First American Art Magazine No. 45, Winter 2025

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

MAGAZINE

NO. 45, WINTER 2025

DISPLAY UNTIL APRIL 7, 2025

IROQUOIS REALIST SCHOOL SANTIAGO TLATELOLCO RELIEF ANCESTRAL CARVING PROJECT NOMADIC ART CAMP IN KYRGYZSTAN

JONAH HILL ALISON BREMNER CAROL EMARTHLE DOUGLAS JOHN MURIE

67TH ANNUAL HEARD MUSEUM GUILD

INDIAN FAIR + MARKET

MAR

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CC AR A AR OMER OO AR R OMER PANÛPÜNÜWÜGAI PANÛPÜNÜWÜGAI JANUARY 18–AUGUST 10, 10, 2025 JANUARY 18–AUGUST 2025

Celebrate the multiplicity, beauty, and resilience of Native American and and Celebrate the multiplicity, beauty, and resilience of Native American Indigenous experiences in Chemehuevi photographer Indigenous experiences in Chemehuevi photographer Cara Romero’s first major solo museum exhibition.

Cara Romero’s first major solo museum exhibition.

Cara Romero, Ha'ina 'ia mai, 2024, archival pigment print. © Cara Romero Cara Romero, Ha'ina 'ia mai, 2024, archival pigment print. © Cara Romero Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth Hood Museum of Art, Dartmouth 6 E Wheelock St, Hanover, NH 6 E Wheelock St, Hanover, NH hoodmuseum.dartmouth.edu hoodmuseum.dartmouth.edu

Image: Andrea Carlson, The Indifference of Fire, 2023. [detail] Oil, acrylic, gouache, ink, color pencil on paper, 46 x 182 inches (overall), Gochman Family Collection. ©Andrea Carlson, courtesy Bockley Gallery and JAMES FUENTES Image: Andrea Carlson, The Indifference of Fire, 2023. [detail] Oil, acrylic, gouache, ink, color pencil on paper, 46 x 182 inches (overall), Gochman Family Collection. ©Andrea Carlson, courtesy Bockley Gallery and JAMES FUENTES

Josef Albers • Rick Bartow • Frank Big Bear • Roy Boney • Rick • Frank•Big BearChurch • Roy Boney • Josef AndreaAlbers Carlson • Bartow Avis Charley Kelly • • Andrea Carlson • Avis Charley • Cyrette Kelly Church Woodrow "Woody” Crumbo • Nancy Fisher • Jim • Woodrow Crumbo •• Nancy Fisher Cyrette • Jim Denomie • "Woody” Jeffrey Gibson Teri Greeves • Denis Denomie •• Mark Jeffrey Gibson • Teri Greeves • Denis Lajimodiere LaRoque • Courtney M. Leonard • Lajimodiere • Mark LaRoque Courtney M. Leonard • Nora Moore Lloyd • Agnes Martin •• Wanesia Misquadace Nora Moore Lloyd • Agnes Martin • Wanesia • George Morrison • Barnett Newman • DaphneMisquadace Odjig • Virgil Ortiz Morrison • Chris Pappan • Cherish • John • George • Barnett NewmanParrish • Daphne Odjig • Pigeon Monica Rickert-Bolter • Sharon Virgil• Jason Ortiz •Quigno Chris • Pappan • Cherish Parrish • John Skolnick Telford • Jason Wesaw • Pigeon •• Skye JasonTafoya Quigno• •Lisa Monica Rickert-Bolter • Sharon JoeSkolnick Yazzie • •Debra Skye Yepa-Pappan Tafoya • Lisa Telford • Jason Wesaw • Joe Yazzie • Debra Yepa-Pappan

January 25 - July 13, 2025 JanuaryEvanston, 25 - July 13, 2025 Illinois Evanston, Illinois www.blockmuseum.northwestern.edu www.blockmuseum.northwestern.edu

Image: Andrea Carlson, The Indifference of Fire, 2023. [detail] Oil, acrylic, gouache, ink, color pencil, and graphite on paper 46 x 182 inches (overall),Gochman Family Collection. ©Andrea Carlson, courtesy Bockley Gallery and JAMES FUENTES

Woven Being is part of Art Design Chicago, a citywide collaboration initiated by the Terra Foundation for American Art that highlights the city’s artistic heritage and creative communities. Lead support for Woven Being is provided by the Terra Foundation for American Art. Major support is provided by the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Supported by the National Endowment for the Arts, The Joyce Image:Arts.

Andrea Carlson, in Thepart Indifference of Fire, 2023. [detail] Oil, acrylic, gouache, ink, Foundation, color pencil, the and Illinois graphite on paper 46 x 182 inches (overall),Gochman Family Collection. ©Andrea Carlson, courtesy Bockley Gallery and JAMES FUENTES Arts Council. Additional support is provided by the Sandra L. Riggs Publication Fund and the Alumnae of Northwestern University.

Woven Being is part of Art Design Chicago, a citywide collaboration initiated by the Terra Foundation for American Art that highlights the city’s artistic heritage and creative communities. Lead support for Woven Being is provided by the Terra Foundation for American Art. Major support is provided by the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts. Supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts, The Joyce Foundation, the Illinois Arts Council. Additional support is provided by the Sandra L. Riggs Publication Fund and the Alumnae of Northwestern University.

issue no. 45, winter 2025

DEPARTMENTS Recent Developments

By Staci Golar and America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

FEATURES 11

The Precarious Origins of the Iroquois Realist School

By Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

Recent Developments | In 18 Memoriam: Mary Ellen Meredith

By Samonia Byford and America Meredith (both Cherokee Nation) Art+Lit | January Rogers: Mohawk/ 86 Tuscarora Author and Poet

By Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD Spotlight | Eric-Paul Riege’s JAATŁOH4YE'IITSOH [17–18] + [][][][]

By Sháńdíín Brown (Diné)

72

Calendar

94

Indigenous Artistry, Intricate 30 Narratives: Considering a 17th-Century Relief of Santiago in Tlatelolco, Mexico City

By Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, PhD 48

REVIEWS Exhibition Reviews

74

Music Review

82

Book Reviews

83

54

Hodinöšyö:nih Continuity | 36 Innovation | Resilience: Collaborating with a 17th-Century Ancestor

By Jamie Jacobs (Tonawanda Seneca) and Kathryn Murano Santos Threads of Kinship: Bridging 42 Global Indigenous Communities Through Art in Kyrgyzstan

By Clementine Bordeaux, PhD (Sicangu/Oglala Lakota), and Heidi K. Brandow (Diné/Kānaka Maoli)

ARTIST PROFILES

MEMORIALS Kerri Dick (Kwakwaka'wakw/ Haida/Kootenay, 1983–2024)

By Christy Hanson (Diné)

20

90

David John Dragonfly (Blackfeet/ 91 Assiniboine, 1956–2024)

By Matt Jarvis (Osage) Thelma Forrest (Cherokee 92 Nation, 1940–2024)

By Lisa Rutherford (Cherokee Nation)

60

Virginia Stroud (Keetoowah 93 Cherokee/Muscogee, 1951–2024)

By Tahnee Ahtone (Kiowa/Seminole/Mvskoki) cover Ganöndi:ye's “Charli Rae” Hill (Seneca Nation, Wolf clan) scatters milkweed seeds in the wind at Ganondagan State Historic Site. She wears the untitled ancestor comb, made from a 17th-century antler blank finished by Hayden Haynes (Seneca Nation), as well as his Celestial Tree Comb Earrings, 2024, elk antler, sterling silver, 4¼ × 1½ in. each.

Alison Bremner: Tlingit Painter, Collage Artist, and Carver

By Kariel Galbraith (Tlingit)

48

Carol Emarthle Douglas: Northern Arapaho/ Seminole Basket Weaver

By Ruthanne Johnson

54

Jonah Hill: Hopi/ Quechan Metalsmith

By Stacy Pratt, PhD (Mvskoke)

60

John Murie: Chippewa Cree/ Pawnee Beadwork Artist

By America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

66

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FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 7

issue no. 45, winter 2025 ISSN 2333-5548 (Print) • ISSN 2333-5556 (Digital) Publishing Editor: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Literary Editor: Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD (Euro-Canadian) Contributing Editor: Stacy Pratt, PhD (Mvskoke) Advertising Representatives: Barbara Harjo and Nicole Emmons (Citizen Potawatomi) Circulation Manager: Amy D. Bergseth, PhD Copy Editors: Rosa Cays (Chicana) and Angela C. Villa (Chicana) Proofreaders: Rosa Cays (Chicana), Staci Golar, Angela C. Villa (Chicana), and Travis D. Day Layout and Design: America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) Social Media: Staci Golar, America Meredith (Cherokee Nation), and Jackie Sevier (Northern Arapaho) Interns: Liam Hart and Abby Mikalauskas

Regional Representatives

Great Basin: Melissa Melero-Moose (Northern Paiute/Modoc) Great Plains: Jackie Sevier (Northern Arapaho) Northeast: Kelly Church (Gun Lake Pottawatomi/Ottawa/Ojibwe) Northwest: Nadia Jackinsky-Sethi, PhD (Alutiiq) Southeast: Michole Eldred (Catawba/Eastern Cherokee descent) Southwest: Holly Coonsis (Zuni) and RoseMary Diaz (Santa Clara Pueblo)

Advisory Council

Miranda Belarde-Lewis, PhD (Zuni/Tlingit) Roy Boney Jr. (Cherokee Nation) Emily Haozous, PhD, RN (Chiricahua Fort Sill Apache) Linda Lomahaftewa, Hon. DHum (Hopi/Choctaw) Tatiana Lomahaftewa-Singer (Hopi/Choctaw) Leah Mata Fragua (yak tityu tityu yak tiłhini Chumash) Anya Montiel, PhD (Mestiza/Tohono O'odham descent) Denise Neil, PhD (Delaware Tribe/Cherokee Nation) Neebinnaukzhik Southall (Rama Chippewa) Mary Jo Watson, PhD (Seminole Nation) India Rael Young, PhD

Advertising Representative

West: Barbara Harjo, barbara@firstamericanartmagazine.com East: Nicole Emmons (Citizen Potawatomi), nicole@firstamericanartmagazine.com International distribution is 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.

MARWIN BEGAYE NEW PRINTS

Copyright © 2025 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 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 U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

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NEW EXHIBIT ROCHESTER, NY Hayden Haynes (Seneca, Deer Clan), Reinterpretation 1, 2023.

Curated by Jamie Jacobs (Tonawanda Seneca, Turtle Clan) The RMSC’s newest permanent exhibition is an immersive exploration into Hodinöšyö:nih artwork, past and present. Discover how contemporary Hodinöšyö:nih artists build on traditional art forms represented in the RMSC and Rock Foundation collections to express their identities and address modern issues.

Learn more at rmsc.org

EDITOR’S GREETING

I

NDIGENOUS FUTURISMS is a literary and artistic movement that projects images of possible futures combined with influences from the past and present. This follows our creation stories and oral histories—what my dad called “the unchanging truth”—that recount the past but also predict the future. While dystopian visions of the future dominate pop cultures, and honestly our news outlets as well, Indigenous visions of the future are often hopeful and beautiful. Does this come from escapist fantasies? Consider the history of beadwork: some of the most exquisite cradleboards and bandolier bags were sewn during some of the darkest times in Native history—times of sweeping epidemics, starvation, warfare, forced relocation, imprisonment on reservations, and more. These artworks are prayers for protection for the human being who uses them. They are visions of better prospects ahead and invocations of forces greater than humans.

Studying the past can allow us to know what humanity is capable of and

how others overcome seemingly insurmountable adversity. Indigenous peoples of the Americas are all post-apocalyptic peoples. We all benefit from understanding how people survived and persevered through devastating hardships. And visual arts, writing, music, and other creative expressions allow us insights into their innermost thoughts and their perspectives on the universe.

During 9/11, I took some comfort in studying the violent Red Scare of 1917 to 1920. During the COVID-19 pandemic, I learned about the 1918 Great Influenza pandemic. Here in the United States, we are fed absurd notions that we are somehow immune to tragedies faced throughout the world and throughout time. Anyone outside of the mainstream, notably Native peoples, are keenly aware of the falseness of this illusion.

In this issue of FAAM, we explore adaptations Indigenous artists made during historical upheaval while sustaining their communities. Circa 1610 Miguel Mauricio who lived at a time of

shocking change wrought by the Spanish invasion of the Aztec Empire, negotiated the imposed hegemony of Roman Catholicism through his wood carving. The Iroquois Realists used Western materials to express both an embrace of Christianity and a commitment to maintaining and sustaining their own Longhouse Religion and their medicine ways. Hayden Haynes (Seneca Nation) completes a carving begun in the 17th century. The Nomadic Art Camp in Kyrgyzstan shares how life-changing forging bonds with diverse cultures can be.

Being present and mindful of our current experience is vitally important, especially when media and technology aim to sweep us away at every turn. But we can keep perspective by grounding ourselves in our lived reality while also considering what led us to this moment and what we want to leave for those who come after us. We are both small in the universe and large with our potential to shape the future we wish to see—to embody those prayers of protection for the living beings with whom we share the universe. —America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 9

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10 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

RECENT DEVELOPMENTS MUSEUMS The Mitchell Museum of the American Indian in Evanston, Illinois, has changed its name to the GICHIGAMIIN INDIGENOUS NATIONS MUSEUM as part of the museum’s evolution into a majority Native-led institution. Gichigamiin is the Ojibwemowin term for “Great Lakes.”

Crystal Mzhickteno (Prairie Band Potawatomi) designed the museum’s new floral logo.

The NORTHWEST MUSEUM OF ARTS AND CULTURE in Spokane, Washington, hired Rachel Allen (Nez Perce) as its curator of modern and contemporary art. Allen, a PhD candidate at the University of Delaware, co-curated Joe Feddersen: Earth, Water, Sky, on view at the museum through January 5, 2025.

She previously served as assistant curator at the Peabody Essex Museum. Support from the M.J. Murdock Charitable Trust made this position possible.

The CHICKASAW CULTUR AL CENTER in Sulphur, Oklahoma, hired Susan Mueggenborg (Chickasaw) as its curator of exhibitions and education.

Mueggenborg is a beadwork artist who earned her bachelor’s degree in photography from Oklahoma City University.

Welana Queton (Osage/Muscogee/Cherokee) is the Mellon Fellow for Native Art at the PHILBROOK MUSEUM OF ART in Tulsa. Queton cofounded Wahzhazhe Puppet Theatre and served as curatorial specialist at First Americans Museum, where she co-curated the long-term exhibition Winiko: Life of an Object.

above Rachel Allen (Nez Perce), modern and contemporary art curator, Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture. Image courtesy of the Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture. below Susan Mueggenborg (Chickasaw), exhibitions and education curator, Chickasaw Cultural Center. Photo: Destiny Jade Green (Chickasaw). Image courtesy of the curator.

VANCOUVER ART GALLERY has discontinued its plans for a building redesign after costs soared to Can$600 million. The project by Swiss architecture firm Herzog and de Meuron would have incorporated a thin copper facade to reference Coast Salish weaving techniques.

BEADS IN THE BLOOD MĪGISAK MĪGOHK

A Ruth Cuthand Retrospective 2 NOVEMBER 2024 – 30 MARCH 2025 ORGANIZED BY THE MACKENZIE ART GALLERY CURATED BY FELICIA GAY PRESENTING SPONSOR

REGINA, SASKATCHEWAN

EXCLUSIVE TRANSPORTATION PARTNER

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Ruth Cuthand, Surviving HIV, 2021. Photo: The Gallery/Art Placement Inc., Saskatoon.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 11

ART FAIRS Inuit and Korean artists came together for the 15th annual GWANGJU BIENNALE in Gwangju, South Korea. Part of the 2024–2025 Year of Cultural Exchanges between Canada and Korea, the exhibition highlights work by six Inuit artists from the West Baffin Cooperative in Kinngait, Nunavut, and three contemporary Korean artists. The Inuit artists included are Saimaiyu Akesuk, Shuvinai Ashoona, Qavavau Manumie, Pitseolak Qimirpik, Ooloosie Saila, and Ningiukulu Teevee.

ART SHOWS The Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery selected the artists for its SEVENTH TRIENNIAL OUTWIN BOOCHEVER PORTRAIT COMPETITION, which will include Stella Nall (Apsáalooke). Her work will be among the 35 portraits displayed in the exhibition, The Outwin 2025: American Portraiture Today (2025–2026).

ART MARKETS Regina Free (Chickasaw) won Best of Show at the SOUTHEASTERN ART SHOW AND MARKET (SEASAM), hosted by the Chickasaw Nation in Tishomingo, Oklahoma. Keegan Bellefeuille (Chickasaw) won Best of 2D, Troy Jackson (Cherokee Nation) won Best of 3D, and Tammy Stick (Chickasaw) won Best of Culture.

Anita Mitchell (Cherokee Nation) won Best of Show at the SEASAM Youth Competition.

Chase Kahwinhut Earles (Caddo) won Best of Show at the 19th annual CHEROKEE ART MARKET, hosted by the Cherokee Nation at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino

Over the last 25 years First Peoples Fund has uplifted a network of more than 4,000 culture bearers, artists, mentors, organizational partners and youth and supported essential community development in tribal communities in 32 states. Support First Peoples Fund to ensure that the lifeways of our ancestors are carried forward for future generations.

Learn more and contribute today.

12 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

above 2024 Cherokee Art Market Best of Show winner: Caddo Story of the Flood by Chase Earles (Caddo). Image courtesy of the artist.

Tulsa in Catoosa, Oklahoma. Classification winners were Kindra Swafford (Cherokee Nation), painting, drawing, graphics, and photography; Regina Free (Chickasaw), sculpture; Della Bighair-Stump (Apsáalooke) beadwork/ quillwork; Jacob Waytula (Cherokee Nation), basketry; Chase Kahwinhut Earles (Caddo), pottery; Valerie Kagan (Cherokee Nation), textiles; Joe Reano (Santo Domingo Pueblo), jewelry; and A. Wayne TaySha Earles (Caddo), diverse art forms. Special award winners were Valerie Kagan (Cherokee Nation), Culture Keeper Award; Monica Silva Lovato (San Felipe Pueblo), Innovator Award; Lillie Vann (Cherokee Nation), Anna Mitchell Excellence in Southeastern Pottery Award; Michael Toya (Jemez), Jesse Hummingbird Legacy Award; and Sayokla Kindness-Williams (Oneida Nation), Native American Art Magazine Editor’s Choice Award. In the youth competition, Anita Mitchell (Cherokee Nation) won Best of Show, and Victoria Rouse (Osage) received the Bill Rabbit Art Legacy Award.

ORGANIZATIONS The ALASKA FEDERATION OF NATIVES (AFN), the largest statewide Alaska Native organization, named Ben Mallott (Tlingit/Koyukon Athabascan) as its president. For more than 30 years the AFN has hosted the Alaska Native Customary Art Fair, which features more than 100 Alaska Native artists.

above Jacy Sohappy (Confederated Umatilla/ Cayuse/Nez Perce/Yakama), traditional arts manager, Crow's Shadow Institute of the Arts.

Regina Free (Chickasaw) won Best of Show at the second annual HUSHTOLA ART MARKET, hosted by the Chickasaw Nation at Winstar World Casino and Resort in Thackerville, Oklahoma.

Classification winners were Regina Free, two-dimensional art; Melissa Freeman (Chickasaw), three-dimensional art; and Cody Harjo (Seminole Nation/Otoe/ Muscogee), cultural arts.

CULTURAL SURVIVAL, based in Cambridge, Massachusetts, hired Aimee Roberson (Choctaw Nation/Chickasaw) as its executive director. Cultural Survival publishes Cultural Survival Quarterly and produces the Cultural Survival Bazaars as part of its Indigenous advocacy work, which provides a sales outlet for artists who identify as being Indigenous.

CROW’S SHADOW INSTITUTE OF THE ARTS in Pendleton, Oregon, hired Jacy Sohappy (Confederated Umatilla/ Cayuse/Nez Perce/Yakama) as its traditional arts manager. She is a painter, textile artist, beadwork artist, and regalia maker with a background in nonprofits.

Specializing in Hopi Silver Jewelry

The very best Hopi Silver jewelry purchased directly from the Hopi silversmiths FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 13

IDYLLWILD, CALIFORNIA REGISTRATION OPENS FEBRUARY 1, 2025 WORKSHOPS | June 9 - 27, 2025 Hands-on workshops include Navajo Weaving, Hopi Jewelry, Beadwork, California Native Plants, Hopi-Style Glassblowing, Porcupine Quillwork, and more! Please visit our website for information about Writers Week fellowships for Native American writers looking to refine and expand their craft during our Writers Week Program!

FESTIVAL WEEK | June 16 - 20, 2025 The Native American Arts Festival Week complements the second week of hands-on workshops. Festival attendees get the opportunity to engage with and participate in the summer program through daily events such as public lectures with Native Foods taste testings, an invitational exhibition, film screenings, musical performances, and our fourth annual Welcoming Home the Birds & Native Arts Market event. All programs and events are family-friendly, free, and open to the public!

Scholarships are available for Native American adult and teen students!

AWARDS & HONORS Beadwork artist Nico Williams (Aamjiwnaang Ojibway) won the prestigious 2024 SOBEY ART AWARD, presented annually by the National Gallery of Canada in conjunction with the Sobey Art Foundation. The award includes a stipend of Can$100,000. Based in Montreal, Williams is known for his brick-stitch beadwork installations of everyday objects.

The BC Achievement Foundation gave its BRITISH COLUMBIA RECONCILIATION AWARDS to Sdahl K'awaas Lucy Bell (Haida), Corporal (Retired) Chris Gosselin (Tootinaowaziibeeng Ojibway/Métis), Gloria Morgan (Splatsin Secwépemc), and Phyllis Webstad (Stswecem'c Xget'tem Secwépemc).

Organization recipients were Qwelmínte Secwépemc of Kamloops and the Nuuchah-nulth Tribal Council’s Usma Nuu-chah-nulth Family and Child Services of Port Alberni. These six awards honor leaders who inspire reconciliation

between Indigenous peoples and the province of British Columbia.

The Verbier 3-D Foundation, a nonprofit based in Verbier, Switzerland, named Cannupa Hanska Luger (Mandan/Hidatsa/Arikara/Lakota) its 2025 VERBIER 3-D FOUNDATION ARTIST-IN-RESIDENCE. The residency, based in the heart of the Swiss Alps, encourages new artwork about environmentalism.

The National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) gave the 2022 and 2023 NATIONAL HUMANITIES MEDALS to poet Joy Harjo (Muscogee), Institute of American Indian Arts president Robert Martin (Cherokee Nation), anthropologist and cultural leader Rosita Worl (Tlingit), and author and botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer (Citizen Potawatomi). Each medal honors “an individual or organization whose work has deepened the nation’s understanding of the human experience, broadened citizens’ engagement with history or

14 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

SCAN FOR MORE INFO, OR VISIT: idyllwildarts.org/nativeamericanarts

literature, or helped preserve and expand Americans’ access to cultural resources,” according to the NEH website.

FUNDACIÓN AMA AMOEDO, a nonprofit based in José Ignacio, Uruguay, gave Aldeia-Escola Floresta, an organization that serves the Maxakali people of Minas Gerais, Brazil, a $10,000 grant from the art and social engagement category to continue its community art program.

