, even fixed.

Shame-man IN 1993, Payómkawichum-Ipi (LuiseñoDigueño) and Mexican-American artist James Luna performed under the name Shame-man at the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC, as part of an ongoing collaboration with Chicano performer Guillermo GómezPeña. Occupying a diorama space in one of the museum’s halls, Gómez-Peña is sitting on a toilet dressed as a mariachi in a straitjacket with a sign hanging around his neck that reads, “There used to be a Mexican inside this body.”9 Meanwhile, as this occurs, Shame-man moves throughout the space fluidly shifting identities between “Indian showshiner,” “janitor,” and “diabetic Indian.”

He is caught vacuuming the diorama floor; at another point, he fills a syringe with insulin and shoots its contents into his stomach (Luna is diabetic).

Museum visitors gather in the hundreds to watch the performance unfold in a state of bewilderment while, situated directly adjacent to them, supposedly “real” dioramas represent

an illusory vision of Indigenous culture existing in a vacuum, far removed from everyday historical and social realities.

When asked about the origins of the Shame-man, Luna replies: My main source of inspiration is from observation and from media.

The Shame-man began as a TV used car salesman (Cal Worthington) who had this country, down-home persona and used cheap jokes and bits in his sales pitch. This kind of humor is universal, so it allowed me to speak to some passionate issues [such as] the sale of our cultures, but also to use this opportunity to speak about and to our communities who are guilty of selling, which seemed like something nobody in our community wanted to speak to.10 Shame-man is undoubtedly a sly punning of shaman—a spiritual healer—and attempts to satirize tropes of “dressing up” and “playing Indian” while also condemning those who exploit sacred rituals for non-Indigenous audiences and financial benefit.11

8. Allan J. Ryan, The Trickster Shift: Humour and Irony in Contemporary Native Art (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1999), xii.

9. Guillermo Gómez-Peña, “Multiple Journeys: A Performance Chronology,” in Perform, Repeat, Record: Live Art in History, ed. Amelia Jones and Adrian Heathfield (Bristol: Intellect, 2012), 322–323.

10. James Luna, email message to author, May 23, 2017.

11. Carla Taunton, “Performing Aboriginality at the Venice Biennale: The Performance Art of Rebeca [sic] Belmore and James Luna,” Revista Mexicana de Estudios Canadienses no. 13 (Spring/Summer 2007): 58.

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calculated response to popular tropes of the “Indian princess” perpetuated by Disney films and the derogatory use of squaw to describe Indigenous women and girls. Blondeau’s alter ego emerged from a 1998 postcard project made for the Dunlop Art Gallery in Regina, Saskatchewan. She explains, The Dunlop asked me to make a work responding to the show Indian Princesses and Cowgirls: Stereotypes from the Frontier. For me, this exhibition demonstrated once again that as a Native woman I could play only two roles in frontier narratives: one as the Indian Princess and the other as the Squaw.

I saw this as my opportunity to create an Indian cowgirl.14

Lori Blondeau (Cree-Saulteaux-Métis) and Adrian Stimson (Siksika), Putting the WILD Back into the West: Belle Sauvage & Buffalo Boy, 2008, performance, Kamloops, British Columbia. Photo: Henri Robideau. Image courtesy of the photographer, henrirobideau.com.

By staging works that insist upon the physical, real presence of the body in colonial space, Luna enacts a mode of decolonial resistance.12 Much like his seminal, durational performance, The Artifact Piece (1987/1990), Shame-man offers a terse challenge to Euro-American notions of cultural authenticity and performing “Indianness” by disarming preconceived ideas of indigeneity and taking back agency over representation. On the surface, he conducts himself as a hack healer who only sees green; yet, under the surface, he exposes the “commodification of indigeneity as consumable exotica.”13 In this way, Shame-man exists

for Luna (or vice versa) as a persuasive means of rectifying economic and spiritual transgressions.

Belle Sauvage MUCH LIKE LUNA, who mentored her during the 1990s, Cree-SaulteauxMétis artist Lori Blondeau’s flamboyant cowgirl alter ego, Belle Sauvage, also draws attention to the persistence of cultural stereotyping. Hers is a name that would fit comfortably in the Antebellum South, yet it pointedly critiques the settler colonial project today. Sporting a faux buckskin dress, two toy guns set in a holster, cowboy boots, and a Stetson hat, she offers a

Sauvage produces a critical narrative in response to a popular narrative that did not exist previously.

She radiates a feeling of idolatry for Canada’s pre-Confederation West through the lens of 1950s Hollywood films like Calamity Jane, which features a similarly androgynous cowgirl played by actor Doris Day. Others have made connections between her and Indigenous women who performed in Wild West shows, such as Molly Spotted Elk (Penobscot, 1903–1977) and Lost Bird (Lakota, 1890–1920), as well as the vaudeville circuit during the early 20th century.15 Still, the charm of Sauvage is how she tackles complicated social and autobiographical histories under the pretext of tricksterism.

In one of her most memorable performances, A Moment in the Life of Belle Sauvage (2002), she stakes her claim to fame as a participant in the only gay Wild West show touring Europe and North America. Lit from behind by red lights on a white curtain—an obvious ode to the Canadian flag—Sauvage enters the space to Doris Day’s song, “The Black Hills of Dakota,” before parleying to her audience, whisky bottle in hand, about her life as an outlaw on the margins; about the men and women she has known and the Wild West

12. Truman T. Lowe, “The Art of the Unexpected,” James Luna: Emendatio, ed. Truman T. Lowe and Paul Chaat Smith (Washington, DC: National Museum of the American Indian, 2005), 14.

13. Lynne Belle and Lori Blondeau, “High Tech Storytellers, Unsettling Acts, Decolonizing Pedagogies,” INDIANacts: Aboriginal Performance Art, web.

14. Ryan Rice and Carla Taunton, “Buffalo Boy: THEN AND NOW,” Fuse Magazine 32, no. 3 (March 2009): 18–25.

15. Ibid.

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show that treated her as the cowgirl she yearned to be.

Surrounded by objects like a plastic bullhead for roping practice and a life-size, black-and-white photograph of a young Indigenous bronco rider, she motions to his image and asserts, “He was a bronco rider who kept horses in the 1920s on the Gordon Reserve in the Touchwood Hills, Saskatchewan. It’s a pity that he couldn’t leave the reserve without a pass.” The young man in the photograph turns out to be Blondeau’s grandfather and signifies the political hegemony of Indian agents—acting on behalf of the Canadian government— who rigorously controlled the physical movement of individuals living on reserve communities by issuing off-reserve passes.16 The symbolic matrix of Sauvage’s performance alludes to the enduring legacy of the Indian Act in Canada and its deep impact on Blondeau’s personal experience of family and community. The pedagogical potential of Sauvage’s performances can serve to decolonize colonial narratives, their autobiographical details serving as evidence and instruments of learning and understanding.17

Buffalo Boy SAUVAGE AND HER CHUM Buffalo Boy have performed together on several occasions and share a similar fascination with the Wild West. Buffalo Boy is the alter ego of Siksika (Blackfoot) artist Adrian Stimson who fashioned Buffalo Boy in two stages, the first during childhood and the second as part of his master’s program at the University of Saskatchewan: While in my studio on [a] cold winter’s day, I looked out the window and repeated Buffalo Bill, Buffalo Bill, then Buffalo Boy! Buffalo Boy was born and went on to do his/her first performance, Buffalo Boy’s Wild West Peep Show, the intersection of constructed colonized indigenous identity with Two-Spirit identity.

Adrian Stimson (Siksika) as Buffalo Boy, in performance at Blood Memoirs, 2013, Tweed Museum of Art, Duluth, Minnesota. Photo: Sharon Mollerus (CC BY 2.0).

The other story is that Buffalo Boy emerged when I was a child about 7/8 years old, when my personality split, where I became twins, Adrian and Adrianne. Adrian would be going to school at the Lebret Indian Residential School, and his twin sister would stay at home and only come out to play after school when Adrian went in. The signifier of the “change” from Adrian to Adrianne was a white fringed pleather jacket, similar to the fringe jacket that Buffalo Boy wears.18 Buffalo Boy can often be found wearing fishnet stockings, a bison G-string, a buffalo corset, a buckskin jacket, and a cowboy hat—he’s a two-spirit swindler in drag swag who desires to queer the Western Frontier.

Yet in an unexpected twist, he himself maintains a fleet of alter egos, lithely swapping identities between military man, gay cowboy, shaman, businessman, priest, and powwow dancer. Similar to Duchamp’s Rrose Sélavy, Buffalo Boy— and his additional personas—break down gender binaries into complex, erotic spectacles that deconstruct the

American cowboy archetype and dress down the colonial project.

Not unlike Sauvage’s caricaturization of Calamity Jane, Buffalo Boy also lampoons William “Buffalo Bill” Cody, who often theatricalized violent skirmishes between Indigenous tribes and cowboys. Take, for instance, the performative series Buffalo Boy’s Wild West Peep Show or the one-off, Buffalo Boy’s Battle of Little Bighorny, where Buffalo Boy reinterprets the “conquest narratives” surrounding Manifest Destiny,19 which decades earlier informed Cody’s productions and enthralled settler audiences. In many ways, Cody’s expositions propagandized the European and American 500-year “Indian War,” and in this light can be viewed as a sinister form of entertainment that dramatized the erasure of tribes, theft of lands, and exploitation of resources in American cultural memory.

That being said, the symbolic and spiritual gravity of buffalo to Buffalo Boy is seldom emphasized but remains an important part of his story. The etymology of the word buffalo derives

16. Belle and Blondeau, “High Tech Storytellers, Unsettling Acts, Decolonizing Pedagogies,” web.

17. Ibid.

18. Adrian Stimson, email message to author, May 15, 2017.

19. Ryan Rice quoted in “Buffalo Boy’s ‘Do Not Feel the Buffalo: Moving Camp’,” Modern Fuel (2008), web.

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Buffalo Man STIMSON IS NOT ALONE in his treatment of bison/buffalo to personify his alter ego. Choctaw artist Marcus Amerman’s alter ego Buffalo Man was imagined several years ago at a trading post when he exchanged a beaded bracelet for a tan buffalo head. Acting as both subject and model, Buffalo Man can be found cunningly appropriating emblematic images of Western popular culture including Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, James Bond film posters, and portraits of Yoko Ono and John Lennon in Amerman’s photographic collaborations with Cara Romero (Chemehuevi). Amerman maintains his belief that the buffalo head chose him as a kind of puppet, forcing him to dance for the people almost at will.22 Resembling Stimson’s conceptualization of Buffalo Boy, Amerman asserts that “Buffalo Man reemerges into society when it has reached a critical crossroads. If that society accepts the Buffalo Man into it, it signifies hope and redemption for the culture. If, on the other hand, he is rejected by society, the society is doomed.”23 For Stimson and Amerman, Buffalo Boy and Buffalo Man respectively, buffalo inspires their alter egos and operates as a powerful metaphor, serving as a means of artistic exploration and as a sign of cultural renewal.

Conclusion Marcus Amerman (Choctaw), detail from Buffalo Man as James Bond, 2006, digital collage. Image courtesy of the artist.

from European settlers who confused two species of Asian and African species of bufello with what is now known as American bison. The semantic bastardization of bison as bufello, which later became widely accepted as “buffalo,” is symptomatic of colonialism’s relationship with misrepresentation.

During the 19th century, bison were hunted by settlers to the point of extinction, as part of a systemic effort to destroy the food source of Plains tribes and because they were said to jeopardize agricultural farms and cattle economies. Today, listed at approximately 30,000, bison have partially recovered and are now listed by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) as “near threatened.”20 From Alaska to northern Mexico, the lands which they once roamed, the existential significance of bison was intricately linked to clothing, housing, and sustenance, and to many Plains people, they signified the presence of life itself. Along these lines, Stimson’s formation of Buffalo Boy emphasizes how bison represent “the destruction of the Aboriginal way of life, but it also represents survival and cultural regeneration.... The bison as both icon and food source, as well as the whole history of its disappearance, is very much a part of my contemporary life.”21

IN CONSIDERING THE USE OF ALTER EGOS in contemporary art, it is necessary to look back to previous manifestations of alter egos, particularly in terms of historical connections to settler colonialism. Taken a step further, one can argue that the attempts to turn Indigenous peoples into a status quo, Judeo-Christian society through forced cultural assimilation almost necessitates the creation of an alter ego as a deliberate strategy for survival. This idea can be applied to White Earth Ojibwe author Gerald Vizenor’s influential explanation of survivance as a process of continuity and, as Stimson writes, “an active sense of presence.”24 When asked why artists choose to adopt alter egos, Stimson addresses this subject candidly by proposing that “to act like someone/thing else” in a social milieu ordered by racist thought and policy insists that one must “be someone else in order to succeed.”25 In nearly all the works mentioned, the alter ego functions as an entryway into thinking through cultural assimilation, racial discrimination, and social hierarchy. As follows, the very concept of alter ego is burdened with the history of European colonialism in North America and is indicative of its unyielding powers of corruption.

But while the alter ego may have emerged from this troubled history, it has also transformed into a persuasive mode of decolonial critique, of political resistance, and of course a little bit of fun.

20. C. Gates and K. Aune, “Bison bison,” The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species (2008), web.

21. Lynne Bell, “Adrian Stimson: Buffalo Boy at Burning Man,” Canadian Art (June 1, 2007), web.

22. Rice and Taunton, “Buffalo Boy: THEN AND NOW,” 18–25.

22. Marcus Amerman, email message to author, May 15, 2017.

23. Judy Fleming, “Marcus Amerman: Choctaw,” Contemporary North American Indigenous Artists via Tumblr (March 28, 2010), web.

24. Gerald Vizenor, Manifest Manners: Narratives on Postindian Survivance (Lincoln: Nebraska, 1999), vii.

25. Adrian Stimson formulates the connection between alter egos and racism directed toward indigenous peoples in his e-mail correspondence with the author.

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Pheasant Rump Nakota Jeweler and Sculptor

Nelda Schrupp

www.neldaschrupp.com SWAIA Santa Fe Indian Market August 19 & 20, Booth 219-PAL-S

Northern Plains Indian Art Market Sioux Falls, SD, September 16 & 17

Cherokee Art Market Catoosa, OK, October 14 & 15

Bead Artist

Kenneth Williams, Jr.

Northern Arapaho/Seneca

Santa Fe

“Kyi-Yo Visits the Wolf Trail” Collaboration Pipebag with Jackie Larson Bread. This side by Kenneth Williams, Jr.

kwilliamsjr2@hotmail.com © All Contents Copyright 2017, Kenneth Williams, Jr. All Rights Reserved. Photograph: Neebinnaukzhik Southall.

FALL 2017 | 27

EQUINE EFFIGIES Horse Dance Staffs of the Plains Nations

By Kim Mariette

W

HEN THE HORSE RETURNED to the Native Americans, it was a spiritual animal entering spiritual cultures. The horse is sacred and powerful, and proof of these powers were demonstrated through their strength and endurance. A horse that performed unusually well in battle and became a good war horse was considered a blessing.

Names like “medicine dog” and “elk dog” reflected the extraordinary qualities that were attributed to the horse.

“When I was somewhat past ten years of age, my father took me with him to watch the horses out on the prairie,” recounted Wolf Chief (ca. 1850–1933), a Hidatsa spiritual leader. “We watered the herd and about the middle of the day came home for dinner.…While we sat watching the herd my father said, ‘These horses are godlike, or mystery beings.’ ”1 Horses were regarded as holy animals by the nations that had them. Incorporating this being into their sacred rituals of song, dance, ceremony, and lifestyle was a natural progression for horse cultures. They prayed for their horses to have the same spiritual and physical protection as themselves.

Horse raiding and stealing from neighboring nations were considered highly honorable acts, which were usually reciprocated by the nation that had their animals stolen.

Warriors depended on their horses for escape and safety; in turn, horses depended on their warriors for escape and safety. Those who understood this relationship with their

horses were the most successful warriors.

“To be alone with our war-horses at such a time teaches them to understand us and us to understand them,” said Alaxchíia Ahú (Crow), also known as Plenty Coups, a 19th-century leader and diplomat. “My horse fights with me and fasts with me, because if he is to carry me in battle he must know my heart and I must know his or we will never become brothers.”2 Horses were the first targets in any battle. Staging mock battles, warriors trained their war horses to rear and neigh when they were engaged in a fight. These actions were thought to scare their opponents, and a constantly moving horse became a harder target to hit. Lakota, Dakota, and other Plains Nations also trained their war horses to jump over a fallen foe. This action counted as a coup, just as if the warrior had touched his opponent. War horses were highly specialized fighters and were only ridden in battle.

In addition to the spiritual gifts that horses brought to the tribes, they also brought physical wealth and honor to the warrior as an individual and a member of the nation.

A “horse economy” evolved in which the animal itself was used to measure a man’s worth. Wealth was also seen as how much a person gave away, including horses, to others.

Expressions of horse culture evolved over time. Horsestealing songs and horse dances became forms of expression through the use and symbolism of horse dance sticks.

With the full integration of the horse into Native American

1. Beverly Hungry Wolf and Adolf Hungry Wolf, Children of the Sun: Stories by and about Indian Kids (New York: HarperCollins, 1988), 64; Alan Jacobs, ed., Native American Wisdom: A Spiritual Tradition at One with Nature (London: Watkins Publishing, 2008), 135.

2. Emma I. Hansen, Memory and Vision: Arts, Cultures, and Lives of Plains Indian People (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2008), 121.

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OPPOSITE: Ray Runnels (Oglala Lakota), Dance Stick, date unknown, wood, leather, brass tacks, tin cones, horse hair, collection of the Heritage Center at Red Cloud Indian School, Pine Ridge, South Dakota.

culture, dance staffs were created in different styles based on their purpose. Some sticks were meant to represent a horse or horses when a warrior was recounting his exploits as a successful horse raider or if he was reenacting a battle in which he rode. This type of dance stick was usually very basic in form, with a stylized head carved at one end and a hoof or handles at the other end. Ears made from hide were sometimes attached; otherwise they were basically bare.

Warriors who belonged to one of the horse societies and had a horse as their own personal medicine would carry a horse stick to represent the animal whose power they could invoke. Members of the horse societies, such as the Plains Apache Kintide or the Blackfeet Kanatsomitaiksi, were elite organizations of seasoned warriors.

When a horse effigy was carved, the artist’s goal was to receive the strength, endurance, and magic of the horse. If a horse came to him in a dream or vision, a warrior might carve a stick in honor of that dream or vision.

An historical Lakota song, credited to Lone Man and recorded by Frances Densmore, was sung when a horse was painted prior to battle: Mitáśunke kinyań ye wáyelo he Peźúta wan koyag wakí yeló kinyań ye wáye he Mitáśunke kinyań ye wáyelo My horse flying along, I have caused he A medicine to wear, I caused my own flying along he My horse flying along, I have caused.3 The horse dance was an elaborate, highly synchronized series of circles, performed by four horses and riders in each circle, and meant to empower the participants by honoring the Sacred Hoop. Black Elk (Oglala Lakota) described the dance as having four black horses with blue lightning streaks painted on their legs, which represented the west; four white

Alvin Iron Cloud (Oglala Lakota), Dream Horse Dance Stick, 2017, wood, leather, acrylic, horsehair.

Image courtesy of the artist.

horses with red lightning streaks painted on their legs represented the north; four sorrel horses with black lightning streaks painted on their legs represented the east; and four buckskin horses with black lightning streaks painted on their upper legs represented the south.4 The horses and riders would circle the village four times with the leading group changing at every quarter circle. A prayer was spoken, and the first person to count coup on the sacred tipi in the center of the sacred circle received renewed power. The horses were rubbed with sage at the end of the ceremony.

As Brave Buffalo (Lakota) sang, tate’ oü’ ye to’pa kiŋ śuŋka’wakaŋ waŋzin’ źi aü’ welo’ the four winds are blowing some horses are coming.5 Dances are not performed singly but often as a series of events in larger ceremony. A victory dance featured a warrior using various movements and would include the story of that warrior’s bravery, often with the assistance of his horse against an enemy nation. Horses used for hunting buffalo were too valuable to be kept with the herd, so they were commonly tethered in the village, often with one of their owner’s tipi pegs as the picket. If a warrior successfully sneaked into a village and was able to safely

3. Guy Montgomery, “A Method of Studying the Structure of Primitive Verse Applied to the Songs of the Teton-Sioux,” in The Charles Mills Gayley Anniversary Papers (New York: Haskell House Publishers, 1967), 276; Wendy Beth Baker, Healing Power of Horses: Lessons from the Lakota Indians (Lumina Media: Irvine, 2004), 96.

4. John G. Neihardt, Black Elk Speaks: The Complete Edition (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 102.

5. George P. Horse Capture, Emil Her Many Horses, ed., A Song for the Horse Nation: Horses in Native American Cultures (Golden, CO: Fulcrum Publishing, 2006), 42.

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Joseph No-Two-Horns, He Nupa Wanica, White Butterfly (Hunkpapa Lakota), Horse Dance Club, ca. 1890, wood, wool, horsehair, leather, metal, hide thong, eagle feather, iron nails, paint, sinew, 35 × 15 × 2 1/3 in., collection of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution, 14/1566.

retrieve a valuable horse, this action would be included in a victory dance. The dancer would often carry a horse stick to represent his personal medicine or the bravery of his own war horse, which had carried him safely away from attack.

Another type of dance stick was meant to be a horse memorial, an effigy meant to honor a specific horse that had been injured or died in battle. These objects were highly personal and carefully detailed. The carving of the head and hoof was well defined. Rawhide ears were sometimes attached to it, and many sticks had bridles, some little more than leather reins, but some artists strove to match what the real animal wore.

Artists would often hang horsehair from the bit—the actual mane or tail hair from the horse being memorialized—to symbolize a scalp, and feathers or cloth were also incorporated to personalize the stick even more.

Historically, Plains artists used fruit juices and mineral pigments to stain the wood to match the horse. Rather 30 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

than a hoof, some of the sticks had a tail with hair from the fallen horse, perhaps with a feather woven in, or beads or bells in the mane on the stick. Oftentimes the stick was marked with red triangles to represent wounds that the real horse had sustained. More graphic depictions showed blood flowing from the triangles. These red triangles signifying wounds are found on most of the historical horse memorial dance sticks.

Horse memorial dance sticks were obviously meant for one horse, one warrior. Historically, only a warrior who had his horse killed beneath him in battle was permitted to carry such a personal effigy to honor his fallen friend.

Today horse dance sticks remain important components in certain Plains dances. Those who have lost a beloved horse commission skilled artists to carved memorial staffs. Others simply love the horse dance sticks for their aesthetic power, which have evolved into their own art form.

Oglala Lakota Artist

Marty Two Bulls Sr. on Making Horse Dance Sticks

T

HE HORSE DANCE STICK was originally used as an effigy to posthumously represent a particular horse. Such horses had names by distinguishing themselves in a hunt or battle.

Oftentimes the mortal wounds are painted on the horse effigy. The horse dance is performed at the start of the Sun Dance ceremony where four horses are ridden into the dance area. The dancers carry the horse stick in the next procession. The horse dance stick has become more of a memento in contemporary times and is displayed rather than used in ceremony, then burned.

I have made horse dance sticks for people to display and for powwow settings. The latter is flashier and meant to attract attention. The display sticks were made for horse owners to remember their former mounts. In one case, an owner approached me with the mane and tail of her dead horse. She had removed the hair not knowing what to do with it but at the same time unable to cast it away. I crafted the stick to resemble a photo of the horse and painted it to match its hair color.

She prized this stick and had it put in her casket when she died some years later.

Marty Two Bulls Sr., Horse Dance Club, ca. 2016, wood, horsehair, feather, glass beads, leather, rawhide, metal tacks, twine.

I use basswood or cottonwood to carve the stick, natural horsehair for the mane, and, depending on the owner, fake or real eagle feathers (Native people have the legal right to possess eagle feathers). I use wood stain and clear-coat polyurethane to seal the wood. The hair ends are wrapped in cotton thread and glued into holes drilled into the wood.

I make these sticks only as the mood strikes me, as I will not do them to exploit the craft and mass produce what used to be a ceremonial object. I have never been asked to do a stick for the horse dance ceremony and would only do one under the strictest circumstances.

And in such a case, I would not do it for money.

Medicine Bear, Man-To-Wa-Kan-Na-Be (Assiniboine), Horse Dance Club, ca. 1860, wood, horsehair, hide thong, iron nails, glue, paint, 22 × 9 ½ × 1 in., collection of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution, 11/8044.

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JAMES & JOANNA BLACKBURN

“Southeastern Pottery” – 36” bronze by Joanna Underwood Blackburn

“Owwatta” – 19” x 20” x 15” bronze by James Blackburn

BLACKBURN ART STUDIOS Located at the ARTesian Gallery & Studios • Sulphur, Oklahoma

www.jblackburnstudios.com

Chessney Sevier Jackie Sevier

+

Santa Fe Indian Market Jackie’s booth #715 LIN-W Chessney’s booth #237 PAL August 19-20, 2017

Northern Plains Indian Art Market September 23-24, 2017

Cherokee Art Market 32 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

October 14-15, 2017

JANE OSTI (Cherokee Nation) janenosti@gmail.com

KARIN WALKINGSTICK (Cherokee Nation)

walkingstickpottery.com

The Fire Within

Bird Clan Turtle

Santa Fe Indian Market

Sharing Booth 527 SFT-P

MELISSA MELERO-Moose contemporary paintings SWAIA Indian Market BootH #765-LIN W

w w w. m e l i s s a m e l e ro. c o m Interactions, 2017, mixed media with pine nuts on canvas, 32” × 42” FALL 2017 | 33

THE COMMUNITY OF CONTEMPORARY LUMBEE ART The diverse yet interconnected artworks of Jessica Clark, Ashley Minner, and Hatty Ruth Miller evoke the resilience of Lumbee cultural character and create fresh perspectives on what it means to be Native American in a postmodern era.

By Nancy Palm Puchner, PhD

J

ESSICA CLARK’S Lumbee Family Values is a series of large-scale, realistic, painted figural studies and landscapes. Each painting illuminates a powerful individuality, but at the same time the series embodies the spirit and fortitude of Lumbee Indians as a cohesive group. In The Exquisite Lumbee project, Ashley Minner offers a group of photographs that thoughtfully chronicle a generation of Lumbee, expressing each subject’s sense of self in a contemporary world.

Through the subjects’ own words, the project reveals that which lingers beneath the surface of each individual while also showing how each individual contributes to a vital Lumbee community. Turning away from the body toward abstraction, Hatty Ruth Miller mines the history of the Lumbee people, their belief structure and mythology, and then re-presents them within vivid explorations of form and color. In Miller’s artwork, Lumbee ancestors and community members are brought to life as patterns, shapes, and repetitive motifs that epitomize distinct singularity and an overwhelming sense of unity.

As visual artists, Clark, Minner, and Miller are quite divergent in terms of style, subject matter, and media.

They live in different regions and belong to different generations, yet their art evokes a resilience and cultural character that transcends place and time. Their art channels the fluidity and conceptual nature of Lumbee identity, it shatters deeply entrenched stereotypes and Eurocentric perceptions, and it creates a fresh perspective on what it means to be Native American in a postmodern era.

History of the Lumbee Tribe is often shrouded in uncertainty and debate. Robeson County in southeastern North Carolina is home to the Lumbee people. The Lumbee are the largest Indian group in North Carolina, the largest tribe east of the Mississippi River, and the ninth largest tribe in the nation.

They have maintained state recognition in North Carolina since 1885 and partial federal recognition since 1956.1 They are commonly believed to be descendants of the Cheraw and related Siouan-speaking Indians. The Lumbee lost their original language long ago, which often presents a challenge to their “authenticity” as Indians. However, the Lumbee exhibit a strong and richly rooted sense of cultural identity through a common notion of survival; through powwows and an

annual homecoming; through rich musical traditions, food culture, quilting, agriculture, and storytelling; through symbolism; and through visual art.

Lumbee Family Values series Jessica Clark is a resident of Robeson County and a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina. Her art is saturated with the everyday life of the Lumbee people. Beginning in 2010, Clark conceived of her Lumbee Family Values series as figural paintings and landscapes originating from candid photos taken by the artist. Most of the subjects are family members; all are members of Southeastern Native tribes. The photos from which the series derives are full of vibrant personality, and Clark’s meticulously painted images offer poignant meditations on her original subject matter. The 2009 photograph of Alceon Bullard Jones shows a figure from the waist up, her arms expressively active, and her face brightly energized. There is a joyfulness to the photo. The subject, with her bright red plaid shirt and beaming smile, stands out against the rural landscape and grey

1. An Act Relating to the Lumbee Indians of North Carolina, H. R. 4656, Public Law 570, Chapter 375, §2 (June 7, 1956) via “Indian Affairs: Laws and Treaties,” Charles J. Kappler, ed., Oklahoma State University Library, web. The 1956 Lumbee Act recognizes the Lumbee people as “Indians,” but states “Nothing in this Act shall make such Indians eligible for any services performed by the United States for Indians because of their status as Indians, and none of the statutes of the United States which affect Indians because of their status as Indians shall be applicable to the Lumbee Indians.”

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cars behind her. In the oil on canvas version, Clark has cropped her subject to a bust format. The cars and landscape behind her are abstracted and all but lost behind Alceon’s larger-than-life visage. An expressive realism highlights minor imperfections—a crooked tooth, some wrinkles—that bespeak Clark’s affection for her subject. Clark descends upon these details not to criticize but to embrace, and she does so in a fashion that communicates the closeness of her family and the entire Lumbee community.

Unity Powwow, another early work in the Lumbee Family Values series, also exudes this sense of community.

A young boy at center wears his dance regalia. A grown man crouches over the child, and they are framed on either side by more children, also in regalia. The scene is notably cropped by the edges of the canvas. The individual elements of the painting—folds of fabric, blades of grass, the feathers of a fan—collectively recede into a rich and abstracted array of swirling texture. The figures are participating in the Spring Unity Powwow. Powwows are an integral part of the Lumbee community. The annual Lumbee homecoming, a weeklong celebration around the fourth of July, typically draws thousands of Lumbee who descend upon the small town of Pembroke in Robeson County to eat, dance, and reconnect with friends and relatives. The sense of connection captured in Unity Powwow, in which we see one generation helping another, is common at such celebrations.

One of Clark’s most recent works in the series, Reverend Claudie Dial, centers its focus on a deceased Lumbee veteran who was revered for his service in World War II. Although the Lumbee tribe was not officially recognized, they supported the war effort fervently, serving in every branch of the service.

Lumbee residents take great pride in their collective military history, and Reverend Claudie Dial presents a subject to which many community members

Jessica Clark (Lumbee), Lumbee Family Values IV, 2015, oil on canvas, 48 × 36 in.

can relate and feel endeared. Paying close attention to minute and tender details, Clark supplements Dial’s service with his tribal affiliations through the very prominent spear point collection in the background. Standing quite apart from other veteran portraits, Clark’s portrait layers American history with that of her community.

Clark’s subjects hover around life size. According to the artist, “The large format and vibrant colors of the paintings reflect the vitality of contemporary Native culture and identity, creating monuments to a people who have persevered in the face of oppression and the

appeal of assimilation.”2 The subjects of the series are Clark’s family, but they are also her people, the people that represent and hold the Lumbee community together as a whole. The entire community connects to these images. At the same time, their exhibition in contemporary art venues outside of Robeson County brings them to a larger audience and inserts the Lumbee community into contemporary art discourse. The level of detail pushes Native identity into the viewer’s space to challenge any preconceived ideas the viewer brings to the series regarding what it means to be Lumbee.

2. Jessica Clark, “Artist’s Statement,” Jessica Clark: Lumbee Artist, web.

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The Exquisite Lumbee Project While Ashley Minner is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina, she lives and works in Baltimore, Maryland.

This city is home to a large Lumbee community, most of whom originally migrated north seeking employment after World War II. From the time Lumbees began to settle in Baltimore, they have remained the largest Lumbee community outside of North Carolina’s tribal territory and one of the largest groups of individuals from the same tribe living in an urban area.3 Lumbee cultural traditions remain strong in East Baltimore, and Minner is active in her community. In 2007, for example, she founded the Native American Art After School Program. Her involvement in Baltimore’s Lumbee community informs and inspires her artistic practice, culminating in a range of work that combines thoughtful elements of storytelling, archival re-presentation, and collaboration.

Minner’s The Exquisite Lumbee is a series of 30 photographs taken by Sean Scheidt that celebrate both the individual and collective identity of the artist’s own generation of Lumbee in Baltimore. Combining image and text, the series provides insight into the means by which each sitter defines her/himself. Minner began by asking community members and friends to fill out a survey she created. They were asked to describe themselves in three words and then describe their goals and values, what they hope others see in them, what it means to be Native, and what it means to be from Baltimore.

Minner inserted excerpted answers into the stark, white background of her near life-size, three-quarter-length portraits.

For the photo shoot, each respondent was asked to wear the clothes in which they felt most comfortable, and during these sessions the subjects were responsible for all aspects of their preparation.

They helped each other with hair and makeup, and as Minner describes it, supported and cheered each other while being photographed. This collaborative process extends to every facet of The Exquisite Lumbee and reinforces the sense of community found within each photograph.

The artist asserts that The Exquisite Lumbee project originated from within her church community. Attendance at the South Broadway Baptist Church in Baltimore, with its large American Indian congregation, is a core function of being Lumbee and a hallmark of the Lumbee experience there.4 Most of the individuals

Ashley Minner (Lumbee), The Exquisite Lumbee: Tonya, 2010, digital print, text by Tonya Oxendine, digital photograph by Sean Scheidt, 28 ¾ × 20 ½ in.

3. Ashley Minner, “Standing in the gap: Lumbee cultural preservation at the Baltimore American Indian Center,” in Routledge Guide to Intangible Cultural Heritage, Michelle L. Stefano and Peter Davis, ed. (Abingdon, UK, New York, NY: Routledge, 2017), 386.

4. The church was founded by Lumbees, but non-Indian members also currently attend.

5. Cadavre exquis translates from French to Exquisite Corpse. This part of the project is based on the Exquisite Corpse series of the Surrealists, an experimental practice of collectively assembling a group of images by multiple individuals into one single illustration.

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in the 30 photos grew up together in that church, and Minner set out to document the poignancy of their collective presence as evidence of the power of Lumbee culture to transcend place and time. Despite being the largest Lumbee community outside of North Carolina, they carry a strong sense of loss for their ancestral land. Minner conceived of The Exquisite Lumbee as a means to help the people of her generation recognize not only their own self-worth and beauty as individuals, but also their collective identity as a tribe with a prominent legacy and history that is so much larger than themselves.

The artist first exhibited The Exquisite Lumbee series in May of 2011 at the Light, a gallery in the Mount Vernon neighborhood of Baltimore.

By the very nature of these photographs, Minner set out to confront the viewer with the powerful presence of individuals that challenge entrenched conceptions of what an American Indian looks like. To emphasize this aspect of the project, Minner also created and displayed The Exquisite Lumbee, a cadavre exquis artist book.5 She compiled a new set of photos, also taken by Sean Scheidt, into a bound collection of facial features that can be mixed and matched at the viewer’s will. Mixing and matching components of the portraits forces the viewer to recognize that Lumbees comprise a wide range of physical characteristics.

The Abstractions of Hatty Ruth Miller BORN IN LOS ANGELES, Hatty Ruth Miller now resides in Robeson County and is a member of the Lumbee Tribe.

Dividing much of her childhood and early adulthood between California and North Carolina, Miller returned to Robeson County at the age of 40 in response to a growing desire to be closer to both nature and the Lumbee community there. Miller has been inspired by many painters throughout her life, from Vincent van Gogh to Marc Chagall, but

the artist indicates that letters written by van Gogh, particularly to his brother Theo, had a greater impact on her as an artist than his painting. Like van Gogh, Miller often employs a heavy impasto line over an earth-hued background to create an abstract and intensely expressive style. Like Chagall, her veiled narratives linger just below the surface of her paintings, giving her work a sense of mysticism. Themes of religion, nature, and human relationships have remained constant throughout Miller’s career. Her art, like that of Clark and Minner, resonates with Lumbee fortitude and spirit, not in figures or words but through form, line, and color.

In 2016, Miller completed a series of four untitled canvases. Each one is bathed in gold and glitters with a circular motif that emanates outward from a central cross. As in Baltimore, religious faith is at the heart of the Lumbee experience in Robeson County, and the cross motif can be found in much of Miller’s work. Delicate touches of faith consistently grace her compositions. Miller is Christian, though not evangelical, and her religious faith drives many aspects of her life, a fact reflected in her untitled series. Each line, dot, or repeated form represents some aspect of Miller, her ancestors, or her community. And despite how far these individual elements may get from the center of the composition, or how much of their shape changes from the original cross form, there is always a strong connection back to a central notion of faith. Like the central cross, the dominant gold color is suggestive of the metaphysical divine power at the root of all Lumbee experience, while the blue palette resonates with the natural world in which that divinity takes form.

Miller does not physically represent the members of her Lumbee community, but her art is saturated with the powerful belief systems that flow through Lumbee history and day-to-day life.

Miller’s paintings are entirely inspired by memory. She considers herself a vehicle through which images emerge from the past or from her

Hatty Ruth Miller (Lumbee), Title Unknown, 2012, mixed media on canvas.

ancestors. As Miller so poignantly states, “Her DNA carries the memories of past.”6 She gives these memories form that is at once meditative and provocative. Miller’s compositions resound with a spiritual power that draws from the past and is reconfigured in the present.

In addition to religion and nature, her work is also saturated with the intense energy of human relationships.

Connectivity between forms and the repetition of shapes and patterns collectively suggest the strong ties that bind members of the Lumbee community together throughout time. In another recent painting, Daydreams Beneath a Full Moon, Miller covers the canvas with circular forms, some maintaining the cross motif, some with a more organic design. Each shape floats across the canvas in a random yet purposeful manner, some touching, some not, each maintaining connectivity. The layering of these forms creates depth, further emphasizing a creative connection that

6. Hatty Ruth Miller in discussion with the author, May 12, 2017.

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Indian State Normal College in 1940. Now “Old Main,” part of the University of North Carolina, Pembroke. Image courtesy of the author.

extends from within the canvas outward in all directions.

In some works, human connectivity becomes more transparent, as in Love Birds and Between Two Worlds. In the former, a heavy blue line navigates the entire composition. It is broken up by a range of organic, vaguely human forms, yet it also maintains a mystical consistency. In Between Two Worlds, two circles are filled with lines and dots evocative of a pulsating circulatory system. Three lined gold routes connect the two circles and also extend off the canvas from both circles in each of the other three cardinal directions. Miller suggests an infinite space through which bodies collide and move in relationship to one another. Through thoughtful line work, pattern, and repetition, Miller’s art is imbued with strong bonds that define Lumbee identity.

What Miller achieves through nonrepresentational form, Clark achieves with figural studies, and Minner achieves with photographs and text.

Identity, Collaboration, & Reclamation THREE OVERARCHING concepts guide the creation and understanding of these three artists: identity, collaboration, and reclamation. Their art cannot be separated from the realm of Lumbee identity. Each project, series,

or approach speaks to the viewer about what it means to be Lumbee, both in the rural community of Robeson County and in the urban space of Baltimore.

While they live and work in the present, much of their subject matter draws from and resonates with the past. Each asserts that community origins are significant, not just to the Lumbee, but to all Native groups. Lumbee origins are debated. A range of origin theories has developed and is often a source of dispute among Lumbee people. The art of these three women, however, moves beyond any discord or doubt. These artists collectively speak to what has persevered: a staunchly resilient community identity created from within, one that transcends time, place, disruption, and loss.

Rooted as it is within notions of collective identity, the art of Clark, Minner, and Miller draw strength from a collaborative framework. For Clark and Minner, collaboration drives their process. Clark’s project began years before her paintings were conceived, through photos of family and friends at gatherings and events. Minner works collectively with her subjects to create text and choose which photo becomes a part of the series. Both means of collaboration are suggestive of the deeply rooted sense of support that structures each of the artist’s Lumbee communities. Miller is more conceptual. As she describes, her ancestors participate in

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her art as they flow through her very being. For her, art would not exist without the contributions of others throughout history to her own character, to her artistic practice, and to the Lumbee people.

Finally, each of these artists challenge historical narratives about American Indians, what it means to be Indian, and how to attribute authenticity to Indian art. Their art constitutes the reclamation of Indianness in the context of all Native peoples but more specifically so for the Lumbee people. Clark and Minner present Lumbee subjects in a range of skin colors, eye colors, and hair textures. Both create a comfortable space, cooperatively depicting subjects who exist independently of the viewer.

The Lumbee Family Values series and The Exquisite Lumbee project challenge deeply entrenched physiognomic stereotypes that suggest, or rather demand, that Indians look a certain way or perform a particular identity.

Hatty Ruth Miller’s project takes a different approach. She explores the relationship between abstraction and America Indian art, seeking possibilities in how to better encapsulate memory. In keeping with early modernist abstraction, Miller uses formal elements, like color and pattern, to find meaning. Her paintings are distinctly Indian, distinctly Lumbee, but entirely on Miller’s terms, carrying none of the physical or symbolic markers that stereotypically identify a person or her art as Native.

The Art of Place WHILE BREAKING DOWN preconceived notions of Lumbee identity or playing with the inherent potential of abstraction, all three artists still rely on or return to stable and enduring elements within their communities. Markers of identity ground their work, but also reify the importance of a safe place, not necessarily one impenetrable by non-Native peoples, but one that is unmistakably Lumbee. The University of North Carolina campus in Pembroke (UNCP) provides such a space. Completed in 1923, “Old Main” is the oldest brick building on the UNCP campus. It is a

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hallmark of the university and a source of great pride for the Lumbee Tribe as the original home of the Indian Normal School from which UNCP originated.

Old Main is currently home to the American Indian Studies Department, the Southeast American Indian Studies Program, and the Museum of the Southeast American Indian.

Paintings by Clark and Miller hang in the museum, and Minner’s The Exquisite Lumbee project has found a temporary home in the Department of Southeast American Indian Studies.

Their artworks add to the cultural significance of this iconic building while Old Main adds to the meaning of their work.

This symbiotic relationship enhances the sense of community generated by their art. As much as these collaborative projects speak to a wider audience and play a profound role in the art world, they each also speak to a sense of place in the Lumbee community, one gained through an overall dedication to

outreach and education. Their art exists for the Lumbee community even as it is directed outside of it.

A similar space exists within the Baltimore community, the Baltimore American Indian Center. In her recent history of it, written for The Routledge Guide to Intangible Cultural Heritage, Ashley Minner thoughtfully characterizes the institution as having been founded as a “safe space for Indian people to assemble without necessarily having to explain or perform their cultural identities for the benefit of non-Indian people.”7 In an ideal world, the visual arts world would function within that same safe space.

Unfortunately, as Native Americans, Clark, Minner, and Miller face expectations of what and to whom their art should communicate.

Clark, Minner, and Miller are just three of a substantial number of Lumbee artists participating in the contemporary art world today. They, like many Lumbee

artists throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, have exhibited nationally, but others choose to keep their art closer to home. The latter choice may stem from any number of circumstances, such as the sheer challenge of achieving regional, national, or international success as a visual artist; a desire to practice solely in one’s own community; or a reaction against the racialized expectations often placed on artists that identify as minorities in the United States.

Thankfully, Clark, Minner, and Miller transcend and draw confidence from the challenge of stereotypes and from the safe spaces in Pembroke and Baltimore to create from within themselves an art that is informed by their community experiences as Lumbee people. Their artworks pull imagery, myths, words, and faces from Lumbee history and from their own personal pathways through life, making their art both distinctly individual and unmistakably Lumbee.

7. Minner, “Standing in the gap,” 389.

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EDMONIA WILDFIRE LEWIS An Indigenous Woman in Rome The earliest known artist of either Native American or African-American heritage to succeed in the international fine arts scene, Edmonia Lewis made her mark on the world from her studios in this ancient Italian city.

By Gloria Bell

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ONSIDER FOR A MOMENT this carte de visite, one of the only known portraits of artist Edmonia Lewis taken in Rome circa 1876, a decade after she had settled in the city in 1867.1 Taken at the prestigious Fratelli D’Alessandri Studio in Rome, photographers of the pope, this is a rare image and depicts Lewis at her prime as a sculptor. Her hands crossed over her chest in a confident pose and a cravat tied around her neck in bohemian fashion, she projects an aura of confidence and cosmopolitan worldliness, at ease in Rome, the Eternal City.

These cards would have been used to advertise Lewis’s aptitude as a sculptor in Rome and to give to potential patrons, artist friends, writers, critics, and admirers, perhaps even to Pope Pius IX.2 Her expression is relaxed, a slight smile on her lips.

Described as an “interesting novelty” and a “lady of color” in newspaper accounts, her visible difference as an artist of color was remarked upon in global press reports, and she emphasized elements of her biracial

background to distinguish her heritage from her white American artist colleagues.3 Her pose and dress echoes bohemian artists of the time who were also working within Neoclassicism. She wanted to advertise her prominence as a sculptor to gain commissions for her work to support herself. The Roman carte de visite was likely made in preparation for the papal visit to Lewis’s studio and shows her self-promotion and sophistication. Lewis was also a devout Roman Catholic, having converted from Protestantism, and she felt more comfortable in Italy than in the United States.

At this point she had relocated from the former studio of Italian sculptor Antonio Canova, near the Spanish Steps in Rome and across the way from the Fratelli D’Alessandri brothers’ studio, to a studio near Piazza Barberini. In this article, I would like to trace the location of her studios in Rome, discuss potential inspirations she drew from the Roman cityscape for her works, and finally look at her sculpture, Minnehaha.

Expanding Edmonia Lewis’s Place in Native Art History EDMONIA WILDFIRE LEWIS was the first professional artist of African-American and Native American descent to gain international recognition in the art world. Her life and sculptural work present a needed comparison to the staid depictions of Indigenous peoples within the oeuvre of Neoclassical production. Lewis, as a living artist of Native American descent, shook up—and shakes up— colonial assumptions regarding what Native American people could do and were doing in the period of intense cultural erasure and violence.

Her artwork, voice, and lifestyle choices remain a singular and inspiring narrative of creativity and international presence in the art world. She navigated the colonial and racist world of 19th-century America and settled in Rome for the majority of her life. Since the voices of Indigenous peoples, and Indigenous women more so, are rare

1. Fratelli D’Alessandri, Carte de visite of Edmonia Lewis, ca. 1874–76, Albumen silver print mounted on card stock, 4 × 2 ½ in., Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, Maryland.

For a good description of the other cartes de visite that Lewis had made while she was in the United States, see Gwendolyn DuBois Shaw, Portraits of a People: Picturing African Americans in the Nineteenth Century (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006).

2. Edward T. James, Janet Wilson James, and Paul S. Boyer, ed., Notable American Women: A Biographical Dictionary, Volume III: 1607–1950 (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1971), 398. Lewis received a papal blessing for her work.

3. “A Negro Sculptress,” Sheffield Daily Telegraph (March 6, 1866). The newspaper noted, “An interesting novelty has sprang up amongst us, in the city where all our surroundings are of the olden time, Rome. Miss Edmonia Lewis, lady of colour, has taken a studio in Rome, and works as a sculptress.…”

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in the archival record from the 19th century, I will begin with Lewis’s own statement: My mother was a wild Indian and born in Albany, of copper color and with straight black hair. There she made and sold moccasins. My father, who was a Negro, and a gentleman’s servant, saw her and married her.… Mother often left her home and wandered with her people, whose habits she could not forget, and thus we, her children, were brought up in the same wild manner. Until I was twelve years old, I led this wandering life, fishing and swimming and making moccasins.4 Edmonia Wildfire Lewis was born around 1844 in upstate New York, and after being orphaned at four, she was raised among her mother’s people, the Mississauga Band of Ojibwe Indians in southern Ontario. Her father was of Haitian descent. She states that her mother was a “wild Indian” and that she was brought up in a “wild manner,” playing into the tropes of the times that the American settler colonial audience thought of Native Americans as primitive savages. As a Native woman of her time, she articulated the romantic ideals surrounding the Native American figure, but she also played with these concepts, performing Indianness for a primarily white audience in her press statements. Indeed, many contemporary Indigenous writers referred to themselves as wild children of the forest.5 Lewis’s quote also emphasizes the training and knowledge she learned from her Ojibwe ancestry and her exposure to Native American art production at a young age. She learned how to make moccasins. She learned the skills of beadwork, quillwork, and basketry to create souvenir art for the tourist trade, an employment and labor that many Indigenous artists engaged in at this time to support themselves.

Art historian Ruth Phillips notes in

Fratelli D’Alessandri, Carte de visite of Edmonia Lewis, ca. 1874-76, albumen silver print mounted on card stock, 4 × 2 ½ in., Rome, collection of the Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, Maryland.

Trading Identities, “Aboriginal art commodities were objects of desire for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travelers and tourists for the same two reasons: their formal and technical refinement and because the iconographic features and materials led buyers to identify them as specifically Indian. Their marketability, in other

words, depended on their success in conveying recognizable—and acceptable—concepts of difference.” Thus from an early age, Lewis was participating in art production of the Ojibwe in the northeast, well known for their fine quillwork and beadwork on moccasins and curios. “Because Native people successfully commoditized

4. Sylvia G. L. Dannett, Profiles of Negro Womanhood, Volume 1: 1619–1900 (Yonkers, NY: Educational Heritage, 1964), 119.

5. See S. Alice Callahan, Wynema: A Child of the Forest (Chicago: H. J. Smith & Co., 1891).

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Photograph of Canova’s studio taken at night. Photo: Gloria Bell (Métis).

Notice the ancient fragments on the wall.

their arts,” Phillips explains, “these reinvented constructions of Indianness achieved wide distribution. Popular with members of nearly all classes of North American and European society, these objects traversed cultural boundaries and took their places in fashionable cosmopolitan displays in curio cabinets and cozy corners.”6 Like the souvenir arts that she sold, Lewis too would traverse international boundaries in her artistic career.

Lewis purposefully chose to work in a medium not popularly associated with Native American art. She chose to create work that was part of the elite Western art tradition. Some had suggested that this was a mode she had to work in (what else would an American female artist be doing in Rome?), but she actively chose to work in the Neoclassical realm. She was also familiar with the aesthetic practices within Native American art (through her aunts) and could draw on these

The late Canova studio today filled with his sculptures. Photo: Gloria Bell (Métis). Notice the large window allowing light in,

elements that would become important in later works.

Lewis, as an artist of color and a Native American woman, was an unexpected artist working in an unexpected place.7 She was part of a sisterhood of artists, written about in romantic and patronizing terms by male contemporaries. She also experienced a degree of social freedom that was not available to her in the United States. At the same time, Lewis was negotiating the politics of representation. Lewis did not want to be pigeonholed as a “colored artist.”

Art historian Charmaine A. Nelson notes, “Lewis was recognized as one of the flock, but in comparison with her white female contemporaries, the invisibility, visibility, or hypervisibility of her black–Native body within the Roman colony further complexified her experience as a female sculptor, since her racial identity challenged the ‘regime of race’ as it transgressed the entrenched western ideal of the white

artist.”8 Thus Lewis challenged ideals of who could create Neoclassical sculptures, and why, while working in Rome among a group of other American sculptors. Her friend and white female sculptor Anne Whitney wrote of Lewis as being “very much of an aboriginal, grateful, vengeful, a little cunning.…

I like her in spite of her faults, and will help her all I can. I wish she were a little less of an aborigine.…”9 While she felt a more measured freedom within the artistic and social circles of expatriate Rome, she was still condescended against based on her heritage and subjected to the racist assumptions of the time. Yet her alterity, her visible difference, was also a drawing point for patrons and tourists visiting the studio.

Lewis’s artistic output and her life in Italy contribute to a widened understanding of Americans Indians in unexpected places, shattering the expectations of what Native artists should and were doing in the latter

6. Ruth Bliss Phillips, Trading Identities: The Souvenir in Native North American Art from the Northeast, 1700–1900 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1998), 10.

7. See Philip J. Deloria, Indians in Unexpected Places (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2004).

8. Charmaine Nelson, The Color of Stone: Sculpting the Black Female Subject in Nineteenth-Century America (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007), 17.

9. Nelson, The Color of Stone, 27.

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half of the 19th century. Most narratives of Indians abroad in this period tend to focus on men and on performances such as Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show and the experiences of the Lakota men who traveled throughout France, Italy, and Britain.10

Searching for Edmonia Lewis’s Studios “AMONG THE CHARACTERISTICS of Modern Rome capable of affording high interest to the intellectual visitor, there are few that offer a greater charm than the artists’ studios.

Travelers in general are little aware of the interest which they are calculated to afford, and many leave Rome without making the acquaintance of a single artist.”11 The above quote is taken from John Murray’s Handbook of Rome and its Environs (1867), which lists Lewis as “Lewis, Miss (American), 27, Via della Frezza.” Visiting this studio today, one can see ancient Roman fragments of putti, Latin inscriptions, and other pieces of the Roman past fixed onto the building’s exterior and visible from the street (photograph on opposite page). The studio is a short walk from the bustling Piazza di Spagna and the intellectual and artistic hub of Caffè Greco, frequented by writers and artists since 1760. Lewis took up the studio when she first moved to Rome and surely drew inspiration from the larger-than-life papal figures, mythical goddesses, and Roman centurions sculpted by Canova and left as models in the studio.

Lewis likely walked up the Spanish Steps to sweeping views of Rome and perhaps even attended services at the church of Trinità dei Monti, perched above the Piazza di Spagna. The street around the studio is narrow but the morning light hits it in interesting ways, which gives it a beautiful and moving perspective. This area around Piazza di Spagna was home to the studios of Harriet Hosmer (with two snakes intertwined above the door on Via Gregoriana) and other fellow women sculptors, and close to contemporaries such as German-born sculptor Ferdinand Pettrich.

Later on, Lewis moved to via di San Nicola da Tolentino, number 7 (pictured), another area of Rome halfway between Piazza Barberini and Piazza di San Bernardo. At Piazza Barberini, the Triton Fountain in the main square by Baroque sculptor Gian Lorenzo Bernini commands presence. Lewis likely bought her fruit and vegetables at the fresh market stands that used to surround the fountain. The orange trees lining the streets bloom in spring and fall.