The Southern Graphics Council International (SGCI) awarded printmaker John Hitchcock (Kiowa/Comanche) its EXCELLENCE IN TEACHING AWARD. Recognizing artists for their teaching contributions and excellence in their artwork, the award includes a cash prize as well as waived registration, travel allowances, and housing to the 2026 SGCI conference, where Hitchcock, who teaches at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, will present his work and research.

The Washington State Arts Commission gave its inaugural TRIBAL ARTS AND HERITAGE AWARD to Philip H. Red Eagle (Dakota/Salish descent). The commission added this category to the Governor’s Arts and Heritage Awards to recognize Indigenous artists working to preserve and continue customary practices. The commission awarded Joe Feddersen (Okanagan/Sinixt) with a GOVERNOR’S ARTS AND HERITAGE INDIVIDUAL AWARD. In Toronto last October, the Canadian Arts and Fashion Awards presented the AWARD FOR EMERGING TALENT, FASHION to Jontay Kahm (Plains Cree). This annual award ceremony recognizes and celebrates outstanding achievement and emerging talent in Canadian fashion.

The First Peoples Fund awarded five nonprofit organizations NATIVE ARTS ECOLOGY BUILDING grants. They are Chi Ishobak, Two Worlds, Minnesota Indigenous Business Alliance, Warm Springs Community Action Team, and the Wisconsin Native Loan Fund.

The BC Achievement Foundation gave its 2024 POLYGON AWARD IN FIRST NATIONS ART to Kelly Cannell (Musqueam), Andy Everson (K'ómoks), and Stephanie Anderson (Wet'suwet'en), who won the CRABTREE MCLENNAN EMERGING ARTIST AWARD. The foundation board presented its AWARD OF DISTINCTION to James Hart (Haida). Award recipients receive a cash prize bursary and are featured in a film produced by BC Achievement.

PUBLIC ART DAKOTA SPIRIT WALK by Marlena Myles (Spirit Lake Dakota/Mohegan/Muscogee) won the Institute for Public Art’s International Award for Public Art for the North America category. Dakota Spirit Walk is a permanent, site-specific, augmented reality installation that guides users through a series of encounters overlaid on the historical Dakota village of Kaposia, which is now part of Saint Paul’s Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary.

Dan Friday (Lummi) hung a school of 33 glass fish sculptures from the ceiling of the entrance hall to the Seattle Aquarium’s new OCEAN PAVILION. The fish installation is one of three of Friday’s new commissions for the space.

REPATRIATION The YALE PEABODY MUSEUM in New Haven, Connecticut, will return human remains and eight funerary objects to Wabanaki nations in Maine. The human remains belong to at least one ancestor connected to the Houlton Band of Maliseet Indians, Mi'kmaq Nation, Passamaquoddy Tribe, and Penobscot Nation.

INDIANA UNIVERSITY will repatriate 27 sacred items to the Pawnee Nation of Oklahoma. The university has worked closely with the Pawnee Nation’s NAGPRA coordinator, FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 15

Brenda Mallory (Cherokee Nation, born 1955)

is a Portland, Oregon mixed media artist who creates sculptures and large-scale installations that feature reclaimed and recycled objects, including cloth, wax, paper, and other found objects. The exhibition, organized by the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona, surveys Mallory’s work over the past twenty-five years.

Brenda Mallory: The North Star Changes January 25–March 22, 2025

Tuesday–Saturday, noon–5 p.m.

Closed Sunday–Monday 700 State Street, Salem, Oregon 503-370-6855

Martha Only A Chief (Pawnee), on the repatriation, who noted she had previously only seen the sacred items in photographs.

The PRUSSIAN CULTURAL HERITAGE FOUNDATION in Berlin agreed

to return three ceremonial items from German museum collections to the Kogi people of Colombia: a staff, a basket, and another woven object. In 2023 the Ethnological Museum of Berlin returned two Kogi masks from its collection to Colombia.

Learn more at: hfma.willamette.edu

PRECONTACT SITES The newly renovated visitor center at the ANGEL MOUNDS STATE HISTORIC SITE near Evansville, Indiana, opened to the public in November 2024. Involved in the renovation were artists and historians from federally recognized tribes connected to the historic site, including Miami, Osage, Quapaw, and Shawnee nations, as well as the Indiana University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. The site spans 600 acres and includes eleven Mississippian mounds.

CRIME & LEGAL ISSUES

above Visitor studying a bandolier bag by Katrina Mitten (Miami) at the renovated Angel Mounds Historic Site in Evansville, Indiana. Image courtesy of Angel Mounds State Historic Site.

16 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

The American Civil Liberties Union of Colorado filed a lawsuit accusing the CITY OF VAIL, Colorado, of violating Danielle SeeWalker’s (Standing Rock Lakota) right to free speech after her artist residency was canceled. SeeWalker alleges Vail officials kicked her out of the program due to pro-Palestinian artwork she posted on her Instagram feed.

Congratulations to Nicholas Galanin Recipient of the 2024 Don Tyson Prize for the Advancement of American Art

Nicholas Galanin at work in his studio in Sitka, Alaska. Photo courtesy of the artist's studio.

This prestigious biennial award from Crystal Bridges and the Tyson Family recognizes individuals or institutions that are making significant contributions to the advancement of American art.

Nicholas, we're thrilled to recognize your work for how you have changed the way we look at, think about, and experience American art.

CrystalBridges.org | TheMomentary.org

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 17

above Mary Ellen Milam Meredith (Cherokee Nation, 1946–2024) with canine friends in Owensboro, Kentucky, 1967.

IN MEMORIAM “love is more thicker than forget” —e e cummings1 Shortly after MARY ELLEN MILAM MEREDITH passed away peacefully in her home on October 12, 2024, the Indian Women’s Pocahontas Club formally honored her as a “Mega-Matriarch.” Her devotion to Native peoples, specifically her own Cherokee Nation, her home of Oklahoma, and supporting the arts and humanities earned her this MegaMatriarch status.

Known to her family and many friends as “Emme,” she was born on October 3, 1946, in Wichita, Kansas, to Virginia Mae “Betty” Skogsberg Milam (1917–1995) of Oklahoma City and William Thomas “Tom” Milam (Cherokee Nation, 1918–2007) of Chelsea, Oklahoma. The family moved back to Oklahoma, and Emme grew up in Forest Park with her seven siblings. She attended Christ the King Catholic School, Monte Cassino School, Trinity College, and the University of Oklahoma, where she studied political science.

Her love of Cherokee history and culture was inspired by her paternal

grandmother, Irene McSpadden Milam (Cherokee Nation, 1896–1973) of Chelsea. Irene’s sister Paula McSpadden Love (Cherokee Nation, 1901–1973) was the curator of the Will Rogers Memorial in Chelsea and authored a book about her uncle Will Rogers (Cherokee Nation, 1879–1935), our mom’s great-great-uncle.

Cherokee history, writing, and humor ran in our mom’s family—as did Cherokee politics, since Emme’s great-uncle J. B. Milam (Cherokee Nation, 1884–1949) was elected as chief in 1938 and later appointed principal chief by the U.S. president. Emme was friends with Chief Ross Swimmer (Cherokee Nation) and his predecessors. She felt precontact Cherokees had one of the best governments in the world, allowing for the most personal freedom while maintaining the common good. Emme continued this legacy by serving as a delegate to the Cherokee Nation Constitution Convention in 1999.

Emme firmly believed she had no artistic abilities after she was scarred when a teacher used her drawing of a map as an example of what not to do. But she beaded moccasins for all of us back in the mid-1970s. And sometimes her

dear friend Benjamin Harjo Jr. (Absentee Shawnee/Seminole, 1945–2023) could coax her into drawing on a Styrofoam to-go box. While she didn’t believe in her artistic skills, she loved art and supported artists throughout her life, as a collector, curator, and museum director. She alternated with Mary Jo Watson (Seminole Nation) as director of the Center of the American Indian in Oklahoma City in the late 1970s and early 1980s and curated numerous Native art shows.

Our mom loved the Cherokee Heritage Center and the people who made it possible. When open, it was a hub of culture: juried art shows, curated exhibitions, an award-winning permanent exhibition about the Trail of Tears, its ancient village that looked suspiciously like a pueblo, heritage gardens with Cherokee ponies whose manes were braided at night by Little People, and more. She served as interim director of the center for four years and board member for many more. She supported the Cherokee Humanities Course that our dad developed based on the Clemente model.

As an interim director, she often wrote for the heritage center’s Columns newsletter. Previously she wrote a regular column for Classen Fax and articles for the Center of the American Indian’s periodical. She cowrote and coedited several books with our dad, including Of the Earth: Oklahoma Architectural History (1980), biographies of George Shirk and B. D. Eddie (1982), and Reflections on Cherokee Literary Expression (2003), and some with other people, including Heart of the Promised Land, Oklahoma County (1982) with Dr. Bob Blackburn. For FAAM, she wrote a memorial and a feature article about the Cherokee National Treasure program.

She is already missed in the Cherokee Nation and in nonprofit circles, but even more so by friends and family, particularly the Salonica. Now her legacy will continue through good works and bad puns shared to both delight and groans, and in her children and grandchildren, all of whom pledge to make her proud through their own works and lives.

—Samonia Byford and America Meredith (both Cherokee Nation)

1. e e cummings, “love is more thicker than forget,” in E.E. Cummings: Poems / Gedichte (Bayern: Langewiesche-Brandt, 1994), 531.

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Tessa Robledo, Comanche, beadwork, Southern Plains Song Purse, ©2022

THE PRECARIOUS ORIGINS OF THE IROQUOIS REALIST SCHOOL

By Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

S

INCE THE 1990s, scholars, curators, and artists have made passing reference to the Iroquois Realist School, Early Iroquois Realist style, or Iroquois Realism but have not defined this art movement with conviction or certainty. The Iroquois Realist School is a loose collection of Haudenosaunee artists active in the 19th century who produced small but imaginative bodies of work derived from tribal iconography, ancestral stories, and vernacular life. These artists integrated thousands of years of Haudenosaunee oral and visual communication systems into Western representational artworks displayed on flat, two-dimensional surfaces. They also adapted to the extraneous artistic conventions and visual

languages introduced by European settlers to the continent, yet were keen to establish their own set of rules and principles toward composition and subject matter.

Unbeknownst at the time, the humble origins of their creative practice would transform the representational strategies of Haudenosaunee visual culture for the next 200 years.1 Prior to European arrival, the Haudenosaunee boasted a rich history of symbolic representation on materials and surfaces ranging from living trees and wooden clubs to pottery and longhouses. With colonialism, these expressions underwent sweeping changes as the availability of European materials such as watercolor paint

1. See Scott Manning Stevens, “Collecting Haudenosaunee Art from the Modern Era,” Arts 9, no. 2 (2020), 55.

2. Neil B. Keating, Iroquois Art, Power, and History (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2012), 133.

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steadily replaced natural pigments. This dramatically altered the physical location of art-making from forest trails and villages to classrooms and reservations.2 It also made ancient Haudenosaunee cultural practices like moosehair false embroidery and porcupine quillwork more vulnerable to being forgotten.

The trappings of this expeditious, cultural transformation would reverberate within Haudenosaunee communities for centuries. So too would the War of 1812.

Upon its conclusion, the political influence and military capacity of the Haudenosaunee severely waned in the eyes of the American and British governments.

The abrupt loss of power anticipated an escalation of the colonizing apparatus

in the form of seizing historical territories, forced displacement, forcing people onto reservations, the creation of Indian boarding schools, and acute poverty.3 Out of these and other socioeconomic pressures emerged the singular contributions of Tuscarora artist David Cusick.

Details surrounding Cusick’s life remain hazy. It is generally accepted that he was born around 1780 into an Oneida community and received a formal education at the Oneida-Hamilton Academy (present-day Hamilton College) in Kirkland, New York, before moving to Tuscarora territory near Lewiston, New York. During the War of 1812, he served alongside the Americans in protecting Fort Niagara. Also a veteran, Cusick’s father, Nicholas, served with the American side as an interpreter under Marquis de Lafayette during the American War of Independence. He lived among settlers and interacted with Christian missionaries 3. See Phillip H. Round, “Native American Artists and Nineteenth-Century US Print Culture,” American Literary History 19, no. 2 (Summer 2009), 268–69.

opposite David Cusick (Tuscarora, ca. 1780–1840), A War Dance, from David Cusick’s Sketches of Ancient History of the Six Nations (1848 edition), printed illustration. Public domain.

above, top Collection box with art

by Dennis Cusick (Tuscarora, ca.

1800–1824), 1821, special collections of the Yale Divinity Library. above, bottom David Cusick (Tuscarora, ca. 1780–1840), Atotarho, A Famous War Chief, Resided at Onondaga, from David Cusick’s Sketches of Ancient History of the Six Nations (1848 edition), printed illustration. Public domain.

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for much of his life, so the elder Cusick was known to regularly attend church services and likely handed down these teachings to his three sons, one of whom, James, became a Baptist minister.

David Cusick’s Sketches of Ancient History of the Six Nations was published as a modest, 28-page pamphlet in 1827 but is now recognized as one of “the first Native-authored, Native-printed, and Native-copyrighted text[s]” in what is now the United States.4 Cusick divided Sketches into three distinct parts: the Haudenosaunee Creation Story, accounts of early European settlers, and the origins of the Five Nations. Woven into each section is a deep pride in the foundational histories of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy as well as an urgency in sharing it with Indigenous and non-Indigenous readers during an era of tremendous instability. Scholars note that Cusick’s inclusion of excerpts related to Haudenosaunee stewardship of the land was a subtle yet shrewd method of declaring political sovereignty. In this light, Sketches could be used as a kind of recourse to thwart further territorial

incursions into Haudenosaunee lands by the American government.5 Contrary to the first edition, the second and third printings of Sketches, from 1828 and 1848 respectively, contain four extraordinary woodcut prints believed to have been executed by Cusick himself or based on his drawings. The rationale behind this is uncertain; however, it appears they are intended to animate legends and stories reverently described in the text and to engage nonreading audiences, particularly those living in reservation communities. For example, Cusick’s Atotarho, a Famous War Chief, Resided at Onondaga is perhaps the most recognizable image in his oeuvre. It features Haye:wa:ta' and Tekanawí:ta (The Great Peacemaker) standing opposite a seated Atotarho, crowned with 13 snakes, smoking a pipe, and accompanied by a snapping dog. Cusick’s words reveal that Atotarho was a wicked chief with sacred powers whose people eventually cleansed him of his Medusa-like serpents, allowing him to structure the laws of governance that would regulate the Iroquois League.

The malevolent reputation of Atotarho

matches the dynamic movement of the snakes yet, paradoxically, in Cusick’s illustration, he remains passively seated. The static two-dimensionality of Haye:wa:ta' and Tekanawí:ta reinforces their calming presence even when they were prepared to wage war should Atotarho oppose their overtures for unification. Compositionally, the figures separate themselves from Atotarho and the dog through the upright spear, which demarcates a 90-degree angle with the surface of the ground. The spear might also serve a symbolic function by marking the schism between good and evil, violence and reconciliation, or peace and war.

Paradoxically, Cusick’s possibly most impressive print, A War Dance, is often his most overlooked. Here, four warriors holding wooden clubs and dressed in ceremonial attire bend and contort their bodies to the beat of a water drum kept by a seated figure. The sensation of movement is palpable, electric even, so much so that the fourth dancer from the left takes to the air with excitement. But the work also demonstrates Cusick’s understanding of figure versus

4. Phillip H. Round, Removable Type: Histories of the Book in Indian Country, 1663–1880 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), 150.

5. See Daniel M. Radus, “Printing Native History in David Cusick’s Sketches of Ancient History of the Six Nations,” American Literature 86, no. 2 (June 2014), 224–25.

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ground, particularly the use of negative space to thrust bodies and objects into the forefront and onto the edge of the page.

This says nothing of the levitating dancer who returns our gaze, either positioning the non-Indigenous viewer as a voyeur to the ceremony or inviting the Haudenosaunee viewer to bear witness to it. Beyond any other artwork attributed to Cusick, A War Dance makes use of clever design strategies to impart a sense of harmony and balance: the repeated 45-degree angles visible in the arched backs, diagonal limbs, wooden clubs, and direction of heads convincingly suggest that his art

education may have been more sophisticated than previously thought and his work far more nuanced than he has been credited for.

David’s younger brother Dennis, born in 1800, had his life cut short at the age of 24. Little is known about him besides that he had a prolonged illness and is ascribed around ten original works that depict his close relationship with the staff and operation of the Buffalo Creek Mission School on Seneca territory in Western New York. The majority of these concern two near-replica watercolor paintings. The first was affixed to

above Dennis Cusick (Tuscarora, ca. 1800–1824), The Christening of Asa Thompson, 1821, watercolor on paper, 71/8 × 6¾ in., collection of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution, 8/8209. opp osite Dennis Cusick (Tuscarora, ca. 1800–1824), Scene of Indian Life, Seneca Schoolhouse, 1821, watercolor on paper, 43/8 × 71/8 in., collection of the Rock Foundation, A7840. Image courtesy of Rock Foundation.

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above George Wilson (Haudenosaunee), A Man Bewitched in a House by a Woman Without, ca.

1845, watercolor, ink on paper, 14 × 16½ in., collection of the National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution, NAA.MS3992A. Image courtesy of the National Anthropological Archives.

a collection box now housed in the Yale Divinity School archives, and the second was intended for a second collection box that was never constructed, likely due to his affliction. The completed box, assumed by scholars to be an amalgam of interrelated pictures, may better be perceived as sculptural for it incorporates two-dimensional imagery into a three-dimensional structure.

Unlike his brother David, whose subject matter in Sketches derived from Haudenosaunee history and mythology, Dennis’s limited body of work focused strictly on everyday scenes of Christian observance. At Buffalo Creek, Dennis made acquaintances with teacher James Young, Young’s wife, and instructor Esther Rutgers Low during the “Second Great Awakening,” a Protestant-led movement that included missionary campaigns in Western New York.6 The literate and artistically gifted Dennis was seemingly swept up in the fury of proselytization and conceived of a series of collection boxes to financially support the ecclesiastical mandates of the mission.

The frontispiece of the box is dated “Nov. 17, 1821,” and signed at the bottom

right corner, “Dennis Cusick, son of the chief, fecit.” Fecit is Latin, meaning “he made it.” To the left of a painted Bible, an idealized script reads, “Go ye therefore and teach all nations.” One side of the box displays students with hands in prayer, wearing both modern European clothing and gustoweh (men’s feathered headwear), alongside visual references to lessons in cursive, arithmetic, and spelling. Elsewhere, in a painting showing a classroom for girls, wool is processed and fibers dry under the watchful supervision of Mrs. Young. Written above this idealization of female domesticity are a number of Protestant ethics including, “She looketh well to her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.” Arguably, however, the most intriguing image from the box is the facade of the Mission School flanked by flocks of birds and towering trees. At the bottom left and right stand boys with bows drawn pointing their arrows to small game resting in the trees. Their matter of dress would have been strictly prohibited by missionary teachers because of its pagan inference,7 but here they are presented hunting on school grounds rather than subsisting on

the tireless labor and piety of respectable Protestantism. The dichotomy of the students “acting savagely” outside the school contrasts sharply with the studiousness of those seen peering through the windows from inside. This uncompromising view of cultural assimilation in progress quite literally visualizes the “civilization” of Haudenosaunee children by church and state. If this is true, then the painting also implicates Cusick in his support and acceptance of these practices.

The prints and paintings of the Cusicks share resemblances for various reasons, yet not much of the literature on the topic has explicitly addressed how or why. Of the most persuasive arguments to support this is Janet Catherine Berlo’s tracing of the aesthetic linkages between the collection box and the 19th-century decorative arts movement American Fancy. Defined by its “detail, pattern, and excess,” she argues that American Fancy “flowed from a wellspring of inventiveness taking place not only in metropolitan centers but also in towns, villages and Indian reservations across northeastern North America.”8 Berlo’s theorization reflects the box’s intricate linework, idealized figures, and cursive script, but it does not encapsulate David Cusick’s woodcuts, the handful of paintings attributed to him, or the work of other Iroquois Realist School artists.

Rather, at first glance, their work is more closely affiliated with other self-taught folk or vernacular artists from Canada and the Northeastern United States.

While the Iroquois Realist School are of the first Haudenosaunee artists to represent ancestral stories and everyday life using Euro-American aesthetics and materials, ushering in a new visual lexicon, they are also connected by how they approach compositional space. In the early 15th century, Italian architect and designer Filippo Brunelleschi reformulated the technique of linear perspective, where a series of lines meet at a fixed point in the distance of an image. Colloquially known as one-point perspective, Brunelleschi devised a formula to predict how space recedes on a flat surface, and his findings forever transformed the

6. Janet Catherine Berlo, “Dennis Cusick: A Tuscarora Artist at Seneca Mission,” American Indian Art Magazine 40, no. 2 (Spring 2015), 41.

7. Sherry Brydon, “Ingenuity in Art: The Early 19th Century Works of David and Dennis Cusick,” American Indian Art Magazine 20, no. 2 (Spring 1995), 68.

8. Berlo, “Dennis Cusick,” 47–48.

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representation of space in Western art.

On the other hand, the Haudenosaunee hold a vastly different knowledge and understanding of physical space and how to represent it, something informed by millennia of culturally specific codes and protocols. If Western systems of thought pertaining to space are chronically incompatible when applied to that of the Haudenosaunee, these differences may also account for a range of aesthetic discrepancies. Take, for instance, the Iroquois Realist School’s surplus use of negative space, integration between figure and ground, heavy black outlines, impossible spatial depth, blunt verisimilitude, and uniform flatness. Non-Native critics of the time responded with vitriol precisely because of these discrepancies, uttering nasty insults like “Children and savages are equally fond of gaudy pictures.”9 Nevertheless, the Cusick brothers did not stand alone in experimenting with representational imagery. Painter Thomas Jacobs (Seneca or Tuscarora) was active during the 1840s and 50s with four paintings attributed to him, one of which is now lost. In his peculiar work, inexpressive men and women stand in profile or face the viewer dressed in colorful formal wear. Several of the women, bound tightly by corsets, hold parasols and scarves while the men are adorned in customary gustoweh or wearing stovepipe top hats. The unfolding intersections between modern American and Haudenosaunee fashion point to an archetypal shift experienced

by Jacobs’s community at the time, especially regarding social protocols, taste, and class division.10 Although the motive behind these paintings is unknown, some have argued that they are based on fashion plate illustrations found in U.S. periodicals that promote fashion trends,11 somewhat like today’s Vogue or Cosmopolitan. In any case, Jacobs’s paintings appear to be purposeful and may fulfill a functional role in recording the transcultural exchanges among 19th-century European settlers and Indigenous communities. They remain far removed from the spectrum of aesthetic freedoms taken by the Cusick brothers, but that is not to say they are unrelated. They too portray

flattened bodies fixed to a rudimentary ground with generous negative space and a disregard for the perceptual distinction between foreground and background.

Among the artists attributed to the Iroquois Realist School, painter George Wilson (Seneca, 19th century)

9. Anonymous quoted in Keating, Iroquois Art, Power, and History, 135.

10. See Keating, Iroquois Art, Power, and History, 155.

11. William C. Sturtevant, “David and Dennis Cusick: Early Iroquois Realist Artists,” American Indian Art Magazine 30, no. 2 (Spring 2006), 53.

above, top Thomas Jacobs (Haudenosaunee, 19th c.), Four Women, ca. 1840, watercolor, ink on paper, 10½ × 14¼ in., collection of the Rock Foundation. Image courtesy of Rock Foundation. a b ov e , b o t t o m Thomas Jacobs (Haudenosaunee, 19th c.), Portraits of Three Indian Maidens, 1852, watercolor, ink on paper, 141/8 × 11¾ in., collection of the Rock Foundation. Image courtesy of Rock Foundation.