Lewis was listed again in a later edition of Murray’s handbook of Rome, evidence of her success as a sculptor in the competitive, international art sphere. The ongoing importance of her work meant a busy life fulfilling commissions from American, British, and European patrons. I tried to find the exact location of her studio but it is likely, judging from the buildings in the area, that her original studio was demolished.

ABOVE: Location where Lewis’s studio once stood. Photo: Gloria Bell (Métis). Notice the orange trees and Roman waterworks on the right, underneath the arches on Lewis’s street.

BELOW: Location where Lewis’s studio once stood. Photo: Gloria Bell (Métis). Notice the orange trees and Roman waterworks on the right, underneath the arches on Lewis’s street.

10. Robert W. Rydell and Rob Kroes, Buffalo Bill in Bologna: The Americanization of the World, 1869–1922 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010).

11. John Murray, A Handbook of Rome and its Environs (London: J. Murray, 1867), Internet Archives, web.

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Sights in Rome OF PARTICULAR NOTE at Piazza di San Bernardo is the Moses sculpture and fountain designed by Domenico Fontana called the Fountain of Moses or the Fontana dell’Acqua Felice, which was a result of an important urban renewal project to bring fresh water into the urban environment during the late 16th century. The statue of the horned Moses was criticized when it was installed due its large, imposing size. Lewis also carved a marble sculpture of Moses, modeled after Michelangelo’s Moses in San Pietro in Vincoli (Saint Peter in Chains). I would suggest that given the proximity of the Fountain of Moses to her studio, it too was a likely muse. Working in marble, Lewis carved copies of other Renaissance and Baroque sculptures to develop her own skill set, and she drew strength and vision from these historic monuments.

Lewis’s artistic materials included white Carrara marble for her sculptures. Perhaps she even traveled to the Carrara marble quarry herself and selected the pieces that she would sculpt. Michelangelo was known to select his own stones directly from their source. Her process was to subtract from the marble, carving away from large blocks while paying particular attention to fault lines.

The Vatican collections of ancient Roman and Egyptian art likely provided inspiration for Lewis’s busts and cupids. The Lapidary Gallery in the Vatican Museum has a hall of ancient marble busts and putti that surely guided her work.

American artist Benjamin West made this remark upon seeing the Roman sculpture, Apollo Belvedere, within the Vatican collections, “My God, how like it is to a young Mohawk warrior!”12 The equation between classical Roman antiquity and the Native

American hero was then reproduced by many American artists in the following century. Like ancient Roman warriors, Native Americans were equated with a noble past, and Lewis’s contemporaries created many sculptures in this theme, depicting dying and heroic figures such as Ferdinand Pettrich’s The Dying Tecumseh (1856).

Lewis, an astute woman, was likely aware of this equation and presumably saw the sculpture of the Roman god at the Vatican, perhaps even by candlelight in the evening hours, as the fashion for viewing sculptures in the round dictated.

Sculptural Work: Minnehaha LEWIS’S SCULPTURES of Minnehaha draw inspiration from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s epic poem, The Song of Hiawatha (1855).

The writer was part of the artistic community in Rome, and in 1871 Lewis sculpted a bust of Longfellow, reputedly an excellent likeness. One might imagine them exchanging views about his poem. The Song of Hiawatha is a fictional account of the Ojibwe and Dakota peoples surrounding the Great Lakes Region. Hiawatha was actually an Iroquois term applied to an Ojibwe legend to make it sound more palatable to an English-speaking audience.

Longfellow, in turn, drew on the ethnographic studies of Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, an Indian agent, who married an Ojibwe-Scotch-Irish woman, Jane Johnston. Together the couple published a literary magazine called The Literary Voyager that featured poetry and short stories.

While Henry Rowe Schoolcraft receives most of the credit for his lengthy Narrative Journal of Travels Through the Northwestern Regions of the United States … (1821), more credit should be given to Jane, as she provided a direct

point of access for Ojibwe legends, myths, epistemologies, and language.

Longfellow’s Hiawatha inspired a large outpouring of prints, paintings, and dramas throughout the 19th and early 20th century. With her 1868 marble bust, Minnehaha, Edmonia Lewis capitalized on the popular image of the fictional Dakota maiden in popular culture.13 The bust of Minnehaha presents a young girl with stylized eagle feathers that mesh into her hair. She wears a necklace of wampum beads, a hide tunic, and a shawl. Her lips are pursed, her expression is serious. At what moment does Lewis depict Minnehaha? Is this Minnehaha at her coming of age? Is she contemplating her marriage? Her long hair flows over her shoulders; her headband is a piece of hide. She is carved in Carrara marble, which Lewis worked with herself. Lewis did not want to be accused of having a male atelier complete the work for her, in the manner her colleague Harriet Hosmer was reprimanded and discredited.14 Working with the marble directly required a great deal of strength, tactility, and grit. She thought of herself as a modern Michelangelo.

Minnehaha’s aquiline nose, set lips, and high cheekbones could be interpreted as idealized Native American facial features but could also be interpreted as being European.

While her facial features seem ambiguous, the feather in her hair serves as a reminder of the sacred reverence that Ojibwe hold for the eagle—its feathers carry intercessions and prayers to the Creator. The eagle feather is also used in medicine practices, suggesting here that Minnehaha is protected by the spiritual powers of the eagle that watches over Ojibwe peoples.15 She is all in white marble, no hint of color, not like the tinted Venus done by Lewis’s predecessor, the Welsh sculptor John Gibson, which created a scandal in Rome.16

12. John Galt, The Life of Benjamin West (Gainesville, FL: Scholars’ Facsimiles & Reprints, 1960). See also: Jules David Prown, Art as Evidence: Writings on Art and Material Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 99.

13. For example, Norwegian-born sculptor Jacob Fjelde was commissioned to create a sculpture of Hiawatha and Minnehaha, first made in plaster and later cast in bronze, for the Minnesota Building at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago.

14. Melissa Dabakis, A Sisterhood of Sculptors: American Artists in Nineteenth-Century Rome (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2014).

15. Coll Thrush, Indigenous London: Native Travelers at the Heart of Empire (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016), 83. Coll Thrush discusses the importance of eagle feathers for Yamacraw peoples and their presentation as sacred gifts.

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Lewis liked to work in white marble for all of her sculptural pieces, like the rest of the artistic community working in Rome at the time. Lewis’s use of white marble allowed her to play with notions of whiteness and the projection of color. In other words, the medium lets the artist and viewer understand Minnehaha in their own fashioning. It should be noted that although not visible in this version of Minnehaha, in the larger sculpture of The Marriage of Hiawatha (1872), Lewis uses a Greek key motif on the hemline of Minnehaha’s dress, emphasizing a connection between Indigenous Americans and an ancient Greek past. Of interest, the Greek key motif was also on a carte de visite of Lewis done in Chicago, directly linking her as a bohemian artist of her time and suggesting her knowledge of Benjamin West’s proclamation on seeing the Apollo Belvedere.17 Lewis’s Minnehaha sculpture is ambiguous as to any sort of Native affiliation, other than the title of the work and the stylized feather and hide dress the subject wears. However, in consideration of Lewis’s own statements about her childhood and about her desires as an artist, there lies a tension. Why did Lewis create seemingly generic sculptures of The Song of Hiawatha? It is likely that she wanted to capitalize on the market for images that were fresh in the American imagination, albeit romanticized. While she expressed in several statements her heritage ties to the Anishinaabeg, which were publicized in news reports, her sculptural works reveal little to hint at any particular experience or detail.

Lewis did not confine herself to Ojibwe customary artwork such as quillwork on hide or beadwork in floral motifs.

While Lewis drew upon fictional characters such as Longfellow’s Minnehaha, she also drew from her life experience as an artist of AfricanAmerican and Native American

Edmonia Lewis (Mississauga Ojibwe, ca. 1844–1907), Minnehaha, 1868, carved marble, 11 ⁷/₈ × 7 ¼ × 4 7/8 in., collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2015.287.2.

heritage, an artist of color working in a time when Native American people were largely confined to reservations.

Lewis was an artist doing unexpected things in an unexpected place. As discussed, her sculptural work of Minnehaha seemed generic in representation, but Lewis was also playing to an audience of largely American, white collectors, who wanted a particular vision of Minnehaha.

While the sculpture Minnehaha may not have been groundbreaking in any obvious way, Lewis’s presence as an artist of color defied colonial expectations, and in this way was unexpected.

White contemporary artists remarked sometimes favorably, sometimes not, on Lewis’s own unexpectedness as an artist of color, a Native, an “aborigine,” an American Indian. Examining Lewis’s Minnehaha sculpture within the

16. Charmaine A. Nelson, “White Marble, Black Bodies and the Fear of the Invisible Negro: Signifying Blackness in Mid-Nineteenth-Century Neoclassical Sculpture,” RACAR 27, no. 1/2 (2000): 87–101.

17. Gwendolyn DuBois Shaw, Portraits of a People: Picturing African Americans in the Nineteenth Century (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006).

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In his whirlwind but pointed summary of Neoclassicism in American art in the 19th century, American art historian William H. Gerdts had this to say about Lewis’s work in his well-known “Marble Savages” essay: The 19th-century American sculptor perhaps most involved with Indian subject matter was Edmonia Lewis—appropriately enough, since she was half-Indian and half-black (her mother was a member of the Chippewa tribe). One contemporary report, during a visit to Lewis’s Rome studio in the late 1860s, noted that the sculptor denied her Negro ancestry, though freely acknowledging, even capitalizing upon, her Indian heritage. The majority of Lewis’s idealizing sculptures related to one or the other aspect of her background.19

Edmonia Lewis (Mississauga Ojibwe, ca. 1844–1907), The Death of Cleopatra, 1876, marble, 63 × 31 1/4 × 46 in., collection of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, 1994.17.

context of Neoclassicism allows us to think through the way Lewis was negotiating her own position. The ambiguities surrounding Lewis’s rendition of Minnehaha, a literary, although not literal, Native female, can be read as more about Lewis catering her art to a white audience hungry for images of a romantic, beautiful maiden that came to a tragic ending in a fictional poem rather than any specific comment on Native American life in the second half of the 19th century.

Lewis spoke Italian fluently and spent the majority of her life in Italy where she produced many sculptures based on The Song of Hiawatha. Other works celebrated the emancipation of African-American slaves or explored subjects like The Death of Cleopatra.18 Lewis found respite in Italy, outside of the confines of the racially charged atmosphere of the Eastern United States. Lewis often talked about her Native American heritage and used this as part of her artistic persona. Her biography definitely influenced her work, but to make a direct equation between her biography and her life would be to oversimplify her work and not do justice to her oeuvre.

It is precisely this dismissive judgment of Lewis’s work as merely autobiographical and “appropriate” that I am working against. As I summarized, Lewis was a pragmatist.

She depicted Indigenous-themed works at a time when Native Americans had experienced massive upheaval. This begs the question, Did Lewis have a journal?

As a young student at Oberlin College, Lewis experienced rejection and an accusation of murder. As an adult, her international success is part of the testament to Native American people who were operating outside of the expected boundaries imposed on their lives by US governmental policy and outside the boundaries of artistic expectation.

The fact remains, as it still does today, that Native American artists were expected to produce art that seemed somehow ethnographically authentic and exotic, referencing some aspect of their heritage in a recognizably “Indian” mode.

Lewis complicates this assumption in an interesting way.

She provides an exceptional way of thinking about how her life and work existed, and also about the legacy of Native American representation within the United States and Italy. Contemporary sculptural works such as Pettrich’s The Dying Tecumseh follow the dying warrior theme prevalent in American art at the time, yet were out of time. Lewis was very much an artist of her time. She refuted the assumption, held by anthropologists and others scrambling within the salvage paradigm, that Indigenous Americans were out of time and place by the late 19th century.

Author’s note: Research for this article was conducted while at the Terra Summer Fellowship program in Giverny, France. The author would like to thank the Terra Foundation for American Art program and cohort for comments. Bell is currently working on a dissertation entitled, “The Eloquence of Things: An Analysis of Indigenous Art at the Pontifical Missionary Exposition 1925.” Edmonia Lewis features prominently in the prehistory of the exposition. The author welcomes questions and comments at gjbell2@gmail.com.

18. Kirsten Buick, Child of the Fire: Mary Edmonia Lewis and the Problem of Art History’s Black and Indian Subject (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010).

Lewis’s Death of Cleopatra sculpture was featured in the Centennial Exposition of 1876 in Philadelphia.

19. William H. Gerdts, “The Marble Savage,” Art in America 62, no. 4 (1974): 70.

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benjamin harjo jr. american indian artist breathing out life, 2017, gouache on Arches watercolor paper, 20 × 27 inches

benjaminharjojr.com

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ODAWA-OJIBWE-POTAWATOMI BASKET WEAVER

KELLY CHURCH

By Jean Merz-Edwards

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HEN KELLY CHURCH DECIDED to care for her aging grandparents shortly after graduating from the University of Michigan in 1998, the young artist unknowingly embarked on an epic journey that led her to become the nationally acclaimed teacher and basket weaver she is today. Church’s honors include several Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian Artist Leadership Fellowships, a Native Arts and Cultures Foundation Fellowship, and an artist-in-residence at the US Embassy in Canada. Her work has exhibited internationally. Passionate about the environment—especially saving the black ash tree, Fraxinus nigra, native to her homelands in the Great Lakes region, from decimation by the emerald ash borer—Kelly Church proudly identifies herself as an artist activist.

Back in 1999 when she decided to help her grandmother and grandfather; however, Church’s sights were set on painting, which she studied at IAIA, and sculpture, which she studied at the University of Michigan. In a recent conversation with the artist en route to her home state of Michigan from a show in New York City, I learned how caring for her family transformed Church’s priorities, which are continually mobilized through her baskets, activism, and teaching.

JME: In talks given to the public, you often begin by sharing that you come from an “unbroken line of basket weavers.” Could you expand on this statement?

KC: We have a picture from 1919 of my family making baskets: my great-grandmothers and their children.

What led you to begin your own practice of basket weaving?

When I took care of my grandfather, he inspired me to come back to this.

When I was little, I wove a basket or two. I looked at it and thought, “Whoa, everybody does this. I’m going to be a painter and a sculptor.”

Kelly Church. Image courtesy of the artist.

There are pounders, weavers, and women sitting in chairs with little babies. My grandfather, born in 1917, is in this photograph.

I found the picture at my grandparents’ house one day when I was taking care of my grandmother and grandfather.

I asked my grandfather, “Who are all these people?” He said, “That’s my mom,” and then he pointed to this little tiny boy holding a splitter that we use for splitting ash and he said, “That’s me when I was two.”

With this picture, we can document that we have five generations with me, and six generations of basket weavers with my daughter, Cherish Parrish.

Other relatives are documented in books making baskets as early as 1856.

My grandmother added that we made baskets even earlier, before there were cameras. I’m sure we made baskets before then, too. That is why we like to say we come from an unbroken line.

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After college, where I had studied painting and sculpture, I helped my grandfather who had Alzheimer’s and stayed in a state of “back in the day.”

Without his Alzheimer’s I would have never heard his childhood stories, including basket making. He used to say when Meals on Wheels would come, “Oh, we need to make that lady a basket,” or if someone would mow the lawn, “We need to make him a basket.”

To me, that was his best way of saying thank you and showing his gratitude.

That is how I got started. I went to my dad one day and said, “Grandpa wants to make some baskets. Can you take me out to get a tree?” Instead of saying something like “On Saturday at 3:00 I have time,” my father said, “Okay, let’s go.” Within two minutes of asking the question, we were in the car driving an hour north to the woods and we were getting a black ash tree. I asked and I received all in that moment. I started making baskets and I never stopped.

What makes you so passionate about making baskets today?

My grandfather—how passionate he was. I could see that that basket was his biggest way of saying thank you and showing his gratitude to someone.

When you are thankful for something, your heart has a goodness in it, and you are trying to extend that goodness to someone else.

KELLY CHURCH

Strawberry Basket with Doll, 2016, black ash splints, deerhide, horsehair, sweetgrass, commercial dye, glass seed beads, glass seed beads, velvet.

Photo: Richard Church (Odawa-Ojibwe-Potawatomi).

He also showed me the importance of the material, of how it brings us together. Because of his Alzheimer’s, he wasn’t in today anymore. He couldn’t tell you what he did yesterday, or the day before, or a week ago, but he could remember when he made baskets.

Those stories showed me how central basket making and the black ash are to us. As I have traveled, I have also learned it’s not just within my family.

We have to pass this onto every community we can reach that wants to access how to remember and relearn.

Could you briefly discuss the central role that the black ash tree plays in basket making?

The black ash tree brings families together, and we have memories and stories that come from this tree. You can’t fell a tree alone. You need your whole family to help with pounding and splitting the ash. Then you shave all your splints down and cut them.

Finally, you get to the weaving part, which I like to say is the easy part. Our harvesting and our processing are 75 percent and weaving is only 25 percent.

My goal is to ensure we can continue making memories like past generations. If we lose it even for a short time, we will lose the work with it and we will not be able to say kookibinaagan (basket) because we might not have these baskets, or aagimaak, which means black ash.

In your artist statement, you assert, “The responsibility I have as a tradition bearer to my family and my people has changed my role from just an artist to an artist activist.” How has this changed the way you approach your art?

When I started making baskets, I made them for fun or utilitarian purposes.

Coming from a large basket-making family, my daughter and I began to find our own styles and create baskets unique to us. I did my first strawberry patch basket at the 2006 Santa Fe Indian Market. Our family has always supported and encouraged our work.

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Fiberge Eggs series, 2016, black ash splints, commercial dye, sweetgrass. Photo: Richard Church (Odawa-Ojibwe-Potawatomi).

John Pigeon is my biggest mentor. He and my father taught me everything I know about black ash, and I would not be doing what I am doing or be who I am today without them and their teachings.

It progressed from doing things that were fun, like the strawberry patch basket, to doing things that were fun and that incorporated a message about the black ash. Now I make the Fiberge Eggs series (so-called because they are made with fibers). I own the copyright.

They are black ash baskets woven with metal in the shape of an egg. People think, “Wow! That’s really beautiful and intriguing,” and it draws them to look inside the egg where they find an emerald ash borer preserved in a vial of alcohol. It gets people questioning why an artist would put a bug in the basket and provides an opportunity for me to share important teachings that we need to know today, like how we are losing our cultural practices because of the emerald ash borer.

Where environmental issues such as the president’s decision to withdraw from the Paris Climate Agreement cause concern for many citizens, has the current political climate in the United States affected the northeastern Native arts communities, particularly surrounding the process of procuring natural materials for making art?

I think for us, independently, it doesn’t matter whether the federal government is behind us or not. As Native people, we never got many grants from the government to do our work. We are independently working toward a common goal of saving the black ash.

Here in Michigan, the emerald ash borer arrived in 1992 and was discovered in 2002. Now it is in 23 states here and two provinces in Canada.

Last June I met with the Wabanaki people, the Akwesasne, and Anishinaabeg. I was the Anishinaabe representative with some basket weavers from home. We met in our

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homelands so other people could join in this conversation about what we are going to do in the future and how can we work together.

The emerald ash borer has hit Michigan first, so our state is like the guinea pig. We are learning how to adapt and how to share our successes with other people. I share with all the other Natives in the community. We have a sharing program. When Michigan loses their ash, we talk about how the other communities can help us to keep weaving, and then when we regrow our ash, how can we help them in the future when they are in the same situation.

We’re talking so far ahead in the future that we are talking about youth.

So, our next step is to hold a youth camp and teach the kids everything here in Michigan. The point of our camp is to bring kids together, show them what we are going through, and teach them that if we work together, we can be much stronger as a black ash nation rather than working nation to

KELLY CHURCH

Women’s Treaty Hat, 2017, black ash, copper, sweetgrass, birchbark bitings, map, deerhide, artificial sinew, thread.

Photo: Richard Church (Odawa-Ojibwe-Potawatomi).

nation. I truly believe children learn what they live. If we show how we are sharing and working together and impress that upon the youth, then they will teach their kids that in the future, and we can make this succeed. You have to help them see the good way.

Last year in a talk you gave at the Toledo Museum of Art in Ohio, you shared, “The most important thing I do today is teach kids.” Why do you believe this and what is your goal?

They are the future. I know everybody says that, but it’s true. We realized in 2009 when we held a seed collection meeting in Michigan, and not many people showed up to learn how to collect seeds. While we were a little disheartened, we were very pleased with the people that did come and the information that was shared. We discussed that day and realized for one of the first times that if we lose this ash we might actually lose a whole

generation of harvesters. If we have to plant seeds and wait thirty years for them to grow, then we are missing a whole generation that can go into the woods and teach the next generation.

In light of that, we began to realize it’s not really the forty and fifty year-olds like me that we need to access. Of course we need to teach them, but the most important thing is to teach the kids. If we start planting seeds today, I’ll be eighty, and I won’t be able to harvest those trees.

My grandfather had Alzheimer’s. What if I forget what I’m doing? That’s where documenting comes in. I have filmed every stage of the process. A mother here was so gracious to volunteer her children. They were ten, eleven, and thirteen at the time. They did everything and learned how to pound. If they got bored, they’d say, “Can we go fishing?”

I’d say, “Go out and pound out two sets of splints, and then we’ll go to the lake.”

Those boys would pound out those splints in a way you could not believe a little kid could pound. Their mother told them it would not be easy work, but it was gratifying work. It’s something that her family used to do, but her father had already passed on, and he was not able to pass those teachings on.

One of the kids just graduated. When you think of it, like him, some of our kids are getting to that age when they can pass on the teachings. My whole purpose of working with the kids is to teach them every single thing: Where does this tree grow? What kind of environment? Where are they going to replant the seeds? Why do we have to replant the seeds? How long will it take? Every single aspect of it.

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need to be stored at a specific temperature in a specific climate.

Fort Collins, Colorado, has a seed bank that they tell me is better than Fort Knox. You cannot get into the seed bank because it is very well protected.

Early on when the emerald ash borer was decimating our state, federal agencies were doing seed collections of all ash tree species and they were sending them to Fort Collins. There are seed sources there we can access in the future. There are also certain tribes, like the Saginaw Chippewa Tribe, who collected many seeds and have the facilities to safely store them. Les and Richard taught us how we could collect seeds working with other people and he encouraged us to store them however we could.

Treaty Hat, 2017, black ash, copper, sweetgrass, birchbark, map, deerhide, artificial sinew, Rit dye, ink, 10 × 7 1/4 in. Image courtesy of the Oshkosh Public Museum, Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

coming back, he has that knowledge to continue the teachings that may be interrupted.

In 2009 you said you had a seedcollecting meeting. Who hosted that meeting?

It was Les Benedict and Richard David from the Akwesasne Mohawk Nation.

They have been instrumental in the seed collection teachings that I share.

In 2002 the bug was introduced to Michigan. We really didn’t know what it was going to do and where we’d be today with it. But in 2003 my cousin John Pigeon was online and he said, “Hey Kelly, there’s a conference out in Akwesasne about seed collection.

Maybe you and Cherish can go to it?”

He couldn’t take off work and I had the time available to go.

So my daughter and I went. There were people from Canada there that I

still meet with today. This is where my core group came from, and we all met that day. They taught us how to collect seeds. I shared a little bit about the emerald ash borer with them and then they started coming to Michigan to collect seeds and teach us more about how to collect seeds.

Les Benedict was instrumental in helping us get our current grant for working with the forest service. We have literally been working together since 2003, with these nations and these people we originally started with.

I read that you send some of the seeds off for preservation?

Yes, the seeds can be stored. Les and Richard have taught us how we can store our own seeds in our own way at home. But, if you lose power, the lack of cold refrigeration storage will affect the longevity of the seeds because they

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In your pursuit to save the black ash tree, you have successfully collaborated with a variety of agencies, from the National Museum of the American Indian to First Nations people in Canada. What do you attribute these successes to, and what benefits have you seen because of these partnerships?

The NMAI is one of the most instrumental places. A turning point in my life was in 2004 when I was showcasing my work in front of the MoCNA [Museum of Contemporary Native Arts] where I would set up a booth while Santa Fe Indian Market was going on. That year, Keevin Lewis came by and he gave me an application about various programs. I read over them and one of the programs was “holding a community symposium” about anything you wanted. I said, “This is it.

Right here. I need to hold a symposium to share everything that is happening in Michigan so everyone can know.”

I applied that year and was selected.

We hosted the symposium in my state in 2006 and the NMAI funded it. We invited government people, people from the state of Michigan, the federal people, the Abenaki, the weavers from New York and Maine. We had them all come together and share what we

KELLY CHURCH

Girl’s Night Out—Anishinabe Women’s Purse, 2012, black ash, sweetgrass, brass, commercial dye, private collection. Image courtesy of the artist.

were doing at that point. We invited the researcher who discovered the bug.

She came and shared with us about the emerald ash borer. She and I to this day are the best of friends.

I ended up holding three conferences.

I did another one by myself a few years later in 2008. The third conference I held I had support from the NMAI again in 2011. All of these conferences I hosted in Michigan. It’s been an ongoing conversation with us over the years. Now that we have shared what the emerald ash borer is in those conferences, we are now at a stage where we recognize what we have to do and we are working with the youth.

What art projects currently hold your attention and what can we expect to see in the near future?

Right now I’m working on some pieces that, of course, pertain to the emerald ash borer, which is something I will

do until I can no longer do it. I will be premiering the next movement of my work at Santa Fe Indian Market this year, where I will be revealing some fantastic pieces that will give our black ash a stronger voice.

Finally, with a lifetime of knowledge about environmental cycles and the impact humans can impart on these cycles, you are someone who has great wisdom to share. In closing our time together, could you share what you think we need to know about our world today and what can we do to make it a better place?

Our world is more important than money. Many do not realize that. They cut down trees for development, but people need those trees to breathe.

There are pipelines going under the Great Lakes so oil can be transported,

but people need the water to drink.

We need to incorporate these truths into the next generation. When I hear people behind these choices about the environment say, “I may ruin the earth, but it is going to create 30 jobs,” it becomes about economy. We will not be able to eat money, we will not be able to breathe money, and we will not be able to drink money.

In the end, we need to teach this truth to the next generation. As teachers, we need to impart knowledge of how important our environment is, how important our earth is—that our Mother Earth is more important than anything else. People need to understand that without our earth, we do not even have us.

Kelly Church will be at Santa Fe Indian Market in booth 738 LIN-E.

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LUISEÑO-SHOSHONE-BANNOCK BEADWORK ARTIST & DESIGNER

JAMIE OKUMA

By Karen Kramer

I

N THE YEAR 2000, Jamie Okuma rose to renown with her intricately beaded miniature dolls when she won the Best of Show at Santa Fe Indian Market, the annual juried art market organized by the Southwestern Association for Indian Arts. The youngest person to ever win this award since Indian Market’s inception in 1922, she still holds that honor and has since gone on to win it two more times.

A decade after taking classes at Palomar College and the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA), Okuma transitioned from creating her mixed media soft sculpture dolls—completely decked out in their miniature regalia and accouterments—to fashion on a human scale. She started with shearling jackets and embellished shoes—luxury-brand stilettos by well-known designers like Christian Louboutin and Giuseppe Zanotti— and soon after launched her own fashion line, J.Okuma.