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above, top Oheroskon Dicaire (Grand River Mohawk, 1827–1884), Tel quel était le village d'Oka, 1872 (As It Was in the Village of Oka, 1872), 1911, graphite on paper, 8 × 13 in., collection of the McCord Stewart Museum, M8977. Image courtesy of the McCord Stewart Museum. above, bottom James Beaver (Grand River Cayuga, 1846–1925), Niagara Falls, ca. 1880, oil on canvas, collection of the Iroquois Indian Museum. Image courtesy of the Iroquois Indian Museum.

is perhaps the most enigmatic. In what can be considered the first serious study of the Iroquois Realist School, William S. Sturtevant believed that Wilson’s paintings “are a unique development, with no discernible relation to earlier, traditional Iroquois art, not even to the occasional representational works in pipes, bone combs, pottery decoration, and pictographic war records and signatures.”12 Wilson lived around the same time as Jacobs and is credited with producing 12. Sturtevant, “David and Dennis Cusick,” 53.

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three small, highly esoteric paintings. The first, The Patient Welcomes His Physicians (ca. 1845), shows three masked figures approaching a man seated by a fire and was supposedly found on the back of a False Face Society mask by ethnographer J.N.B. Hewitt, in the early 20th century.

Although it champions the medicinal powers of the False Face Society, it should not have been gazed upon by an uninitiated audience like Hewitt let alone be collected by him.

The second painting, A Man Bewitched … (ca. 1845), differs from the first since, instead of curing sickness, it chronicles the infliction of illness into the body of a sleeping victim. In this uncanny and disturbing scene, the soon-to-be victim rests under blankets in a four-poster bed that is unexpectedly situated outdoors. At the end of the bed stands an anthropomorphic figure with yellow pointed ears who shoots red bolts of fire from her mouth that are enveloped by a kind of floating black orb. Watching silently and crouched high above in a tree, with a half-smile on his face, is a second anthropomorphic figure with a human face and arms but with a bird’s wings and plumage. Here and in The Patient, wide expanses of negative space

fill the page to the point where it should be considered a formal characteristic of the painting itself. Wilson took serious liberties with form, line, and color to drive this surrealistic composition toward partial abstraction, something that would not be commonplace until decades later with the work of J.M.W. Turner, James McNeill Whistler, and others.

The inscription written in cursive below the groundline summarizes the scene and is presumably written by Wilson himself, since its errors allude to the use of a second language. It explains how the notorious tribal witch Susan Blinky, “dressed with a fox o’ skin flames of fire coming from her mouth,” would, “upon a tour of revenge,” curse unsuspecting individuals with a fatal illness by pointing her finger at them. The other witch, referred to as John Dowdy, eavesdrops on Blinky’s abominable act. The combination of original imagery with lengthy didactic text refers back to Sketches and the collections box and represents another early example of narrative in Haudenosaunee art.

Wilson’s third painting is a near-identical replica of the second albeit with a different writer, indicating that it may have been conceived of as a marketable item for visiting settlers. Remarkably, he is thought to have been only 17 years old at the time he created these works, so the Iroquois Realist School was, at least in part, the product of Haudenosaunee youth.

Neil B. Keating’s fine book on the history and visual culture of the Haudenosaunee, Iroquois Art, Power, and History, augmented the growing number of Iroquois Realist School artists by adding names such as Oheroskon Dicaire (Grand River Mohawk, 1827–1884) and James Beaver (Grand River Cayuga, 1845–1925) to the canon. Their addition demonstrates an expanded field of the art movement where landscape imagery can deservedly stand on equal footing to figurative painting. Dicaire drew graphite landscapes of historical Oka territory in southern Quebec in 1911 when he was supposedly 84 years of age. But the nearly 40-year gap between what his images reference in their title and the signed date of their creation remains a great mystery. Still, it is conceivable

that they are based on identical imagery from books, periodicals, or photographs of the time. Having said that, the birds caught in flight, chugging steamboats, birchbark canoes, and boys playing lacrosse imply that Dicaire likely made artistic concessions that a photograph, say, could not. Another possibility is that some or part of his drawings might have been executed en plein air (in the open air) considering their impressionistic appearance and cursory linework.

If this is so, Dicaire would be one of the

above, top Jesse Cornplanter (Cattaraugus Seneca, 1889–1957), The Pacification of Atotarho, 1906, ink on paper, featuring the Peacemaker and Haye:wa:ta’, collection of the New York State Library, Manuscripts and Special Collections, Albany. With permission from the Seneca Nation of Indians and courtesy of New York State Museum. ab ove, b ot tom Ernest Smith (Tonawanda Seneca, Heron clan, 1907–1975), Handsome Lake and the Three Messengers, 1936, distemper on paper, collection of the Rochester Museum and Science Center. Image courtesy of the Rochester Museum and Science Center.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 27

Small steps produce big footprints.

above Arnold Jacobs (Onondaga, Turtle clan), Comes the Peacemaker, 1985, acrylic on canvas, private collection. Image courtesy of the artist.

first Haudenosaunee to participate in this storied European practice.

Beaver was born on Six Nations of the Grand River territory and was one of the first Haudenosaunee artists to paint landscapes in the manner of European Romanticism.13 Entirely self-taught with 60-odd paintings attributed to him, Beaver chose subject matter varying from beautiful lake vistas to cascading waterfalls and commissioned secular works.

His landscapes tend to be pastiches of the places he encountered while traveling the world as a vaudevillian entertainer,

in addition to more localized themes such as the Grand River watershed, the Niagara Escarpment, and Six Nations itself. Several of these works contain traces of human presence, but they tend to yield the spotlight to the sublime power of nature. Beaver’s work is indispensable because it offers an Indigenous perspective of Six Nations and the surrounding region. Until he began painting, it was under the purview of acclaimed English-born Canadian painter Robert Reginald Whale and family.

The paintings and drawings of the Iroquois Realist School artists share numerous commonalities with the following generation of Haudenosaunee artists from the early 20th century.14 The most recognizable artists of this second generation, such as Jesse Cornplanter (Cattaraugus Seneca, 1889–1957), Sanford Plummer (Cattaraugus Seneca, 1905– 1974), and Ernest Smith (Cattaraugus Seneca, 1907–1975), are associated with the Seneca Arts Project (SAP), a 1930s New Deal public works initiative fronted by archaeologist Arthur C. Parker (Cattaraugus Seneca, 1881–1955). Together, these artists amplified the importance of oral history and ceremony through exploratory paintings and drawings, propelling Haudenosaunee material culture in new and unpredictable directions.

Their influential body of work is among the most celebrated Haudenosaunee cultural achievements of the 20th century.

Generations of professional artists working in a spectrum of media soon followed, celebrated artists such as Arnold Jacobs (Onondaga), G. Peter Jemison (Cattaraugus Seneca), and Shelley Niro (Bay of Quinte Mohawk). Small steps produce big footprints. Today, this undivided line of creative power developed by the Iroquois Realist School in the early 19th century now stretches nearly 200 years. It may have been a small collection of artists from different communities, but it is also a generative movement of originality and invention that forever changed how Haudenosaunee art and visual culture are manifested and understood.

Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD, is the curator and head of collections at Glenhyrst Art Gallery in Brantford, Ontario.

13. Jim Windle, “Bringing the Art of James Beaver Home,” Two Row Times (February 4, 2015), 20, Issuu.

14. Stevens, “Collecting Haudenosaunee Art from the Modern Era,” 14.

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FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 29

above Miguel Mauricio (Indigenous Mesoamerican, fl. 1610s), attributed, Santiago Tlatelolco Relief, ca. 1610, carved, estofado, and polychromed wood carving, 98½ × 745/6 × 15¾ in., collection of the Temple of Tlatelolco, Conaculta, Mexico City.

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INDIGENOUS ARTISTRY, INTRICATE NARRATIVES: Considering a 17th-Century Relief of Santiago in Tlatelolco, Mexico City

By Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, PhD

T

HE NOW AUSTERE 16thcentury Temple of Santiago Tlatelolco in Mexico City houses a large early 17th-century wooden relief depicting Saint James, or Santiago, as a warrior, also known as Matamoros or “Moorslayer” when shown with defeated Moors beneath the hooves of the saint’s white horse. The carved relief—which Franciscan friar Juan de Torquemada attributed to the Indigenous artist Miguel Mauricio—does not conceal its violent nature and depicts a bloody battle scene. Santiago, dressed in armor, wields his sword; at the feet of the horse and to its sides, Indigenous people and Spaniards are represented. This unsettling portrayal, stemming from the depiction of dismembered Indigenous people instead of the conventional Moors linked to the centuries-long confrontations Spaniards had with them, became known as Santiago “Mataindios” or “Indian Slayer.”

Examining this relief raises many questions: Why does this violent depiction exist in an almost empty religious temple that once featured a grand

altarpiece? What does this unique representation—likely crafted by a skilled Indigenous artist—convey? Why was the warrior figure of Santiago later on mainly revered by Indigenous communities in Tlatelolco and elsewhere? This article seeks to answer these questions by exploring the circumstances, ideology, and context surrounding the creation of this image while revealing the potential contributions of its Indigenous creator.

It begins by analyzing the distinct historical backdrop of Tlatelolco and its ties to the arrival of the religious figure of Santiago in the Americas, progressing to illustrate the possible meanings of this portrayal. As argued here, the relief reflects a complex reality: on one hand, it stems from the Europeans’ desire to validate the pious nature of their conquest, particularly in the last region that fell near Tenochtitlán. However, it also reveals the alliances between Spaniards and certain Indigenous groups, along with the multifaceted reinterpretations that were part of the cultural encounter.

The wooden relief of Santiago stands in a location deeply rooted in

Mexico’s past and present.1 Its significance dates back to pre-Hispanic times, as it was an important commercial and political center known for its famous tianguis, or open street market, where all kinds of goods were traded. Later, during the Spanish conquest, it served a key role as the last stronghold where the Spaniards and their Indigenous allies, like the Tlaxcalans, Texcocans, Huexotzincas, and Cholultecas, confronted the Mexica in the vicinity of Tenochtitlán, granting it symbolic importance. Following the conquest, the Franciscan religious order, the first to arrive in what later became known as New Spain, established themselves in Tlatelolco, dedicating the enclave to Santiago.2 Initially the Franciscans built a modest chapel, which, as was common at the time, was replaced in 1540 and again in the 17th century by the current church. The completion of the church and its new altarpiece, of which the relief was part, were commemorated on Santiago’s feast day on July 15, 1610.3 Santiago’s prominence in the naming and decorations of Tlatelolco was not unusual in New Spain. The saint’s

1. Tlatelolco is significant in Mexico’s history due to the 1968 student massacre and its annual commemoration. It features the Plaza de las Tres Culturas, blending preHispanic, Colonial, and mid-20th-century architecture. The site also suffered tragedy during the 1989 earthquake when a modern apartment building collapsed, causing numerous casualties.

2. Elisa Vargas Lugo de Bosch, El Claustro Franciscano de Tlatelolco (Mexico City: Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores, 1975), 8–50. In 1534 a royal permit was granted to the Franciscan order to administer an Indigenous parish and a conventual church.

3. Gabriela Guinea Trigo, “Tlatelolco: La Iglesia de Santiago” (BA thesis, Universidad Iberoamericana, 1977), 50–57.

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above Altarpiece of the Church of Santiago Tlatelolco, lithograph published in Manuel Ramírez Aparicio, Los Conventos Suprimidos de México (J. M. Aguilar, 1861), 549. This is the only known visual source that helps us reconstruct the appearance of the colonial altarpiece that once adorned its main altar. opposite Exterior of the Temple of Santiago Tlatelolco surrounded by 14th-century Mexica temples.

Photo: Gary Lee Todd (CC0).

veneration has evolved throughout history, including his role as one of Jesus’s twelve apostles, followed by his martyrdom and the discovery of his remains in Galicia, Spain, which prompted pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela still active to this day.4 However, his role as a warrior,

stemming from the written records of the Moorish invasions of Spain that detailed how Santiago supported the Spaniards in battles starting in the 8th century and lasting for several centuries, stands out during this period. Interestingly, while the narrations of Santiago originated centuries beforehand, in terms of imagery, it was from the 13th century onward that Santiago began to be depicted mounted on a horse as a warrior of the Catholic faith.

At first he was depicted as a Miles Christi, or a soldier of Christ, riding a horse. Subsequently, in the 15th century and more commonly in the 16th century, the Moors were clearly portrayed under his horse’s hooves in what came to be known as Santiago Matamoros.5 Starting with the presence of the Catholic monarchs—an era that coincided with the Spanish arrival in the Americas—Santiago’s symbolism as a figure who would protect against “infidels” acquired increased relevance under monarchs like Emperor Charles V, who ruled Spain from 1516 to 1556. Thus, during the early years of the Spanish conquest, when the naming of Tlatelolco took place, cities, convents, and churches were named in his honor throughout Spanish territories in the Americas. However, while the naming of enclaves holds significance, only three surviving images of Santiago can be traced back to this early period. In contrast, the 17th century saw a surge in Santiago Mataindios imagery, coinciding with the creation of this relief. This imagery multiplied into the 18th century which, as will be seen, connects to the rekindled attention in Spain due to the cult’s popularity among Indigenous communities.6 Simultaneously, 15 accounts of his miraculous interventions in favor of the Spaniards were documented in colonial chronicles, based on the 20 interventions attributed to him during the Reconquest (711–1492), the prolonged conflicts between Spaniards

4. These two legends originated the image of Santiago the Apostle as a preacher with a scroll and as a pilgrim with a wide-brimmed hat and shells.

5. Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, “Las andanzas de Santiago en la Nueva España y la imagen del indio: Santa María Chiconautla,” Ad Limina, no. 4 (2013): 177–217.

6. The literary and foundational momentum of the 16th century is not reflected in the number of surviving images from that period. Catalogues lack 16th-century works, and only three examples, identified through their characteristics, can tentatively be attributed to this century. In contrast, representations of Santiago Guerrero increased significantly in the 17th and 18th centuries, with 32 catalogued images from the 17th century and 165 from the 18th century, primarily preserved in the State of Mexico, Oaxaca, Tlaxcala, and Mexico City.

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and Moors to reclaim the Iberian Peninsula from Muslim rule.7 Today, the Temple of Santiago Tlatelolco only hints at its past splendor.

From the original temple, only the painting of Saint Christopher on one of its walls and the relief of Santiago, which once was at the center of the main altarpiece, survive. The only source that allows us to glimpse at the possible appearance of the original altarpiece is a 19th-century lithograph,8 which shows that it included other paintings that together told a story. The altarpiece is believed to have also featured works by the renowned Spanish painter Baltasar de Echave Orio (ca. 1558–ca.

1623), two of which likely once formed part of the altarpiece. They survived, thanks to their replacement with copies.

In 1861 the fate of the church was sealed due to the law nationalizing all ecclesiastical assets and turning them over to the national government. From then on, the temple was closed for worship and used as a customs warehouse, while the building itself was repurposed as a military barracks. This caused deterioration, leading to the disintegration of its decorations. Luckily, over time, Tlatelolco’s historical significance was acknowledged, resulting in it being declared a Cultural Heritage Site in 1931.

The church was subsequently reopened for worship in 1945, and shortly after, Santiago’s relief was returned to its original location after being housed at another Franciscan church in Mexico City.

From a manufacturing and technical perspective, the relief is a masterpiece, particularly noted for its large dimensions and use of color and gold. Its iconography is also unique in New Spain.9 This is supported by the fact that there are only two other documented New Spanish images that feature Indigenous figures

connected to Santiago’s iconography: an 18th-century painting from Oaxaca and a late 16th-century sculpture located in Santa María Chiconautla, Ecatepec, near Mexico City. However, in those instances, the Indigenous people are depicted standing rather than defeated, showcasing the kind of protection the saint provided to them, which will be discussed later.

Beyond these rare portrayals, most surviving colonial paintings, sculptures, and reliefs of Santiago—primarily from the 18th century—depict him as a warrior, though he was sometimes represented as an apostle or a pilgrim. In some scenes, Moors are shown beneath the horse’s hooves, embodying a stereotypical image of the “unfaithful enemy,” although in many cases, this element has either vanished or never existed.10 Concerning its authorship, the relief, referred to as Mataindios or Indian Slayer until the mid-20th century following its description by a prominent scholar of colonial art,11 is attributed to an Indigenous artist named Miguel Mauricio. This

attribution is grounded in the writings of the Franciscan friar Juan de Torquemada in his Monarquía indiana, first printed in 1615, which recounts the history of the Indigenous people from pre-Hispanic times to his own era. He writes: There is in this neighborhood of Santiago (among others) one, who is second to none of our own, and he surpasses many: his name is Miguel Mauricio, a man of great and refined talent; with him, and with others I mention as being in this part of the city, I made the altarpiece of this holy town, which I built there, and which is one of the finest things in this kingdom.12 Torquemada’s reference aside, the Indigenous creation of this relief seems possible because many of the carvings and wall paintings produced in New Spain were crafted by Indigenous artists who already had centuries-long Mesoamerican legacies of sculpture, featherwork, and mural painting, among other arts.

Furthermore, Torquemada, along with other friars like Agustín de Vetancurt,

7. Javier Domínguez García, “Santiago Mataindios: La continuación de un discurso medieval en la Nueva España,” Nueva Revista de Filología Hispánica 54, no. 1 (January 2006): 33–56.

8. Manuel Ramírez Aparicio, Los Conventos Suprimidos en México (Mexico, 1908), 180–95.

9. See Ramón Mujica Pinilla, “Apuntes sobre moros y turcos en el imaginario andino virreinal,” Anuario de Historia de la Iglesia 16 (2007): 169–79; Olaya Sanfuentes, “Invenciones iconográficas en América. El caso de Santo Tomás y el de Santiago mata-indios,” Diálogo Andino, no. 32 (2008): 45–58. In other contexts, such as in the Andes, there are many more representations of this variant due to the specific circumstances that have been analyzed by other authors.

10. Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, “Las andanzas de Santiago en la Nueva España y la imagen del indio,” 177–217. For the representation of Moors on this iconography, see Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, “La figura del moro en la iconografía jacobea novohispana,” in Ficciones del Islam: Representaciones de lo musulmán en la cultura visual de los virreinatos americanos, eds., Lucila Iglesias, Francisco Montes González, and Iván Rega Castro (Berlin: Peter Lang, 2024).

11. Francisco de la Maza, “¡Santiago y a ellos!,” Novedades de México (June 18, 1950), reprinted in Páginas de arte y de historia 25 (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1971). The relief of Tlatelolco is known as “Mataindios” due to Francisco de la Maza, an important scholar of colonial art, describing it as such shortly after the relief was returned.

12. Juan de Torquemada, Monarquía indiana, vol. 7 (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, first published in 1615, 1977), 254.

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above Detail of the Santiago Tlatelolco Relief showing different depictions of Indigenous people. opposite Interior of the Church of Santiago Tlatelolco with the Santiago bas-relief panel installed in the apse. Photo: Diego Delso (CC-BY-SA 3.0).

greatly admired the artistic skills and craftsmanship of the locals, believing they were equally, if not more, talented than Spanish artists. Of Indigenous people, Torquemada wrote, “Some of them [the Indigenous people] are so skilled and precise, both in painting and in rendering flesh tones, that the Spaniards do not surpass them,”13 while Vetancurt noted in a text published in 1698, “the altarpiece is of great cost and exquisiteness, whose carved images amaze the masters.”14 These remarks underscore the significance of Indigenous artists in creating largescale religious artworks, which aimed to portray imagery associated with what Spaniards then considered the only true faith, the Catholic one. However, as will be explored, in this process, particularly during the early period of the European presence, existing Indigenous beliefs and worldviews also merged with European visual references that mainly came in the form of prints.

In light of this, both friars and Indigenous actors may have contributed to this work. On one hand, an important Franciscan friar, possibly Juan de Torquemada—perhaps in collaboration

with other friars—might have conceived the overall theme of the altarpiece. This theme, as was common for this type of structure composed of diverse paintings and sculptures, told a story tied to Santiago but also to the mission of the Franciscan order and the passion of Christ. This is further supported by the fact that Torquemada, who arrived in New Spain at a young age, was well-educated and fluent in Nahuatl, the region’s primary language. He also became a central figure in the Franciscan order, overseeing projects and advocating for the use of religious images, like that of Santiago, as saviors of, in his view, impious Indigenous people.

Additionally, Torquemada was the administrator of the Imperial College of Santa Cruz, founded in 1536 near Tlatelolco’s temple. This brought him into close contact with the local noble Indigenous population who attended the college and with the friars and later Indigenous instructors who provided a high level of education. The curriculum included Spanish, Latin, vocational skills, Christian doctrine, and grammar. One of the original goals of the college that operated

until the mid-17th century—never realized due to numerous oppositions—was to establish an Indigenous priesthood.15 The contribution of the Indigenous sculptor Mauricio, who may have studied at the imperial college, cannot be ignored.

His relief features elements that can also be interpreted through an appreciation of Mesoamerican pictographic practices.

Stylistically, the relief is similar to European engravings of Santiago. However, the arrangement and characteristics of the Indigenous figures suggest pre-Hispanic representations, such as those found in Mesoamerican codices or painted documents. Notably, in precontact visual language, segmented body representations symbolized ritual sacrifice (not defeat) and alluded to the onset of a new cycle. Thus, the figures beneath the white horse’s hooves could convey a meaning different from that traditionally attributed to the Moors in similar depictions.16 Author and archaeologist Robert H. Barlow excavated near the temple in the early 20th century and uncovered an intriguing potential interpretation of the relief. Barlow mentioned the existence of a now-destroyed mural painting that illustrated the battle between Spaniards and Indigenous peoples, as well as the miraculous appearance of the Virgin and Santiago. According to Barlow, these paintings depicted how a Texcocan or Tlaxcalan warrior—both adversaries of the Mexica and allies of the Spaniards during the conquest—rescued Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés during a battle, mirroring how the saint had aided Spanish troops against the “Moors.”17 Building on the previous points, one can analyze the identity of each Indigenous figure represented in the relief. Rather than being a generic depiction, the relief likely illustrates a convergence of various Indigenous tribes.

This aligns with the reality that the success of the Spanish conquest heavily relied

13. Juan de Torquemada, Monarquía indiana, 254.

14. Agustín de Vetancurt, Teatro Mexicano III: Crónica de la Provincia del Santo Evangelio de México (Mexico City: Porrúa, first published in 1698, 1982), 208. Agustín de Vetancurt wrote: “It has vaulted niches with a very beautiful transept, one of the best in the kingdom: the altarpiece is of great cost and exquisiteness, whose carved images amaze the masters. It has many costly and finely crafted altars and altarpieces.”

15. Elisa Vargas Lugo de Bosch, El Claustro Franciscano de Tlatelolco (Tlatelolco, México: Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores, 1975).

16. Patricia Díaz Cayeros, “Santiago Mataindios” in Revelaciones: Las Artes en América Latina, 1492–1820, ed. Joseph J. Rishel (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2007), 269; Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, “Las andanzas de Santiago en la Nueva España y la imagen del indio,” 177–217.

17. Robert H. Barlow, Tlatelolco: Fuentes e Historia II (Puebla, Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia; Universidad de las Américas, 1989), 212. The painting of a battle between Spaniards and Indigenous warriors and the miraculous appearance of the Virgin and Santiago may have existed in the Tlatelolco church but was likely destroyed during renovations or other events.

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on alliances with Indigenous groups opposed to Mexica rule in the region, such as the Tlaxcalans or Texcocans.

When observing the relief, it is clear that Santiago does not confront all the Indigenous figures, only those depicted dismembered beneath the horse. They are identifiable as Tlatelolca-Mexica. Next to Santiago stand two figures who could be Tlaxcalan or Texcocan. Their greater prominence is reflected through their attire, as the feathers are representative of Indigenous nobles, elites, and warriors.18 In either case, the warrior beside Santiago is clearly an ally in the fight—though of lesser rank—and not an enemy.

Taking these aspects into account, it can be argued that Santiago of Tlatelolco was an image intended to symbolize evangelization, establishing Santiago’s role as the protector of the Catholic faith while subtly incorporating certain Indigenous elements that added new meaning to this iconography. The scarcity of similar imagery is likely because this iconography did not achieve widespread success at the time, given its unsettling nature. In this light, the relief reflects an early stage of cultural encounter in a historically significant enclave, where Spanish and Indigenous actors played a role in adapting and reinterpreting this iconography for specific purposes.

In New Spain during the mid-17th century and particularly in the 18th century, Santiago as a warrior—whether or not depicted with Moors beneath the horse—was more often reimagined as a protective and powerful figure, especially among Indigenous communities.

This relates partly to the fact that he rode a horse, an animal previously unknown to Mesoamerican people, and exhibited a warrior-like, powerful, yet protective demeanor. Consequently, there are accounts of Santiago intervening in favor of Indigenous people.

The popularity of Santiago in Tlatelolco among Indigenous communities is evident in a remarkable 18th-century painting by an unknown artist, which depicts one of the processions held in his honor. The procession

showcases an Indigenous confraternity, a group organized to venerate religious figures within a church, carrying the sculpture of Santiago without any element beneath his horse through Tlatelolco.19 This reflects the various depictions of the saint that coexisted in New Spain but that more often than not featured his horse.

Remarkably, beyond the sculpture itself, there was also a broader cult of Santiago in Tlatelolco and throughout New Spain, characterized by processions, celebrations, theatrical representations, festivals, and dances, some of which continue to this day. For instance, every feast day of Santiago still includes a commemoration at Tlatelolco, often featuring dances inspired by pre-Hispanic referents.

In conclusion, while the 17th-century relief of Santiago in Tlatelolco serves as a reminder of the violence associated with the Spanish conquest, it also stands

as an invaluable cultural artifact that warrants closer examination. Beyond its depiction of conflict, the relief encapsulates a significant moment in New Spain’s cultural transformation, illustrating the complex interplay between strategic alliances, Indigenous beliefs, and influences from Spanish colonization. Furthermore, this artwork highlights the broader reinterpretation of cult practices and imagery surrounding Santiago, alongside a diverse array of saints who became pivotal in the spiritual lives of the newly formed society. Therefore, the relief reflects the shifts in religious and cultural paradigms that arose during this tumultuous period, making it a crucial subject of study for understanding the nuances of Colonial history in Mexico and the role skilled Indigenous artists, with an extensive, centuries-long traditions, played in it.

Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, PhD (Art History), is an independent scholar and writer based in Mexico City. She has extensively written about the complexities of Santiago’s depiction in New Spain and various topics related to confraternities in Colonial Mexico.

In addition to her published work, she has worked in the curatorial and educational departments of national and international museums including the Museum of Contemporary Art Santa Barbara in Santa Barbara, California; and the National Museum of Art and the Jumex Museum in Mexico City.

18. Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, “Las andanzas de Santiago en la Nueva España y la imagen del indio,” 177–217.

19. The painting is studied in more detail in: Constanza Ontiveros Valdés, Ramón Avendaño Esquivel, and María Belén Medina Ramírez, “Singularidades en la representación de Santiago caballero en la Nueva España: el conjunto escultórico del Museo Nacional del Virreinato,” Ad Limina, no. 9 (2018): 163–84.

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HODINÖŠYÖ:NIH CONTINUITY | INNOVATION | RESILIENCE Collaborating with a 17th-Century Ancestor Remembering. Reconnecting. Restoring. These themes inhabit a groundbreaking project to carve an ancestral antler comb blank.

Hayden Haynes finishes a carving begun by a Seneca ancestor more than three centuries ago.

By Jamie Jacobs (Tonawanda Seneca) & Kathryn Murano Santos

T

O A NOVICE, the small antler object in museum storage looked like a pitted and fragile piece of bone, discarded long ago. But to Seneca knowledge keepers Jamie Jacobs and Hayden Haynes, this antler comb “blank” had already survived several lives, and one more incarnation would bring its rich story into relief. Its first life was with an animal, where it grew as cartilage and

calcified into bone. The antler found its way through hunting or exchange into the hands of a Seneca ancestor at the thriving village Gannagaro, where a Seneca carver began the first phase of its transformation more than three hundred years ago. For circumstances unknown, that artist never completed the comb. The antler blank was excavated centuries later by a non-Indigenous archaeologist, and then housed for

decades in a museum collection. In 2023 it found its way back into the hands of another gifted Seneca artist for a groundbreaking collaboration across generations.

Hayden Haynes (Seneca Nation/ Kiowa/Mvskoke, Deer clan) is one of seven electrifying, contemporary Haudenosaunee artists featured in a new permanent exhibition at the Rochester Museum & Science Center (RMSC), Hodinöšyö:nih Continuity | Innovation | Resilience.1 The exhibition reimagines a space where exhibits were deinstalled in 2022 to repatriate cultural items back to communities of origin. Building on a decades-long relationship with the Rock Foundation, the RMSC engaged Jamie Jacobs (Tonawanda Seneca, Turtle clan) to curate the exhibition. Together, Jacobs and the RMSC partnered with Haudenosaunee artists to go beyond returning objects and toward “propatriation,” collaborating in a deep and meaningful way to commission new objects for display while building relationships and repairing harm.

Jacobs sought out Hayden Haynes for his visionary concepts, technical brilliance, and fluency in using ancestral forms as a platform to address current issues. The project also gave Haynes the opportunity

1. For more about Hayden Haynes, see Joe Stahlman, PhD (Tuscarora descent) and Hayden Haynes (Seneca), “Onöndowa’ga:’ Combs: An Historic Seneca Art Form Revived,” First American Art Magazine no. 34 (Spring 2022), 26–31.

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to add a significant first to his credits as a carver: the completion of a comb from a piece of unfinished antler last worked by a Seneca ancestor in the 17th century.

Haynes and Jacobs collaborated to imagine this transcendent possibility.

Like his ancestors, Haynes sources moose, elk, and deer antlers to create visually compelling pieces that are meaningful reflections on issues important to him and his community. As a seasoned antler carver, he regularly implements designs that utilize Haudenosaunee symbols and often chooses forms that have become synonymous with Seneca artistry— combs, ladles, beads, and rattles —since at least the 17th century. To gain inspiration while discussing possibilities for a commission, Haynes and Jacobs reviewed the privately owned Rock Foundation Collection for which Jacobs is managing curator of an estimated 200,000 Haudenosaunee archaeological and ethnographic items housed at the RMSC. Archaeologists Edmund “Ted” Carpenter and Charles F. Wray developed the extensive collection to document the Seneca and broader Haudenosaunee history of Western New York and the Finger Lakes. In 1977 the collection was loaned to the RMSC to keep it accessible for Seneca people and to encourage collaboration between professional and avocational archaeologists.

Housing the Rock Foundation Collection at the RMSC brought together the most comprehensive Seneca and ancestral Haudenosaunee compendia of material culture in the world, spanning thousands of years. Today the Rock Foundation Collection at the RMSC is cared for and interpreted by Native stewards including Jamie Jacobs, whose work focuses on reconnecting cultural resources with their descendant communities.

Jacobs and Haynes spotted the unassuming section of worked antler excavated from a Seneca village site circa 1650 to 1687, now known as Ganondagan State Historic Site. Historically called Gannagaro and later Boughton Hill, the site, south of present-day Victor, New York, was the largest Seneca town of the 17th century. Working with RMSC staff, Jacobs and Haynes confirmed that this comb blank was recovered from a non–culturally sensitive context and also appeared suitable for carving to Haynes’s highly trained eye. With Jacobs’s support,

above Hayden Haynes begins to sketch out the comb design in September 2024.

This antler was worked by a Seneca ancestor in the 17th century but unfinished and later archaeologically excavated. Photo: Maurice John Jr. (Oglala Lakota/Seneca). opposite An unfinished comb blank excavated from the Ganondagan site in the Rock Foundation Collection. Photo: Dusti Bridges.

the Rock Foundation Board of Trustees voted to allow Haynes to modify the centuries-old object from their collections and entrusted him with artistic license to complete the ancestor’s work according to his own vision. The decision aligns with an industrywide shift in collections stewardship standards that now prioritize cultural continuity in addition to preservation. In compliance with the Duty of Care requirements of the revised Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) regulations that went into effect in January 2024, RMSC staff supported the process by initiating and facilitating consultation with representatives of the Tonawanda Band of Seneca and Seneca Nation of Indians. The consultation ensured prior informed consent for the display of this artwork that would blur the boundaries between historic and contemporary.

YÖDEDOTGA’ (PASSING THROUGH THE GENERATIONS) HAYNES’S FINISHED ARTWORK represents literal and figurative intergenerational continuity with his Seneca ancestors, who have carved moose, elk, and deer antlers to create important aesthetic and functional pieces for more than a thousand years. His medium of choice has offered ample opportunity to

reflect on antlers’ symbolic importance in Haudenosaunee culture and oral histories, and these connections are at the forefront of his creative consciousness.

He refers to Sky Woman’s grandson Flint who feared nothing but deer antlers in the version of the Haudenosaunee creation narrative recorded by John Arthur Gibson (Seneca/Onondaga, 1850–1912).

To this day, antlers represent power, and deer antlers also serve as a symbol of a chief ’s authority within the Haudenosaunee Confederacy.

Haynes observes an important symbolic link between the materiality of antler and the function of Haudenosaunee combs. “There has to be a reason why the ancestors chose one of the hardest materials to make combs,” he says.

“Combs are tools of transformation,” he points out. In the oral narrative describing the formation of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, Hiawatha combs the hair of Chief Tadodaho (Onondaga) to calm his discord and persuade him to accept the Peacemaker’s message of unity.

Haynes notes that combs and the act of combing are rich with symbolic meaning in Haudenosaunee society, from mourning ceremonies to social justice work and the contemporary use of combing ceremonies to overcome addictions.

“These are ancient practices that we are still carrying on. It’s important that we still do that thing.”

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Though the final artistic product created for this project is similar in form to one of Haynes’s signature comb necklaces, his process for creating this piece was quite different. “I had to test out the strength of the antler,” he notes. “Normally I can look at it and understand how strong it will be. I had to test out the teeth and see how they would react. After testing the teeth at a quarter inch in length, they were not strong enough to withstand any pressure. I had to give the illusion that they’re cut through.” The comb is still tined right at the bottom, though.

Haynes felt it was important that the finished work could technically still be used as a comb. He accomplished the rest of the illusion with pigment, which is a hallmark of his carving style to enhance the engraving and three-dimensional aspects of his work. Throughout the process of creating this piece, he had to constantly adapt his usual techniques to accommodate the extremely porous, ancient antler.

The comb necklace includes glass trade beads also recovered from Ganondagan in addition to vintage glass seed beads. In this case, Haynes has left his work untitled to honor the unknown intentions of the ancestor who began the work more than 300 years ago.

Haynes described the immense responsibility of creating something extraordinary with a rare material and within such limited space. “I wanted all

the cut marks from the ancestor to be there,” he said. “I wanted to make sure I kept that. An ancestor worked on that.

However they did those whittling marks, they know more about those secrets than I do. I left that old, ridged surface of the antler too.” He also focused on imagery that illustrates the reconnection with ancestors exemplified by the process itself.

Referencing another ancestor-made comb that includes a mirrored image of two figures squatting, Haynes carved a female figure in historic dress (left) touching the hands of a female figure in contemporary dress (right).

ADËNÖ’GÄ:DASHËDAHGWA’ (SYMBOLS USED TO RECORD HISTORY) EVERY MILLIMETER of the comb necklace is dense with meaning. As the sun has an ancestral family relationship with the Haudenosaunee, here it represents brightness, lightness, and all things that are good. Haynes remarks, “Everything can’t always be good, but in general, times are good for Indigenous people. We have opportunities we didn’t have 10 to 15 years ago.” The connection between old and new flows through the hands of Haudenosaunee women, referencing generational belonging to the land, which itself was historically cultivated and

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stewarded by Haudenosaunee women.

These ideas are accentuated on the comb with corn designs and symbols on the contemporary figure’s dress.

The hands also serve metaphorically as a bridge between the spiritual realms of the ancestors and the physical plane of our contemporary existence, a connection activated whenever Haynes creates. “For me, I am still connected,” says Haynes. “I am still thinking back to our ancestors.

No matter what the modern technology, I’m still connected, whether through conscious thought, blood, genetics. I still have that connection. It’s super important. Ancestral connection is important.

Still carrying on for the next seven generations. People are still thinking that way.

It’s important to think that way because that’s the only reason we’re still here.”

More recently, the hand has come to symbolize the need for greater awareness in the crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. As with that movement, Haynes’s symbolism creates a connection between the generations that have come before with those that are yet to come.

Haynes points out the three faces underneath the women, saying, “I was taught that the faces of future generations are coming from the ground. We always have to be mindful of the people coming after us. Like our ancestors at Ganondagan, we always have to be thinking about that.”

GANÖNDAGË:N, THE SENECA TOWN OF PEACE FOR HAYDEN HAYNES, it was critical that the finished comb necklace come back to Ganondagan before its long-term display at the RMSC. “The large trade beads and the comb blank for this necklace came from Ganondagan,” he says. “I felt it had to come back to Ganondagan and be worn by a living Seneca woman there.” Serendipitously, because Haynes is also a photographer, a friend of his in the Seneca Nation reached out around the time of the comb necklace’s completion and said that her daughter wanted to work with Haynes on his photo projects. After the two connected, Haynes invited the young woman, Ganöndi:ye’s “Charli Rae” Hill (Seneca Nation, Wolf clan), to model the comb necklace for a photo shoot. It was an opportunity to share information about the ancestors and their legacies in the place where they lived and worked.

Hill played in the fields of milkweed, a symbol of transformation because of the milkweed’s role in the life cycle of monarch butterflies. As Hill scattered seeds in the wind, Haynes reflected that the milkweed will keep growing in this place as it always has. And as the milkweed continues to stand and fulfill its responsibilities given by the Creator, so do the current and future generations of Seneca who came from Ganondagan and other Seneca towns. The process of returning the comb necklace to its ancestral home was a point of continuity as well as a symbolic rebirth. “There was a reemergence or a rebirth from this place where it was left discarded,” says Haynes.

“No matter what happened in its previous life with Indigenous people, then archaeological excavations, it was put back in the hands of a current community person.

This project is about things being put back in their rightful places. [The comb] has a different story now, and it’s a good story.”

The work of finishing this art has been an act of repair and restoration. “Any time an Indigenous person living today makes anything—that is a statement of resilience. We were all supposed to be gone. That’s a slap back to the idea that all the oppressive policies enacted by the U.S., all the boarding schools—they have all failed. We are still here; we are still making things. Every time I make something, it’s

a statement of resilience.” Haynes’s work compels viewers to look beyond the aesthetic expression and consider current issues affecting Indigenous peoples.

SGA:D DENIHYE:NÖH (WORKING TOGETHER FOR A COMMON GOAL) HAYNES’S UNTITLED WORK is an acknowledgment of Haudenosaunee ancestors. “To be able to work on and handle something an ancestor made is mind-blowing to me,” he reflects. “This

above This finished comb necklace (untitled), made by an unrecorded Seneca ancestor and Hayden Haynes (Seneca Nation, Deer clan), speaks to remembering and reconnecting with the ancestors. It is made from antler and trade beads recovered from the Ganondagan State Historic Site in addition to vintage glass seed beads. Both photos: Maurice John Jr. (Oglala Lakota/Seneca). opposite Seneca artist Hayden Haynes begins the detailed carving work on the ancestor comb blank using a rotary cutting tool in September 2024.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 39

above Ganöndi:ye’s “Charli Rae” Hill (Seneca Nation, Wolf clan) wears the untitled ancestor comb on its return to Ganondagan State Historic Site after 300 years. Photo: Hayden Haynes.

is something special that could inspire other people.…” As a knowledge keeper, he sees his role as bridging the gap from the ancestors who laid the foundation to the next generation that will do it better.

“The ancestors had a part, I play a part, and other people will play a part in whatever becomes of this type of work.”

Hayden Haynes broadcasts the message that Haudenosaunee people are still creating antler works of art, using ancestral platforms for contemporary truth telling, and celebrating a dynamic culture that is very much alive.

He hopes that this work will encourage others to take up antler carving and that Haudenosaunee people will view this piece as a celebration of work that we all

can do together. He says, “Working with Jamie Jacobs and his connections, all these networks that we all now have, that’s how things like this come to be. It comes as a collective effort of people trying to do something together and a lot of relationships built over decades: Ganondagan, the Rock Foundation, and the RMSC. If we are of one mind, one effort, a Good Mind,2 we are working toward good, and anything can happen. Because nothing like this has ever happened [before].”

Haynes also extends this sentiment to other areas of impact, saying: “Keep doing the good work. It could be volunteering for your local community event or fundraising. When you do it, there is a greater good that comes of it. In doing so, we are carrying out our original instructions that were given to us by the Creator, which is to care for and look after the rest of the Beings, the plants, animals, waters, all of Creation.”

The artist’s advice to museums and museum professionals is to push the envelope by any and all means necessary.

“A lot of institutions have the means to do that,” he says. “This ancestor comb project is an extreme example. Museums need to be putting action behind commitments to Indigenous people. Change doesn’t occur without being daring.” While Haynes’ artistic forms and style reflect continuity with the past, his work innovates to combine masterful command of craft with powerful expressions and ideas relevant to the present and future. This one-of-a-kind comb necklace reframes and elevates the conversation around Haudenosaunee carving, as well as bone and antler carving more broadly.

Jamie Jacobs (Tonawanda Seneca, Turtle clan) is the managing curator of the Rock Foundation Collection at the RMSC. His work focuses on activating cultural objects through an Indigenous lens and rematriating cultural knowledge back to descendant communities.

Kathryn Murano Santos is the senior director of collections and exhibitions at the RMSC, where she centers the work of building relationships and repairing historic harm through exhibition development processes and culturally responsive stewardship of 1.2 million objects.

2. The Good Mind is a philosophical ideal that echoes throughout Haudenosaunee ceremonialism, political councils, and linguistics. One of three basic principles that laid the foundation for the formation of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, it is a teaching that asks us to be mindful of our thoughts and intentions.

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Akshish Hlampko Resilient Roots: The Unyielding Spirit of the Choctaw Woman October 29th - April 17th Join us at the Choctaw Cultural Center for a special art installation

by Choctaw artist Kristin Gentry!

Gentry’s art highlights the importance of traditional plants, as well as the iconography and symbols of our Chahta ancestors.

To visit the exhibit, scan QR code to purchase admission to the center

Santa Clara Blackware Jar

by Margaret Tafoya First Phase Navajo Concho Belt, c. 1890

STEVE ELMORE INDIAN ART 839 Paseo de Peralta, Ste. M Santa Fe, NM 87501 (505) 995-9677

elmoreindianart.com FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 41

THREADS OF KINSHIP Bridging Global Indigenous Communities Through Art in Kyrgyzstan

By Clementine Bordeaux, PhD (Sicangu/Oglala Lakota), & Heidi K. Brandow (Diné/Kānaka Maoli)

“T

HE SUN DIPS LOWER over the snow-capped peaks of Kyrgyzstan’s mountains, painting the landscape in hues of gold and violet. A lean, black hunting dog bounds from an old sedan, moving quickly and purposefully.

Moments later, a young man steps out, cradling a golden eagle as if it were an extension of himself. The eagle’s feathers shimmer in the fading light, and an audible gasp escapes our group. We, a collective of Indigenous artists from the United

States, sit mesmerized in a 16-passenger van parked in the middle of this remote field. The air is crisp, the scene surreal, and for a moment, time stretches. Never did I imagine that a cultural exchange thousands of miles from home would feel this familiar—a reminder of the deep, shared threads of kinship between land, people, and tradition,” shares Clementine Bordeaux (Sicangu/Oglala Lakota).

In the fall of 2024, a remarkable cultural exchange unfolded, uniting Indigenous artists from the United States

1. Б is the second letter in the Cyrillic alphabet and similar to B. —Ed.

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and Kyrgyzstan in a shared journey of discovery. At the heart of this experience was the Nomadic Art Camp, an initiative founded by Shaarbek Amankul, a visionary Kyrgyz artist and the driving force behind Б’Art Contemporary1—the first and only contemporary art initiative in Kyrgyzstan. Amankul’s vision transformed the camp into a vibrant space for dialogue and collaboration, where artists from opposite sides of the globe found common ground in their deep connections to the land and their communities.

above Nomadic Art Camp participants at a regional museum. opposite Shaarbek Amankul, interdisciplinary artist and founder of Б’Art Contemporary and the Nomadic Art Camp. All images courtesy of the authors.

Set in the breathtaking mountains of Kyrgyzstan, where more than 90 percent of the land is mountainous, the camp served as both inspiration and reflection. This landscape, marked by vast deserts, lush pastures, and ancient paths of the Silk Road, resonated deeply with the visiting Native artists. The enduring connection between the Kyrgyz people and their land is evident in their nomadic lifeways, cultural practices, and artistic expressions, which felt both familiar and transformative to the participants.

A MEETING OF WORLDS AS NATIVE ARTISTS—including Clementine Bordeaux (Sicangu/Oglala Lakota), Tom Jones (Ho-Chunk), and Heidi K. Brandow (Diné/Kanaka Maoli)— immersed themselves in the rhythms of Kyrgyz life, they found echoes of their own communities. Amankul also invited Central Asian curators Aygul Khaydarova from the Kasteyev State Museum of Arts in Kazakhstan, Muzaffara Ishanova from

the State Museum of Arts of the Republic of Karakalpakstan in Uzbekistan, and Nuttaphol Sinthavatorn representing the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts (MoCNA).

Native American participants reflected on Kyrgyzstan’s rurality, which reminded them of tribal reservation life back home where connections to land, language, and culture shape daily existence. Brandow described the experience: “Being in Kyrgyzstan, I was moved by the deep closeness to the land, language, culture, and creativity that shapes the lives of the Kyrgyz people. I felt a powerful sense of kinship—a recognition of family across miles and borders.”

For B ordeaux, the parallels between her Lakota culture and Kyrgyz culture were undeniable. “In Lakota culture, we revere our relationships with other-than-human kin, and I recognized the equivalent connection among Kyrgyz people,” she shared. These relationships—with mountains, rivers, horses, and other animals—are foundational to both communities. They inform not

only survival but also cultural identity and spiritual continuity.

THE NOMADIC SPIRIT FOR 15 YEARS the Nomadic Art Camp has brought together artists from different countries and provided a platform for artists to explore Kyrgyz heritage, cultural diversity, and creative practices. It draws inspiration from the customary Kyrgyz nomadic way of life, serving as a foundation for conceptual, contemporary, and globally relevant art. Participants reside in yurts in remote mountain ranges and experience nomadic life firsthand.