What has remained a constant throughout, whether creating tiny replicas of 19th- and 20th-century clothing and accessories for her dolls, sourcing holographic leather, or using the new technology of photo print fabrics for t-shirts, is Okuma’s full embrace of new ideas, techniques, technology, and materials; vibrant and balanced color stories and compositions; and an unparalleled attention to detail. Additional hallmarks of Okuma’s work are her inspiration drawn from time-honored elements in Native art and culture, her originality, and her fierce pursuit of the next creative challenge.

Okuma started beading when she was five years old. Encouraged by her artist-mother Sandra Okuma, Okuma’s first project was ambitious: her own dance regalia for annual family visits to

Jamie Okuma. All images courtesy of the artist.

All photos: Cameron Linton (Iipay-Kupa).

the Shoshone-Bannock Indian Festival powwow and rodeo at her grandmother’s Fort Hall Indian Reservation in Idaho. Seeing everyone’s outfits—the colors and details, all in motion— completely drew her in. In Okuma’s words, “It was everything.” She vividly remembers her first powwow and recalls the man standing in front of her and his bustle and its beadwork in the center. She thought about it much differently than the average five-year-old, and the fact that she can still see the bustle in her mind reflects Okuma’s early and keen eye for detail.

Growing up, school wasn’t her strong suit. She was most excited by working on outfits all year long and participating in area powwows. Things shifted in a sophomore-year English class when she made her first doll: Lady Macbeth. The teacher gave Okuma permission to do this in lieu of writing a ten-page report on Shakespeare.

Okuma had so much fun figuring out the materials, construction, and identifying features that the doll even had blood-stained hands and Macbeth’s famous companion quote, “Out, damned spot.” Not surprisingly, the teacher gave Okuma an A+ (and tried

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to keep the doll for herself), at which point Okuma started focusing more on dolls. Her family encouraged her. After high school, she attended the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe to take classes in silversmithing in order to refine metalwork techniques for her dolls and to take prerequisites to get into Los Angeles’ ArtCenter College of Design for costume design.

As it happened, the Indian Market’s Best of Show award came right before her first year at IAIA. This catapulted her art career and simultaneously derailed her fashion pursuits for a while. Okuma’s high-end designer shoes—some of the most coveted items of Native art on the market today—allowed her the artistic and financial freedom to grow her fashion label, J.Okuma, and develop her global clientele from her home on the La Jolla Indian Reservation in Southern California. Okuma’s platform continues to expand. This past spring, Okuma’s designs were celebrated in a runway show at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian George Gustav Heye Center in New York in conjunction with the Peabody Essex Museum’s traveling exhibition, Native Fashion Now, which included Okuma’s now-famous beaded Louboutin boots, as well as one of her stunning ensembles. The New York Times livestreamed the event on their Styles Facebook page, and since then, the runway show has been viewed more than 323,000 times.

Okuma is an extremely generous, inclusive, and conscientious artist.

She develops meaningful relationships with collectors, scholars, and peers alike. Her beadwork and fashion are in permanent museum collections including at the Heard Museum, Minneapolis Institute of Art,

JAMIE OKUMA

Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Peabody Essex Museum, and National Museum of the American Indian. In addition to growing her own business, she is deeply invested in helping the next generation of artists navigate the art scene and encourage their ambitions of earning a living by making art. Says Okuma, “The more of us that do better, the better off all of us will be.” This artist profile focuses on Okuma’s endeavors with fashion, from how it all began to her artist inspiration, process, and aspirations.

KK: Let’s start with the shoes. You’ve enhanced several pairs of designerlabel shoes and boots, most of which have found homes in museum collections. You take these already gorgeous luxury items and make them your own by beading or quilling designs on them. How did you go from dolls to shoes and beyond?

JO: I’ve always liked the most expensive things in high fashion. Even as a child I was obsessed with the finer things, including jewelry. I’m drawn to the ultraluxe and creative shapes. I was looking at my favorite e-commerce site, YOOX, and talking with my husband and mother about how I can put these two loves together—fashion and my art. Through that conversation, I started my first pair of shoes. I figured, well, if I don’t sell them, I could wear them.

The shoes got so much attention right off. It was really unexpected. My first pair got first place in its category at Indian Market; the Nelson Atkins purchased them. I really like the challenge of working three-dimensionally. I got to a point where the dolls were not challenging anymore. But the shoes—there isn’t a flat surface. The structure is already put together. The forms can be creative. I thought: how am I going to do this? My mom suggested I use a curved needle.

They don’t make them, so I have to make them myself. With the shoes, I don’t use new forms of beadwork, but technique-wise, there’s a lot of new ways I’ve been forced to create.

Jamie Okuma couture, 2016, handmade ribbonwork dress, earrings, and necklace.

Model: Corel Taylor (Cupeño-Kumeyaay).

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beautiful without flaunting your body and be covered from head to toe. So with the pink coat that was in, with its corset and flares, it’s the cultural value of beauty and modesty that comes alive through the futuristic-hot pink-iridescent Italian lambskin.

Where does the design process begin for you?

It could be anything. It could be a rug, a pattern on the wall, wallpaper, anything. I wish I had enough time to do everything that I think about. It’s constant. It doesn’t stop. I don’t sleep because of it. I wake up early because of it. It’s everywhere for me.

Where do you like to start: daydreaming, draping, research? Do you sketch your thoughts and designs?

I never look for it. It just happens …

I may see something somewhere that gives me that general nudge to create. I start with a rough sketch, an outline. If I imagine something complete, I don’t want to finish it. It’s already old to me.

Three-Tier Dentalium Earrings, 2016, dentalium shell, brass spots. Model: Neshay Linton (Iipay-Kupa).

Before I started beading on Louboutins, I was considering learning how to actually build an entire shoe.

I could probably do that with a men’s shoe. But heels? It is an art form to even make a shoe. The process is intense. But the same is true with fashion— pattern making, sewing—it’s an incredible art form.

different ways to fit your goals with your budget. After I started doing the coats, I turned to other clothing.

Around this time, I was also obsessing about [Spokane artist] Betty David’s hand-painted shearling coats. They’re semi-fitted with flat seams, and she would paint designs on them. I realized this was a missing element at market.

So I did a ton of research and followed in her footsteps. One thing leads to another because of the way we live now; the Internet makes it happen. I don’t think I could have done this if I had gone back to design school, which is so expensive. There are now many

I don’t really overthink it because I grew up on a reservation living with family and knowing my great-grandfather, who was born in 1899. And so growing up with all of that, and knowing it … it’s just in me, so I don’t think about it. But it obviously does come out in my work.

How does your personal and cultural background influence what you produce? Some of your clothing doesn’t have obvious Native cultural references.

Historically, our women were covered from the neck down. They wore layers upon layers with hardly any skin showing. You can still look smoking-hot

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It’s amazing to think how your beadwork and your clothing conveys such capacity for change, and also reflects where you are at in any particular moment.

Sometimes, I even dream it, and every once in a great while, it’s a dream that wakes me up. I have to grab a piece of paper and pen and jot down what I’m thinking of, like color combinations.

The initial idea—that is it for me. That’s the high. I know this is going to come out really, really awesome, and I’ve got to make it.

How do you describe your fashion design to others? You have a very cosmopolitan approach to fashion.

I think with the clothing it’s contemporary Native for the most part, but with the jackets, it’s less defined. It’s just current. Just because I am [Native] doesn’t make everything that I do have to be boxed into that. As far as my beadwork goes … just because something has beads … a lot of cultures and

JAMIE OKUMA

people use beads. For me to consider my work “Native art” or “Native fashion,” it should reflect something about my Native identity.

The way I like to explain it is this, about the shoes in particular: to me, they’re my self-portraits because I love that type of fashion. I love the shoes, and we’re living in the now. I’m not living in a tipi. There’s that element I bring to it, but it’s the two worlds I like navigating. It’s my culture, but also because I am a 21st-century Native, I can like all these other things and know about them and understand them, and that’s me. If you want to know who I am, look at my shoes.

To what materials are you drawn?

With materials, it has to be the best.

I don’t want to touch it if it’s not. If it’s leather, it better be braintanned buckskin and/or Italian, and it better come from a really, really great supplier.

Same with the beads. They’ve got to be antique, pre-World War II beads.

They have to be small. They have to be Czech or Italian. Today’s beads just don’t have the old color feel. They’re bright. They’re obnoxious. They’re too uniform. Some of them break. Some of them are painted so the color rubs off. They won’t last. So, anything that I work with is the best material that I can get my hands on. Even when I was little, all my outfits were glass beads on braintanned buckskin while maybe others had beading on canvas, so it’s just carried through.

What people, places, and sources do you look to for additional inspiration?

There is nothing or anyone in particular. I could be reading a magazine. It may not even be a piece of clothing. It may be draping on curtains. It could be staging for a photoshoot … I see different things in the oddest places.

I also get a lot of inspiration from my ancestors and from old photographs of Native people. But fashion designers who inspire me the most are Peter Pilotto, Stella McCartney, Rick Owens, Gareth Pugh, and Iris van Herpen.

Elk Boots, 2017, antique glass beads, steel beads, brass cut beads, bull elk ivory on Italian leather Giuseppe Zanotti boots. Private collection.

Are there any particular time periods that spark your imagination?

I love beaded and embroidered details from 16th- and 17th-century England.

Bustles from the late 19th century.

1920s rebellion to the womanly figure, then back to the ’40s and ’50s extreme cuts to enhance the figure, and then there is ’90s grunge, which I love!

Your clothing definitely has a punk aesthetic to it. Some of your handbags and bracelets have incredible spikes.

They present like regal rays from a luminous crown and also like a barbed weapon.

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Untitled (Wallet), 2017, antique glass microbeads, Italian leather wallet, 3 × 4 in., private collection.

that makes me think of the opposite.

During the Civil War era, people would take the day to just get dressed.

They wore amazing things, and now it’s just fast-food wear. I like the idea of having to strap into something really nice and really cool, and really feel good about what you’re wearing.

I think if you feel good about what you’re wearing, it shows.

As you’re developing your clothing, where do you envision it traveling or being worn? Who do you imagine, or hope, will wear your designs?

I hope anybody who wears it will wear it five years from now, ten years from now. I don’t need them on celebrities.

I don’t need them on famous people, although that’s nice. I just want whoever buys it to understand what it takes to make these pieces, and to love them as much as I do.

What role does collaboration play in your design process? Do you collaborate with others?

I do with some of my ensembles. I collaborate with my mom. She does the bags; I do the jackets. I’ve collaborated with Keri Ataumbi on jewelry, and she styled the models at the Smithsonian runway show in April, so it’s fun. It brings a whole other thought process, which is really interesting, and to this point, it’s been very, very easy and really, really fun and rewarding.

Let’s take that Smithsonian runway show. Did you have ensembles in your mind ready to go and execute them for the event?

For that fashion show, I knew I’d have to show no more than ten ensembles. I had been to Mood Fabrics in New York two

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months before. I had a vision of what I wanted to do, but in the process, it got turned upside down, and I found myself not working on what I thought I’d be working on. What music I’m listening to really dictates my direction. Ultimately it all comes together, but I won’t really know until right before the show.

How important have mentors been in shaping your creative life?

In high school, I was never encouraged.

I got an F in art. The push for formal college education can be so hard. I’m lucky I had a hard head. My mentors are my parents. They carved out a way for me to do this. My parents had always seen my talent from a young age—before I realized it myself. They never pushed for formal education or study unless I wanted it, but they’ve always supported me as an artist. They helped me structure my time. School

JAMIE OKUMA

isn’t everything.

You have a massive following on social media. You have used it well to build support for J.Okuma and also to build community. Does this business sense come easy to you?

I think so. I post what I love to see and I’m glad that it translates to the viewers.

My e-commerce site was largely built on social media. It allows me to see what people are buying and what they like the most. My next collection will reflect these trends. Native Fashion Now also played a part—to date it’s the most important exhibition on Native fashion. I was in WWD [Women’s Wear Daily] because of Native Fashion Now. That’s major! Social media for the show definitely helped build my following.

What does the future look like for you and the J.Okuma brand?

I am hoping to push the understanding of fashion as art and vice versa. I want people to be aware that my couture pieces are handmade by me, the artist.

I think a lot of times people think “designer” means that I just design rather than design and execute the piece … as art is (or most of it is or should be). It’s an amazing amount of work that goes into one pattern, even a t-shirt—it’s all measured—the seams, the length of the sleeves, the hems, and the actual cut. That’s not even including the beadwork that I make that is used for the printed design, that is then used for the t-shirts or leggings. With my pieces, it’s hands-on with everything throughout the process. I think that’s pretty significant, like if you had a garment designed and handmade by Coco [Chanel], [Tom] Ford, or [Peter] Pilotto. There would be so much more value there, and that’s happening in the Native fashion community.

Jamie Okuma will be at Santa Fe Indian Market in booth 218-PAL.

JOKUMA.COM

J.Okuma Wing Dress, 2017, silk.

Earrings, 2017, dentalium shells, brass spots. Model: Corel Taylor (Cupeño-Kumeyaay).

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MUSCOGEE-SEMINOLE-SAC & FOX MIXED MEDIA ARTIST

TONY TIGER

By Mary Jo Watson, PhD

A

RT HISTORIANS have neglected the visual arts of Southeastern Indians during the 20th and early 21st centuries. Minimal information has been available through monographs, art criticism, or exhibition catalogues.

In recent decades, scholars have researched the arts of the precontact mound-building cultures through the Southeastern Woodlands, but the contemporary art of Southeastern Woodlands tribes removed to Indian Territory remains in the shadows.

To call attention to developments in contemporary Southeastern art, Tony Tiger and his friend and fellow artist Bobby Martin helped organize the Southeastern Indian Artists Association (SEIAA). Tiger and Martin teamed up with historian Jace Weaver to launch a group exhibition of contemporary Southeastern Woodland artists to travel back to the original tribal homelands. The exhibition has been well received at eight venues in five states with more exhibits on the calendar. The next venue at Western Carolina University has been awarded a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts to host the exhibit on Southeastern Indian art August 21 through December 8, with a symposium and performance on November 10. The title of this show is, appropriately, Return from Exile: Contemporary Southeastern Indian Art. Tony Tiger is now a world-renowned artist. His surname Tiger is Katcha or Katcv in Mvskoke, the Muscogee and Seminole language.1 This name calls to mind honor, strength, and courage—three traits that Tony has in abundance.

in Pottawatomie County, filled with streams and hills and large areas of trees. He played basketball and football and participated in track and field.

Often outdoors, he relished the natural scenery. He still studies the designs in leaves and other vegetation that he gathers from wooded areas.

Tony lived in Shawnee, which is on the edge of the great Cross Timbers area that runs from north to south through the middle of Oklahoma.

When Washington Irving traveled between Fort Gibson to present-day Oklahoma City in 1832, he wrote this of his travels through the state:

Tony Tiger. All images courtesy of the artist.

Tony was born in Los Angeles, California, in 1964 to William A. Tiger (Muscogee Creek) from Wewoka, Oklahoma, and Wanda Sue Tiger (Sac & Fox-Seminole) from the Shawnee area. He has early memories of his family life, walking to primary school in the smog/fog of Los Angeles and attending a Native church in Bell Gardens, California, where many relocated Indian families were members.

His Christian faith continues to be an important part of his life.

When the Tiger family returned to Oklahoma in 1970, Tony encountered a totally different climate and an abundance of familial ties. Many cousins, aunts, uncles, and his grandparents lived there. His Sac & Fox uncle and his Seminole-Muscogee grandfather taught Tony to hunt and fish on his family’s original allotment lands

We were overshadowed by lofty trees, with straight, smooth trunks, like stately columns; and as the glancing rays of the sun shone through the transparent leaves, tined with the many-colored hues of autumn, I was reminded of the effect of sunshine among the stained windows and clustering columns of a Gothic cathedral.2 In 1976 Tony’s family moved to the Standing Rock Reservation, which straddles the border of North and South Dakota. “What an education in experiencing the full impact of US government policies on Indian people,” Tony says of his time in Standing Rock.3 The artist married his sweetheart, Brenda, who is Cherokee. Shortly after the birth of their first son when Tony was 29, he enrolled at Seminole State College in Oklahoma where he earned his associate in arts degree. He earned his bachelor of fine arts degree from Oklahoma State University and MFA from the University of Oklahoma.

Tiger continues to visit these

1. Rev. R. M. Loughridge and Elder David M. Hodge, English and Muskokee Dictionary (Okmulgee, OK: B. Frank Blevin/Baptist Home Mission Board, 1964).

2. Washington Irving, A Tour on the Prairies, ed. John Francis McDermott (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1956), 42.

3. Tony Tiger, email message to author, June 6, 2017.

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TONY TIGER

institutions of learning to exhibit his art, encourage students, and lecture on contemporary Indian art.

After graduating from OU, Tony became the director of the art department at Bacone College in Muskogee. Bacone, founded in 1880 on Muscogee Creek Nation land, boasts that it is the longest-standing Native art program with Native directors and instructors and houses the first Native American art museum, Ataloa Lodge.

Tony’s grandfather graduated from this historic institution in 1924. His grandfather and great-grandfather appreciated the importance of education, and encouraged the children in the family to seek knowledge through higher education.

Over time, Tony has become an award-winning painter, printmaker, and mixed media artist who has participated in many national solo and group exhibitions. Tony’s art was recently included in the Museum of Arts and Design’s Changing Hands: Art Without Reservation 3. He has also curated numerous exhibitions, including Art from Indian Territory: Contemporary Native Art from Oklahoma at the All My Relations Gallery in Minneapolis.

Return from Exile, the most ambitious curatorial project to date, showcases 32 artists and has been exhibiting since 2015. Tony and Bobby C. Martin recently traveled to the UK and spoke about Return from Exile at the American Indian Workshop at Goldsmiths, University of London.

Tony’s career continues to expand and his accomplishments are impressive. He is now devoted full time to his art, mentoring young artists, and curating new exhibits on American Indian art. He lives in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, with Brenda, and enjoys his extended family, friends, hunting, fishing, and kayaking.

I was able to catch up with Tony and ask him more about his perspectives on art and life.

MJW: Many academics, both Native and non-Native, are concerned about the manner in which Native art is taught. Western ideology, philosophy,

Metamorphosis, 2017, acrylic paint on panel, serigraphy on paper with wrapped panel, 60 × 30 × 4 in.

and standards do not adequately apply to Native concepts. Does your art training in any way impede your resolution to present images that are important to your tribal ideology?

TT: Every artist has a history, experiences, and convictions on existence on which to draw from. This is what

makes humanity interesting, common, and inspiring. As a Sac & Fox, Seminole, and Muscogee artist with a little Spanish and Irish blood thrown in, I have my own story, experiences, and convictions on existence. My art expresses the commonalities of humanity, the mystery and wonder of FALL 2017 | 61

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life itself, and the fantastic journey I have been allowed to experience these last 50 years. I see Western art history methods of explaining art headed in a singular direction, where the artists are encouraged to follow; however, creativity has never been singular.

My artistic expressions include my diverse experiences as an Indian man living in the 20th and 21st centuries, starting life in the mid-sixties in Los Angeles where the only Indians I recall were the individuals at the Indian Baptist church my family attended and [the ones on] TV. I had eye-opening revelations when we moved back to Shawnee: our huge family, rich tribal histories, cultures, and oddly the land, which I had never previously set foot on. The smell of the earth and soil on that June morning still lingers in my soul. The connection of the Native artists to time and place is a driving force. The people, the land, the culture, and the history of all these are imprinted in our hearts, our souls, and physical being.

My art education has allowed me to understand Western art theory, while not without challenges, with both Native and non-Native criticism. Some would say of my art, “Is this Indian art?” and others, “This is too Indian.” I create art with the tribal aesthetic in my heart, in my head, and everywhere my feet have been.

In older paintings and those of the ancients, there generally seems to be a system of color usage. Most tribes had a selection of colors for the cardinal directions and others used certain colors on symbolic objects. Your use of brilliant colors is one of your signature approaches to painting. Is this something you were taught or an acquired skill you gained over time?

How fortunate we are that the Almighty created humans with the ability to see color. As an outdoorsman, I always appreciated the wonder of color in nature, having witnessed numerous sunrises and sunsets while sitting in a tree or ground blind on a river or lakeshore. This allowed me to observe the process of the illumination of color in nature and how it changes, even in a matter of minutes.

When I teach color theory, I have students use a magnifying glass and go out side to view objects closely to see the multitude of colors present, and how those hues express the fantastic beauty in creation. My boyhood observations continue to fuel my use of color in my art. I enjoy kayaking the local rivers and lakes— looking, observing. I will catch a fish and take note of its color combinations or turn over rocks and fallen trees to see the life and colors under them.

Intertribal, 2015, acrylic painting on panel, 16 × 50 × 1 ½ in., collection of J.W. Wiggins, Little Rock, Arkansas.

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My tribal ancestors’ use of color also intrigued my interest. The ribbonwork appliqué of the Sac & Fox and the patchwork of the Seminoles were my first recollections of cognitive use of color. I also use color symbolically in my art. Red may represent blood, passion, or sacrifice. Dark blue represents deep thoughts. My education in color and the exploration of color has furthered my understanding and interest of this element in my art. Like

TONY TIGER

Tony Tiger (Muscogee-Seminole-Sac & Fox) and Bobby C. Martin (Muscogee Creek), Mekusape Fullvnna (Muscogee Gravehouse), 2015, wood, steel, etching and serigraphy on paper, Plexiglas, encaustic, light, sound, 46 × 96 × 45 in.

many artists before me, continued work, observation, and application of color allows for maturity in my artistic expressions.

My interest in color has influenced my latest curatorial project titled The Evolution of Color. The exhibit highlights many of the outstanding American Indian artists from Oklahoma working in color and influenced by color. Of the 39 tribes calling Oklahoma home, with all the cultural history of each, and new influences with other tribes and introduced trade goods, creative color use exploded Indian communities here. One of my favorite expressions of Indian art is beadwork, due to the use of color. This exhibit will open on the first Friday in October 2017 in the Sherman Smith Family Gallery at the Henry Zarrow Center for Art and Education in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Return from Exile, the exhibit that Bobby Martin, Jace Weaver, and

you conceived, has been a success and testament to your advocacy for Southeastern contemporary Indian art. What have you learned from the experience?

I was asked while obtaining funding for the Return from Exile curatorial project, “Isn’t the project too ambitious for you to handle?” I replied, “It is the natural, logical progression of my creative interest to take on such a project.” I could make that statement due to my knowledge, art education, and my awareness of the artistic talent we chose for the project. I also had experience with prior curatorial projects, exhibit preparatory work, and art transportation.

This type of curation is risky as the artists were encouraged to create new pieces that spoke to the themes of removal, return, and resilience, so we had few preexisting images to show interested venues. However, most

importantly, I knew to work with the best in my field. Individuals like my co-curator Bobby C. Martin, graphics magician; the talented Southeastern artists, the Southeastern Artists Association; writers heather ahtone, you, and Jace Weaver, who was of great assistance in organizing the first venue at the Lyndon House Arts Center in Athens, Georgia, and the symposium on Southeastern contemporary Indian art.

The artists, collectors, and art professionals understood the gravity of this exhibit and its importance for spotlighting the artistic talent within the Southeastern Indian community.

One of the driving forces that fueled this exhibit and effort was the insufficient amount of Native curation in the art world. Every artist hopes to impact the art world in some way. I recall a graduate school professor who asked, “How will your art affect the world of art?” I recall thinking, “I’m just a Native guy from Oklahoma.

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How will my art affect the art world?”

That question remains on my mind as I move forward in my art career.

Another professor said, “Successful artists must make their own history.”

I am thankful and pleased my artistic efforts have been effective in the world of art. Most importantly, they have blessed the greater community of artists.

Could you discuss one or two of the artists you included in the exhibition?

The sculptures of Troy Jackson continue to amaze me. By linking the past to the present with clay and steel, he speaks to where we have come as Southeastern Indian people. His tribe, the Cherokee, has created numerous jobs for Oklahomans, encourages its citizens to obtain knowledge at the university level, and fosters creative liberty at their art center and tribal gallery.

Erin Shaw, a Chickasaw-Choctaw artist, works in Oklahoma City. She engages her community with interactive exhibits and includes her son in these engagements. The next generation is important to our tribes and our nation. We need to see the value in the education of our children, our people.

Please explain why you and Bobby submitted a Muscogee Creek burial house as part of the exhibition.

State of Being: Transformation, 2017, acrylic paint on stacked panel with serigraphy on paper and wrapped panel, 48 × 30 × 4 in.

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The Muscogee grave house, Mekusape Fullvnna, is titled after a song that speaks to one who believes in a spirit life with the Almighty. It describes an individual who lives life in prayer, worship, song, and faith. The concept of the grave house came to me while I was multitasking: curating, lecturing on sacred subjects, participating in the annual task of cleaning the family cemetery, and collaborating with Bobby Martin. I had just curated an exhibit for the Sequoyah National Research Center at the University of Arkansas, Little Rock, from the Dr. J. W. Wiggins collection, The Influence of the Cross: The Incorporation of Christian Symbols

TONY TIGER

Looking Out Looking In, 2017, acrylic on paper with hand-cut image, 18 × 12 in.

and Iconography in American Indian Art. I also presented a noontime talk at the Philbrook Museum in Tulsa while Seeking the Sacred was on display.

Bobby and I were sitting in his studio discussing ideas and concepts for possible art projects when he held up a piece of plasma-cut steel with his ancestors’ names from the Dawes Rolls.

He said, “What could we do with this?”

With all the content of sacred concepts fresh on my mind and seeing the grave houses the weekend before, I suggested we create a grave house installation.

The grave house would honor the memory of our Muscogee ancestors who survived the trail to Indian Territory and who created new lives for their families in this new land. The piece also allowed Bobby and me to test the compatibility of our collaboration—each artist must bring value into the project. We are pleased with the result. The cultural thought behind the

grave house is a fear the spirit might wander too far from the body. With a house erected over the grave and body, the spirit would remain close, waiting for the day to join others who had passed on.

The piece has many elements involved: primarily a full-size wooden structure, 46 by 96 by 45 inches. The base of the walls is wood framed with aged log siding, and the plasma-cut steel with the names of our ancestors glows from the cutout accentuating the log siding. The roof is Plexiglas with waxed etchings on paper providing the names of our ancestors. The waxed etchings along with text of scripture and lyrics from the Muscogee-language hymn, “Mekusape Fullvnna,” act as shingles.

There is an audio component of a dear teacher of the Muscogee language,

Margaret McKane Mauldin, who sings numerous Muscogee hymns as the viewer gazes at images that reflect our connections to our ancestors and our heritage. In creating this cultural and sacred object as an art piece, we remind the viewer that if we know where we came from, how we got here, we will not forget, and this knowledge will aid us as we journey forth as men and women, as Muscogee people.

Mvto.

Tony Tiger is represented by the Pierson Gallery in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and is affiliated with Exhibit C Gallery in Bricktown, Oklahoma City. He will be part of the Southeastern Art Show and Market, the Cherokee Art Market, and Santa Fe Indian Market in booth 721 LIN-W.