This setting emphasizes an ontological understanding of existence rooted in movement, connection, and adaptability.

Amankul, a multidisciplinary artist, envisioned the camp as a means to bridge contemporary art with nomadic lifeways. “My hope for this collaboration was to cultivate a space for genuine dialogue that transcends geographical and cultural boundaries,” he explained.

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His initiative aligns with Kyrgyzstan’s ongoing post-Soviet journey to reclaim its identity, language, and cultural practices—an effort Native American and Native Hawaiian communities deeply understand as we continue to navigate the legacies of colonization.

During the 12-day experience, participants worked with natural materials sourced locally, witnessing the process of felting, creating wool pieces, and engaging with rural creative practices. Tom Jones reflected on the shared motifs: “Seeing the floral designs on the yurts immediately reminded me of home. The Ho-Chunk use similar appliqué patterns on our clothing—designs that reflect our deep respect for the earth and plants gifted to us by the creator.”

SHARED HISTORIES & CHALLENGES THESE MOMENTS OF RECOGNITION underscored the common threads linking Indigenous communities across continents. Both Native American and

Kyrgyz people have endured colonial oppression, reshaping their identities in the face of profound challenges. For the artists, the camp fostered a unique space for solidarity, healing, and mutual respect.

“Rural life situates priorities differently,” Bordeaux observed. “The long waits on a country highway measure time differently than sitting in city traffic. These rhythms of rural existence demand patience and foster creativity that urban life often overshadows.” Despite their shared resilience, rural narratives are frequently marginalized in favor of urban-centric perspectives. In the United States, opportunities for artists often concentrate in cities like New York or Los Angeles, sidelining rural voices and experiences. This dynamic mirrors the challenges Kyrgyz artists face in preserving their nomadic heritage amid modernity’s pressures.

Amankul emphasized the importance of elevating these narratives: “Building relationships of solidarity among Indigenous peoples globally requires a deep commitment to authentic

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connection and openness. Cultural exchanges, exhibitions, and shared platforms for dialogue are essential for nurturing these bonds and fostering our collective spirit.”

CULTURAL EXCHANGE AS A CATALYST THE NOMADIC ART CAMP exemplifies how artistic collaboration can bridge divides and foster deeper understanding.

Beyond creating art, the camp challenges participants to reflect on their own identities and the intersections of their histories. For Bordeaux, the camp’s setting offered a moment to imagine the lives of her ancestors: “How did we love the prairie before the devastation of settler colonialism? How did Kyrgyz people revere these mountains before colonial empires arrived?”

These reflections underscore the delicate balance Indigenous artists navigate—honoring their cultural roots while engaging with the complexities of

modernity. At the Nomadic Art Camp, this balance was made tangible through simple yet profound experiences: sharing meals, traversing mountains, and creating art in communion. In these moments, participants discovered common ground in their shared journeys, weaving connections that transcend borders and histories.

The camp’s emphasis on relational practices and collective memory became a powerful means of sustaining cultural continuums amid global pressures.

Reflecting on her time at the camp, Brandow shares: “I will also say that it was never scary, and I never felt afraid or worried about our plans, or that we were in danger, or that we were unsafe. I always felt safe, like we were with family, and I always felt like we would be okay.”

She adds, “Every day turned out beyond anything I could have anticipated.”

Jones echoes this sentiment, stating: “It always felt like I was at home there because of, like Heidi said, how we were treated. They took care of us so well and gave us so many wonderful experiences, and I really appreciate that.” For Brandow and Jones, the camp was more than an artistic gathering. It was a space of belonging where care and connection became a foundation for creative and cultural renewal.

A VISION FOR THE FUTURE LOOKING AHEAD, Shaarbek Amankul envisions a vibrant future for the Nomadic Art Camp, one that expands its reach to other continents and Indigenous communities, fostering deeper cross-cultural connections. Central to his vision is the inclusion of younger generations, using education to inspire a new appreciation for art and cultural exchange. “Education plays a vital role in amplifying Indigenous voices and raising awareness about the ongoing impacts of colonization,” Amankul shares. “By bringing our histories and perspectives into public discourse, we foster a deeper appreciation for our struggles and celebrate the beauty of our cultures.”

Conversations with art institutions in Central Asia and the United States are already underway. Plans are to host exhibitions showcasing the camp’s artwork and creative outcomes. These exhibitions aim to amplify the stories and cultural practices shared during the camp, connecting them with broader audiences and deepening understanding.

As these plans take shape, Amankul remains focused on building awareness, forging partnerships, and securing funding to ensure the camp’s sustainability and growth. Through exhibitions, educational initiatives, and collaborations with museums, he hopes to expand the camp’s impact, creating spaces where Indigenous voices resonate globally, and future generations can carry forward the beauty and resilience of their cultures. Jones reflects on how the Nomadic Art Camp has inspired him to consider creating his own residency or creative space for artists

“These rhythms of rural existence demand patience and foster creativity that urban life often overshadows.”

above Felting workshop at the Felt Art Studio in Bokonbayevo, Issyk-Kul in eastern Kyrgyzstan. opp osite To m J o n e s I I (Ho-Chunk), detail of Felt Art Studio in Bokonbayevo, 2024, digital photograph, dimensions variable.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 45

that too, for other artists where they can come in and use my equipment and just help nurture one another.

BRIDGING BORDERS, STRENGTHENING BONDS

above Photographer Tom Jones (Ho-Chunk) with eagle. Photo: Heidi K. Brandow. below Link to support Б’Art Contemporary’s Nomadic Art Camp Residency in Kyrgyzstan.

in his community, “Even the way that he (Amankul) has created this residency on his own, I’m hoping to do the same thing with my place. I bought a church a couple of years ago and am now renovating it.

But I want to have some exchange like

The 2024 Nomadic Art Camp is a testament to the power of cultural exchange in building solidarity among Indigenous communities. Bringing together artists from diverse societies fosters meaningful dialogue and collaboration, bridging divides and reaffirming the importance of rural identities.

As Brandow reflected, “Now more than ever, we as Native people need each other—and we need to embrace our kinship from a global Indigenous perspective.” The camp reminded participants of the strength of solidarity and connections. Through initiatives like this, Indigenous voices can resonate across borders, ensuring that the richness of their cultures and histories continues to inspire and guide future generations.

The camp was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for most and a call to action for the artists. It underscored the need to amplify rural narratives and advocate for their communities and landscapes.

In doing so, they hope to inspire future generations to embrace their identities and carry forward the strength of their shared purpose.

BISHKEKART.KG

Clementine Bordeaux, PhD (Sicangu/Oglala Lakota) is currently a University of California President’s and Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Postdoctoral Fellow. She earned a bachelor’s degree from Carthage College and a master’s degree from the University of Washington. She earned her PhD from the University of California–Los Angeles. In Fall 2025 Bordeaux will join the history of art and visual culture department at the University of California–Santa Cruz.

Heidi K. Brandow (Diné/Kānaka Maoli) is an artist and the associate director of communications at First Peoples Fund. She is a mentor in the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) studio arts MFA program and an artist liaison for the Coe Center for the Arts. She earned her BFA degree from IAIA, studied industrial design at Istanbul Technical University, and earned a master’s degree from Harvard University Graduate School of Design, where she cofounded the Harvard Indigenous Design Collective.

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OWENS VALLEY PAIUTE

KARMA HENRY 43rd Annual

Colorado Indian Market & Southwest Art Fest

Colorado Convention Center Denver, CO | Jan. 25 & 26, 2025

Land Back

Tiny Gallery Montclair Montclair, NJ Through Feb. 1, 2025

Where My Eyes Have Walked: Karma Henry

Stewart Indian School Cultural Center & Museum Carson City, NV Through May 2, 2025

KarmaHenry.com Waampa’i No-Nosipü (Building Dreams), 2024, acrylic on canvas, 30 × 48 inches

PROFILE

Tlingit Painter, Collage Artist & Carver

ALISON BREMNER

By Kariel Galbraith (Tlingit) A CALL TO TLINGIT ART

W

ITH HER STRIKING, BOLDLY PATTERNED formline, Alison Bremner draws viewers into important political discussions. Her recent piece, Church and State, currently displayed at the American Museum of Natural History’s Grounded by Our Roots exhibition, features a red formline puppet master dangling nine black-robed mannequins from an opulent cross. Bremner’s artist statement shares frustrations on the U.S. Supreme Court’s ongoing attack on tribal sovereignty. The work highlights Bremner’s precise linework, acquired through her apprenticeship, and her taste for visual collage, incorporating textures and colors outside of historical Tlingit artwork. With this work came a call to action: VOTE. 48 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

ALISON O. BREMNER NAXSHAGEIT is a Tlingit artist born and raised in Southeast Alaska. She is from the northernmost part of Southeast Alaska, Yaawkdáat (Yakutat). Naxshageit is K'inéixh Kwáan (Humpy Creek People clan) of the Yéil (Raven) moiety, from the Tsisk'w Hít (Owl House). Growing up, she danced in the Mt. St. Elias Dance Group for her hometown and treasured the teachings of her Tlingit father and grandfather. In the late 2000s following a coming-of-age ceremony, Bremner decided to dedicate her life to revitalizing Tlingit culture, arts, and language. Attending Sealaska Heritage Institute’s 2010 Celebration, a biennial gathering to honor Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian cultures, sealed Bremner’s fate as an artist.

At this 2010 Celebration, Tsimshian Master Artist David A. Boxley brought his Git Hoan (People of the Salmon) dance group to the multiday event in Juneau, where he and his son shared incredible craftsmanship and humor through their regalia, box drums, carved masks, and story-telling performance.

This inspired Bremner.

Following this impactful experience, Bremner began her art journey through Western art school, studying at Emily Carr University of Art + Design in Vancouver for a year. She felt supported by her peers and most of her professors but found it difficult to push back against some non-Native professors.

Prescriptive statements of where they believed Tlingit art was headed—and advice that if women wanted to be great artists, they should not have children—did not sit well, turning Bremner off from university. The benefit of Bremner’s attendance was the newly strengthened connection to the Boxley family. Bremner’s new relationship paved the way for a more culturally apt form of teaching and learning: apprenticeship.

Upon departure from university, she won a visiting researcher grant to the Burke Museum’s Bill Holm Center in Seattle, where she studied Northwest Coast art.

After showing her commitment to formline and Northwest Coastal culture, Bremner began her apprenticeship with Tsimshian father-son duo, David A. Boxley and David R. Boxley, in 2014. The Boxleys were based in Kingston, Washington. Bremner became accustomed to travel, splitting her time between Washington in the name of creating and exhibiting art, and back home in Southeast Alaska where she fulfilled community commitments. Through the guidance of her mentors, Bremner found her niche in painting, wood carving, regalia, and collage.

ALLISON BREMNER

above Church and State, 2023, acrylic on canvas. On display in Grounded by Our Roots at the American Museum of Natural History. opposite Alison Bremner. Photo: Sydney Akagi (Tlingit). All images courtesy of the artist unless otherwise noted.

TO BE A TLINGIT WOMAN IN CARVING FOUR YEARS INTO WHAT Bremner considers a lifelong apprenticeship with the Boxleys, she carved a totem pole to be raised in her hometown. Following in the path of other Northwest Coast carvers like Ellen Neel (Kwakwaka'wakw, 1916–1966), Freda Diesing, Skil Kew Wat (Haida, 1925–2002), and Doreen Jensen (Gitxsan, 1933–2009), Bremner became, as community members believe, the first Tlingit woman to carve and raise a totem pole. The task, using chainsaws and adzes to create a ten-foot red cedar pole, was not easy. The intensity of physical labor was demanding, requiring Bremner’s entire body and being.

The pole, named after her grandfather John Yáa Kháa Bremner Sr. (Tlingit, 1912–2002), honors his legacy. At the base, Bremner carved her grandfather holding a mint-green thermos. Sitting on top of him is Raven, her grandfather’s moiety and crest.

On October 27, 2019, the totem pole was raised near the house her grandfather built in Yakutat. The pole-raising was accompanied by a ku.éex' (potlatch), which is standard cultural practice for an event of this kind. Preparing for a ku.éex' is also demanding, physically and mentally. Large quantities of handmade gifts and foods must be made for giveaway to guests in attendance.

As a woman in a male-dominated field, Bremner cherishes the title of carver.

Early in her career, a museum curator told

her that women carvers often “drop off the map” because of unequal expectations of domestic labor.1 She considers herself lucky to have the support necessary to pursue her artistic endeavors with carving included in her repertoire.

AT.ÓOW TLINGIT PEOPLE have a strong sense of privacy and ownership. Discretion is built into Tlingit social structure and is most clearly explained through the example of clan imagery. In Tlingit society, clans have at.óow, which are prized possessions that may be tangible or intangible objects, ideas, and images that belong to specific clans. One important type of at.óow are specific images called crests, expressed

1. Alison Bremner quoted in “Northwest Coast Art Into the Future Panel Discussion,” Sealaska Heritage Institute, August 18, 2020, YouTube video, 1:12:20, web.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 49

PROFILE

“When I make art for public viewing, it goes through a series of internal filters,” Bremner says. Once she has determined her idea is safe to share publicly and will not break any Tlingit cultural standards, she begins a piece. “The commercial art I make has no place in traditional culture. It is a thing of its own.”

Bremner also has a strong portfolio of ceremonial work that she does not share outside of her Tlingit community.

She says, “It is not appropriate to sell serious aspects of [Tlingit] culture.”

VISUAL STORYTELLING

through formline design. Crest subjects may include people, animals, geographical locations, celestial bodies, and more.

These originate directly from clan history and are often earned through hardships, like natural disasters, forced migrations, or the death, murder, or theft of loved ones. Some clans share crest subject matter, but the formline interpretation on their ceremonial objects is different.

To use crest imagery without permission is considered the same as stealing or rewriting history. To take and display at.óow about something like a forced migration and apply it to oneself who does not hold rites is like claiming the history as their own.

This does not mean artists never use crests that do not belong to them. Sometimes it happens on accident—apologies will be made, designs will be removed, and a feud can be avoided. However, when requested by the owners of a crest, it is appropriate and even a historical cultural standard to have those of your opposite moiety create your ceremonial objects. To use Bremner’s clan and moiety as an exam-

ple, she comes from a clan represented by the Yéil (Raven) moiety. This would mean it is appropriate for her to create art for her Ch'aak' (Eagle) moiety opposites.

Sometimes rules that applied in the past are not realistic for situations in which Tlingit people find themselves today. The Potlatch Ban, which began in Canada in 1884 but extended into Alaskan territory, separated peoples of the Northwest from important cultural practices and thereby reduced the of production of new at.óow.

In 21st-century Tlingit society, regalia and art are made by whomever has the skills to do so, and the use of general subject matter that does not copy elements of crests is generally well received. When Bremner uses eagles and wolves in her work as formline beings, as in her piece Systems Based on Slavery Aren’t Meant to Last (2024), they represent Native relatives. She is not claiming rights to crests. She creates original characters and places them in the context of the Tlingit worldview.

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IN HER GALLERY ART, Bremner prefers to explore contemporary subject matter, ranging from stolen catalytic converters to The Lord of the Rings and beyond. She has created a space where she can play with textures and patterns, combining familiar iconography with important political messaging, highlighting daily life all while remaining within the formline boundaries taught to her by elders and mentors. Her subjects not only connect diverse audiences through a shared visual language but also avoid offending cultural values like clan crests or imagery.

Floral wallpapers and bright, bold colors bring a new energy to ancient shapes, like a waak (ovoid), kích (U-shape), and t'aaw shá (split U-shape).

These formline shapes, Bremner says, are “a rigid system of design.” Formline masterpieces follow many rules to look effortless, but the way shapes should fit, touch, and curve is all calculated. “Tlingit art is perfection,” Bremner shares, “and contemporary artists can only strive to reach the level of old [formline] masters.”

As an abstract art form infused with Tlingit cultural values, formline does not delineate hierarchy of earthly existence.

Transformation is highlighted throughout Tlingit storytelling. Humans can become ravens, eagles, or wolves, and vice versa.

Bremner carefully toes the line of respecting Indigenous intellectual property protocols while painting a Tlingit worldview and an understanding of beings that is neither one dimensional nor stagnant.

ALLISON BREMNER

TEXTURING FORMLINE WITH GUCCI WALLPAPER BREMNER IS ONE OF THE FEW American artists invited to participate in the prestigious Biennale d’art contemporain autochtone (BACA) in Quebec. In 2024 she participated in Creation Stories at Montreal’s Art Mûr, where she unveiled The Case of the Catalytic Converter (2024). This collage of found wallpapers on a wood panel was inspired by having her catalytic converter stolen from her car. Exciting and captivating, the work depicts a mischievous wolf with a blowtorch on t op of a black car. Underneath the car lies the converter thief with lips wrapped around the bottom of the vehicle. To the left is a snake with a handsaw. The work’s subdued ashy-blue background keeps viewers’ attention on the action while the contrasting orange draws them toward the wolf perched on the car. The distribution of different wallpapers pulls our eyes across the panel, each pattern serving as a distraction from the theft in progress, a complementary visual to the feeling of shock and bewilderment when having something stolen from you.

The texture of the different wallpapers maintains a unity with its bold but cohesive palette, held in balance with the more simply textured blue and gold speckled background. This cohesion and contrast combined with the space free of floral prints stays true to a core Tlingit tenet: balance. This rule is also found in every formline piece. The negative space between forms is crucial, like the wolf, the car, or the being beneath the car.

In Bremner’s artwork and artist’s statement, she humanizes the thief of her catalytic converter. The bodies of all figures share gold and orange wallpaper. They are made of the same materials, distinct from the inanimate car. Describing the incident as “unexpected financial … excitement,” Bremner shares insight on catalytic converter theft in an Instagram post. “Stealing catalytic converters [can be used as] a business plan upon re-entry, because the legal system creates barriers to finding housing and employment.” The loss of her converter was someone else’s gain: “Here’s to finding the humor in the balance …,” Bremner offers in closing.2 In this work and others in her series of wallpaper collages, Bremner uses secondhand and found wallpapers. Limitation in her materials began out of necessity during COVID-19, as she recalls digging through the bottom of her boxes of paints, creating her own unique “pandemic paint palette” of vivid oranges, pinks, and blues. Bremner now appreciates the happenstance results of being limited by her materials. In The Case of the Catalytic Converter, Bremner finds joy in the use of secondhand Gucci wallpapers. “It delights me to use a medium that wasn’t created for me in a purpose far from what was intended,” she told me. Bremner’s use of expensive material on discount or old wallpaper magazines found at hardware stores is also an opportunity to comment on the lack of affordable housing. The wallpaper in her work is a reminder that many people cannot afford a home, let alone find themselves concerned with what to paste on the walls.

2. Alison Bremner (@caffeinatedraven), “Excerpts from The Case of the Catalytic Converter,” Instagram, June 3, 2024, web.

above Yáa Kháa Kootéeyaa, 2018, latex paint on old growth red cedar, 120 × 30 × 30 in. opposite The Sneeze, 2016, acrylic on red cedar, 12 × 10 × 5 in., collection of the Sealaska Heritage Institute, Juneau.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 51

PROFILE

The collaboration was a reminder to keep her life, work, and art grounded in reality and the meaningful, tangible relationships she has with her community.

above The Case of the Catalytic Converter, 2024, wallpaper on wood panel, 48 × 36 × 1½ in.

Photo: Michael Patten (Cree), Art Mûr, Montréal. opposite Systems Based on Slavery Aren’t Meant to Last, 2024, acrylic on canvas, 36 × 24 × 1½ in. Image courtesy of Steinbrueck Native Gallery, Seattle.

CURRENT ISSUES POLITICAL MESSAGES are central to Bremner’s public artwork, especially threats to Indigenous rights. Criticism of the prison industrial complex and mass incarceration ties together The Case of the Catalytic Converter and Systems Built on Slavery Aren’t Meant to Last. Her artist’s statement on the latter cites the disproportionate rate of police presence in communities of color, overrepresentation of people of color in the prison system, and recidivism rates of Alaska Native peoples. Bremner does not shy away from presenting political subject matter in striking formline figures. Strategically drawing onlookers in with a vivid array of colors, inviting new hues into Tlingit color palettes, Bremner critiques the flawed, colonial justice system.

What stands out most in Systems Built on Slavery Aren’t Meant to Last is the large amount of negative space. There are no elegant formline or wallpapered

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designs to distract. Situated on a stark, black background, beings are alienated from each other and physically limited.

A cage at right is occupied by seemingly disembodied arms and legs, surrounding a pink wolf with sharp teeth, all trapped within white bars and being consumed by a formline mouth. A blue eagle with a curved bill is in the center, and an orange human stands on the left. These figures represent Native relatives of different backgrounds and clan identities. Those who have made it out without being consumed still have heads and hands encased in cells, illustrating high rates of recidivism. Bremner’s crisp lines and bold colors of the figures create an eerie contrast to the abyss behind them, hinting to viewers that something here might be wrong.

Bremner shared the perfection of Tlingit aesthetics on a global scale through a Starbucks Corporation project in early 2024. Starbucks invited her to design a set of three cups for their Winter

ALLISON BREMNER

2024 Starbucks Artist Collaboration Series.

A lover of all things coffee, Bremner was ecstatic at the opportunity. She had long admired Starbucks’s delicious coffee and excellent customer service. The company’s artist projects highlight “unique stories of artists from all over the world,”3 and are part of their larger efforts to support and celebrate Indigenous peoples.

The design and planning phase began seasons in advance. Starbucks Corporation’s public relation politicies were strict about what could be said and shared before, during, and after its release.

The project remained under wraps until its surprise reveal more than a year later, in January 2024.

In October 2023, the social media account of the worker-operated Starbucks union, Starbucks Workers United (@SBWorkersUnited), posted a message of solidarity for Palestinians, which prompted a lawsuit by the Starbucks Corporation for using their brand likeness.4 Activists were disappointed with the company’s stance and course of action.

Bremner found herself in a tough position, feeling that her values would be misconstrued. Indeed, as Starbucks Corporation found itself in controversies and criticism from progressives, the collaboration’s January release led to a funneling of agitated activists to Bremner’s social media accounts.

Bremner was proud of what she accomplished with Starbucks’s support, especially with the overwhelmingly supportive response from her tribal community. Alaska Native aunties in the lower 48 would buy suitcase-loads of tumblers and cups to bring back to relatives in Southeast Alaska, a region with only two Starbucks locations.

Although many anti-Starbucks activists took out their frustrations on Bremner, there was also widespread support for her bringing more visibility to Native art. The increase in criticism and hateful comments that accompanied the new traffic to Bremner’s online presence spurred her to take a break from Instagram and TikTok, which served as a chance to spend time with her young family and allowed Bremner to consider

what steps lay ahead. The collaboration was a reminder to keep her life, work, and art grounded in reality and the meaningful, tangible relationships she has with her community.

CONTINUING CULTURAL TEACHING & LEARNING THE PATH FORWARD includes preparing for several upcoming shows, teaching formline at the University of Alaska Southeast, and continuing to be her authentic self through her art.

Bremner has taught for many years, developing kits and instructing Native peoples on the creation of cultural arts.

She shares with me that teaching cultural arts is “thoroughly weird and fun in a colonial structure.” Though Alaska Native governments and Alaska Native– run corporations invest heavily in cultural arts, language, and heritage, Bremner states how this knowledge being imparted under Western educational institutions

interrupts a long-standing history of mentor and apprentice relationships. Instructional formline videos are easily accessible on YouTube, and university-level classes are offered across University of Alaska campuses, but it remains difficult to provide the one-on-one mentorship that is so vital to allow students to try to achieve standards set by formline predecessors. As a teacher of formline, Bremner finds joy in helping people understand the art form’s boundaries, and her classes offer an infusion of the values she grew up with.

At the core of these values are cultural respect and privacy.

Bremner’s work can be found in several public collections, including the Hood Museum of Art, Burke Museum, Portland Art Museum, Château Musée Boulogne-sur-Mer, Frye Art Museum, and the British Museum. The Steinbrueck Native Gallery in Seattle and the Fazakas Gallery in Vancouver represent her. She exhibits in the Pacific Northwest and across the continent, sharing her artistic vision with widely diverse audiences.

ALISONOBREMNER.COM Kariel Galbraith (Tlingit, Dakl'aweidi clan) is a writer and fiber artist from Sitka, Alaska, who lives, works, and weaves stories on Coast Salish territory in Seattle, Washington. She is the 2024 FAAM Alaska Native Art Writing Fellow, sponsored by The CIRI Foundation.

3. Heidi Piper, “Meet the multidisciplinary Tlingit artist behind Starbucks new merch,” Starbucks, January 8, 2024, web.

4. Starbucks Corporation. “Starbucks condemns acts of terror and escalating violence, strongly disagrees with statements made by Workers United,” Starbucks, October 13, 2023, web. See: Starbucks Works United (@SBWorkersUnited), Instagram, web.

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PROFILE

Northern Arapaho/Seminole Basket Weaver

CAROL EMARTHLE DOUGLAS

By Ruthanne Johnson

S

OME PEOPLE ARE BORN with artistic vision in their bones—even though creativity might not have been encouraged growing up. Even though no artist family members were there to help teach the way. And even though the parental push was to finish high school and get a job.

That didn’t stop Carol Emarthle Douglas (Northern Arapaho/Seminole), whose impressive skills in the art of basketry have buoyed her work into the highly collectible realm by museums, galleries, and collectors.

For the Seattle-based artist, basket weaving came at a later age—and after a long list of distractions all but silenced the fledgling creative voice deep inside. A business associate’s degree from Haskell Indian Junior College (now Haskell Indian Nations College), getting married, working an eight-to-five job, and having children kept her busy through the years. Along the way, she took photography and drawing lessons. The closest she came to realizing her artistic passion was taking up crocheting and knitting. “I realized I am pretty good at doing things with my hands,” says Douglas, “building something rather than trying to put it on paper.”

She finally found her creative path once her kids were both in school when she took a basket weaving class at the now-defunct Basketry School of Seattle. The class included urban Native and non-Native students from the Seattle area. They learned a twining technique using red cedar bark. She signed up for another class, Coiling with the Figure Eight Stitch, and was inspired by a fellow weaver’s sample coiled basket. “I really liked the shape, how even and smooth it was,” she remembers.

That was it. She was hooked.

Baskets have long been known for their utilitarian value in Native American and other cultures. Baskets hold goods such as food and belongings. They can be crafted into different shapes for different uses. Native peoples even used tightly woven baskets coated with natural pitch or resin to hold water. But beyond their utility, even the historic pieces in museums across the country demonstrate the incredible craftsmanship and artistic measure of Native weavers, with naturally dyed plant fibers often still revealing precise geometric designs and figures.

These days, Native American basketry has come into its own as a fine art. And basketry artists like Douglas have helped pave the way. Since the late 1990s, in those early days of her basketry career, she has placed in many competitions—including Best of Show at the Santa Fe Indian Market in 2015 for her innovative basket Cultural Burdens. Her work has appeared in notable collections, including at the Brooklyn Art Museum in 54 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

New York City, the Autry National Center in Los Angeles, and the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City.

Douglas teaches at the annual Hazel Pete Institute of Chehalis Basketry at their gathering each May in Washington, as well as annual gatherings of the Northwest Native Basketweavers Association, whose location depends on the host tribe. She has also experimented with expanding her repertoire to include paintings, dolls, and beaded work.

CAROL EMARTHLE DOUGLAS

Douglas discusses her journey from novice weaver to esteemed artist and how her art has opened the door for lasting cultural connections.

RJ: Tell me about your first success as an artist. What did that mean to you?

CED: It was my very first [art market], Indian Art Northwest in 1998. It was a Portland-based show that only lasted a couple of years. I had maybe four pieces: one big one about ten inches, and the rest were medium-sized. All my baskets were made using the coiling technique, real basic with two colors and geometric

designs. I was still trying to figure out the technique, getting the shape I wanted, and how to fit those designs in as I worked, because as you are coiling you are working from the bottom up. It was my first exposure to the Native art world, and I remember being a little overwhelmed. I had never seen that many Native artists all at once. They were the best of the best from all over the Southwest.

I won first place for my big basket.

I was really shocked to get that recognition. It was just two colors, but the shape turned out really well. I had no idea how to price things and remember giving my

above Opvnhv Hacogee (Stomp Dance), 2024, waxed, dyed, 4-ply linen thread, coiled over bundled hemp core, with silver and glass beads, 6½ × 10 × 97/8 in., collection of the Art Institute of Chicago, 2024.45. opposite C a ro l E m a r t h l e Douglas. All images courtesy of the artist.

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price for the big basket to a collector. She ran off to tell her husband and came right back and bought it. So I made a little bit of money that first show and went home and showed my husband the ribbon, and we were so happy. My kids were really small at the time, and the first thing we did was go out and buy them bunk beds.

RJ: You’ve shared in the past that based on their experiences in boarding schools, your parents did not encourage your Native language or artistic side when you were growing up. The odds seemed stacked against you taking up art. What influenced you to become an artist?

CED: I think I’ve always had that in my mind. I grew up in Oklahoma City. But every summer we would go back to Wyoming, where my mom’s side of the family lived. We’d spend a couple of weeks with her family, so we got to see the culture there. Just being around family and watching someone do beadwork or see their regalia or going to a powwow, which was specifically the Northern Arapaho Plains-style culture.

And then in Oklahoma, where my strongest ties are, we would go to see our family in Konawa [in the Seminole Nation]. I had an uncle, my dad’s oldest brother, who was an artist. He did paintings and taxidermy, and he was really good. When we would go to his place, we would always see something new that he created: scorpions and spiders in these acrylic pieces, paintings, and little wooden figures— what you’d now call folk art. He did a lot. It was routine that we would go to his place to see what was new. I still have a few of his carvings.

Later in life, after I married my husband and we moved to Seattle, I became intrigued with Native artworks of the Pacific Northwest. Living in the region, I was familiar with basket weaving through my husband’s family since he is Haida. My inspiration came from that and my desire to create something working with my hands.

above Star Woman Weaves for Her Sisters, 2022, 4-ply waxed linen with figure eight stitch, glass seed beads, heishi beads, silver findings, deer hide. Miniature basket: Red Hands, 2022, raffia palm fiber, dye, 1¾ × 17/8 in.

“Star Woman is my Arapaho name, and she is dressed in her traditional regalia.

This basket was created to focus on the MMIW movement as well as to challenge my ability as a basket weaver to create a basket ‘doll.’” —Carol Emarthle Douglas

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RJ: What inspired you to learn more about your tribes and how has that impacted your art?

CED: I remember being in an art show, and someone said to me that the Arapaho tribe didn’t do coiled baskets. That’s the technique that has really stuck with me, more than the cedar bark twining here in the Pacific Northwest. Later, I saw coiled Arapaho baskets while doing an art fellowship at the National Museum of the American Indian. There weren’t a lot of decorations on them because the baskets were used for a gambling game. They were more basic, utilitarian, bowlshaped, but they were coiled, and there were two carved gambling pieces used for the game. The Arapaho also did twined baskets for carrying things. That made me feel good to find out, like, it’s in my ancestry somewhere.

The Seminole also did coiled baskets. And basic twined baskets for things like sifting. So, utilitarian uses. Back in the early 1900s, when the tourist trade came to Florida, that’s

CAROL EMARTHLE DOUGLAS

when they started doing coiled baskets with materials like sweetgrass, sawgrass, and colorful threads. They still do that today. Not a lot, but it’s still there.

RJ: Is research an important part of your creative process?

CED: In my early work, I looked at a lot of Native basketry from all over the United States. A lot of the designs are geometric, so those were in the beginnings of my work. And then I started using more figurative pieces.

In Wyoming is a small museum where I studied the traditional colors, designs, and beadwork of the Arapaho.

And things like the buffalo hide [winter] count, which gives the story of a year or some history of the tribe on a buffalo hide. I’ve examined parfleche, which are made from hide and what a lot of the Plains tribes used for containers and luggage, it’s said. They often have painted geometric designs on them, which influenced my early work.

I also studied Ledger Art. When you study those pieces, you learn the history and probably what the artist was going through at the time. What they were drawing was a part of their life, their story and historical events. Some of it was from being imprisoned. One piece I did that was influenced by Ledger Art has a person riding a horse and a travois behind them.

And then I had one that I called Tradition and Technology, where they were on horses and dressed in regalia, their usual way of traveling. But the kids had their Game Boys, and another one was looking at their cellphone. Sometimes you’ll see that at a powwow. You’ll see them all dressed in their regalia, and then someone will have an iPhone or be looking at their iPad. So it was the meeting of two different times and how cultures change, but it’s really just the same.

On my Seminole side, I know people who do the patchwork clothing from the different clans. There’s the Bird clan and the Bear clan and Deer clan. In those clans, there are specific designs and symbols on the patchwork clothing. So I’ve done some digging into that history.

And years ago I did a collaboration with

artist Kevin Pourier (Oglala Lakota). He did butterflies carved from buffalo horn for that piece, and I did the basket and threaded flowers growing up the sides. I studied the wildflowers, the shapes and different species like milkweed that grow throughout the Plains area. He did the butterflies, the monarchs, which migrate through South Dakota all the way south into Mexico.

RJ: Besides research, where do you find inspiration?

CED: As an artist, I look everywhere for inspiration. I’ll take a walk and look

above Two views of Honkvs, waxed linen thread on single-rod hemp core, dyes, glass seed beads, onyx beads, 9½ × 14 × 14 in.

"Honkv, pronounced honk-a, means monster, giant hairy man, or boogeyman. I gave him texture so he would have the hairy, furry look. The alien on the opposite side is peeking from behind the dead tree."

—Carol Emarthle-Douglas

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“As an artist, I look everywhere for inspiration.”

above Cultural Burdens, 2015, waxed, 4-ply linen thread, single-rod hemp core, red and yellow cedar, black ash, birchbark, pine needles, yucca, white oak, silk thread, wooden beads, deer hide, 8 × 15 × 15 in. opposite Abstract Buffalo Miniature Basket, 2022, 1-mm round reed, raffia palm fiber, natural dyes, 1⅛ × 1½ × 1½ in.

around. Thoughts pop into my head, and I’ll write down some of those when I get back from the walk. I have sticky notes, and I’ll put them in a notebook, so I have them in one area, and I’ll also put notes on my phone. I usually get an idea and kind of mull it around in my head to figure out how it will work.

My husband and son have been fishing a lot this past year. They’ll go out and get salmon, and I’ll take pictures of the fish they bring back. The different species have different coloring. And they are really beautiful. So that’s one idea in my head that will probably find its way into a piece, eventually.

RJ: Has your art helped you through a difficult time in your life?

CED: One thing that has been recent.

It was 2020 just when COVID was hitting. My dad was in ill health, and I drove down to Tulsa where he lived. At the time, I was invited to take part in an exhibition [at the Gilcrease Museum]

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with other artists in honor of the basket artist Shan Goshorn [Eastern Band Cherokee, 1957–2018]. So I stayed in Tulsa to work on it.

That’s what kept me going. I had something to work on and was able to spend a lot of time with my mom and dad. It was rough, but it drew us closer together. I fixed their meals, watched TV, and hung out with them. I’d sit there and be watching something with my dad and be working on a little something. He’d ask me, “Do you have enough light? Do you need me to get you anything?” It meant a lot to me to spend time with him. He passed in 2020. Not from COVID. He had other health issues.

RJ: Are there pieces you are particularly proud of, and what are the stories behind them?

CED: Cultural Burdens, which won Best of Show at the Santa Fe Indian Market in 2015. I did a lot of research on the different tribes represented on that piece. So it

CAROL EMARTHLE DOUGLAS

was researching the baskets used by the different tribes and what these baskets looked like according to their purpose.

I had to also make the miniature baskets for each woman figure—and each miniature basket is done in the actual materials that would have been used in that tribe.

I’ve never really gathered my own materials. I typically use purchased materials because for me it’s the technique and design that I am keeping going and not necessarily the materials. But for Cultural Burdens, I was able to gather a lot of materials from other weavers. I just asked to buy such and such materials, and everyone was open to letting me do that—materials like black ash and red cedar bark. Each miniature basket is also done in the weaving technique of that tribe, and some of the designs on the baskets are tribe-specific. So I had to learn those weaving techniques and then do the technique in miniature. And I was like, “Wow, this is way harder than I thought!”

A few of the weavers showed me their weaving technique. But for most of the baskets, I learned on my own. I watched videos and had books.

The story behind Cultural Burdens started in 2011, when I did a basket called Gathering Nations that is now in a collection at the Brooklyn Museum. It’s a similar idea as [with] my 2015 basket, but the women are on the inside and outside of the basket facing out rather than with only their backs showing. And they each have their regalia on that they would wear to a ceremony, a powwow, or something else of cultural significance. They are each holding a basket from their tribe in front of them. The opposite is Cultural Burdens. The women have their backs showing, and they aren’t dressed elaborately. Each basket is on their back and showing what they are carrying: berries, food, firewood, their babies. The women in the Cultural Burdens basket are working. They are carrying whatever they have to contribute to the tribe.

RJ: Can you share stories of what your baskets meant to collectors?

CED: When I do a basket, I write out a description of the basket and give the

collector details, like all the materials, the technique I used, and the meaning behind it. I like to have a story of why I did this and what the meaning is, like the story of Cultural Burdens.

The basket Sky Woman Watches, the idea came from a painting I saw.

Not a literal interpretation, and I had the idea for why I thought it was important. She is a spiritual being looking over Earth, checking in on Earth and the people on it. [Representing the earth is] why at the bottom there are the North and South America continents and the ocean. So I gave that to the older couple who bought the basket, and I think that meant a lot to them.

The person who bought Cultural Burdens has collected my work for some time. After I won Best of Show, he ended up staying overnight at my booth, until I came the next morning to set up. He

wanted to be the first there so he could buy Cultural Burdens. That has happened a few times. Sometimes people will come over and put their names on my name tag, and whoever gets there first that morning gets the piece. Last year, the couple who bought Sky Woman Watches was at my booth at 2:00 a.m. I couldn’t believe it.

RJ: What’s next for you?

CED: I have a couple of ideas I am working on right now, and what colors and scenery I want them to look like. Each basket takes anywhere from three to six months—so I’ll be working on those and something for the Heard [Museum Guild Indian Fair & Market] coming up in March. I’ll have one big piece to enter in the show and a few miniatures. And then maybe a couple of mid- to medium-sized pieces. Whatever I can get done before the show!

CEMARTHLEART.COM Ruthanne Johnson is an award-winning journalist based in Southern Colorado.

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Hopi/Quechan Metalsmith

JONAH HILL

By Stacy Pratt, PhD Santa Fe. Hill’s work can be found in several galleries, museums, and at art markets across the Southwest and beyond, including those at the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Museum of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff, and Eiteljorg Museum in Indianapolis, and in Santa Fe.

“L

OVE, LIGHT, AND HAPPINESS are the keys to the universe. I try to express these keys in my artwork,” says Hopi/Quechan artist Jonah Hill. He grew up in the cultures of his Hopi mother and Quechan father and currently resides in Flagstaff, Arizona. A metalsmith, photographer, and printmaker, Hill collects Southwestern ceramics and recently participated in a workshop with Jemez ceramicist Kathleen Wall.

Hill is also a longtime river guide on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, an environmental educator, and an ethnobotanist. “To the Hopi and Quechan, water plays an important part of daily life. As dry farmers we rely on annual rain and snowfall to benefit our crops and orchards,” he writes on his website. “I have a vested interest in water issues as they pertain to Native peoples and use the artistic process to express my love and concern for water and the related environmental issues surrounding this most precious resource.”

All of these roles inform his work, as does his formal education at the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) in

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SP: You’ve been an artist for more than 20 years. Can you tell me a little about your journey?

JH: I was a wood-carver in the beginning, since I was about 19. I learned Hopi kachina doll carving from my god brother, Eric Roy. He’s the son of Coolidge Roy Jr. who’s a pretty famous kachina doll carver. I carved for probably ten years. I got pretty proficient at wood carving, but after a while, it just fell by the wayside when I started working as a medicinal herbalist. I did that for a long time, and I still carved off and on. When you talk to subtractive artists, they say they’ll see something in a piece of stone or wood, then they take away everything that doesn’t belong until they see whatever’s in there. It got to a point where it got harder and harder for me to see something inside of the wood.

At the time, I was managing two Native jewelry/herb stores, and I started looking at the jewelry board and wondering, “Oh, how is this made?” So I started researching schools to learn silverwork. Around that time, I went to the Navajo Festival here at the Museum of Northern Arizona and met a Navajo silversmith who had some of his in-progress silverwork on display.

I had never seen silver like that before. It was unpolished, so it had this white sheen to it. It looked totally different from polished work. I asked him, “What is this material? He said, “Oh, it’s silver. That’s how it looks before it’s polished.” It just blew me away.

From there I started getting a deeper interest in silverwork.

I stumbled upon the Institute of American Indian Arts website and thought, “Maybe I should enroll in this school.” I enrolled in their metals program in 2007. I went there for a couple of years and became pretty proficient at lost-wax casting.

Our instructor, Mark Herndon, wasn’t really a silversmith per se. I remember the first day of class he was telling everybody: “This isn’t a silversmithing class. I’m going to teach you guys to be metalsmiths rather than silversmiths. I’m not going to teach you how to be jewelers. You’ll be learning what it is to work with metal rather than working to just make jewelry. If you understand the concept of working with metal, you can pretty much do whatever you want, and becoming an artist comes

JONAH HILL

later.” I thought that was cool because a lot of times when you’re learning art, you’re learning that specific art, not the discipline of it. He was a really, really good instructor.

After I finished my time at IAIA, I moved back to Flagstaff and got a job working at the same jewelry/herb shop and worked there for two years but wasn’t happy. I thought, If I went to school and learned all of these metalsmithing techniques, maybe I should focus on that. I quit my job to be a fulltime artist. That’s how I got to this point where I’m at right now.

SP: You do tufa and cuttlebone casting when you make jewelry, so you’re still carving but in different ways than you were with wood.

JH: Yeah, I am. After a while, I noticed that the casting process that I do now is all carving processes. It’s funny that I started out carving wood to becoming more of a cuttlebone/tufa caster, and within the last five years or so, I started looking at wood again and started seeing stuff. But working with metal is a lot more fun than working with wood.

SP: So in all your media, you see the material first, and then the vision comes from there?

JH: Yeah, yeah. One thing that Mark Herndon said: “There’s designers, and there’s jewelers. A jeweler can make whatever the designer comes up with.” My goal was to become a designing jeweler, so that means understanding the materials and figuring out what to make with them, not copying. You have to study materials and then figure out what you want to create based upon your vision.

SP: You do some printmaking and photography also. Can you talk a little bit about that?

JH: When I was at IAIA, I studied under an instructor named Dorothy Grandbois (Turtle Mountain Chippewa) and Mitchell Marti, who was a printmaking instructor, and those were two classes that I fell in love with and just dove headfirst into. I mastered the blackand-white silver gelatin photography

process, alternative processes, and fell in love with woodblock printing and linoleum-block printing. They’re fun, and it’s carving again.

SP: Do you remember your first sale?

JH: I remember working in Santa Fe at the studio in school and having to come up with money. You couldn’t find a job then, and my schoolwork took up a lot of hours. I didn’t even have time to look for work. I’d done wholesaling before with my carving, but I didn’t know how to approach a gallery in Santa Fe to see if they wanted to buy some jewelry. There’s a little shop on the corner of Cerrillos and St. Francis, and I went in there with some earrings that I had made in school, and said, “Hey, I’m a student at IA. Would you like to buy jewelry?” And they were really nice!

It felt good to have somebody who I never met look at my work in this medium I’ve never done before and be really interested in it. They bought all the pieces that I had at a wholesale price. To me, it felt good because I could go buy food and more silver for the class. So I built a relationship with them and would go back every couple of months and show them pieces I had, and they’d always buy

“I had never seen silver like that before.

It was unpolished, so it had this white sheen to it.”

above Brutalist Malachite Bracelet, 2024, sterling silver cuttlebone-cast bracelet with natural malachite, 5½ × 1½ in., from the Brutalist series. opposite Jonah Hill in Edinburgh. Photo: Steph Jackson (Diné).

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from me. I would go back, and they would have sold all my stuff. That gave me a lot of incentive to keep working at it.

SP: You’re an environmental educator, ethnobotanist, herbalist, and river guide. How have those roles impacted you as an artist?

JH: I use my experiences in the natural world in my design work. I got into metalsmithing around the same time that I started working as a river guide here in Flagstaff for Grand Canyon Youth (GCY).

They’re a river company that takes youth on adventures on the river and hiking adventures. When I started, a Navajo woman at Northern Arizona University put on a program that trained Native Americans to be river guides.1 She wanted more Natives in the river guiding community, which is primarily Anglo-dominated.

There was interest in having river guides who are people from that land. She asked if I was interested in going along on her training trip to serve as a teacher. I went on that trip, and I was hooked.

I took the river guide course and started doing guide work. Working with

GCY, I had to do a certain amount of river trips to be a certified river guide.

I did my three trips and then worked as a river guide in the summertime when I was out of school. We grew up in Hopi, but we spent time down in the Salt River and Verde River, fishing and camping. It was fun to be back on the river again.

Doing that work, working with the plants, and working with the land gives me inspiration because the work that I do has a lot of nature-based imagery. I like to have my work represent the land that we’re in and the culture that we’re in, so that when people wear my work, they’re reminded of their experiences in this area.

SP: You use a lot of natural materials—metal, wood, stones—that come from the earth and cuttlebone from animals. How does it feel with those materials going out in the world in your art?

JH: Materials connect people to the places they are from. A couple of years ago, I was approached by a woman who had taken a trip to the Dominican Republic around

20 years previous and had Larimar [a gemstone found only in the Dominican Republic] that she had brought back with her. She had recently gone there again with her daughters, and she wanted something to remind her of their trip. She asked if I could make matching jewelry for her and her daughters to commemorate their trip together to remind them of the Dominican Republic. They were originally from there, but their family had moved to the United States a long time ago. I thought it was cool that they wanted to have something that comes from their unique area to remind them of their place.

Whenever I use exotic materials, like coral from Italy, people will say, “Oh, I remember having coral like this when I was a little girl!” or something like that.

I think that materials hold the energy of the places they’re from, and they hold special meaning for people. The jewelry reminds them of that place again.

It’s a physical reminder that is important because it helps to define who you are, and it helps you represent yourself to other people as you travel around.

Wearing it enhances your uniqueness, and people want to ask what you’re wearing and who you are. That just blows my mind that jewelry has that power.

SP: I read your story about people who ran into each other in the Grand Canyon, and both were wearing your pieces. What you just said is so true.

Jewelry sparks maybe more conversation than art in a gallery or museum because it goes out into the world, literally on people.

JH: I taught a casting class in Bluff, Utah, this past weekend, with eight participants.