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WHITE EARTH OJIBWE-ARAPAHO PAINTER

STAR WALLOWING BULL

By Sheila Regan

L

IGHT SABERS, BRAND LOGOS, machine gears, and fancy dancers are just some of the recognizable imagery that is folded into the striking work of Star Wallowing Bull. The artist’s use of vivid colors dazzle, while his bold geometric forms pop with energy.

Whereas his early colored pencil drawings are intimate and intricate, Wallowing Bull’s more recent paintings have grown larger, allowing his gestural choices to take up more space on the canvas. The characters featured in his work, whether they be robots, Native figures, or intergalactic warriors, tell stories in his masterful compositions. Close up you see the exquisite detail apparent in his craft.

From further away you can take in the grandeur.

Taught at different times by his father, Frank Big Bear (White Earth Ojibwe), as well as his mentor, James Rosenquist, Star Wallowing Bull reflects both of these artists’ influences in his work, through technique and in borrowed imagery and motifs that Wallowing Bull makes his own.

In one piece, The Three Bears, Wallowing Bull replicates one of his father’s pieces within the drawing. Big Bear, in turn, used the postcard image of The Three Bears as the repeated base image for his own collage piece, The Walker Collage, Multiverse #10.

There’s also a bit of Andy Warhol as well as Pablo Picasso in Wallowing Bull’s aesthetic. His use of pop imagery isn’t so much a critique of capitalism or consumerism as it is what he’s drawn to and what makes up his cultural recollection. With an almost photographic memory, Wallowing Bull funnels pop iconography, biographical details, emblems of Native culture, and

Star Wallowing Bull. Image courtesy of the author.

the interworking of his limitless imagination to create stunning paintings.

Technically gifted, Wallowing Bull demonstrates a love of form, of color, and a pursuance of unusual shapes and asymmetry in his art. A joy of creating can be read in the work even while some of his pieces grapple with painful topics, such as early struggles in his life and environmental concerns.

In his paintings that embrace wonder, exploring outer space, and fantastical science fiction, Wallowing Bull inserts an ominous aura.

Weaponized eyes and exploding mechanical heads dabble profoundly between organic and inorganic forms.

In these works, beauty is set side by side with destruction.

An Ojibwe-Arapaho artist and member of the White Earth Band of the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe, Wallowing Bull was born in 1973 in the Twin Cities in Minnesota. He had his first public exhibition in 1999 at Bockley Gallery in Minneapolis.

In 2001, he moved to Fargo, North

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Dakota, and now he is currently based in Moorhead, Minnesota.

His awards include the 2014 Native Arts and Cultures Foundation Regional Artist Fellowship, the 2010 Bush Artist Fellowship, a 2002 juror award from the Plains Art Museum, and the 2001 Native Artist Fellowship from the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian, where he has also exhibited his work.

He has been featured in solo shows at the Plains Museum in Fargo, the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, and Bockley Gallery in Minneapolis, where he is represented. His work has also shown at the Minneapolis Institute of Art, the Tweed Museum of Art, the British Museum, the Weisman Art Museum, and the C.N. Gorman Museum.

SR: What are you working on now?

SWB: I just finished an art project for the new Sanford Medical Center in Fargo. It was two paintings put together—a diptych, and they both measured four by six feet. It’s titled The Three Dancers.

Do you do a lot of commissioned pieces?

Yeah, I do, but this was different. It was something that caught me off guard. When I first started the project, I proposed a North Dakota landscape with three Native American Indian dancers— a father, a mother, and a daughter. But they wanted me to match the furniture, the walls, and the carpet. And that really threw me off.

So, I just couldn’t do that. They sent me 20 color strips in the mail, and that didn’t work well.

That sounds difficult as an artist

STAR WALLOWING BULL

who works intuitively. I can see how fulfilling requirements might throw you off a bit.

I agree with that and I just take this as a learning lesson from doing this kind of commission work, but I’m grateful to be a part of the new Sanford hospital.

What normally inspires you?

I’m very easily inspired. It’s kind of an everyday situation for me. I’ll be watching a documentary on the Internet, or I could be going for a walk somewhere. Talking to people, my friends, my family. The things that I see around me. I’m just very easily inspired.

Do you carry around a notebook with you so you can draw or write your ideas as they come to you?

Actually, I don’t sketch. I don’t even sketch at all. I just use my imagination.

Especially when I look at a canvas. I just start sketching with my imagination. I start drawing on there. It’s the same thing with paint or colored pencil.

Is there a reason why you choose colored pencil or paint?

I was using colored pencils for most of my life. The last colored pencil piece I completed was late 2015. I don’t draw as much because it hurts my hand now. I really miss it. I’m going to get back into it. I think I’m just pressing down too hard. But it was in 2005 that I met another artist who got me into painting. I practically taught myself how to paint. It was hard because I had never done it before.

What was part of that conversation and how did you decide to try painting?

Well, in 2005, I met James Rosenquist, a Pop artist working out of New York City—and he was painting a lot in Florida. He came up to my studio. I

Rise and Fall of the Industrial Age, 2011, color pencil on paper, 30 × 22 in. Image courtesy of Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

had colored pencils up there. I was kind of playing around with paint that year, too. I had found a bunch of paint in the dumpster at the NDSU [North Dakota State University] art department and I was just experimenting with it. He really liked it.

It was my first painting ever, and he ended up buying it. He encouraged me to paint more and to paint bigger. We developed a friendship after that and he’s just been a really good mentor and friend throughout the years. He passed away about three months ago [March 31, 2017] in New York City. He was sick for a while.

What was Rosenquist doing in Fargo?

He was at the Plains Art Museum. He was getting an honorary doctorate from the NDSU art department. He flew in to receive it, and they had a little party afterwards at the Plains Art Museum. And that’s when I went over there. I was actually hungry. I wanted to go over there and eat something. I had never even heard of him before so I just went in there and started eating.

That’s when they introduced me to him. He wanted to see my work, so I brought him to my studio, which was FALL 2017 | 67

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Five Star Double Feature, 2011, color pencil on paper, 22 ¼ × 30 in. Image courtesy of Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

across the street from there at the time.

That’s where I used to live.

As you were switching into more painting, you said that your works got larger. How did painting larger works change your art?

It was gradual over the years. My first year I was a really slow painter. I didn’t really pick up the speed. Around five or six years into it, it seems like my work is getting bigger and bigger now.

What is it about painting bigger that attracts you?

I have so much to paint … I just have so many ideas of what I’d like to do.

I just see them as big portraits. My friend Jim Rosenquist is known for his billboard-size paintings (and they are even bigger than that), so he’s been an

inspiration to me. I told him I’m going to do better than him one of these days. He just looked at me and said, “Do it.”

The shapes you use are often geometrical, and they are also very colorful.

I kind of like those geometric shapes that have a Picasso feel to them. A lot of my work has that feel. Jim called me “Baby Picasso.” Picasso was kind of an influence on me back when my father used to take me to the museums in Minneapolis. That kind of picked up when I started playing with robot toys, and that inspired me, too. I put those two things together and come up with these figures. Some people ask if I would consider it Native American Indian art or not. Because it looks

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different. It’s unique. I tell people, it’s just art. That’s all it is.

You have some interesting references that you draw from: robots, Star Wars, NASA. What draws you to these topics?

That’s what I grew up around. I grew up around the art scene. I grew up playing with toy robots. Watching Star Wars, watching Star Trek, those Sci-Fi cartoons and movies. I want to be myself as an artist. A lot of artists out there do the same thing over and over.

It’s probably because it’s hard to get away from their art teacher’s influence during that time. I choose just to be who I am without anybody teaching me anything. I’m too stubborn.

What pieces are you working on next?

STAR WALLOWING BULL

I multitask with my art. I’m working on four paintings and a color pencil diptych, and I just take turns on all of the work. The big piece that I’m working on right now is five feet by eight feet and is going to be called Machine Head. I got that idea when I was looking at a blank canvas and I was trying to figure out what to paint, and all of a sudden the song came on called “Machine Head” by Bush. It just inspired me to make this piece.

It’s a big robot head with a mohawk and it’s looking to the right side of the canvas, and I’m going to make all these machine parts coming out of it. Right now I’m working on a propeller that’s sticking out of its face.

How did you end up settling in Moorhead?

I came over to Moorhead from Fargo so I could be available for art grants. There are no grants in Fargo.

I moved to Fargo 18 years ago from Minneapolis. Ever since I came up here, my life has been a lot better and healthier. I love it up here. I don’t think I’ll ever leave.

Do you spend a lot of time in nature, or outdoors? Do you just like having more space? Less hectic?

It’s less hectic. It’s a lot smaller up here.

I live right by the Red River, so I go on the trails there. It’s a wooded area, and it almost feels like you are out in the woods. Very nice.

Do you ever get inspiration from nature?

I get inspired from nature a lot. It kind of clears my mind, too. Gets me ready for the next painting.

You said you don’t consider yourself a Native artist. Are you connected to your Native community in other ways?

I’m very proud to be a Native American Indian. My father’s Chippewa, and my mother’s Arapaho

Butterfly Man, 2016, acrylic on canvas, 48 × 36 inches. Image courtesy of Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

and Lakota Sioux, and I’m very proud of her side as well. I’m just an artist.

I don’t do an Indian guy holding up a pipe to the moon, animal heads floating around and stuff. I don’t see why the minority race of America should have their race with their identity as an artist. You’ll see an African-American artist and you’ll see a Mexican artist or a Native American Indian artist. Why don’t white [artists] identify like that? It doesn’t make sense to me.

If someone wants to call me a Native American Indian artist, I’m just fine

with it. I’m not going to get all upset about it or anything like that. I see myself as an artist without being labeled.

You mentioned Picasso and your friend Jim, but are there other artists that you really admire?

The artist that I’m really inspired by right now is of course my father, Frank Big Bear. He’s the one that got me into the arts when I was a baby. He was telling me stories all the time. I saw his work as I was growing up and I’ve seen it more recently.

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am starting to warp a lot of the images in my paintings. I got influenced from Jim Rosenquist’s paintings.

There’s a sense of humor and whimsy in the Aim toothpaste piece. How did you come up with that juxtaposition of the AIM as a movement and the logo from a household product?

I did that image around 2009. I was actually at my father’s place looking at some of his old work one day. I happened to come across one of his drawings that had the word AIM in it, but it was referring to the toothpaste. But he was also referring to the American Indian Movement. So later that year I came up with my own drawing with the Aim toothpaste in it, referencing the American Indian Movement.

What was it about dual meaning in your father’s drawing that you wanted to emulate?

ABOVE: The Optimator, 2014, acrylic on canvas, 40 × 30 inches.

OPPOSITE: Cervello Spazio Cosmico #2, 2015, color pencil on paper, 22 ¼ × 15 in. Both images courtesy of Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Can you say something about the Red Owl image that appears frequently in your work? What drew you to that logo?

a Red Owl image so when people see a Red Owl logo or see my art with Red Owl in it, they are going to say, “Oh, it’s Star Wallowing Bull.”

I started that Red Owl image probably around 2005, 2006. At the time, the reason why I took an interest in it was because of Andy Warhol. Anytime you see a Campbell Soup can, people think, “Oh, Andy Warhol.” I wanted my own logo or mark. I started using

Recently the Red Owl seems to be crumpled up. What is that about?

I was doing those Red Owl paintings, and they all kind of looked the same but different. And I just started warping them out about a year ago. I

The piece that my father did was a lot different than mine. I didn’t want to copy it. When I did the Aim toothpaste logo, I pictured this Sioux Native American woman smiling with her white teeth, referencing the Aim toothpaste but also the American Indian Movement. So it gives it a little twist of humor and also represents the cause.

What are your goals? Where do you hope to see your career go?

What do you hope to accomplish with your art?

The number one thing I want to accomplish in my life is to be healthy, so I can keep painting and keep developing my work. I want to get better and better. I’d like to have some more art shows out there, too.

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STAR WALLOWING BULL

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REVIEWS BROOKINGS, SOUTH DAKOTA

Horse Nation of the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ South Dakota Museum of Art

T

HE STORY BEHIND Horse Nation of the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ is just as compelling as the show itself, which includes work by over 70 Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota artists. In 2011 artist Keith BraveHeart (Oglala Lakota) began working as the social marketing manager for a holistic therapy program, Tiwahe Glu Kini Pi (TGKP; Bringing the Family Back to Life), at Sinte Gleska University that has since led him to become a documentary filmmaker and curator. What started as a project to promote the equine therapy aspect of TGKP prompted BraveHeart to interview as many people as possible to preserve the voices of an oral history regarding the centrality of the horse to the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ (Seven Council Fires) [misnamed Sioux in the process of colonization].

BraveHeart collaborated with Jim Cortez to produce a documentary film, We Are a Horse Nation (2014), available online for free at horsenationfilm.com.

BraveHeart was aware that Oscar Howe (Yanktonai Dakota, 1915–1983) had depicted the horse in several paintings, which led him to research what other modern and contemporary visual art focused on horses that had been produced by Očhéthi Šakówiŋ artists.

Many artists submitted works, granting permission for their works to be shown in the film. BraveHeart also visited the Akta Lakota Museum in Chamberlain and the Heritage Center at Red Cloud Indian School on the Pine Ridge Reservation (both in South Dakota) to comb their databases for artworks.

Mary Maxon, then curator at the Red Cloud Heritage Center (later promoted

to director), presented the idea for a collaborative, thematic exhibition and helped to secure grant funding for the undertaking.

While BraveHeart took the lead on this project, his approach to this role is unique and very much reflects his charmingly modest personality. His mission at every point is to promote the Oyate (nation/people), not his own individual vision, and to accomplish this he continuously seeks input from a core group of artists and community voices.

As he describes his work on this and the film project, he “didn’t want to hijack the story.” He relayed that sometimes he judged a particular work should be included or excluded, but the group would convince him otherwise. When developing a roster, he noted what reservations had no representation and then scouted artists from those places, with a goal of inclusivity. The exhibition was very much a collaborative endeavor

among a core group of 14 artists, with contributions from Maxon, Ashley Pourier (Oglala Lakota), Craig Howe, PhD (Oglala Lakota), Mary Bordeaux (Sicangu Lakota), and Peter Strong.1 The Horse Nation exhibition premiered in fall 2016 at the Heritage Center at Red Cloud before traveling to the Dahl Arts Center in Rapid City, South Dakota, then to the South Dakota Art Museum in Brookings for the summer.

Attendees at the April 27th opening at the South Dakota Art Museum were welcomed in the museum auditorium and treated to brief talks by artist and professor Gwen Westerman (Sisseton Wahpeton Dakota-Cherokee) and three youth in the organization Sungwatogda (Fearless Horses). The event continued outside onto a grassy area, where everyone formed a large circle around three beautiful horses.

Artist James Star Comes Out (Oglala

Keith BraveHeart (Oglala Lakota), Tasunka Unsikila (He Cherishes His Horse), 2016, acrylic.

1. In addition to BraveHeart, the core group includes Jhon Goes In Center, Donald F. Montileaux, Marlena Myles, Mike One Star, Molina Parker, Nelda Schrupp, James Star Comes Out, Michael Two Bulls, Tara Wahcahunka, Gwen Westerman, Dyani White Hawk, Dwayne Wilcox, and Jim Yellowhawk.

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Lakota) dressed two of the horses in regalia, made by him, and all three were walked around the inside of the circle four times, a sacred number to the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ. Attendees were encouraged to touch the horses as they passed, to bless them and be blessed by them. Redwing Thomas (Isanti Dakota) sang a prayer for the health and well-being of all.

About 25 participating artists made it to this opening. They were invited to form a receiving line, and visitors thanked them for their work.

Having attended countless exhibition openings before, I was struck by the unique aura this sequence of experiences set up for those present.

Whereas most openings tend to be crowded and loud yet oddly isolating, the horse honoring and thanking of artists at this opening provided a silent connection among attendees. The focus was meditative and thankful toward the horses’ power and the artist’s abilities, which brought one into the exhibition with a peaceful and open mind.

Though BraveHeart stresses that “no one piece is more important than another,” because all the work cohesively together shows the profound sacredness of the horse to the Oyate, some works naturally stand out from others. Michael Two Bulls (Oglala Lakota) contributed four Joseph Cornell-like shadowboxes with layers of collage and assemblage.

Cheekily titled New Artifact[s], several contain small plastic toy “Indians” shooting arrows—or dead. Carl Winters’s (Hunkpati Dakota [Hunkpapa Lakota]) painting, My Daughter is Worth Many Horses (2016), depicts a woman wearing a vibrant red shawl with exquisitely rendered dentalia ear ornaments and a dress bodice, which are signs of prestige and wealth. Dwayne Wilcox (Oglala Lakota) contributed two horse masks that appear to be covered in quillwork but are in fact made of paper covered in beeswax. Even the “feathers” on Dad’s Horse Blacky (2016) are cut from ledger paper (dating to 1940). The artist developed a technique to use materials at hand and to produce more quickly, though each work is still very time consuming. The results are

stunning and speak to the resiliency of paper as well as the artist’s inventiveness and craftsmanship. Infant-sized beaded moccasins titled Running Toward the Sun by Tara Wahcahunka (Yankton Dakota) feature blue and green horses, each made with only 21 tiny beads.

BraveHeart’s Tasunka Unsikila (2016) overlays digital icons onto a flat rendering of a boy on a horse against a silhouetted landscape. A ledger drawing and hair ornament from the 1890s testify to the longstanding history of horse culture to the Oyate.

Buffalo Horse Shield by Lyle Miller Sr. (Yankton Dakota) was published in the Summer 2016 issue of FAAM as part of Kim Mariette’s article, “The Art of Horse Painting by the Plains Nations.”

Other artists featured in that article— Donald F. Montileaux (Oglala Lakota), Martin Red Bear (Oglala-Sicangu Lakota), and Richard Red Owl (Oglala Lakota)—also have works in the Horse Nation exhibition.

A catalogue featuring all works in the exhibition, along with a documentary film, will be available in late summer. Arthur Amiotte (Oglala Lakota) and Craig Howe co-authored one essay for this publication.

Horse Nation will travel next to Fargo, North Dakota; then Kearny, Nebraska, and end in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

—Andrea L. Ferber, PhD

Dwayne Wilcox (Oglala Lakota), Dad’s Horse Blacky, 2016, paper, porcupine hair, sequins.

DAVIS, CALIFORNIA

Great Basin Artists C. N. Gorman Museum

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HIS FOUR-WOMAN SHOW at the C.N. Gorman Museum at the University of California, Davis, features members of the Great Basin Native Artists (GBNA), a regional Indigenous artist collective. The exhibition includes works by Melissa Melero-Moose (Fallon Paiute-Modoc), Topaz Jones (Shoshone-LummiKalapuya-Molalla), Karma Henry (Fort Independence Paiute), and Jaune Quickto-See Smith (Sqelix’u-Métis-Shoshone).

The department of Native American studies founded the C.N. Gorman Museum at UC Davis in 1973 to honor Carl Nelson Gorman (Navajo, 1907–1998), a painter, professor, and Code Talker. Since its inception, the museum has been dedicated to exhibiting work by living Indigenous artists and stands out in this regard as an educational institution.

Mixed-media artist Melissa Melero-Moose founded the Great Basin Native Artists collective in 2014. The organization represents and serves Indigenous artists from Nevada, Utah, Eastern California, Southern Idaho, and Southern Oregon, collectively known as the Great Basin and previously underrepresented in Native art scholarship and curation.

Residing in Eastern California, Karma Henry is the vice chairperson of the Fort Independence Indian Community of Paiute Indians in Owens Valley. She graduated from California State University, Northridge, with a BA in painting and a minor in American Indian studies. Henry then earned her MFA from Otis College of Art and Design in Los Angeles.

Henry’s WIYA (Black Oak Acorn) from 2016 features a map of the Fort Independence Indian Reservation and the simple contour line of two faces— vertical mirror images, chin to chin. The pale green paint strokes of the upper face overlay the map. The eyes combine with the rigid lines of the map, while the mouth is free of boundaries and reaches out into the deeper greens of FALL 2017 | 73

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the canvas. Below the face is its seeming reflection, outlined in black seed beads obscured by and securely attached to the dark background. Her artist statement reads, “Just as memories are shadows, so are the people. We are still here, but we all carry those shadows with us.” It’s a very eloquent concept and realization, illustrating both the transient and indelible nature of historical trauma.

Melissa Melero-Moose, born in San Francisco, California, grew up outside of Reno, Nevada. She holds a bachelor of fine arts degree from the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe and a bachelor of science degree in psychology and fine arts from Portland State University in Oregon. Her work has been exhibited regionally and nationally, and she has garnered awards from the Autry Museum, the Nevada Arts Council, and the Wheelwright Museum, to name just a few.

Combining homemade acrylic media on canvas with objects such as willow and pine nuts, Melero-Moose’s work brings the focus of the observer’s eye to her sense of composition and her relationship with color. She merges three-dimensional, geometrical shapes—abstracted patterns from Great Basin basketry onto textured backgrounds. While viewing her work, I experienced an overwhelming sensation that it was coming toward me, alive, always shifting, moving through time to meet me now. She writes, “I integrate these images and cultural organic materials into my artwork as my interpretation of landscapes and how I view the beauty of my culture as well as nature itself. I consider these works to be a perspective of my tribe and culture through the eyes of a Native woman, mother, and artist.”

A longtime artist, activist, teacher, and curator, Jaune Quick-To-See Smith received her bachelor’s degree in art education from Framingham State College in Massachusetts and her master’s degree in art from the University of New Mexico, as well as four honorary doctorates. Over the past 40 years, she has had more than a hundred solo shows. She also curated some of the most ambitious and pivotal group shows in response to the Columbus quincentennial. Her

Karma Henry (Fort Independence Paiute, WIYA (Black Oak Acorn), 2016, acrylic, paper, 10° glass beads on canvas, 18 × 24 in.

work has shown across the country and beyond in a wide variety of venues, including public art spaces like the Denver Airport, Yerba Buena Park in San Francisco, and a mile-long history trail in West Seattle.

Smith’s Theatres of War, a physically small piece, contains a lot to unload. The title refers to World War I though she created the lithograph in 2007 during George W. Bush’s presidency when he, as the artist states, “made war sound like a video game.”

A war shirt covered by a translucent symbol of the four directions dominates the center of the print, and in the right upper corner a songbird sings, “Rat a tat tat BANG BANG.” Black ink hangs over the surface like soot, while blood red covers the bird, roses, and the back of a stereotypical image of a Native man’s head, with text above and to the right of him that reads, “tick tick boom” and “knock ’em dead.” The anti-war message is clear and concise.

Born in Portland, Oregon, Topaz Jones spent much of her childhood moving from place to place and participated in powwows throughout the Great Basin and Pacific Northwest. She holds a bachelor of fine arts degree from the Institute of American Indian Arts.

Intertribal is a captivating piece that immediately made me want to move my body. Two young children, a girl dressed in pink and turquoise and

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a boy with a mischievous smile, likely modeled after the artist’s own children, appear to be enjoying themselves and moving their bodies through space.

The hard light insinuates sunlight. The background comprised of six horizontal, repetitive patterns provides a celebratory context of a powwow intertribal song that invites participation.

These two-dimensional works— mixed media, paintings, and hand-pulled prints—are spirited and personal. I appreciate the artists’ willingness to share their personal and political views, and to share in their delight and joy of living and making their artwork. These women are firmly grounded in their cultures, yet have each found an individual artist voice—no easy task! —Thollem

LONDON

Where the Thunderbird Lives : Cultural Resilience on the Northwest Coast of North America British Museum

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ROM FEBRUARY 23 to August 27, 2017, the British Museum presents Where the Thunderbird Lives: Cultural Resilience on the Northwest Coast of North America, featuring Native Northwest Coast artworks from the museum’s collection.

The pieces are of the past and present, from stone carvings and weapons that date back thousands of years to contemporary prints on paper. Media include cedar bark and yarn weaving, serigraphy, and carvings in stone, bone, and wood. This is the British Museum’s first exhibition to focus on Northwest Coast art, which “celebrates the cultural resilience of the communities in this region. With over 9,000 years of cultural, linguistic and genetic continuity, these societies have successfully maintained their identity and way of life in a rapidly changing world.”

A longtime institution, the British Museum serves as a reliable authority on world cultures in light

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of its extensive history and the scope of its collections. It opened in 1759 and has one of the largest permanent collections in the world. Within its white marble, Neoclassical exterior, the museum houses notable examples of material culture from around the globe, including the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin or Parthenon Marbles, the Sutton Hoo ship-burial helmet, and stone and ceramic works from ancient Egypt, Assyria, Greece, Rome, and Europe, as well as large collections from Africa and the Americas. Northwest Coast art has long been present in the museum.

Two monumental, mid-19th-century cedar poles acquired by the museum in 1902 stand on permanent display in the lobby. To have a Native Northwest Coast art show in this venue under the same roof as so many historically significant items is encouraging for anyone interested in Native American art. Showing the works in the British Museum could start a serious dialogue about Native Northwest Coast art.

Sponsored by the High Commission of Canada in the United Kingdom, Where the Thunderbird Lives features artifacts from the museum’s collection.

Dr. Jago Cooper, curator and section head of the American collection at the British Museum, and Dr. Amber Lincoln, curator for American art, collaborated on the exhibit. Most of the work has been in storage for many years and may not be seen again anytime soon as it is too light sensitive to be on permanent display. Cooper and Lincoln focused the theme on the Thunderbird, a supernatural bird with a curved beak that creates thunder by flapping its wings.

The introductory wall text begins, “This exhibition showcases the rich cultural heritage of Northwest Coast Peoples through remarkable and powerful objects spanning thousands of years.” The press material describes the region’s “mountainous fjords, lush islands and temperate forests” and its “survival and continued practice of these powerfully beautiful forms,” celebrating the land as much as the culture.

A video shows dances at a potlatch, the social gathering held to mark important life events by feasting, dancing, and gift-giving. Viewers get a sense of the

Unknown Nuu-chah-nulth artist, Club Depicting a Thunderbird, ca. 1780s, yew, human hair, shell, stone, sea otter tooth, Nootka Sound, Canada, collection of the British Museum, AM1949,22.239.

active, dynamic dances and masks and other dance paraphernalia included in the show. It downplays the Canadian government’s efforts to limit and even eliminate Native life through boarding schools, colonization, and the outlawing of potlatches from 1885 to 1951.

The exhibition is organized with older works on one side of the gallery, including stone tools and weapons that date to the 1778 arrival of Captain James Cook, who took them to England. The carvings themselves are high quality and beautiful, such as a Kwakwaka’wakw Dzunuk’wa mask, a bentwood box painted with formline designs, ceremonial rattles, and other dance regalia. On the other side more contemporary works are shown, including a 1983 print by the Kwakwaka’wakw artist Tony Hunt Jr.; a glass jar in the shape of a spruce root; a glass sculpture of a twined basket by Preston Singletary (Tlingit); and a copper pendant decorated with a US five-dollar bill by Alison Bremner (Tlingit). A miniature replica of a Northwest Coast house dates from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when tourist arts were popular.

The exhibit was designed to highlight the artistic accomplishments of First Nations’ artists, but the presentation undermines the beauty of the

pieces. One issue is the lighting. The low illumination necessary for preservation adds a somber quality to the room. The objects were placed in cases painted a pale green to evoke the color of fresh cedar bark, but the color lacks vitality.

Given the dramatic nature of the masks and the dance pieces, a more theatrical, perhaps indirect lighting treatment might have enhanced the experience of the show.

For me, the most impressive piece in the exhibition is on the ground floor. Haida artist Michael Nicoll Yahgulanaas introduces the show with Copper from the Hood (2011), a copper in the shape of a car hood, now in the British Museum’s permanent collection.

Polished and sparkling, the sculpture is an actual car hood with copper leaf and a formline design to suggest a bird or a storyteller, depending on the viewer’s perspective. This updated version of a copper embodies the form in a sly format that relates to the role of wealth and status today. This piece nevertheless exhibits the ideals described by the curators of the show, suggesting the “rich cultural heritage” found in the “remarkable and powerful objects” from Northwest Coast art.

—Suzanne Newman Fricke, PhD FALL 2017 | 75

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SANTA FE

Beads: A Universe of Meaning Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian

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N EXHIBITION by curator Cheri FalkenstienDoyle, Beads: A Universe of Meaning (May 14, 2017–April 15, 2018), emphasizes the time immemorial concept of intercultural syncretism embraced by Native American and First Nations peoples.

Layers of beads, shells, ribbons, hide, fabric, and fringe are infused with ceremony, dreams, rights to knowledge, and coming-of-age moments. Through available loans from collectors and artists, this show features brilliant beadwork pieces mainly made by diverse Indigenous peoples from the Columbia River Plateau and Northern and Southern Plains, with a handful of works by Indigenous practitioners from the Pacific Northwest, Southeast, Northeast, and Canada.

In Beads: A Universe of Meaning, beads are portrayed as a medium with which Native artists acknowledge, draw, map, record, paint, and sculpt. Creating beadwork is a legacy that bridges communication between past, present, and future generations of Indigenous peoples of the Americas through the variance, chance, and deliberateness of this artistry.1 The exhibition begins with an impressive, though somewhat disjointed, display of a hide shirt and leggings decorated with quillwork, blue beads, and pigment. On the shirt a drawn narrative (primarily in red and green) archives an event that shows men carrying quivers and a spear in-air. Labeled as Mandan or Hidatsa, the shirt and leggings orient audiences to the overlap in the use of quills and beads as art media and visually parallels the exhibition’s introductory didactic text panel, which includes a reproduction of a Karl Bodmer (1809–1893) painting of a “Moennitarri Warrior,” circa 1830. While the leggings worn by the man in the painting resemble those on view, questions arise from the placement of this image. In what ways can it function as documentation? As a painting, it is a skewed window that expresses Bodmer’s Western perspective of the man he witnessed. Here, one could consider the “editing authenticity” practices of Bodmer and George Catlin (1796–1872) in pictorial representations of Indigenous peoples of the Americas.2 Bodmer’s and Catlin’s methods served their own ideologies of truth that dovetailed with non-Native governmental impositions and forced relocation policies on Indigenous peoples.

Thus, reflecting the time, this display has multidirectional narratives, between the scene on the shirt and blue beads on the leggings, the text describing the immense trade value of blue and white beads in the early 19th century to Indigenous peoples, and the Bodmer painting.

Sandra Okuma (Luiseño-Shoshone-Bannock), White-Tailed Deer Bag, 2011, antique frame with hand-sewn bag, seed beads, deerhide, tassels, ribbon, collection of Marlene Scott. Image courtesy of the Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

On a rounded turn to the left within the museum’s hogan-inspired architecture, a late 19th-century beaded bag generally labeled as Sioux and another created in 2011 by Sandra Okuma (Luiseño-Shoshone-Bannock) are placed together in a case to create a relationship between the elaborate use of mixed media and pictorial representations of animals. The older bag, with an American eagle, snake, sheaf of arrows, and olive branch, all lane-stitched in seed beads, connects the emergence of pictorial beadwork in the 19th century to this still-flourishing practice embedded within Indigenous cultures through its pairing with Sandra Okuma’s bag. Okuma’s work showcases a modeled deer’s face and head in frontal perspective, where the flat quality of the seed beads reads as coming from tacked stitches. These two works are keenly juxtaposed next to a case that houses a Jamie Okuma (Luiseño-Shoshone-Bannock) coat made in 2016.

1. Kenneth Williams Jr. and Orlando Dugi, It’s in the Details (Santa Fe, NM: Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian, 2014), 21.

2. Janet Catherine Berlo, “Creativity and Cosmopolitanism: Women’s Enduring Traditions,” in Identity by Design: Tradition, Change, and Celebration in Native Women’s Dresses, Emil Her Many Horses, ed. (New York, NY: HarperCollins in association with Smithsonian Institution, 2007), 107, 120.

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This regalia shines with a stunning silk centerpiece of wide stripes and abstract, plant-like forms complemented by cowry shells on the sleeves and seed bead floral designs over the shoulders. A case across the hallway spotlights an indigo-dyed wool Nez Perce regalia dress (circa 1890) that features a yoke of lane-stitched seed beads, cowry shells, brass sequins, and basket beads on hide fringe.

This dress corresponds to a nearby Nez Perce beaded yoke of the same time period. The yoke has a solid, light-blue background with two side-profile deer flanking a head-to-waist frontal portrait of a male wearing a green (possibly beaded) vest. Vertically terraced forms in red, navy, and pink are on both sides of the yoke’s center, marked by a V shape, which represents the gathering of an animal’s tail and hind legs in hide dress forms. Within this beaded yoke a universe of meaning is reflected, as indicated by the central theme of the exhibition and subtext of its title. Wealth in experience is also brought to the fore, and the man’s vest in the yoke points to three laboriously beaded vests (circa 1900) in nearby display cases, thus offering a visual cue and connection to other artworks in the gallery.

Throughout the exhibition, attention is given to different types of beaded bags made in the not-too-distant past. A series of flat pictorial “Plateau” bags are on display, three of which bear side-profile portraits of women in regalia (circa 1900–1930) while others are more whimsical scenes of dogs, such as one listening to a phonograph (circa 1940). And in the center of the exhibition space, a section is devoted to tobacco. Five Kiowa strike-a-light pouches, often worn on women’s belts to hold flint, are positioned alongside small pouches and pipe bags made

by Indigenous peoples of the Northern and Southern Plains regions. The works in this case were created during the mid to late 19th century and represent the mosaic of variant color, patterning, and texture put forth by combinations of seed beads, pony beads, and tin cones.

Also on view in the center space is a contemporary mirror bag by Maynard White Owl Lavadour (Cayuse-Nez Perce-Palouse). Sewn circa 2000, the focus of this piece’s seed bead geometric design is its blue hourglass forms sandwiched between elongated areas, demarcated by thin red columns that border vibrant shapes of pink, yellow, and blue. This kind of man’s bag historically held a mirror, an important commodity that could function as a shaving tool, a reflective surface to use when applying pigment to the face, a signaling device, or as a coveted bartering object valued as much as a horse.3 Later in the exhibition, a late 19th-century Tlingit octopus bag and two bandolier bags (one Seminole, circa 1830; the other Ojibwe, circa 1900) are on view for audience consideration.

BUYING OR SELLING

INDIAN ART? KNOW THE LAW

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.

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

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.

At the back of the exhibition gallery, a section is offered to honor children. A captivating display houses two historic cradleboards (circa 1875), one Baby on Board cradleboard (circa 2000) by Jamie Okuma, and Ah-Day: The Favorite One’s Chair by Teri Greeves (Kiowa-Comanche) and Dennis Esquivel (Odawa-Ojibwe). With the extended text panel for these objects placed parallel to the case, audience movement is facilitated, and the beadwork feels very much alive. The “Baby on Board” beaded panel on Okuma’s cradleboard instigates laughter, while the Ah-Day chair promotes education of Kiowa cultural practices of a cherished ah-day tahlee (favorite boy) or ah-day mahtaun (favorite girl) who takes a leadership role in the Black Leggings Warrior Society dances.4 This exhibition provides visitors with an expansive view of beadwork and intercultural fusion. Other notable displays include Northern Arapaho-Seneca artist Kenneth Williams Jr.’s multicultural regalia ensemble, Blackfeet split-horn headdresses, and several pairs of decked-out beaded moccasins.

In closing, a concern about the exhibition was the omission of media listings from labels. More information about the beads, shells, metals, hides, and fabrics could further resonate with viewers, leaving a lasting impression of the material artistry found in beadwork.

—Michelle Lanteri

3. Williams Jr. and Dugi, It’s in the Details, 21.

4. Teri Greeves, “Ah-Day: The Favorite One’s Chair,” Teri Greeves Beadwork, web; Alecia Keahbone Gonzales, “Kiowa Language Nest: Easy Reference Guide For Kiowa Families,” Kiowa Kids, PDF.

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VENICE

La Biennale di Venezia

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VERY TWO YEARS, the world converges on a small Italian island to celebrate contemporary art at Europe’s oldest and premier arts festival. The Venice Biennale started in 1893 and was first organized

by Venetian royals to showcase Italian artists and their works. Soon after, the biennale took a more curated approach, featuring invited artists from outside the Italian peninsula.

While the structure of the biennale continues to evolve, what is at stake has always remained the same: an international audience in a city that hosts thousands of visitors on any given day. For this reason, the biennale has maintained its relevance and importance for international artists as a locale for art, politics, and people to intermingle and connect. Native participation at collateral events during the Venice Biennale has been consistent at least since the 1990s, meeting the work of others on terms of equality while simultaneously giving Native artists space to further their artistic practice for themselves and their communities.

Biennale participation is extended to artists in three ways: through selection by the appointed curator of the biennale’s main exhibition; as a representative for national pavilions; or in collateral shows.

Shows are also independently organized during the biennale, put up in venues scattered around Venice and its outlying islands. These underground exhibits further increase the diversity of art in Venice between May and November.

Native artists had a presence at this year’s biennale in at least three of these avenues.

Christine Macel was tapped as the curator of the biennale’s premier exhibition, Viva Arte Viva, which focuses on the role of the artists, their methodologies, and subjectivities. Macel organized the 120 artists she selected within nine chapters, each with its own

general theme, attempting to show her interpretation of the similarities of the artists despite their various origins.

Work by Kananginak Pootoogook (Inuk, 1935–2010) was included in the Pavilion of the Earth, a chapter that centers on artist responses to environment. On loan from the Brooklyn Museum’s Edward J. Guarino Collection and from private collections, the series of ink and color pencil drawings are of contemporary Inuit living, a combination of scenes that depict cultural survivance and adaptation under a colonial system.1 Interestingly, Macel’s interpretation of the scenes focused less on the relationship between land and Native peoples and more on Pootoogook’s scenes of the environment as an encyclopedic source for “the Arctic population and its wildlife.”

Pootoogook may have been the Viva Arte Viva’s sole Native representative, and the way he is essentialized as a Native observer of the environment because of certain elements of his work may not reflect his standing in his community and their shared environment.2 This raises an important question regarding Native presence in international shows: While participation is important, what is the impact of Native presence if not curated by Indigenous curators? How different would the biennale look if Native peoples curated their own and on their own volition?

Similar questions came to mind when viewing Native artists’ work on display at the National Pavilions.

The Guatemalan Pavilion exhibited La Marge, curated by Daniele Radini Tedeschi of Italy. Tedeschi brought together Guatemalan and Italian artists to question the value and importance of margins, a space that, while empty, acts as a boundary for people to follow.

Artists were invited to question the marginal history Maya minorities face and how non-Guatemalans perpetuate

the gap over Native Guatemalans. La Marge is designed to resemble a Maya temple, with the artists’ works exhibited throughout natural elements such as woods, flowers and dirt. All this leads viewers toward the innermost sanctuary of “the temple.” While well intentioned, the references to nature and fanciful imagining in La Marge may be counterintuitive to the show’s message. In trying to bring awareness, the gallery may continue to inhibit the visibility and urgency of Maya issues in exchange for romantic and exotic interpretations of the Other and the presumed mysticism behind non-Western religions.

Curation is not the only factor in making a Native art show at the biennale. The choice of location and level of accessibility warrants attention and focus. Nicholas Galanin (TlingitUnangan) and architect Oscar Tuazon collaborated for an independent show, Indian Water, on the occasion of the biennale. Curated by Alessandro Possati and inspired by the peaceful protesting for water and Indigenous rights at Standing Rock, the artists aimed to bring this conversation to Europe by creating an initial zone for these conversations to take place in: a garden space owned by the University of Venice. Students have been occupying the park for three years in protest of the school’s proposed plan of selling the property, attune with Galanin and Tuazon’s criticism of the sale of public spaces for private interest. The duo erected reclaimed oak posts from a Venice lagoon in the shape of a circle to represent an abstracted longhouse.

While conceptually notable, the message of the exhibit was not implemented successfully within the first few weeks of the biennale, the busiest period of Venice’s arts tourism. An empty table and a stack of flyers on a table greeted guests interested in the self-proclaimed “Native American Pavilion.” Through conversations with the students, it quickly became apparent that the

1. The illustrations were created in the four years prior to the artist’s passing in 2010.

2. In their coverage of the biennale, online contemporary art news source Artsy looked at the demographics of the artists in Viva Arte Viva and organized the data in terms of artist’s gender, region of origin, race and ethnicity, age, and first-time participants. The biennale is a case study of the diversity of artists presented at the highest levels of the contemporary art world, and Artsy reported the disheartening results regarding race: more than half of the artists are white. A mere one percent of artists were First Nations. Artsy does not report on how the data that provided these statistics was gathered, nor does the magazine report on how these artists were classified.

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students occupying the space knew very little of Native Americans or the significance of longhouse culture despite the presence of the logs.

This is not to say that Indigenous arts presentations need to be explained fully for non-Natives to comprehend and most importantly respond to. Two shows at the Venice Biennale this year struck a balance between presenting too much and too little, while also defining Native art as being inextricably tied with Indigenous land, language, and bodies. Bernardo Oyarzún represented Chile this year at the Arsenale with his project titled Werken. Oyarzún, who identifies as a researcher and artist, worked with Ticio Escobar to create a visual space that represents Oyarzún’s interest in Mapuche colonial history and subjugation. In the center of the darkened gallery are over a thousand kollong (masks) mounted individually on metal stands arranged in a large circle. Each of the masks were made

by Mapuche artisans and are distinctly different from one another, visible as they face outward toward visitors.

Along the walls are looped digital projections of over 6,000 Mapuche surnames in red font, names that denote geographical references to the Mapuche landscape. Thus Werken is a bold, visual representation of Indigenous persistence in numbers and language. While colonization and Spanish-Chilean hegemony eclipsed the Mapuche, Werken is a symbol of Mapuche futurity and reclamation.

Wah.shka, an independent show of works by Kelli Mashburn (Osage), Marcella Ernest (Bad River Ojibwe), and Shan Goshorn (Eastern Band Cherokee), curated by Nancy Marie Mithlo (Chiricahua Apache) and Mary Bordeaux (Sicangu Lakota), proclaimed a similar message of persistence from struggle. The photographs, video, and basket weaving by these three female artists, respectively, were prayers for Native women, water, and land. Ernest’s videos were themed around water, juxtaposing a compilation of water scenes that were crowdsourced through social media with still waterscapes from the Great Lakes, the Ojibwe homeland that is responsible for most of the earth’s

Keli Mashburn (Osage), Blue #1, 2015, digital photograph, dimensions variable.

fresh water. Mashburn’s photos were also of serene waterscapes from Osage county, colored with natural sunset and sky hues. Mashburn and Ernest collaborated on a video that utilized vintage footage of Osage ceremonies overlaid with an audible Osage prayer calling for community strength. Goshorn’s basketry sculptures provided another dimension to the gallery space, focusing on historical abuse and anonymity of Native women. The largest basket piece in the show, Feminine Sacred, was made with a

Cherokee double weave, utilizing strips taken from the Violence Against Women Act on the outside with names of women Goshorn had collected from her friends on Facebook protected internally within the basket. Wah.shka had a short run for the biennale and closed in the third week of May. However, the three artists, through their methodologies and products, made sure they had as much representation for their families back home during the span of their show.

—Sarah Tamashiro FALL 2017 | 79

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BOOKS MONOGRAPH

Horace Poolaw: Photographer of American Indian Modernity Laura E. Smith University of Nebraska Press, 2016

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AURA SMITH, an art historian specializing in Native American art, serves as a faculty member at Michigan State University. Her latest book, Horace Poolaw: Photographer of American Indian Identity, traces the arc of early Kiowa photographer Horace Poolaw’s aesthetic documentation of the lives of the Kiowa people in southwestern Oklahoma in the period between the two world wars. As such, her book divides chronologically into five chapters, with a sixth chapter providing interpretation about definitions of art, photography, and modernity.

The author groups each series of photographs over the range of years parallel to Poolaw’s development as a photographer. Smith directs the reader’s attention from the

photographer’s beginnings, when he renders images of his family and himself, to focusing his lens on Kiowa dancers and leaders. The author emphasizes, as does Linda Poolaw (Delaware-Kiowa), the photographer’s daughter, that the main audience is the Kiowa people. In other words, the photographs discussed in the book focus primarily on a notion of intimacy as opposed to form, although Horace Poolaw’s aesthetics expand to include an understanding of the photograph as a composite of line, structure, and light.

Smith begins her book with a photograph of Poolaw’s grandmother and son, thereby focusing her own analytic lens upon his family. As a result, Smith’s interpretation of Poolaw’s corpus of work takes Kiowa families as the point of embarkation.

The author traces a number of the photographer’s depictions from the 1920s to the 1940s. She seeks to unwrap the meaning of each image and interpret it from the perspective of an artist/photographer. In one photograph, a mother and daughter situate themselves in front of the camera in a way that emphasizes the dialogue between youth and age.

Each woman is dressed in ceremonial clothing, yet the younger woman distinguishes herself by her makeup and a bob haircut in the flapper style of the 1920s and early 1930s.

In a later photograph, Smith identifies Poolaw’s capability to evoke emotional responses by capturing the encounter between Jasper Saunkeah (Kiowa) and Oklahoma Governor William “Alfalfa Bill” Murray at his inauguration. The two men greet each other as if they were old friends.

The meeting is amicable between the politicians, despite the gravity of the issues that separates them.

Poolaw’s photograph of his fellow Kiowa, Enoch Smoky, reveals more than many ethnographers’ photographs can hope to render. In most of the works of anthropologists, the outward appearance of the (usually) Indigenous person reflects a type of closed-off relationship between the subject and

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the observer. Indigenous subjects either have their backs turned to the camera or put forth a stoic visage that hides more than it reveals. Instead, Poolaw, being Kiowa himself, quite easily obtains a genuine insight to his subjects. Smith identifies this insight in her own writing. The photographer’s portrait of Enoch Smoky captures the inner turmoil, sorrow, and fatigue of this Kiowa man that is not posed and not forced.

Poolaw’s work may be considered a fundamental part of the photography canon in two senses. First, two artists who were a part of the Kiowa Six used the photographer’s portraits of Kiowa leaders, such as Silver Horn, as templates for their own paintings.

Second, in and of itself, Poolaw adapted to the photographic medium in order to express his own aesthetic of modernity in a powerful way.

Smith’s sense of the modern, however, takes issue in the epilogue, with forms of modernity defined by other art historians, art critics, and the art world. Many people in the art world simply remain blind to the horizon of aesthetic consumption. They wish to impose a narrow definition of modernism that is specifically European-centered and pejorative.

In dialogues, they reveal, however, other ways of seeing what constitutes a modernist aesthetic. The author holds forth from her own position on modernism in understanding the differences and the similarities between American Indian and EuropeanAmerican perspectives. American Indian artists and photographers, like anyone, have their own chronologies and their own imaginative dialogues with the forces of modernity.

There are certain inconsistencies in the text. By and large, the author traces the arc of Poolaw’s life with clarity and good judgment. Parts of her book, however, reveal a slight tendency to romanticize the character of Horace Poolaw and his fellow tribal members of the Kiowa people. Furthermore, the reader may be unsettled by the stereotypical images Smith uses to

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illustrate problematic relations between American Indians and European Americans. These criticisms are minor in comparison to the flow of her book.

Overall, Smith is to be commended, because her interpretation, almost entirely, consists of cultural sensitivity and acceptance of the power residing in the photographs to elicit an aesthetic and emotional response.

—Neal McDonald Hampton

ART HISTORY

My Tree of Life as an Appraiser of American Indian Art: My Viewpoint Leona M. Zastrow, PhD Archway Publishing, 2017

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HIS SELF-PUBLISHED BOOK shares brief vignettes covering numerous facets of Southwest American Indian art (with occasional forays into arts of other regions). The text freely meanders between explanations of art forms, introductions to individual artists, personal anecdotes, and advice for collecting. Zastrow offers

recommendations for extended reading throughout the book, in case a subject piques the reader’s curiosity. “Tree of life” is Zastrow’s personal metaphor: “Each one of us creates our own dance of life. We add ornaments (our deeds) to our tree of life daily.”

For years, Zastrow taught art at St. John’s Indian School in Laveen, Arizona, on the Gila River Indian Reservation, a Pima and Maricopa community. Her later work in educational outreach and consulting for four decades, including operating Educational Planning for Individuals and Communities, Inc. (EPIC, Inc.), has provided her with an extensive introduction to tribes in Arizona and New Mexico. She earned her doctoral degree in fine arts administration from Texas Tech University. Certified through the Appraisers Association of America, Zastrow is one of only three appraisers in that organization who specialize in Native American art.

Appraising art—accurately determining its value based on established protocols—is a fascinating practice, and appraising Native art presents challenges since it requires specialized knowledge of so many different communities that are often poorly documented. For estate planning, insurance, and tax information, a certified art appraiser must appraise the artwork. When a collector wants to donate a work to a museum, an appraiser determines the value, which will establish the tax break. Zastrow’s vignettes about specific appraising cases are particularly interesting. She offers advice, both on finding appraisers and also on buying Native American art.

Zastrow’s interests range from precontact artworks, including petroglyphs and Mogollon pottery, to contemporary work. She also discusses federal laws from the Antiquities Act of 1906, the Archaeological Resources Protection Act of 1979 (ARPA), and the 1990 Native American

Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) in layman’s terms.

She discusses the black market in antiquities and tells how she has had to appraise stolen petroglyphs for the US Forest Service, who caught the vandals who had chiseled the petroglyphs from their base.

My Tree of Life introduces readers to an array of personalities, such as Laura Kerman (Tohono O’odham), a ceramic sculptor and mentor to the author; Rosemary Lonewolf (Santa Clara), ceramic and glass artist; and Barbara Gonzales (San Ildefonso), ceramic artist and great-granddaughter of Maria Martinez (San Ildefonso, 1887–1980).

The book’s organization is loose. Chapter four, devoted to weaving, both loom-woven textiles and basketry, also includes the sections, “Identification of American Indian Beadwork” and “Ute and Sioux Beaded Blanket Strips,” but the material is all interesting and informative. She discusses some media not often studied, such as Pueblo ceramic animal figurines and Southwestern copper jewelry.

The tone is conversational, not academic. For instance, Wikipedia is frequently cited as a source, but the writing is very accessible for someone new to the topic. A note of caution: Zastrow has been working with Native communities for decades. While she may be able to get away with using some outdated terms, the rest of us should stick to using terms like Tohono O’odham, cradleboard, or Ancestral Pueblo peoples.

My Tree of Life is a friendly, rambling journey that would be a wonderful gift for someone new to Southwest Native art—perhaps a friend who’s visiting a major Native market for the first time who wants to get oriented. Or, if someone knows Native art but not the Southwest, this is a useful introduction and an enjoyable read. —America Meredith FALL 2017 | 81

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FILM FEATURE

Neither Wolf Nor Dog Steven Lewis Simpson Roaring Fire Films, 2016

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F YOU’VE FOLLOWED the work of writer, director, and producer Steven Lewis Simpson over the years, you will certainly recognize the artist’s creative signature in his most recent cinematic storytelling endeavor, Neither Wolf Nor Dog. An adaptation of Kent Nerburn’s award-winning, autobiographic book, Neither Wolf Nor Dog: On Forgotten Roads with an Indian Elder (New World Library, 1994), Simpson’s translation is solid and loyal to Nerburn’s page, save the handful of creative liberties exercised in translation.

Those liberties were met with Nerburn’s blessing and acknowledged thusly on the author’s website: “Yes, Steven changed the book. Yes, he adapted it; yes, he augmented it. But he nailed it. The choices he made were exquisite.” Both book and film reveal

much about what seems dear to the hearts of their respective composers: unyielding commitment to getting the story right.

Of course, Simpson’s gift for telling a story without getting in the way of telling the story is what makes this film work. When Simpson was 18, he became Britain’s youngest qualified stockbroker. His mind for economics is evident in this film, as Neither Wolf Nor Dog observes a strong sense of give and take. Nerburn’s descriptively indulgent writing lends itself well to Simpson’s eye for directing. It is a symbiotic relationship.

As Neither Wolf Nor Dog unfolds through metaphor and storytelling devices familiar to the contemporary Indian rez life film genre, Simpson’s perspective inclines at just the right angle to keep his filmography safely north of an over-formulaic construct while putting all the usual appearances in order. Indian elder as knowing Wisdom Keeper, check. Razor-sharp, quick-witted, philosophical, younger sidekick, check. Intoxicated youth as truth-bringing tobacco bearer, check.

Loyal rez dog as indispensable friend, check. Rumbling rez car as tool for attaining enlightenment, check. For this Pueblo girl, the familiarities in Simpson’s translation run deep.

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Hailing from Aberdeen, Scotland, Simpson’s young, creative perspective was untainted by the “how the West was won” propaganda that has long molded many (mostly non-Indian) American attitudes. Early American cinematic arts more often than not reflected this prevailing if xenophobic notion, contributing to a template of negative stereotypes about Indians that has only recently undergone the redrawing of its blueprints.

Simpson was compelled to be among the architects of this new model and to tell some of Native America’s story through a clearer, unfogged lens. “For me, any story that takes an audience deep into an elder’s reality, especially into the continuing echoes of the massacre at Wounded Knee, will [always] be an important one,” said Simpson in a recent interview.

Embodied by an impeccable cast of highly skilled actors, Simpson’s latest contribution to Native America’s contemporary narrative is well paced and engaging, and its momentum keeps from first scene to last. His selection of players was integral to getting the story to the screen. “I knew that the reality depicted in the film was secure as the roles were inhabited by incredible people who wouldn’t have [done the project] any other way.”

Dave Bald Eagle (Cheyenne River Lakota, 1919–2016) leads the way, anchoring the story with an insightful, unforced portrayal of Dan, an elder in need of a ghost writer to record his memoirs, stat.

Enter Washington-born actor Christopher Sweeney as the straightforward and solid character Kent Nerburn. After brief hesitation, Nerburn accepts Dan’s request, which is delivered via telephone by the elder’s granddaughter Wenonah. Roseanne Supernault (Métis-Cree) in this role brings the message home through her no-nonsense, nonnegotiable, taking-care-of-business (and Grandpa) persona. Nerburn as trusted scribe readies for the journey.

Richard Ray Whitman (YuchiMuscogee Creek) as Gordon serves

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Yes, he adapted it; yes, he augmented it. But he nailed it.