Five of them had my jewelry, and four of them never met before. It just feels cool to have my jewelry out in the world. I go to functions, and people will show me pieces I made or show other people and say, “He made this.” It brings people together.

Since I’m a river guide, I make a line of jewelry that’s water based, and so many

1. Nikki Cooley (Diné) cofounded the Native American River Guide Training Program and Fifth World Discoveries with Lyle Balenquah (Hopi). She was also the first Native American president and vice president of the Grand Canyon River Guides.

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JONAH HILL

river guides out there wear my jewelry on the river. Other river guides will see it, and they’ll ask, “Where did you get that?

It’s unique. It reminds me of my river trips.” I have an adventure clientele who travel around, so those designs spread quickly across the adventuring world.

And I think that’s cool and fun.

SP: Can you tell us more about the water pieces that are popular with river guides?

JH: The one the river guides wear is called River’s Edge Design. It’s basically an asymmetrical [version of the] river

design that’s common among the Hopi.

Every culture in the world has a symbol for water, but I think the way I’ve been doing it is unique. The Hopi water waves are very symmetrical, very precise.

I’ve never seen anybody doing asymmetrical water waves like mine. I do it because water isn’t symmetrical.

Water’s always changing. Water can be calm, water can be fierce, and the way that I make my water designs is based upon my experiences on the water—seeing how it interacts with itself, how it flows. I was just trying to capture that essence of it. So when people see that design, I get a lot of

above Double-Row Bracelet, 2024, sterling silver cuttlebone-cast, natural 7 Dwarfs variscite in castellated bezel. opposite River’s Edge Bracelet, 2024, stamped, overlay sterling silver.

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PROFILE

making them, I was doing a 20-over-18gauge. That’s traditional Hopi overlays. I kept making them like that in the beginning, and a lot of river guides would wear them on the river, and the bracelet would get sucked off their wrist. It would either get caught on a life jacket or a strap or something and then get pulled off. There are probably 12 of my overlay Rivers Edge bracelets on the bottom of the Colorado River.

If people were wanting to wear them while they’re river rafting, or if they’re guiding, I needed to make them thicker. So I started going into heavier gauges, and I think only two have been lost since then. I remember one guy—he’s a big, giant guy—was wearing it on the river going through Crystal Rapid, and he said he flexed, and it just went flying off his wrist. It was one of the thin ones from the beginning, and I thought that was so cool that he was so strong that his muscles blasted his bracelet off his wrist.

“…he was so strong that his muscles blasted his bracelet off his wrist.”

above Fish Bolo Tie, 2024, tufa-cast sterling silver, braided leather. opposite Spine of Creation, 2024, tufa-cast sterling silver bracelet, from the Brutalist series.

comments like, “Wow, I’ve never seen any water waves like this.”

If the water waves are the river, then the background is the sunlight glitching on the surface of the water. On the river, we never see the sunlight just sitting on the water, especially in the middle of the day. It’s not symmetrical, and it’s not bright. It’s like a series of flashes. So I thought that the background stamping should reflect that as well.

Those are overlay pieces, primarily. It’s two layers of silver. Usually I’ll do a 16-gauge over 16-gauge or 14-gauge depending on if the customer wants a thicker bracelet. When I first started

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SP: Some of your recent work is described as Brutalist, a style I mostly knew from architecture before I did research for this article. Can you tell me how you became interested in Brutalist style?

JH: For the last couple of years, I’ve been doing work at the Arrowmont School of Arts and Crafts in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. In January 2023 I was invited to participate in this program called the Pentaculum. It’s a week-long residency for metalsmiths, potters, woodworkers, sculptors, 2-D artists, and writers. There is no set curriculum. It’s just a gathering of artists being creative.

This year I was the studio assistant.

There were twelve of us there, and one was a designer from New York. In the last days of the program, I had a bunch of cuttlebone that I had brought with me. Cuttlebone is the bone of the cuttlefish, and you carve your design into it, then pour in the metal for casting. It’s delicate, and I didn’t want to bring it all back because that would’ve meant wrapping it all up in bubble wrap and packing it again. So I was just messing around,

JONAH HILL

making designs. I wasn’t consciously thinking. I started making just weird, asymmetrical things.

We were having a show-and-tell at the end, and the designer from New York said, “Your Brutalist work is so amazing.”

And I was like, “Thank you. What’s Brutalist?” She said, “Once you see what it is, you’ll understand.” I went home and googled “Brutalist,” and the architecture came up. Then I did some more research, and all of this painting came up. Then sculpture. Finally, I found a website with a listing of Brutalist jewelry. I was looking at it, and it was just ticking off the boxes: asymmetrical, deeply textured, jagged edges, rough surfaces, modeled after nature. I was just thinking, Well, a lot of my jewelry now is all of that.

I don’t like to create stuff that’s the same as anybody else’s, so I thought, Why not go further? Between January and March, which is the time of the Heard Museum show, I came up with 60 individual pieces based on those criteria of Brutalist art. It was interesting because I entered a piece into the competition, not thinking that I would win because judging criteria is hard. A lot of times

“traditional” work is what’s going to win.

I entered a “traditional” piece and some Brutalist pieces, and I found out that I won a judge’s choice award for one of the Brutalist bracelets. I was completely blown away, and it felt good to know that my experimentation in design work is paying off. Of all the 60 pieces, I only came home with four, so I guess people like it.

SP: Can you tell us more about the Brutalist piece that won judge’s choice at the Heard Museum Guild Indian Fair and Market?

JH: It was called Spine of Creation. It’s a bracelet that has all of these branches coming off of it, so it looks like a spine but also like a branch of coral. With a lot of my Brutalist pieces, it’s fun to hear people’s interpretations of them, because unless I’m consciously making something that resembles a piece of nature, it’s like the tool is creating the piece. It’s fun to hear people say, “It looks like this or that.” And I’m like, “Okay.” I’m not really

modeling the design after a specific thing in nature, but instead of making a tree, what does tree bark look like? Instead of making a leaf, what are the parts of a leaf?

I’m delving deeper into the essence of nature rather than depicting nature itself.

SP: Almost like bringing out what’s inside the material when you’re carving?

JH: Exactly. In this case, what’s in the cuttlebone. The cuttlebone aspect of it is unique. All the cuttlebone pieces are one of a kind. Since I’ve only got one shot at it, I think I should make the most unique thing that I could make out of that material, no matter if it’s going to be a big bracelet or a small ring. To honor the cuttlefish. Each cuttlebone is unique, so each piece made with it is special in its own way.

SP: The cuttlebone comes from fish, so it all comes back to the water again.

JH: Exactly. Back to the water again.

LOMAYOOSI.COM

Stacy Pratt, PhD (Mvskoke), based in Tulsa, is a poet, musician, Mvskoke language student, and writer specializing in Indigenous arts and literature.

FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 65

PROFILE

Chippewa Cree/Pawnee Beadwork Artist

JOHN MURIE

By America Meredith (Cherokee Nation)

W

HILE JOHN MURIE HAS CULTIVATED a loyal following for his beadwork through art markets and social media, he doesn’t concern himself too much with notoriety since he’s focused on his family, his students, and his tribal community.

“Especially as a Native artist, you have to be grounded in your culture, your language, and the ceremonial things that go on around you,” he says.1 His community keeps him centered.

Murie teaches art at Stone Child College, a tribal college in Box Elder, Montana. His tribe, the Chippewa Cree Indians of the Rocky Boy's Reservation, are based in north-central Montana near the Canadian border. The reservation, home to Plains Ojibwa, Métis, and the southernmost branch of Cree people, was named for Chief Asiniiwin, or Stone Child (Plains Ojibwe, ca. 1850–1916).

Murie was born in Havre, Montana, to Sandra Monteau Murie (Chippewa Cree, 1948–2012) and Robert Murie (Pawnee/ Chippewa Cree). “My grandfather was from Pawnee, Oklahoma.

His name was Lawrence Murie.” Lawrence’s father, John’s paternal great-grandfather, was James Rolfe Murie (Skiri Pawnee, 1860–1921), an educator and author of Ceremonies of the Pawnee. “My dad is enrolled down in Pawnee, but he’s lived here all his life. He was raised in our cultural ways, so his first language was Cree. He didn’t speak English until he went to school when he was five or six years old.” Now Robert Murie teaches Cree language courses at Stone Child College.

While Robert’s mother, Mary Little Sun Murie Lodgepole (Chippewa Cree, 1921–2003), and his sister, Cynthia Murie (Pawnee/Chippewa Cree, 1946–2015) were influential beadwork artists, Murie says that of his influences, “first and foremost would probably be my grandmother Mary Lodgepole. She made her own hides, then she beaded on those hides, and her moccasins were highly sought after,” adding, “She didn’t learn any English until way later, so her first language was Cree. And she was raised culturally like that too, so she had a lot of teachings for us as children, her grandchildren coming up.

“I’ve learned a lot from my auntie Cynthia Murie. She was the best at putting colors together. You would think these two colors were never going to work together. She would just make it work and make them look beautiful. And then my mother beaded for me, and my sister beaded for me. They both have passed on.”

Moccasin makers depend upon hide tanners, and Murie’s uncle Leslie Lodgepole (Chippewa Cree) excels at the craft.

“He does a lot of braintanned hides. [Tanners] are the unsung heroes. They do a lot of work. I’ve helped him a couple of times.

1. All quotes from John Murie in discussion with the author, November 25, 2024.

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above John Murie wearing his Morning Prayer cell phone carrier. Photograph courtesy of Murie family archives. opposite Bruce Lee Cell Phone Carrier, 2024, deer hide, glass seed beads, brass pony beads, hairpipe beads, brass hawkbells, brass cones, dyed horsehair, nylon cord. All images courtesy of the artist.

He mostly works on deer. And then if someone might bring him an elk hide, he’ll work on that outside. He learned from my grandmother.”

Murie is primarily known for his moccasins, particularly low-top Northern Plains–style with tongues and tough rawhide soles—sometimes buffalo—that can be replaced when they wear down. He also makes high-top, wrap-around women’s moccasins. “A lot of our older ladies had those types of moccasins here.” For him, moccasin making hits a sweet spot by allowing him to pursue a unique vision over several weeks without the process becoming too repetitive over months.

JOHN MURIE

Bracelets, necklaces, hats, hatbands, and bags are also works he makes for the public. An incredible hide pouch—a cell phone carrier—he made in early 2024 reveals his pop culture influences. The pouch features a dramatic close-up, beaded portrait of Bruce Lee, wide-eyed, fierce, with bloody scratches on his cheeks. “He was my first portrait,” says Murie. “As a little kid in the eighties, I watched Bruce Lee’s acting and kung fu. He was a good influence. And then later on, I read his philosophies on life— how to deal with everything, keep going, and keep an open mind.”

Comics and anime are also strong influences. “When I was growing up, there was a black-and-white comic called The Savage Sword of Conan about Conan the Barbarian. That was my favorite,” Murie says. “I’d read it and then find the pictures that I like and try to copy the pictures.” He also loved Spider-Man and Batman. “I really liked the darkness of Batman. Later on, it was X-Men.” After that he discovered Todd McFarlane’s Spawn.

“I first started getting into anime and first watched Akira when I was in Santa Fe, and I just was blown away by the animation and the artwork of that movie. The stories are so well thought out, and the execution of the artwork is really cool,” he says. “I watch a lot of Studio Ghibli—Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away. Porco Rosso, with Michael Keaton as the main character, is pretty cool.”

Murie graduated from Rocky Boy High School in Agency, Montana, and then enrolled at the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) in 1994 where he earned his AFA in two-dimensional arts in 1996. “When I went to IAIA, they taught us the creative side of art. They said, ‘Be creative, go out and let your mind wander, experiment.’” After IAIA, Murie studied at the Art Center in Albuquerque, which focused more on technical skills for design and illustration. “At the Art Center, they were like: ‘This is how you use this tool. We’re going to teach you how to go from nothing to the end product.’”

While living in New Mexico, Murie danced powwows. “I danced when I was a little kid and then stopped for a while. After high school, I started dancing again. It was a natural progression for me. I was an athlete in high school. I ran cross country, played basketball, and ran track. I had that competitive spirit, which I kept going in powwows.”

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PROFILE

After winning in an early powwow, “that competitive bug hit me, and then I started traveling all over different places, placed a lot, and went to see every corner of the country, from Washington and California down to Florida, up into Connecticut to go and dance. I went into Canada.

“When I was going to IAIA, I was honing my powwow skills. I was at powwows every weekend while everyone was back on campus painting and creating.

I was out there dancing and singing.”

This kept Murie connected to his cultural teachings. “In Rocky Boy we have a grass dance society. There were protocols that I followed as a grass dancer, and so I know why I’m doing it. I know where all these things are coming from as far as my regalia, the headdress, the plumes, the bows, and the fringes, what they all signify, and the way I’m supposed to move when I’m out there.” The grass dance is considered one of the oldest, if not the oldest, dance in powwows. The ceremonial precursor may have originated with the Pawnee’s Iruska Society

or the Omaha’s Hethu'shka Society.2 It was shared among Dhegiha and Chiwere Siouan tribes, then the Dakota and then across the Plains in the 1860s. Anthropologist Peter Nabokov described the grass dance as “one of Native America’s most ingenious survival strategies.”3 Each tribe adopted the dance to fit its needs while not arousing the suspicion of repressive Indian agents or missionaries.

Dancing allowed Murie to travel to Native communities across the United States and Canada. “I made a lot of friends, and I visited with a lot of elders about their take on powwows and their tribes’ cultures. I was constantly trying to learn something, whether it was about the dances that we did or the dances of the tribal people whose land I would go to.” He continues, “I had a Hopi friend who told me a lot of things about Hopi.

And of course, living in the Southwest, I have a lot of Navajo friends and family.

And then going into Southern California, I learned about those people and the bird singing. And of course, my own tribe.

Since I didn’t live in Oklahoma, I didn’t know too much about Pawnee people. So I tried to find out about that too.”

After dancing on the powwow circuit and living in Albuquerque, Murie moved to Tucson and worked at a casino as an assistant general manager. “Matter of fact, that’s the reason why I moved home—to help build the casino. Some officials from here got a hold of me and said, ‘We’d like you to come home and help us open our casino.’ And then we thought, Wow, that’s a good way to get home. So our young children can learn who they are too. They knew they were Native; they just didn’t know the teachings specific to our tribes.”

So he and his family moved to Montana. “When I came home, it was to keep and perpetuate this culture that I grew up with. That is the treasure that we have here as our people in Rocky Boy. The value that we have is our ceremonies and our language. So I try to keep those going as much as I can.”

The Chippewa Cree tribe offered to fund his education to complete his degree if he committed to teach at Stone Child College. “So I did that. I love teaching, especially at this college level.” As an art professor, he shares all the knowledge he’s gained and challenges students to find their own voices through art. Murie has extended his educational scope by publishing several instructional videos about moccasin making, including detailed techniques, on Instagram.

His inspiration to make videos came from Lucia Ricciardelli, a filmmaker and professor from Montana State University– Bozeman, who taught a documentary workshop at Stone Child College. “She was teaching us how to document our own stories with what we had, whether it was iPads or phones, whatever. I got together a few students to take her workshop, and then I was working on some moccasins, and she was like, ‘Oh, those are so beautiful!’ And then I showed her my art page and after a while, she was like, ‘Let’s make a documentary about your work.’” This became the two-part Portrait of a Pawnee-Cree Moccasin Maker.

2. Alice C. Fletcher, “Hae-thu-ska Society of the Omaha Tribe,” Journal of American Folklore 5, no. 16 (Boston: American Folk-Lore Society and Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, January–March 1892), 142–43; Peter Nabokov, “Hidden Blueprints,” North Dakota Quarterly 67, nos. 3–4 (Summer/Fall 2000), 262.

3. Peter Nabokov, “Hidden Blueprints,” 265.

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JOHN MURIE

Ricciardelli’s student Steven Shapero made the second part, Portrait of a Pawnee-Cree Moccasin Maker: John Murie’s Artistic Wisdom (2021). “One was the actual making of the moccasins,” says Murie, “and another part about the philosophy behind the work.”

Like most culturally engaged Native artists, Murie is cautious about what aspects of his culture he shares with the public through his art and what he keeps within his own community. “We’ve had a lot of experiences with people coming in and trying to steal a lot of the culture.

I call it pirated. They get into what we’re doing, and then they turn that around and make money off it—try to take the intellectual property from us, and they act like it’s theirs when it’s not. We’ve had a lot of bad experiences here in Rocky Boy where people will do that to us.”

Community cultural protocols govern beadwork. “There are certain animals I won’t bead until I get permission. I’ve got permission to bead thunderbirds, horses, buffalo, and hawks,” he says.

“Either I need permission from someone to bead that or else I just can’t bead it.

“One thing I can tell you, I had a dream one time where my grandmother visited me, and we were talking when this dragonfly flew by. She said, ‘You see that?’

And I said, ‘Yeah, I see that dragonfly.’ She said, ‘Don’t ever bead that one.’ And I was like, ‘Okay, I won’t bead that.’ So if someone asks for dragonflies on the beadwork, I’ll just tell them I can’t bead that.”

He reflects that adding personal expressions and innovations to the corpus of Cree beadwork “works when you have that foundation and the rules and you’re familiar with the art form, then you can bend it because you’re working within the system as opposed to coming in, having no idea what you’re doing, and throwing things together.

“Art has to evolve all the time,” says Murie. “There’s no way we can stay in the past. Our grandmothers and the people before them were pushing designs.

Whether it’s with color or design, we’re just pushing it a little bit further.”

As mentioned before, Murie’s aunt Cynthia influenced his daring color choices. He also gets ideas from nature.

“Just looking outside here in the winter

“Art has to evolve all the time. There’s no way we can stay in the past.”

above Morning Prayer Moccasins, 2024, deer hide, glass seed beads, gold seed beads, brass brads, rawhide. opposite Red-Tailed Hawk Moccasins, 2022, deer hide, glass seed beads, gold seed beads, brass sequins, rawhide, wool.

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What’s the sunset look like in the spring as opposed to the summer? What does it look like in the winter?

above I ' M G O N N A RU N WITH EVERY MINUTE I CAN BORROW, 2019, deer hide, glass beads, brass brads, brass sequins, cotton fabric, each moccasin: 6 × 5¼ × 15 in., collection of the Brooklyn Museum, Mary Smith Dorward Fund, 2020.17a-b. Image courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum. opposite Skateboard Deck, 2024, wooden deck, deer hide, glass seed beads, black hairpipe bone beads, brass hawkbells, wool, abalone discs, ermine tails.

and seeing what colors are out there. We see whites, we see greys, maybe blues in the snow. And then spring, what colors are there? What’s the sunset look like in the spring as opposed to the summer?

What does it look like in the winter?

What did the sunset look like in Northern Montana rather than when I lived in Arizona? Just taking colors from sunsets, sunrises, different colors within animals, different colors within nature, flowers. So that’s a natural color theory.

“I had a granddaughter with me one day, and there was this beautiful sunset.

I pointed out there, and I said, ‘Look, Granddaughter, those are colors that we can use for some beadwork at some time.

If we just remember the pattern and the gradient that the sky is showing us, maybe we can turn that into a beautiful outfit.’”

His work is unusual in that he often beads nocturnes. “I even take some colors from the night sky. I do a lot of star patterns.” His painting experience informs his bead choices in choosing complimentary colors and soft or strong value shifts. An element he has mastered is

beading gradients, especially on moccasin vamps, where he carefully intersperses different colors to create organic fades from light to dark or from one color pouring into another.

In some moccasins, Murie interrupts his geometric abstract patterns with representational images, particularly birds, buffalo, and horses. These echo Plains narrative artwork, expressed through the centuries in hide painting and rock art. Beads are three-dimensional, and different stitches create different textured surfaces. The lane stitch is also called the hump stitch, since a series of beads, strung together and tacked down to the hide, create a gentle rise in the middle.4 Laid down, side by side, these stitches create surfaces with parallel humps, emphasized by the highlights and shadows of the glass beads. John sews his figurative elements with flat stitch, also known as two-needle appliqué, with outlines of gold beads. The directional shift in the bead stitches makes the figures pop from the main design, creating the illusion of them floating above the surface.

4. Today few art historians study 21st-century customary beadwork, which has been more commonly studied by anthropologists. The beadwork field could benefit from interregional study and definition of terms.

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JOHN MURIE

Murie also excels at wrapped beading for necklaces and bolos and edge stitching. While he has learned from his family, fellow regalia makers, and his own experimentation, surprisingly he hasn’t been able to study historical beadwork in museum collections. “I haven’t been invited anywhere yet,” he says. “I would like to.”

He has begun to exhibit his work in museums though. Internationally acclaimed artist Jeffrey Gibson (Mississippi Choctaw/Cherokee) invited him to contribute to Gibson’s exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum, When Fire Is Applied to a Stone It Cracks (2020–21). The Dying Indian (ca. 1904), a problematic sculpture by Charles Cary Rumsey, depicts a dejected man, wearing only a loincloth and generic moccasins, slumped over an equally dejected horse. Gibson enlisted Murie’s beading skills to create a visual intervention for this cliché of the Vanishing Indian. Murie crafted 15-inch-long moccasins to fit the statue’s oversized feet.

Murie spelled out the lyric “I’m gonna run with every minute I can borrow” from Roberta Flack’s “See You Then” in lane-stitch beadwork along the base of the moccasins, which the Brooklyn Museum later acquired. “To have John make these moccasins specifically for this unknown individual is in a way paying respect to the history of anonymous warriors [who]

have been pictured forever ... in institutions,”5 Gibson explained. During the exhibition, the bold, elegant moccasins transformed the figure, humanizing him in a gesture of Indigenous resilience.

With so many developments happening in Native art today, Murie is enthusiastic about his fellow creatives.

“There’s a lot of great art out there, and I like to experience it all.” Murie applauds Indigenous “culinary artists who are winning these amazing awards because of the food that they’re creating, and the fashion designers who are going to Paris and New York and showing their work there.”

He adds that there are “a lot of great creatives coming up in film and television.

I got to create moccasins for Steven Paul Judd, who is doing different things with pop art. And then he’s also directing and writing for TV shows, but also breaking off into these different genres. He does a little bit of fashion too.”

“I like to just see it all.” He partnered with Teton Trade Cloth, owned by the Delaware Tribe of Indians. Together they created cotton fabric printed with an array of his beaded moccasins on a spectrum of vivid backgrounds.

Leading up to the 2024 Heard Fair, Murie beaded a skateboard deck. In rich honey-orange and black, punctuated with kelly green, pale pink, mahogany, and blue geometric designs, he lane-stitched the deck and adorned it with ermine pelts, abalone discs, wool strips, and hawkbells.

This mode of transportation transformed

by Northern Plains adornment assumes an absurdist quality since it can never be used. Perhaps instead, the deck honors what skateboards symbolize? Youth challenging themselves, taking risks, falling down but getting back up again, gaining agility, and gaining independence.

While he could sell exclusively through commissions, Murie participates in several art markets. “I like to interact with people. I like to get out there and see what else is out there. I like to be where people are being creative with materials that we’ve been using all these years and see how they’re using it differently from the past generations and pushing that art form.” He continues, “That’s why I like to go to the Heard and the Santa Fe Indian Market. I like to be there among those creative minds.”

INSTAGRAM @JMURIE075 America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) is an art writer, editor, artist, and independent curator based in Norman, Oklahoma.