The choices he made were exquisite as the sidekick and back-road savvy chauffeur when Nerburn’s car “breaks down” and local portion-control-shunning reservation mechanic and co-conspirator Jumbo—played

by Harlen Standing Bear Sr. (Oglala Lakota)—can’t find the fix. “Blew a hose,” Jumbo tells Nerburn upon his return to the shop at the enlightening journey’s end.

The role of Gordon was originally slated for actor, poet, and activist John Trudell (Santee Dakota, 1946–2015), whose unexpected earthly departure thundered through Indian Country shortly before Simpson’s filming commenced. Though Trudell’s presence is certainly missed, there is nothing missing from Whitman’s performance.

Gordon is self-assured, grounded, real.

The character and his insights provide a strong, structural support for the story.

The production team includes veteran actor and producer Tom Bower, whose credits note Die Hard 2 and The Bad Lieutenant, and Larry T. Pourier (Oglala Lakota), who worked on Skins and The New World.

Neither Wolf Nor Dog snaps at some of Indian Country’s bigger issues while keeping the dialogue believable.

Columbus, Custer, the Bering Strait theory, the Black Hills, government-run Indian boarding schools, Wounded Knee—all big bites that need to be taken, sometimes tear at us from surprisingly strategic angles.

As Dan and Grover tow Nerburn through the winding roads of Pine Ridge, all stories converge. There is, of course, Dan’s story, eager for the ink as old age pushes time toward the horizon; Nerburn’s tale, in which he fords new emotional ground and

discovers a deeper sense of self while traversing previously unexplored paths of the spirit; and Simpson’s own 20-year filmmaking journey through Indian Country, which is mirrored in this film. But there are also the stories of our ancestors, our history, our collective memory, revisited and intertwined with each twist and turn of the gravel-strewn roads of the rez as the trio mazes through the constantly changing light. All the while, the low hum of the green, classic Buick’s engine emanates from the theater’s speakers: the sound of a dragonfly heading toward higher ground.

Other film projects by Simpson include Resurrecting Bill, The Ticking Man, Retribution, A Thunder-Being Nation, and Rez Bomb.

—RoseMary Diaz

ADVENTURE AND INTRIGUE FROM COVER TO COVER. What You’ll Learn May Surprise You. • A Guide to the Cherokee National Museum Newspaper Collection • Records of the Moravians, Volumes 1-6 • The Development of Law and Legal Institutions Among the Cherokees • The Life and Times of Reverend Stephen Foreman Enjoy these and many other hard-to-find books on Cherokee history and culture.

21192 S. KEELER DR., PARK HILL, OK 74451 (888) 999-6007 • CHEROKEEHERITAGE.ORG

FALL 2017 | 83

DECENTERING DURHAM For decades Native activists have clashed with the art establishment over Jimmie Durham’s ethnic fraud. What does it say that it took so long for Native voices to be heard?

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USEUMS ARE FASCINATING things.

We speak of them as if they were monolithic entities, yet they consist of people, histories, and agendas, all functioning largely outside of public view. Art museums are even more opaque, for unlike history or science museums, what counts as evidence is less clear and more susceptible to interpretation. While the 2007 United Nations Rights of Indigenous Peoples guarantees Indigenous communities the right “to maintain, protect and develop the past, present and future manifestations” of visual and performing arts, museums remain relatively immune to these ethical standards.1 We are witnessing a time of shifting values in this area, however, where cultural institutions are pressed to be more responsive to Indigenous rights due to the activism and increased centrality of Native American communities in the public sphere.2 The Walker Art Center’s recent catastrophe in exhibiting the racially charged sculpture Scaffold (by non-Native, Los Angeles-based artist Sam Durant), which mimics gallows like the one used to execute 38 Dakota political leaders in Mankato, Minnesota, in 1862, exposes the self-referential reasoning that museums often employ.3 Following the decision to remove the piece due to public protest, Olga

Viso, director of the Walker Center, apologized for the museum purchase: “I regret that I did not better anticipate how the work would be received in Minnesota, especially by Native audiences.”4 A recent related episode involving the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation elicited this response from Indigenous critic Jesse Wente, who cited the “remarkable arrogance” of the Canadian media: “You don’t think we can see you?”5 UCLA’s Hammer Museum’s traveling exhibition, Jimmie Durham: At the Center of the World, curated by Anne Ellegood and first exhibited in Los Angeles, is currently featured at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis (June 22, 2017–October 7, 2017). Ellegood worked with Olga Viso at the Hirshhorn Museum, Smithsonian Institution, next door to the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) shortly after NMAI’s opening in 2004.6 Similar connective tissue exists within Native arts circles. Edgar Heap of Birds (Southern Cheyenne) spoke with Sam Durant (with Lucy Lippard moderating) during the 2007 NMAI Venice Biennale artists’ dialogue for Most Serene Republics.7 Heap of Birds was a scheduled speaker for the Walker’s Durham exhibit programming as was NMAI curator Paul Chaat Smith (Comanche).

A world of interior conversations and understandings are always at play within

museums. Nonetheless, public cultural institutions and the people who work within them are uniquely charged to understand and uphold ethical community standards, however shifting these standards may seem.

Following the Walker Art Center’s removal of Scaffold, Viso stated, “I don’t think it is the acquisition process being flawed, but understanding that it’s on public land, it’s a more permanent basis of installation that required a different set of considerations that we didn’t take fully into account.”8 And yet, is this public accountability enough? Is the premise that only public institutions are expected to act in a spirit of inclusion, accuracy, and accountability truly reflective of the society we all wish to live in? For readers familiar with the passage of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act and the Indian Arts and Crafts Act, both of 1990, these discussions will sound familiar. And yet, here we are almost 30 years later, still reminding museums that American Indians are real and relevant. Viso’s response that the Scaffold work was not “legible” due to the American Indian community’s reading of the work on “literal terms, and not on representational terms … really just seen through the lens of trauma,” is a troubling reflection on the profession of American Indian arts, populated with practitioners that, yes, can think beyond solely literal references.9

1. “United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples,” United Nations (March 2008), web.

2. See standwithstandingrock.net; “Obama Announces Final White House Tribal Nations Conference,” Indian Country Media Network (August 9, 2016), web; and “Generation Indigenous,” The White House: President Obama and the Native American Community, web. The Dakota Access Pipeline Water Protector movement must be credited for this recent forward momentum in the public sphere, along with the Obama Administration’s White House Tribal Leaders conference and the Gen-I convenings at the White House.

3. Andrew R. Chow, “Walker Art Center Delays Opening of Sculpture Garden Following Controversy, New York Times, (May 30, 2017), web.

4. Olga Viso, “Learning in Public: An Open Letter on Sam Durant’s Scaffold,” Walker News (blog), May 26, 2017, web.

5. “An emotional Jesse Wente on the ‘remarkable arrogance’ of an appropriation prize,” CBC News (May 15, 2017), web.

6. Jori Finkel, “The Artist Jimmie Durham: A Long Time Gone, but Welcomed Back,” New York Times, (March 10, 2017), web. It is reported that conversations occurred about a potential Hirshhorn Museum–NMAI joint application for the United States pavilion for the 2007 Venice Biennale at the time that Viso and Ellegood were on staff at the Hirshhorn. When the name of Jimmie Durham was proposed by the Hirshhorn, NMAI ultimately declined. The New York Times reports this conversation in this way: “Mr. Durham first met Ms. Ellegood in 2006. She was a curator at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden and had the idea of pairing him with the artist Sam Durant to represent the United States at its Venice Biennale pavilion. But when questions arose about the fact that Mr. Durham is not registered as a citizen with the Cherokee Nation, he withdrew from the project.”

7. Most Serene Republics, National Museum of the American Indian, accessed June 9, 2017, web.

8. Alicia Eler and Jenna Ross, “ ‘I take full responsibility,’ Walker director says of ‘Scaffold’ controversy,” Star Tribune (June 5, 2017), web.

9. Ibid.

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RESPONSE

This institutional dismissal of American Indian tribal structures influences museum patrons and the public at large…

How does this appraisal of cultural institutions and their relationships with American Indian peoples relate to the Jimmie Durham: At the Center of the World exhibition at the Walker? It is no secret that Durham has consistently played the intellectual game of simultaneously claiming to be American Indian, specifically Cherokee, and not being a tribal member. It is a tired conversation, but one that still titillates certain art communities.10 Cultural institutions continue to accept his platform, and, in doing so, the directors and curators in charge continue to deny Indigenous cultural sovereignty to name our own members and leaders.

This institutional dismissal of American Indian tribal structures influences museum patrons and the public at large, leading inescapably to the invalidation of tribal sovereignty, including our rights to protect our land, language, children, health, education, and natural resources. The fact that this is a solo retrospective makes this institutional dismissal even more egregious, for rather than justifying one work of art in a group exhibition, the betrayal of tribal rights is complete. Museum visitors are voters. This is not a game.

In the most basic frame of analysis, Durham and his supporters elevate his status as an early Indian rights advocate, glorify his self-exile abroad, and tolerate the male-centric platform that arises around his artistic reception. American Indian activism is enacted daily by most Native educators, parents, artists, and professionals simply by living, and no one is waiting to be commended for their alignment with the cause. The assertion that Durham is noteworthy for activism 40 years past does not serve to qualify him as a spokesperson in 2017. Durham’s self-exile purportedly— because he is not eligible for enrollment

as a Cherokee and therefore cannot exhibit his art as Cherokee in the United States—is simply showmanship. The Hammer Museum described Durham’s status in his biography as “He is a Native American of Cherokee descent.”11 The Walker does not identify him as Native. May I again cite Jesse Wente: “You don’t think we can see you?” My gender critique is based on the way that Durham’s career attracts similarly minded followers who rely on bravado, exceptionalism, and ego, rather than on community building, survivance, or even joy. When will we have a one-woman Native arts show that enjoys the multimillion-dollar budget that this traveling exhibition commands?

Durham’s work and its reception has the effect of taking the air out of conversations that offer alternative commentaries on the current state of American Indian life and culture— perspectives that lack the dismal, dismissive, and self-involved perspectives of this artist. Cultural institutions, if even and only by your faith in the public good, please decenter him.

—Nancy Marie Mithlo, PhD

NOT JIMMIE DURHAM’S CHEROKEE JIMMIE DURHAM has enjoyed a very successful art career of masquerading as a Cherokee for decades. It’s puzzling because his pronouncements about Cherokee culture make no sense, and very few scholars seem to question or critically examine them, only furthering the myth and entrenching him in the art establishment.

Durham once claimed the first Cherokee person was formed when a coyote regurgitated parts of different animals it ate. Most Cherokees know

our cosmological story is that of ᏎᎷ Selu and ᎧᎾᏘ Kanati, and that coyotes aren’t featured prominently in our stories. So, it’s only fitting that in his 1988 essay, “A Certain Lack of Coherence,” he offers up an example of his incoherence: “In the Cherokee language the word for world and the word for history are the same.” He would reiterate this sentiment in his statement for the show in Land, Spirit, Power: First Nations at the National Gallery of Canada in 1992. This statement is as false as they come. For the record, the Cherokee word for world is ᎡᎶᎯ elohi, which refers to earth or even the universe in certain contexts. History is ᎧᏃᎮᏍᎩ kanohesgi, which means the telling of a story.

Enter Zeke Proctor’s Letter, a piece of Durham’s that uses a facsimile of a letter written in the Cherokee syllabary

by Zeke Proctor. The original letter is two-pages long and is dated August 25, 1877. Its subject is on the status and court date of a prisoner for whom Proctor is trying to arrange details for release. It was written to ᎤᏤᎴᏛ Utseledv, the Cherokee name of Chief Charles Thompson, and his secretary, listed only as ᏅᏬᏗᏯᎢ Nvwodiyai, a common Cherokee name for males.

Durham used only the second page of the letter for the piece, which is essentially Proctor’s valediction to the recipients as he urges them to promptly write a response. Infuriatingly, in the May 2017 feature in Art in America on Durham, Jonathan Griffin attributes the writing to Durham himself: “In some cases he writes in Cherokee, as in the four-part drawing Zeke Proctor’s Letter (1989), where he transcribes a historical Cherokee text beside drawings and a contemporary, fictional letter in English.”

On each copy of the letter, the artist drew images and wrote musings, including a drawing of a coyote regurgitating a man and a statement proclaiming “Indians lost because their technological level was basically stone age.” His illustration of an errant

10. Lucy Lippard, “From the Archives: Jimmie Durham—Postmodernist ‘Savage’,” Art in America (February 1, 1993), web. This essay was recently reprinted in full online, accessed June 9, 2017. My review of Lippard’s essay was not reprinted. See: Nancy Marie Mitchell, “Letters: ‘Identities Clarified?’ ” Art in America (July 1993): 23. In the Letters to the Editor section, Durham states, “I am not Cherokee. I am not American Indian,” followed by a reference to U.S. legislation.

11. “Jimmie Durham: At the Center of the World,” Hammer Museum, via Internet Archive (January 28, 2017), https://web.archive.org/web/20170128070337/https://hammer. ucla.edu/exhibitions/2017/jimmie-durham-at-the-center-of-the-world/. This description was removed on June 21, 2017.

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RESPONSE

version of our cosmological story aside, had Durham been in touch with the Cherokee community, he would have known the Cherokees are innovators when it comes to technology, especially as it relates to our writing system. We have adapted the Cherokee syllabary to every form of writing technology since the syllabary’s handwritten invention in 1821 by Sequoyah. By 1989, the year of Durham’s piece, we had already developed IBM Selectric typewriter elements in Cherokee, the first Cherokee word processor (a letter demonstrating the technology was given to Chief Wilma Mankiller by way of a dot matrix printer in 1987), and fonts that would be used in desktop publishing in the early 1990s were already in development. We have a long history of fighting our battles with words using the latest technologies. Even the syllabary in this article was typed in a font made possible by the Cherokee encoding in the Unicode standard alongside other major languages of the world.

In the Art in America feature, Griffin refers to a quote from Durham on why he doesn’t provide Cherokee translations: “What I want them to know is that they can’t know that.” I think it’s highly likely that Durham himself doesn’t know. In an exhibit he co-curated in 1986, the show’s title, ᏄᎪᏢᎠᏙᎧ, makes no sense as a complete Cherokee word, despite it being translated by Durham as “We Are Always Turning Around on Purpose.” Additionally, in the phonetic transliteration of the title itself, he misspelled it. At best, it could potentially be parsed as “turning good,” but even that is a stretch.

As a Cherokee artist who uses the syllabary in my own artwork, members of the Cherokee community scrutinize any Cherokee writing I use for accuracy, and any time I’ve made a mistaken you can be sure I was called on it. It’s part of being held accountable to the Cherokee community. Durham has avoided that kind of accountability his whole career.

As for Proctor himself, he is a pivotal figure in Cherokee history. He was a survivor of the Trail of Tears removal and a Keetoowah, which means he actively practiced and was a keeper of our traditions. He was also a

Having lost so much through the centuries, we can’t let someone steal more from us. statesman and served as a sheriff in his community and as a Cherokee Nation senator. He lived in the Goingsnake District of Cherokee Nation near the Arkansas border. Proctor was famously involved in a murder trial that led to a shootout between US marshals and several Cherokees, an event known as the Goingsnake Massacre of April 1872. The subsequent dismissal of the United State’s case against Proctor proved to be a landmark legal victory for the Cherokee Nation’s sovereignty.

It clearly established that the tribe itself recognized who its own people were and had the legal jurisdiction over their affairs. It also resulted in Proctor being the only person in history to have a treaty with the United States as an individual. Volumes have been written on the importance of these events. Proctor’s significance in history will be forever remembered. Stories abound of Proctor being protected by his fellow Keetoowahs during this time by practical and spiritual means. He was recognized as member of the Cherokee community culturally and by legal definition. He is still proudly claimed by Cherokee people today. This is in stark contrast to Durham.

The Proctor letter is an important example of a social document of the Cherokee people, demonstrating a lively, literate exchange in our language on topics like jurisprudence. During the post-Civil War era, usage of the syllabary was perhaps at its peak among Cherokees, so much so that Cherokee historians often refer to the rich, intellectual current of the time as the Cherokee Nation’s Golden Age. Even as Oklahoma statehood in 1907 effectively dissolved tribal governance until later in the 20th century, the syllabary remained a significant cultural identifier for many Cherokees, regardless of whether they could read it or not. The artist’s decision to use a fragment of a letter written in Cherokee syllabary from such a major historical figure is just another instance of him trying to falsely lay claim to this heritage. That Durham desecrated it

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with his acerbic humor and cultural ignorance only adds insult to injury.

A year after Durham debuted Zeke Proctor’s Letter, a fragment of the letter appeared in another piece of his titled Not Lothar Baumgarten’s Cherokee.

Baumgarten is a German artist whose permanent installation, The Tongue of the Cherokee, features inscriptions of Cherokee syllables in glass panels in the skylight of the Carnegie Museum of Art’s Hall of Sculpture in Pittsburgh.

According to the catalogue for his retrospective, At the Center of the World, Durham’s piece, ironically, was in response to non-Native Baumgarten using Cherokee language as his subject.

Durham paired Proctor’s letter fragment with a handwritten text in Finnish, which translates as, “Each of us is a direction. Among the Cherokee, the government is formed by a council, to which in fact every Cherokee belongs.

In the council, it is each person’s duty to listen carefully to what others say and to express their own thoughts precisely and in full.”

In recent years, Durham has toned down his explicit claims of being Cherokee, and research has proven his claims to be thoroughly false. Even so, it would be wise for his admirers in the art establishment to heed his own words here, in Finnish no less, and listen to what actual Cherokee people feel about Durham’s legacy. His status as a major figure in art history should be reexamined with critical scholarship that includes the Cherokee voice, not because it’s a case of identity policing, but because Cherokees value our heritage and history. Having lost so much through the centuries, we can’t let someone steal more from us. It’s also just lazy scholarship to leave out the Cherokee community. There are so many Cherokees out there who would gladly offer insight and expertise on this crucial discussion. After all, we are proudly Not Jimmie Durham’s Cherokee. ᏥᏍᏆᏓ.

—Roy Boney Jr. ᎧᏂᎦ ᎪᎳᎭ

RESPONSE

WALK-THROUGH AT THE HAMMER On February 21, 2017, performance and installation artist James Luna, Payómkawichum-Ipi [Luiseño-Diegueño] and of Mexican-American decent, conducted a walk-through of Jimmie Durham: At the Center of the World at the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles.

I’VE BEEN WAITING for my Jim Durham moment and I finally came to the realization that it wasn’t going to come. Though moved by his writing on his take on art, art making, Indians, and his place at the center of his world, at the same moment I came to the realization that we are at opposites on many art and political issues. These include being a member of a tribe and part of our tribal art community, our art-making process, and our career goals and aspirations for self and the Indian community.

Let me begin with the elephant in the room for me, which is the question concerning Jim Durham’s tribal identity.

This issue is the basis of his early work and how he is seen and presented in the mainstream. This is a personal as well as a political issue for us in the Indian arts—and as artists.

I am an enrolled member of the La Jolla Band of Luiseño Indians and reside on the La Jolla Indian Reservation in north San Diego County. Please don’t confuse us with La Jolla on the coast. As my mom says, “We are the poor ones.”

Being a member of a federally recognized tribe is but one of the criteria that begins to communicate who I am on many levels. I feel strongly that it is in one’s cultural training that we begin to know who we are, which speaks to our cultural ways and to family lineage, of utmost importance if you live in your community. If you live in an urban environment, then these questions are less prevalent or nonexistent.

Each tribe sets its criteria as to who can be a member, and this may include one or more of the following: • Documentation of your lineage • Degree of tribal blood • DNA testing (to confirm lineage and/or blood quantum).

For our enrollment purposes, you need to possess one-quarter blood degree of La Jolla Indian blood. Any other blood, including other tribal groups, doesn’t count.

Do I agree with this established process? No, I do not.

The Indian Arts and Crafts Act of 1990 established who could produce and sell what is deemed “American Indian arts and crafts” and that establishes that Indian artists need to be a member of a federal- or state-recognized tribe or be designated a tribal artisan by a federally recognized tribe. We Indians promoted this law as it was becoming apparent at the time that Indian visual arts were on the threshold of being big business in the mainstream of American art. The law did reduce the flow of fraudulent “Indian artwork” being made in foreign countries and made it so it could not be sold as authentic Indian art. Fines are in place for the producers and sellers of such art if it is being passed as American Indian made.

I was there when this was happening. There was not unanimous consensus on this law. It divided our COMMUNITY. This law goes back to the standard of who is an American Indian as proved by enrollment. The issue divided our community, and tears,

tension, and anger surfaced when the subject came up for discussion. We knew that it would hurt those bona fide Indians who did not get enrolled for various reasons, but today many of those tribes have been subsequently recognized. There wasn’t a problem with those who identified as of Indian decent as there are many individuals that have an Indian in the family; and for many of these people, they were proud of this, as Indian holds a special place in many American hearts.

Where Jim and I Agree: Being Defined. I’ve been at this art thing for 40 years and have been confronted with the “box” that I was placed in at the beginning of my career. I still hear these concerns from emerging Indian artists dealing with the same issue. I had a very lucky beginning as an artist. My installation performance, The Artifact Piece, propelled me into instant art stardom and history, and I found myself in demand. Then came the box issue and how I should be identified: as a mainstream contemporary artist or “other artist” placed in the “minority,” “ethnic,” or “person of color” category that I felt would limit my career avenues to success by being in such a box. Around this time I happened to be in Santa Fe on business and remember lamenting

David Bernie (Ihanktonwan Dakota), detail of Indian Country 52 #26 – Jimmie Durham, 2017, digital art, dimensional variable (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0). Courtesy of the artist, davidbernie.com.

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RESPONSE

to a well-respected Indian artist friend about this issue. He told me that I had many from our community in envy, wishing for the place I had established, and told me I needed to understand the pedestal, not just the box, I was being placed on in our community. So, I coined my handle thereafter so I could feel clear about how I wanted to be seen.

From that point on I identified myself as a “Contemporary American Indian Artist.” This is art. As for legalities, I am a member of a federally recognized tribe.

Now to the heart of the matter for me: Jim Durham ain’t no Marcel Duchamp.

Jim is a great writer, but I feel from my frame of reference that his philosophical “manifestos” many times do not match the artwork he produces. I feel left with the question, “Does one have to know the artist’s politics to understand and enjoy an artwork?” For me, I gravitate to the simple and direct route to the message that a work is trying to convey.

I see his body of work in two phases: his work from the ’80s through the early ’90s and after which I would categorize as his current work.

Early work: I feel as an artist and art instructor that his early work, such as Self-Portrait (1986), fits many categories of what I would gravitate to and cite as a successful artwork. There is craftsmanship in the selection of the materials. There are careful art decisions at play and a clear message and theme. His use of found objects set his foundation, and many of these objects were tactfully rendered.

During this early period he considered himself—and others considered him—a spokesman for Indian art and politics. That voice was cooled with the Indian Arts and Craft Act, which denied him in some way to be that spokesman, and that earlier bravado dimmed. He also made a political grandstand by moving out of the US to Mexico and then to Europe where the identity issue was not a focal point to his audiences.

Later Work: Durham’s insistence that his use of random objects and his call on speaking to the absurd and

chaos remain consistent, but there are contradictions. I also see a lessening of an “Indian” look or voice in the work.

The attempt to ignore or make work that doesn’t speak to formal craftsmanship has played out here, but I question his “manifesto” as it may be an effort to cover his inabilities to produce work that speaks “finished” work.

My measurements for good artists: Craftsmanship that includes the selection process of materials, finished work that has reached a reasonable level of application, and a good artist knows when to stop. Innovation: The drive to press on with new ideas and artwork.

In my summation: He’s not kept up and his best work is behind him.

In my way of thinking, lasting art stands because of its quality and execution and its theme. They need to be of equal value to last.

When Shared Visions: Native American Painters and Sculptors in the Twentieth Century came about in 1991, it was magical. We were all together for the first time! I was like a child in awe of Allan Houser, the Kabotie brothers, and Kay WalkingStick, and I was happy to meet the new guard that included James Lavadour, Harry Fonseca, Rick Bartow, and Jean LaMarr, to name a few. The premise of the exhibition and conference was for us—us—to establish the American Indian Fine Art Movement instead of outsiders and Indian art experts. The decree was that our fine art movement was established when we Indians were being formally trained in Western art and being introduced to Western art tools.

Let me pose these questions that I have ideas about but not complete answers: • Beyond Jim Durham and issues of tribal identity, where do we go from here?

• What do we, Indians, have at stake?

• What do we, Indians, aspire to?

I pose the question that I have posed to art institutions: “What Indian artists do you have in your collection?”

—James Luna

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A CHAPTER CLOSED? TEXAS-BORN, ENGLISH-AMERICAN sculptor and writer Jimmie Durham has falsely claimed a Cherokee and American Indian identity for more than 40 years now. Hopefully, after a multigenerational, multitribal effort spanning almost that long, art historians and curators will cease trying to force him upon the Native art world and cease positioning him as our representative in academic literature.

Anne Ellegood, senior curator of the Hammer Museum, part of the University of California, Los Angeles, has wanted to curate a major exhibition of Durham’s work for over a decade, and her dream was realized with the January 29th launch of Jimmie Durham: At the Center of the World, a retrospective opening at the Hammer traveling on to the Walker Art Center, the Whitney Museum of American Art, and Remai Modern. Native people have tried to tell Ellegood for years that Durham is not Native American; however, she would not listen. The catalogue will stand as a 320-page testament to this refusal to listen, to conduct adequate research, or to engage with the Cherokee tribes.

Durham’s art-world apologists have suggested that Native people said he wasn’t Cherokee based on his artwork or his appearance. Cherokee people know he’s not Cherokee because he doesn’t belong to any of the three Cherokee tribes. We also know that he is not an unenrolled Cherokee descendant, as many assumed, because he has no Cherokee ancestors. Ellegood wrote, “Of Cherokee heritage, Durham’s family migrated from the southeastern United States to west of the Mississippi River shortly before the forced march known as the Trail of Tears …”,1 which would suggest that Durham descends from the Early Settlers, Cherokees who migrated west between 1817 and 1935. However, his direct ancestors did not arrive in Arkansas until well after the Trail of Tears in 1838 and 1839, when most of the Cherokee people were forcibly removed to Indian Territory.

1. Anne Ellegood, “Jimmie Durham: Post-American,” in Jimmie Durham: At the Center of the World, ed.

Anne Ellegood (Munich: Prestel, 2017): 25.

RESPONSE

Durham has alternatively claimed to have been born in Nevada County, Arkansas, or Washington, Hempstead County, Arkansas, in 1940. No one by the surname Durham was born in either place around 1940, so something wasn’t right. Looking at his birthday on July 10, 1940, researcher Kathy Griffin White (Cherokee Nation) discovered that he was Jimmie Bob Durham born in Harris County, Texas, to Jerry Loren Durham and Ethel Pauline Simmons Durham, who were born in southern Arkansas. From there his family tree is easy to trace, as many Cherokee and non-Cherokee researchers have now done. The overwhelming majority of his ancestors come from England, a few from Scotland, and some from France via Quebec.

Since there were very few published resources questioning Durham’s claims, I posted Nancy Mithlo’s 1993 letter to Art in America online; then ten of us composed an open letter to Indian County Media Network.

Some non-Native Durham supporters seized upon the notion that his family didn’t “register” with the government, but Suzan Shown Harjo (Southern Cheyenne-Muscogee) responded to this view back in 1993: “He and his promoters have said that ‘registering’ with an Indian nation plays into the U.S.’s colonization plan and that a lot of real Indians are not ‘registered’ because their ancestors resisted the Dawes Act land rolls. This is inaccurate. Those who resisted the Dawes Act allotments made their opposition known by publicly denouncing the legalized theft of Indian lands. Federal Indian agents enrolled them anyway, and the most prominent resisters, Chitto Harjo, for example, were among the first so listed.”2 Redbird Smith (Cherokee) and other leaders who protested the Dawes Commission weren’t protesting rolls or censuses; they were protesting the US government breaking collective tribal lands into individual allotments, and Smith, like Chitto Harjo, is listed on

the Dawes Rolls. These leaders lived with and fought for the rights of their respective tribes.

After several online articles about problems with Durham’s identity claims, the Hammer Museum issued this statement on June 28: “While questions about Durham’s identity have arisen periodically since the early 1990s with the passing of the Indian Arts and Crafts Act, curators, art historians, and artists in the contemporary art field who have worked with the artist, including those from the Native Arts field, have accepted Jimmie’s understanding of his ancestry as Cherokee.”3 We don’t have questions, we have statements. It turns out “the Cherokee Nation made direct contact with The Hammer Museum regarding the labeling of Durham as a Cherokee to promote the show. Complaints reached the highest levels of the museum’s administration and board but achieved only one result, being blown off and patronized,” as David Cornsilk (Cherokee NationUnited Keetoowah Band) observed.4 This non-Native curator and institution rebuked the largest American Indian tribe in the United States on the subject of that very tribe’s identity.

Art critic Aruna D’Souza aptly and eloquently describes her response, and that of the larger art world, as moving through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. About her anger, she writes, “How can the Cherokee police their membership in such a draconian way?

Doesn’t it simply replicate the strategies of the U.S. government to control and at times eliminate American Indians? But what a strange and troubling slippage, to accuse an embattled minority, subject to genocidal attempts by a settler colonial power, of reproducing those power relations by simply trying to contend with the fact that hundreds of thousands of Americans have mythologized their heritage to include Cherokee ancestry. In fact, the Cherokee have one of the most open conceptions of tribal affiliation of all the U.S. tribes.”5

Individuals unfamiliar with Native identity have suggested the US federal government decides who can and cannot identify as Native American, but as Suzan Shown Harjo explained about the Indian Arts and Crafts Act back in 1993, “the Act states explicitly that Indians are whoever the tribes define as their people. This definition leaves no role for the federal government in tribal governments’ authority. Nor does the Act censor or punish content by any stretch of its language or legislative intent.”6 The Walker Art Center has proven much more willing to engage and work with the Native art community than the Hammer has. With Center of the World following hard on the heels of Sam Durant’s ill-conceived public sculpture, Scaffold, the Walker bore the brunt of ire for the misrepresentation of Durham’s identity and the stage provided for a non-Native person to speak on behalf of Native peoples.

Of course, Durham has a strong place in the contemporary art world. I’ve never suggested that he doesn’t deserve a retrospective or a place in art history, nor has anyone suggested that his work be censored. It will be fascinating to see how the Whitney Museum incorporates his story into their programming around his retrospective.

The tragic-comic irony of the mainstream art world’s refusal to listen to Native communities’ statements about Durham is that it admires his work about genocide, racism, and colonialism.

A last gasp from his most ardent disciples is to suggest that his playing Cherokee was an elaborate art performance. Only he was a faux Cherokee before he became a full-time artist.

Really, the elaborate performance would be by curators and art scholars who refused to listen to the Cherokee community and refused to research Cherokee history, language, and culture. While we would might like to optimistically or naïvely pretend it isn’t true, they have let the Native community know that colonialism is still very much alive today. —America Meredith

2. Suzan Shown Harjo, “Tribal and Cultural Identity: The Case of the Indian Arts & Crafts Art,” Artpaper 13, no. 2 (October 1993): 1, print.

3. Brian Boucher, “Cherokee Artists and Curators Denounce Artist Jimmie Durham as a Fraud, Saying He ‘Is Not a Cherokee’,” ArtNet (June 27, 2017), web.

4. David Cornsilk in a comment to Aruna D’Souza, “Mourning Jimmie Durham,” Momus (July 20, 2017), web.

5. Aruna D’Souza, “Mourning Jimmie Durham,” Momus (July 20, 2017), web.

6. Harjo, “Tribal and Cultural Identity,” 11.

FALL 2017 | 89

MEMORIAL

DELBRIDGE HONANIE January 7, 1946–May 8, 2017

Delbridge Honanie and mural detail. Photo: Zena Pearlstone.

H

OPI PAINTER AND SCULPTOR Delbridge Honanie was born in January of 1946 in Winslow, Arizona. He was born into the Bear Clan, whose members are considered the spiritual leaders of the Hopi people. His Hopi name was Coochsiwukioma, Falling White Snow. He grew up at the Second Mesa Village of Songoopavi and lived most of his adult life in Flagstaff.

Honanie studied painting with Winton Coles at the Phoenix Indian Day School, a Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding school. After graduating in 1968, he went on to study with Otellie Loloma (Hopi) at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe. When he graduated in 1970, he returned to the Phoenix Indian Day School as an art instructor.

Honanie was known for modernist Hopi imagery and created works to tell stories about the Hopi people. He began by painting representations of Katsina figures, the Hopi supernaturals, but abandoned realistic imagery of the Katsinas and concentrated on abstracted and stylized representations with symbolic designs. His work was influenced by his membership in Artist Hopid (founded in 1973), a group of five contemporary Hopi artists who felt the need to communicate their cultural and artistic experiences. Speaking for the group, founding member Michael Kabotie (Hopi) said, “We hoped that from the presentation of our traditions and from the interpretations of the Hopi way in our art and paintings a new direction would come for American spirituality.”

A major work of the group is the Hopi Ceremonial Calendar (1975) painted by Honanie, Michael Kabotie, Milland Lomakema, Terrance Talaswaima, and Neil David Sr. (all Hopi). The 274-square-foot mural in the Hopi Cultural 90 | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

Center on Second Mesa, Arizona, depicts the Hopi moon ceremonial cycle. This work was a major divergence from that of earlier Hopi and Pueblo artists who were associated with Indian boarding schools and the so-called Santa Fe Style.

Honanie also painted murals in the academic building of the Institute of American Indian Art campus and on the Arizona State University campus.

Ancestral Pueblo art became one of the major influences on Honanie’s art. The murals at Awatovi and Kuaua painted between the 14th and 17th centuries influenced all members of Artist Hopid, but Honanie’s style was closest to the Awatovi murals. Like the other members of Artist Hopid, Honanie was also influenced by European modernism, and works like Hopi Life (1974) illustrate the influence of Cubism in his paintings. For him the Cubist images in this work symbolize the confusion following the emergence of the people into the Fourth World.

2001 saw the completion of one of the major works of his career. With Michael Kabotie he painted Journey of the Human Spirit, a Hopi mural measuring five by forty-eight feet. The paintings comprise three walls of the Hopi Kiva Gallery constructed at the Museum of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff, Arizona. The paintings move through time: from the mythic emergence of the Hopi people, the ancient migrations, the coming of the Spanish and Anglo-Americans, the substance abuse of Native peoples, and the rebirth of the Hopi people through the technology of the information age.

The ideas for Journey of the Human Spirit emerged when Honanie and Kabotie visited and studied the Awatovi mural reproductions and original fragments in the basement of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University in 2000. Honanie explained, “Awatovi represents something we Hopis and others should learn.”

Honanie’s work is preserved in museums and galleries across the United States. He participated in many events involving Hopi and Pueblo art including the 2002 symposium associated with the Katsina/Kachina: Tradition, Appropriation, Innovation at the UCLA Fowler Museum in Los Angeles.

In 1969, Honanie won the Discover America poster contest, and he received several awards at the Heard Museum Indian Fair and Market in 1970. In 1975, he was awarded the Swazo Memorial Award at the Heard Museum. In later years he earned honors at the Santa Fe Indian Market. He was named an Arizona Indian Living Treasure in 2006.

The artist married Lorraine Karen Honanie née Poseyesva in 1984. She managed his art business until her death in 2006. Honanie died May 8, 2017, in Flagstaff, and was honorably buried at Hopi.

—Zena Pearlstone, PhD

MEMORIAL

CHARLES PRATT November 8, 1937–July 12, 2017

M

Y BROTHER CHARLES PRATT was a special individual, gifted not only with his artistic ability but also with his unique talent for understanding others. He had a strong religious belief that I believe was the foundation for his own strength.

At an early age, Charles exhibited a strong desire to create, experiment, and step out of the box. He wasn’t afraid to try new things. He was an explorer: he built igloos in the winter, floated down the North Canadian River on bales of hay or a rubber raft and rode the spring floods where he once found a human skull and took it to town to the newspaper office. It scared the rest of the siblings to death.

He built his own shotgun. He built a tandem bike out of scraps and put a steering wheel on it instead of handlebars.

What I admired about Charles was there was no quit in him. He found a way and was willing to try anything. He wasn’t afraid of failure. I believe his failures were the secret to his success. He learned from his mistakes and the next time was better.

Charles was a treasure not only to the American Indian art world, but also, by association, to all those who knew him. Charles lived life to the fullest, and life and experiences fused a strength that made him an artist and a man. Charles had an awareness of others and an awareness of the perils of life.

Pushing life to the limit, Charles was driven by his desire to succeed and by his desire to create, which he did with a shine. He saw a world that was difficult for Indians to succeed in, yet he won the battle and did succeed.

Charles had such passion and energy for his projects. He did more than he had to do. He Sun Danced seven times; he entered the Rabbit Lodge of the Arapahos. He assisted in old ceremonies with other Arapaho priests. He always remembered where he came from and loved his family.

Charles was unique in his dress, art, and cars. He owned a 1950s MG sports car with headlights on the fenders. He put an air horn on it from a semi-truck and would honk that horn as he drove through Hollie’s Drive-In. Charles taught me a lot of things about generosity, religion, and culture. He never was afraid to teach or train people to better themselves. He always told me to put something back into my art so that I could continue to produce. He took fraudulent people to court that tried to take advantage of him and tried to stop the abuse of Indian artists by persons duplicating their work without compensation to the artist.

Always generous to others, Charles often invited people to his home and shared with those less fortunate. If

Charles Pratt, left, and Harvey Pratt, right (both Southern CheyenneArapaho), practicing archery. Image courtesy of the author.

you were willing to work hard and better yourself, he was willing to help you, but he didn’t waste his time on those who were users and takers. Charles was one of the most positive people I have ever known. He once told me that even when he loses he wins, because he finds success in his failure.

There is a special group of people on this earth, and Charlie was one of those special people that touched the lives of us all. We are better because of his art that he shared with art lovers all over the world. He will truly be missed.

I cannot think of Charles without thinking of the time he placed a life-size bronze statute on our aunt Laura Birdwoman’s grave. It is a beautiful statue of an Indian woman with flowers and hummingbirds. Someone tried to knock the flowers and birds off. I told Charles that I was going to find the person that did that and have him arrested, but Charles said, “Harvey, don’t worry about it. I did what I was supposed to do, and God will take care of those that did the damage.” I never worried about it again, because it was in the hands of God. —Harvey Pratt FALL 2017 | 91

CALENDAR August 3–31: Seattle, WA Dan Friday: New Works in Glass at Stonington Gallery, 125 S. Jackson Street (206) 405-4040 | stoningtongallery.com August 4–September 16: Castlegar, BC Remediating Curtis, solo show for Stephen Foster (Métis), at the Kootenay Gallery of Art, 120 Heritage Way | +1 (250) 365-3337 | kootenaygallery.com August 8–12: Panama City, Panama 5th Annual Festival de Arte Dule, art exhibits, concerts, dance, forum, workshops, and film festival at various locations | festivaldeartedule.com August 10–12: Gallup, NM Gallup Native Arts Market in downtown Gallup, Native managed and juried art fair | (505) 399-2890 | gallupnativeartsmarket.org August 10–13: Bar Harbor, ME Sipayik Indian Day Celebration at the Abbe Museum, Passamaquoddy festival, 26 Mount Desert Street | (207) 288-3519 | abbemuseum.org

appraisals for Insurance, Estates, Donations, Divorce Identification of Items • Inventory of Collections appraisals of rugs, basketry, pottery, jewelry, paintings, sculpture, graphics

Leona M. Zastrow, PhD 505-466-8581 ✠ epicinc@earthlink.net americanindianartappraising.com

August 11–December 16: Boise, ID Rick Bartow: Things You Know But Cannot Explain at the Boise Art Museum, 670 Julia Davis Drive | (208) 345-8330 | boiseartmuseum.com August 10–13: Santa Fe, NM Objects of Art Santa Fe at El Museo Cultural de Santa Fe in the Railyard District, presented by Objects of Art Shows. Reception: Thursday, August 10, 6:00–9:00 pm. Show: Friday–Sunday, August 11–13, 11:00 am–5:00 pm | objectsofartsantafe.com August 14–19: Park Hill, OK Preserving Cherokee Culture: Holding the Past for the Future at the Cherokee Heritage Center, 21192 S. Keeler Drive | (918) 456-6007 | cherokeeheritage.org August 15–18: Santa Fe, NM Antique American Indian Art Show at El Museo Cultural de Santa Fe in the Railyard District, presented by Objects of Art Shows. Reception: Tuesday, August 15, 6:00–9:00 pm. Fair: Wednesday–Friday, August 16–18, 11:00 am–5:00 pm | antiqueindianartshow.com August 15, 2017–March 31, 2018: Santa Fe, NM Catch 22: Paradox on Paper and First American Art Magazine No. 16, Fall 2017, Launch Party at the Ralph T. Coe Foundation for the Arts, 1590 B Pacheco Street. Reception: Tuesday, August 15, 5:00–8:00 pm (505) 983-6372 | ralphtcoefoundation.org August 15–TBD: Santa Fe, NM Douglas Miles Solo Exhibit at the Poeh Center, 78 Cities of Gold Road.

Reception: Tuesday, August 15, 2:00 pm | (505) 455-5041 | poehcenter.org August 16–TBD: Santa Fe, NM Jason Garcia Solo Exhibit at the Poeh Center, 78 Cities of Gold Road.

Reception: Wednesday, August 16, 2:00 pm | (505) 455-5041 | poehcenter.org August 17–January 21, 2018: Santa Fe, NM Connective Tissue: New Approaches to Fiber in Contemporary Native American Art at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place | (505) 983-1666 | iaia.edu/museum August 17–18: Santa Fe, NM 42nd annual Benefit Auction at the Wheelwright Museum, 704 Camino Lejo. Silent auction: Thursday, August 17, 3:00–5:00 pm. Live auction: Friday, August 18: 12:00–3:00 pm | (505) 982-4636 | wheelwright.org August 19–20: Santa Fe, NM 96th annual SWAIA Santa Fe Indian Market in downtown Santa Fe. Saturday, August 19, 7:00 am–5:00 pm & Sunday, August 20, 8:00 am–5:00 pm (505) 983-5220 | swaia.org

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August 18–October 28: Santa Fe, NM Broken Boxes at form & concept, 435 S. Guadalupe Street, with more than 40 artists and activists | (505) 982-8111 | formandconcept.center

August 26–September 23: Park Hill, OK 22nd annual Cherokee Homecoming Art Show at the Cherokee Heritage Center, 21192 S. Keeler Drive | (918) 456-6007 | cherokeeheritage.org

August 18–December 24: Brantford, ON Onkwehon:we Matters at the Woodland Cultural Centre, 184 Mohawk Street +1 (519) 759-2650 | woodland-centre.on.ca

August 26, 2017–January 21, 2018: Reno, NV Unsettled at the Nevada Museum of Art, 160 W. Liberty Street. Curated by JoAnne Northrup and Ed Ruscha | (775) 329-3333 | nevadaart.org

August 19 & 20: Santa Fe, NM The Zuni Show at Scottish Rite Temple, Paseo de Peralta & Washington Avenue.

Saturday, August 19, 9:00 am–6:00 pm. Sunday, August 20, 9:00 am–4:00 pm (505) 660-0981 | thekeshifoundation.org

August 27, 2017–September 3, 2018: Santa Fe, NM Stepping Out: 10,000 Years of Walking in the West at the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, 710 Camino Lejo | (505) 476-1269 | indianartsandculture.org

August 19–November 26: Richmond, VA Hear My Voice: Native American Art from the Past and Present at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, 200 North Boulevard | (804) 340-1400 | vmfa.museum

September 1, 2017–February 24, 2018: Missoula, MT Our Side: Eliza Harkins, Tanya Lukin Linklater, Marianne Nicolson, and Tanis S’eiltin at the Missoula Art Museum, 335 N. Pattee Street (406) 728-0447 | missoulaartmuseum.org

August 19, 2017–January 2018: El Prado, NM Corn: Sacred Giver of Life and Feast Days: A Cycle of Faith at the Millicent Rogers Museum, 1504 Millicent Rogers Road (575) 758-2462 | millicentrogers.org

September 2–December 31: Kleinberg, ON Annie Pootoogook: Cutting Ice at the McMichael Canadian Art Collection, 10365 Islington Avenue | +1 (905) 893-1121 | mcmichael.com

August 21–December 8: Cullowhee, NC Return from Exile: Contemporary Southeastern Indian Art at the Bardo Arts Center, Western Carolina University. Symposium: Friday, November 10 (828) 227-3591 | wcu.edu/bardo-arts-center

September 2–4: Kewa Pueblo, NM Kewa Pueblo Annual Arts & Crafts Market at Kewa Pueblo, I-24, 33 miles north of Albuquerque, exit 259, north 4 miles on NM 22, west 1 mile on local road. Look for signs. Over 300 artists, plus food, fresh produce, and dances

August 25, 2017–May 13, 2018: Oklahoma City, OK Life and Legacy: The Art of Jerome Tiger at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, 1700 NE 63rd Street (405) 478-2250 | nationalcowboymuseum.org August 26: New Gloucester, ME Maine Native American Summer Market at the Sabbathday Lake Shaker Village, 707 Shaker Road | (207) 926-4597 | maineindianbaskets.org

September 9 & 10: Lawrence, KS Haskell Indian Art Market on the Haskell Indian Nations University Campus, 155 Indian Avenue | (785) 749-8467 | haskell.edu September 16: Scottsdale, AZ Canvas of Clay: Hopi Pottery Masterworks from the Allan and Judith Cooke Collection at Western Spirit: Scottsdale’s Museum of the West, 3830 N. Marshall Way | (480) 686-9539 | scottsdalemuseumwest.org WINTER 2016/17 | 93

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Museum of Indian Arts and Culture’s

A UNIQUE SALE OF NATIVE AMERICAN ART FROM PRIVATE COLLECTIONS Pottery, jewelry, textiles, paintings, baskets, carvings—old and contemporary—whether you are a new or a seasoned collector, come find your own treasure!

A benefit for the

Museum of Indian Arts and Culture Museum Hill Laboratory of Anthropology • Santa Fe

Saturday and Sunday September 23–24, 2017 Early Birds • Saturday, 9–10 am • $25 Saturday and Sunday, 10 am–5 pm Free Admission

www.nativetreasures.org

September 23 & 24: Santa Fe, NM Native Treasures Collectors’ Sale at the Laboratory of Anthropology, 708 Camino Lejo, to benefit the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture (505) 982-7799 | nativetreasures.org September 22–24: Sioux Falls, SD 30th annual Northern Plains Indian Art Market. Reception: Friday, September 22, at the Old Courthouse Museum, 200 W. 6th Street. Market: Saturday, September 23, and Sunday, September 24, at the Sioux Falls Convention Center, 1101 N. West Avenue | npiam.org September 24: Kansas City, MO American Indian Cultural Celebration at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, 4525 Oak Street, 10:00 am–4:00 pm | (816) 751-1278 | nelson-atkins.org September 29–30: Nuuk, Greenland Akisuanerit Festival at Katuaq Cultural Centre, Imaneq 21, three-day music and arts festival | +299 36 37 70 | katuaq.gl September 30: Oklahoma City, OK Grand Opening of the Creative Circle Gallery and Gift Shop, a venture of the Oklahoma City Muscogee (Creek) Association, 4111 N. Lincoln Boulevard | (405) 605-2621 | facebook.com/ OKCMuscogeeCreekAssociation September 30, 2017–February 11, 2018: San Francisco, CA Teotihuacan: City of Water, City of Fire at the de Young, 50 Hagiwara Tea Garden Drive | (415) 750-3600 | deyoungfamsf.org October 3–December 8: Davis, CA Recent Acquisitions of the C. N. Gorman Museum at the C. N. Gorman Museum, University of California, Davis, 1 Shields Ave. #1316 (530) 752-6567 | gormanmuseum.ucdavis.edu October 3, 2017–March 10, 2018: Missoula, MT Jaune Quick-to-See Smith: In the Footsteps of My Ancestors at the Missoula Art Museum, 335 N. Pattee Street (406) 728-0447 | missoulaartmuseum.org October 4–7: Tuscaloosa, AL Moundville Native American Festival at Moundville Archaeological Park (205) 371-8732 | moundville.ua.edu October 6, 2017–January 7, 2018: Tulsa, OK Kay WalkingStick: An American Artist at the Gilcrease Museum, 1400 N. Gilcrease Museum Road | (918) 596-2700 | gilcrease.utulsa.edu October 7 & 8: San Antonio, TX 4th annual Yanaguana Indian Arts Market at the Briscoe Western Art Museum, 210 W. Market St | (210) 299-4499 | briscoemuseum.org October 7, 2017–April 15, 2018: Phoenix, AZ Of God and Mortal Men: Masterworks by T.C. Cannon from the Nancy and Richard Block Collection at the Heard Museum, 2301 N. Central Avenue | (602) 252-8840 | heard.org/exhibits

From the Edward J. Guarino Collection Rick Bartow Justus Benally T.C. Cannon Terrance Clifford Jarrod Da Anita Fields Jason Garcia / Okuu Pin Shan Goshorn Sonya Kelliher-Combs Monty Little Linley Logan

Charles Loloma Les Namingha Eliza Noranjo Morse Christine Nofchissey McHorse Jaune Quick-to-See Smith Diego Romero Sarah Sense Rose Simpson Emmi Whitehorse

October 7, 2017–April 2018: Park Hill, OK Cherokee Warriors at the Cherokee Heritage Center, 21192 S. Keeler Drive (918) 456-6007 | cherokeeheritage.org October 9–12: Santa Ana Pueblo, NM International Conference of Indigenous Archives, Libraries, and Museums, sponsored by the Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries, and Museums at the Hyatt Regency Tamaya | (405) 401-9657 | atalm.org October 13–15: Catoosa, OK 12th annual Cherokee Art Market at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino Tulsa, 777 W. Cherokee Street. Reception: Friday, October 13 (877) 779-6977 | cherokeeartmarket.com October 14: Zuni, NM Ancient Way Fall Festival & Arts Market at Zuni Pueblo (505) 782-7238 | zunipeublomainstreet.org

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CALENDAR October 14 & 15: Salt Lake City, UT Indian Art Market and Navajo Rug Sale at the Natural History Museum of Utah, Rio Tinto Center, 301 Wakara Way. 10:00 am–5:00 pm (801) 581-6927 | nhmu.utah.edu October 19, 2017–January 7, 2018: Warm Springs, OR 24th annual Tribal Member Art Exhibit at the Museum of Warm Springs, 2189 US Highway 26 | (541) 553-3331 | museumatwarmsprings.org October 20 & 21: Victor, NY Symposium on Eastern Woodland Material & Art at the Seneca Art & Cultural Center, 7000 County Road 41 | (585) 398-6151 | ganondagan.org October 25–29: Tulsa, OK Native American Art Studies Association (NAASA) Biannual Conference at the Hyatt Regency Tulsa, 100 E. 2nd Street | nativearts.org

JOAN CABALLERO SANTA FE APPRAISAL CREDENTIALS

ISA & USPAP

October 26, 2017–Fall 2027: Washington, DC Americans at the National Museum of the American Indian, 4th Street and Independence Avenue SW, Washington, DC | (202) 633-1000 | nmai.si.edu

N AT I V E A M E R I C A N A R T

October 28, 2017–May 13, 2018: Winnipeg, MB Pitaloosie Saila: A Personal Journey, solo exhibit for this Inuk draftswoman, at the Winnipeg Art Gallery (WAG), 300 Memorial Boulevard +1 (204) 786-6641 | wag.ca

(505) 690-8482 joancaballero@msn.com www.collectorsguide.com/jcaballero

October 2017–January 2018: Portland, OR The Art of Resilience: A Continuum of Tlingit Art at the Portland Art Museum, 1219 SE Park Avenue | (503) 226-2811 | portlandartmuseum.org

For more events, visit our online calendar at FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM/CALENDAR

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Wheelwright Museum OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN

704 Camino Lejo, Santa Fe, NM 87505 • 505-982-4636 or 1-800-607-4636

42ndAnnual Benefit Auction

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Your purchases help support the museum’s educational programs and exhibitions!

August 1–11

New! Online Auction

See website for details.

Thursday, August 17

Silent Auction and Live Auction Preview 3–5 p.m.

Friday, August 18

Youth & Adult Artist Demonstrations 9 a.m.–noon

Live Auction Preview 10 a.m.–noon Live Auction Noon–3 p.m.

Andale Food Truck on-site August 18th. Offsite parking and free shuttle available.

For more information visit www.wheelwright.org/auction Funded in Part by a Gift from

FALL 2017 | 95

ᎠᏂᏣᎳᎩ ᎠᏂᎷᎪ ᎤᏁᏅᏒ ᏧᎾᏟᎶᏍᏔᏅᏅ ᎬᏂᎨᏒ ᏄᏅᏃ ᎠᎴ ᎤᏂᏍᎪᎸᏙᎢ

22N D A N N U A L

CHEROKEE HOMECOMING ART SHOW & SALE

AUGUST 26 SEPTEMBER 30, 2017 Don’t miss this exclusive exhibition and sale of contemporary and traditional Cherokee art.

SPONSORED IN PART BY:

2016 Cherokee Homecoming Art Show Grand Prize Winner Michael Mounce “Music with Papa”

21192 S. KEELER DR., PARK HILL , OK 74451 • (888) 999-60 07 • CHEROKEEHERI TAGE.ORG

© 201796 Cherokee Heritage Center. All Rights Reserved. | WWW.FIRSTAMERICANARTMAGAZINE.COM

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Wheelwright Museum OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN

www.wheelwright.org 704 Camino Lejo, Santa Fe, NM 87505 505-982- 4636 or 1- 800 -607- 4636

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A Universe of Meaning Through April 15, 2018 Support for this exhibition is provided in part by the Enivar Charitable Fund in Memory of Nancy Florsheim; Leo and Donna Krulitz; Richard and Willa Sisson; New Mexico Arts, a division of the Department of Cultural Affairs and the National Endowment for the Arts; the FRIENDS of the Wheelwright Museum; and several other donors. Photo: Neebinnaukzhik Southall.

KATHLEEN WALL

SANTA FE INDIAN MARKET BOOTH #222-PAL KATHLEENWALL.COM | STUDIO 505-362-3887