5. Jeffrey Gibson, “Jeffrey Gibson: Moccasins,” Brooklyn Museum, November 13, 2020, YouTube video, 0:39, web.

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SPOTLIGHT

JAATŁOH4YE'IITSOH [17–18] + [][][][] Soft sculpture installation activated through performance by Eric-Paul Riege (Diné)

J

AATŁOH4YE'IITSOH [17–18] + [][][][] by Eric-Paul Riege (Diné) is a standout piece in the Montclair Art Museum’s exhibition Interwoven Power: Native Knowledge / Native Art. As part of the museum’s long-term reinstallation of its Indigenous North American art collection, which debuted in September 2024, this largescale soft sculpture immediately captures the viewer’s attention.

In Diné Bizaad (Navajo language), jaatł'óół translates to “earring,” and ye'iitsoh means “big god” or “giant.” Riege’s monumental earring sculptures, such as jaatłoh4Ye'iitsoh [17–18] + [][][][], are central to his artistic practice. He describes these works as imaginative narratives—fantasies of earrings created for the ye'iitsoh, figures in Diné cosmology. For Riege, adornment is a celebration of being Diné and Indigenous. In Diné culture, adorning the body holds deep spiritual significance—it enables the Diyin Dine'é (Holy People) to watch over, recognize, and protect individuals. Jewelry, shawls, and other ceremonial objects

worn during dances serve as a way of communicating with family across time: those present, those who came before, and those yet to come. In these moments, Riege reflects, “We all dance together.”1 Riege suggests that if Diné people are recognized through adornment, spiritual beings might also wear jewelry. The title hints that this sculpture could be the 17th and 18th earrings made for the ye'iitsoh.

Suspended from the ceiling, the sculpture recalls the structure of dentalium earrings, where vertical white shells are bound by horizontal strips of brown leather. Riege reimagines this design with four rows of black sherpa fiber rods, each capped with white ends.

These rods are horizontally connected at the top and bottom by synthetic leather rods, also capped with white, forming the sculpture’s framework. At its center, eight shorter beads—resembling the synthetic leather rods—are arranged in two horizontal rows of four, creating a focal point. These central beads are linked horizontally by rows of bone hairpipe beads and vertically by smaller synthetic leather

beads. Metal rings and additional small beads connect the structure further. This intricate interplay of sizes, materials, and a stark black-and-white palette evokes a loom’s framework while lending the sculpture a sense of structural complexity.

An earlier version of jaatłoh4Ye'iitsoh [17–18] + [][][][] was conceptualized

by Riege during a site-specific response to Color Riot! How Color Changed Navajo Textiles, an exhibition organized by the Heard Museum and hosted at Montclair from 2021 to 2022. The show featured Diné textiles from 1860 to 1930 with contemporary works. In 2021 Riege performed a five-hour “weaving dance,” during which he created an earlier iteration of the piece. Dressed in black and wearing a hairpipe bead mask, he honored the deliberate, slow process of loom building, likening earrings to looms. For the newer version, Riege reconfigured the sculpture’s “warps” and “wefts” and incorporated deer hide into the original materials of synthetic leather and sheepskin. This adaptation emphasizes the contrast between man-made and natural materials, underscoring the liveliness and evolving nature of Riege’s work. These sculptures, he says, are totems of memory, crafted and preserved through his hands.

Riege’s connection to weaving is deeply personal. He credits his great-grandmother, an extraordinary Diné weaver who lived to be 104, as a guiding influence. “She was an amazing weaver, and I’m blessed to have been gifted some of her weavings. She is at the root of everything I do—in my life, in my art career, and even in the ways that I think and speak.”2 Riege sees his sculptures as living entities and “dance partners,” transforming them through performance. For him, performance is central to his practice. He fully understands his work only by physically engaging with it—wearing, holding, or

1. “A conversation with Eric-Paul Riege,” Montclair Art Museum, October 16, 2024, YouTube video, 42:33, web.

2. Paul Schmelzer, “I Am the Warp, You Are the Weft: An Interview with Eric-Paul Riege,” Bockley Gallery, March 23, 2023, web.

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SPOTLIGHT

moving with it. These weaving dances are collaborations between Riege and his creations, allowing the materials to express their own agency.

During both of his two-hour performances at Montclair for the opening of Interwoven Power, Riege embodied his connection to the sculpture through movement. Wearing black clothing, cowboy boots, kneepads, and a blackand-white mask made of sherpa and hairpipe beads—evoking the form of a ram or sheep—he interacted dynamically with the piece. Riege shook metal cone jingles, tapped fiber rings against the sculpture, pulled on its components, and added clusters of cone jingles to the earrings before departing the gallery. He describes these performances, which blend masks, costumes, and regalia, as a possible form of drag.

At 30 years old, Riege is part of a generation of Diné artists navigating the digital age, blending storytelling, emotional expression, and performance for both in-person and virtual audiences. His work carries forward the legacy of earlier Diné artists who combined storytelling and personal creativity into their work, connecting Diné expression to the wider world. Through performance, Riege extends the life of his work, ensuring it remains dynamic and alive.

While distinct from performance art, Diné art demonstrations—such as public weaving displays showcasing the intricate process of moving the weft through the warp—offer a meaningful historical parallel. In the greater New York City area, which includes Montclair, New Jersey, this history in an art museum context dates back at least 80 years. At the 1941 opening of Indian Art of the United States at the Museum of Modern Art, Diné artists Charley Turquoise and Dinay Chilli Bitsoey created temporary sandpaintings, Mary Peshlakai demonstrated weaving, and Tom Katenay showcased silverwork.3 These events connected Diné artistry with diverse audiences, highlighting its enduring relevance and adaptability. Over time, such creative acts

for the public have evolved, reflecting a growing sense of agency in how Diné art is created, shared, and interpreted. Riege’s practice builds on this history, experimenting with the genre of Diné fiber art while honoring the legacy of Diné weavers like his great-grandmother, who wove paths—both literal and metaphorical— that allow Diné to create today.

—Sháńdíín Brown (Diné)

3. “Indian Art of the United States: Installation Images,” MoMA, web.

above Installation view of Eric-Paul Riege (Diné), jaatłoh4Ye'iitsoh [17–18] + [][][][], 2024, synthetic leather, synthetic sheepskin, deer hide, beads, cordage, metal cone jingles, durational performance. Two hanging works: approx. 120 × 42 in. each, collection of the Montclair Art Museum, 2022.6. Both images courtesy of the Montclair Art Museum. opposite Eric-Paul Riege (Diné) in performance with jaatłoh4Ye'iitsoh [17–18] + [][][][], September 2024.

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EXHIBITIONS

ASTORIA, OREGON

Cedar and Sea and ntsayka ilíi ukuk – This is Our Place Columbia River Maritime Museum

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HE TWO EXHIBITIONS, Cedar and Sea and ntsayka ilíi ukuk – This is Our Place, at the Columbia River Maritime Museum, offer an immersive journey into the enduring maritime cultures of Pacific Northwest Indigenous communities. From the towering forests of old-growth cedar to the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, the exhibitions explore the interconnected relationship between land, sea, and people who have stewarded these territories for millennia. ntsayka ilíi ukuk – This is Our Place, created in collaboration with the Chinook Indian Nation, complements Cedar and Sea by centering contemporary Chinook voices through the evocative photography of British-born photojournalist Amiran White. The exhibition is a powerful testament to the Chinook people’s resilience and cultural continuity, sharing stories

that highlight both ancestral practices and ongoing struggles, including their fight for federal recognition.

As visitors enter the museum, they are greeted by two striking Chinook canoes—ul-iymits and skakwal—on loan from Chinook Chairman Tony Johnson (Chinook Indian Nation) and his wife, Mechele Johnson (Shoalwater Bay Tribe/ Chinook Indian Nation/Hawaiian). These canoes, painted black and red, stand as powerful symbols of the Chinook Indian Nation’s unbroken canoe culture. The adjoining hallway, marked by a vibrant red wall and wave-shaped wooden panels, displays portraits of Chinook Indian Nation people through the photography of Amiran White. The images show living Chinook people actively engaged in customary lifeways, underscoring the dynamic, living nature of Chinook culture.

Captions beneath each image provide rich context, from the significance of root foods and First Salmon Ceremonies to the Chinook’s expansive concept of family and enduring connection to their homelands.

The Chinook Indian Nation, composed of the Clatsop, Wahkiakum, Kathlamet, Willapa, and Lower Chinook bands, has fought for federal recognition

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for decades. Although briefly acknowledged as a sovereign nation in 2001, this recognition was rescinded by the George W. Bush administration in 2002, citing a lack of continuous tribal existence—a decision that has left the Chinook without legal standing and unratified treaties from the 1850s.

The ntsayka ilíi ukuk—This is Our Place exhibition underscores their enduring connection to their ancestral lands on the Pacific Northwest Coast, presenting a compelling case for their sovereignty through historical context and Amirian White’s contemporary photography, which highlights their continued stewardship and strength.

One poignant caption reads: We refuse to be labeled as unrecognized. Chinook people share the collective experiences of Native people around the country, including boarding schools, allotments, and treaty negotiations. Our sovereignty and identity remain unbroken.

EXPLORING CEDAR AND SEA THROUGH THE ENTRANCE to Cedar and Sea, visitors step into the sights and sounds of a recreated old-growth cedar forest. The exhibition opens with a powerful quote from artist Bill Reid (Haida, 1920–1998): “Oh, the cedar tree!

If humankind in its infancy had prayed for the perfect substance for all materials and aesthetic needs, an indulgent god could have provided nothing better.”

The journey continues through a sensory-rich environment, where the sounds of birds, rustling leaves, and distant ocean waves evoke the natural world that has sustained Indigenous communities of the coast for generations. Inside, circular galleries display intricate carvings, baskets, and fishing tools, paired with stories of the artisans who created them. These are not merely artifacts but testaments to living cultures where craftsmanship and spirituality are intertwined.

From artist Ed Carriere’s (Suquamish) Burden Basket (2021), of cedar root, cherry bark, and cedar bark, which

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echoes a 4,500-year weaving legacy, to the striking mask Kumugwe (2023) by Karver Everson (K'ómoks), each piece tells a story of ingenuity and respect for the natural world.

Everson’s mask portrays the powerful and wealthy Kumugwe, known as the Copper Maker. His home beneath the waves is a great house made from copper and filled with food and treasures. Some know him as the master and protector of the seals and say he has sea lions as house posts to guard the entrance. Everson’s clan has rights to the Kumugwe image.

Every fisherman needs a tackle box, and for that purpose, the Pacific Northwest Coast peoples had ga'lüünx (Tsimshian for “bentwood box”), created in various sizes for multiple uses. These range from palmsized containers to large boxes serving as drums, cooking vessels, food trays, and storage chests. Adorned with carvings, paint, and shell, they are treasured family heirlooms, often passed down generations or given as potlatch gifts.

Tsimshian carver David A. Boxley’s Bentwood Box (2022), crafted from cedar and painted, exemplifies this rich art form. Adorned with intricate carvings of eagles and whales, the recessed areas expose the natural light-brown hue of the wood, contrasting beautifully with the bold black and red tones used to depict the animals.

In the center of the circular display, a round fabricated design panel hanging from the ceiling interprets a Salish design called the “Salmon Circle of Life: From Stream to Ocean to Stream.” Beneath this, a large replica of a Nuu-chah-nulth Sealing Canoe with replicated seal carcasses and fishing tools is accompanied by an interactive touchscreen explaining each object.

From baskets and fishhooks, the exhibition goes into more personal adornment and tools that showcase the cultural richness of the materials from the coastline, notably dentalium.

Among these is a stunning 20th-century Dentalium Belt, featuring tanned hide intricately stitched with dentalium shells and glass beads from the Salish Sea– Skagit River area. Nearby, an unfinished Makah Whaler’s Hat by Melissa Peterson

(Makah), made from bark, reveals the delicate beauty of cedar materials. An early 20th-century lined basket, woven from twined nettle with a raffia-wrapped rim from the Queets area of the Olympic Peninsula, adds another layer of historical depth and is part of the JoAnne and William Grindstaff collection. Completing this display, Ed Carriere’s Woven Salmon Trap (2022), crafted from split western red cedar limbs and cedar bark, exemplifies the enduring ingenuity of Indigenous fishing techniques.

Throughout the exhibition visitors “meet” six Knowledge Givers through film portraits, gaining insights into Indigenous coastal lifeways like weaving, carving, and fishing. Each story highlights the intergenerational transmission of knowledge and the importance of sustainable practices—a legacy that continues to offer lessons for today’s world.

A CALL FOR RECOGNITION AND JUSTICE BOTH CEDAR AND SEA and ntsayka ilíi ukuk make a compelling case for justice, urging visitors to recognize the Chinook’s deep-rooted connection to the land and waters of the Pacific Northwest.

Together, these exhibitions celebrate not only the artistry and knowledge of coastal Indigenous peoples but also their ongoing contributions to environmental stewardship and fishing culture of the Northwest coastline. Both exhibitions demonstrate a deeper understanding of the interconnectedness of people, ecosystems, and cultural practices—and a call to honor and support Indigenous sovereignty and lifeways. —Mandy Yeahpau (Comanche/ Cherokee/Tarahumara descent)

above David A. Boxley (Tsimshian), Bentwood Box, 2022, cedar, paint. opposite ntsayka ilíi ukuk – This is Our Place, installation view. Both photos: Mandy Yeahpau.

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BARCELONA, SPAIN

Amazons: The Ancestral Future Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona

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MAZONS: THE ANCESTRAL FUTURE is a sprawling, textheavy exhibition that presents this massive region as it always has been: unfathomably complicated and impossible to define within Western categories of knowledge. The exhibition is one manifestation of decades-long research by hundreds of people, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous. Its installations attempt to explain cosmologies, taxonomies, and understandings of space and time to a European audience who unwittingly come to the exhibition with Enlightenment-era modes of thinking. Stated differently, visitors who exit with beliefs in certainty and clarity have profoundly misunderstood.1 Though not quite distinct in the galleries, Catalan curator Claudi Carreras organized four thematic areas, opening

with “The Message of the Roots.” Narratives of layered world origins conveyed in video, drawings, paintings on bark paper, photographic portraits, sculptures of spirits, printed booklets, reproductions of petroglyphs, and contemporary archaeological documentation show the region has been inhabited and cultivated for more than 13,000 years. Eight large-scale paintings on paper by Daiara Tukano (Tukano) visualize the Great Grandmother of the Universe in bold black lines and patterns.

The Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona (CCCB) commissioned several works for this exhibition, including bright mural paintings by Olinda Silvano (Shipibo-Konibo) and Cordelia Sánchez García (Shipibo-Konibo). The MAHKU collective2 created three paintings during a two-week visit to Barcelona. This artistic group recently became well-known because of their work at the Venice Biennale, which covered the Central Pavilion. All of these paintings derive from songs. Visitors can hear excerpts of these chants and interviews with the artists in a documentary

by Colombian filmmaker Andrés Car-

dona. The commissions were created in situ, exactly where they are exhibited, and as the center is not an art museum or a collecting institution, the artworks are owned by the artists.

A full-scale meeting house made from woven palm was another commissioned project. This maloka was built collaboratively by Uitoto 3 architects overseen by Emilio Fiagama (Uitoto).

Transported across the Atlantic, visitors can sit inside and learn from recordings of knowledge keepers speaking in dozens of different languages. Cardona interviewed more than 300 Amazonian people over five years. They speak on a wide range of issues: illegal mining, Western misconceptions, the centrality of women leaders, and how scientific and cultural knowledge is conveyed orally.

The critical importance of plants, especially those used in ceremony and for medicine, is displayed with various forms of the plants themselves as seeds, crushed powders, and liquids, alongside implements for their use such as pipes, oils, and bowls. Ayahuasca, mapacho, tobacco, coca, and mambe are also depicted in anthropomorphic forms by painters Gerardo

1. At this point the reader should know that I write from the unfortunate position of an academically trained art historian. The strategies of art criticism in this situation are inappropriate and useless, so I can only attempt to describe the diversity of powerful images and knowledge presented.

2. The Movimiento dos Artistas Huni Kuin (MAHKU) collective is comprised of Huni-Kuin artists Ibã Sales Huni Kuin, Kassia Borges, Acelino Sales Huni Kuin, and Yaka Sales Huni Kuin.

3. Uitoto is also spelled Witoto and Huitoto and includes the Murui people.

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Petsain (Wampís/Awajún) and Leslie Searle. Photographic series by Jorge Panchoaga, VERSUS PHOTO,4 and Márcio Vasconcelos offer glimpses into the processes and uses of these living materials, which are considered by many Indigenous people to be members of the family.

The second section, “A Tree Made of Water,” highlights self-representation, combating colonial homogenization and stereotypes. Five photomontages from Gê Viana’s series Paridade (Parity) (2020) juxtapose snippets from Euro-American portraits by George Catlin and other ethnographic-driven projects with portraits of named living individuals.

The curators selected five urban centers to remind viewers that cities are also part of the Amazons. Artists from Iquitos, Peru; Leticia, Colombia; and three cities in Brazil (Manaus, Belem do Para, and Rio Branco) reflect their world in video, photography, music, and literature. Artist Ashuco recreated a typical bar plastered with fluorescent band posters.

The inside is painted black with phosphorescent murals of animals, women dancing, and sexual euphemisms. Visitors can select songs from a cumbia and chicha playlist, which always initiates a lively dance party.

Highly detailed paintings on paper

by Abel Rodríguez (Nonuya), Confucio Makuritofe Hernández (Kïgïpe Muina), Marcela Yucuna (Yakuna), Diego Guerrero Román (Murui Uitoto), and Enrique Hérnandez Ramírez (Uitoto) portray a multitude of animal and plant species.

The work reflects deep knowledge of various ecosystems that has been dismissed or misunderstood by colonial cartographers and scientists trained in the Western academic system.

Elías Mamallacta (Kichwa) from Ecuador made a mural-sized painting on-site using handmade natural pigments from achiote, turmeric, coal, ayahuasca, and a plant resin called dragon’s blood. Applying paint with his hands, he depicted a scene from his home with palm huts and forest spirits.

Nereyda López (Tikuna/Kukama) and Santiago Yahuarcani (Uitoto) collaborated to create Déus i esperits de la nació Uitoto (Gods and Spirits of the Uitoto Nation) (2024). These sculptures,

above Maloka, built by Emilio Fiagama (Uitoto) and fellow Uitoto architects, 2024, with videos by Andrés Cardona. Both photos: Andrea L. Ferber. opposite MAHKU Collective (Huni Kuin), Cants huni-kuin inspirats en les pintures, 2024, murals based on 59 songs compiled by Ibã Sales Huni-Kuin and his community.

four standing figures and seven masks suspended from the ceiling, are made from organic materials: yanchama (bark paper), reeds, and other plants. Yahuarcani is primarily a painter, but for this ongoing work he extracts the fibers, and López assembles the works. A recorded interview in their shared studio divulges some of their process and content.

One of the figures in López and Yahuarcani’s sculptures represents Shiminbro, master of sounds. The figure has bright orange jaguar skin, spherical earrings, and a large necklace made from seeds. Santiago explains, “It’s a hallucination; it appears in dreams.” Another figure is adorned with shoes shaped like carachama fish, a woven belt imitating an anaconda, a hat that looks like a ray, and a crab bracelet. They are painted with Uitoto symbols.

“Voracious Bounties” is the third thematic area, where one learns of the most critical issues facing inhabitants of the Amazons today. Extractivist processes began in the 19th century with the harvesting of cinchona bark to produce quinine and continue today with trafficking in skins, animals, illegal mining,

and narcotics. Deforestation for hydroelectric dams and farming for livestock, soybeans, corn, and palm oil manifest what Uruguayan journalist Eduardo Galeano described as the “open veins of Latin America” in his 1971 book with said title.

The final section, “We Are a Fabric,” focuses on the local and global effects of climate change. Video, photography, and digital art give macro and micro perspectives of these global threats. Though the scale of the unfolding disaster is overwhelming, the last two works bring one’s awareness full circle to works in the first galleries, reminding us that the worlds of the spirits and the ancestors continue.

These are a wall-sized acrylic painting Curanduría y curaduría ilustrada (Ancestral Healing and Illustrated Curatorship) (2024) by Rember Yahuarcani (Uitoto) and an exquisite video To make you dream (2023) by Alice Lepetit and Yanda Montahuano (Sápara).

The black background in Yahuarcani’s painting extends onto the surrounding gallery walls, a darkness that suggests both celestial space and the deep sea: a supernatural world. Yahua-

4. VERSUS PHOTO is a Peruvian collective featuring Gihan Tubbeh, Musuk Nolte, and Renzo Giraldo.

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LOS ANGELES

Future Imaginaries: Indigenous Art, Fashion, Technology Autry Museum of the American West

T above Installation view of Déus i esperits de la nació Uitoto (Gods and Spirits of the Uitoto Nation), 2024, by Nereyda López (Tikuna/Kukama) and Santiago Yahuarcani (Uitoto). Photo: A. Ferber.

rcani explains that this is the space in which Buinaima created the world. Like the other commissions, this was painted at the CCCB, signed just three days before the opening.

Spirits are represented as hybrid creatures. A gigantic serpent slithers across the canvas and through a large tree.

Praying mantises with human breasts and legs, centipedes with fins, human bodies with fish, or birds’ heads rest, swim, run, and float. Many appear to glow like deep sea creatures. A pink dolphin with a human body and plants growing from its mouth dissolves into the darkness. Many spirits are decapitated, their heads falling into the abyss. Thin lines of wispy smoke dance from their mouths and signal they are in ceremony.

A jaguar with rays of light shining like a halo around his head offers some of the only explanatory text; he is shown writing, “La pintura indígena es un acto de fe, un acto de fe en la voz de nuestros ancestros” (“Indigenous painting is an act of faith, an act of faith in the voice of our ancestors.”) The spirits also communicate “En este territorio de mitos e historias nace

y se mueve el arte indígena contemporáneo, un arte que llega en tiempos de extrema polarización y crisis planetaria.” (“In this territory of myths and stories, contemporary Indigenous art is born and moves, an art that arrives in times of extreme polarization and planetary crisis.”)

In the catalogue, Rember Yahuarcani shares: “This is what myths mean for the Huitoto people and the different Indigenous nations; they are an encounter with our ancestors and life, a return to our origins in order to build the future.

They are like those rivers along which the memory of our grandparents sails, where we fish for the wise words of resistance in the face of forgetting, discrimination, and exclusion.”5 While not all works in the exhibition are reproduced in the catalogue, the publication features many beautiful images, nine potent essays, and a poem. It is available in Catalan/English and Spanish/English translations.

Amazons: The Ancestral Future runs at the CCCB until May 4, 2025.

—Andrea L. Ferber, PhD

5. Rember Yahuarcani, “The Memory of the Future,” Amazonias: El Futuro Ancestral (Barcelona: Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona, 2024), 184.

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HE AUTRY MUSEUM OF THE AMERICAN WEST is nestled on the ancestral and unceded lands of the Kizh Gabrieleños and their tribal neighbors, right in the heart of Griffith Park, one of the country’s largest urban wilderness areas within a municipal park. I anticipated Future Imaginaries: Indigenous Art, Fashion, Technology to be a stark contrast to these natural surroundings, but as I explored the exhibition, I realized it wasn’t a stark contrast at all. It was more like a collective cue.

Indigenous Futurisms, the allied term to Future Imaginaries, originated in the late 20th century as a literary and visual arts movement that incorporates science fiction and pop culture to convey Native perspectives about the past, present, and future that often challenge colonial accounts. Reverence for nature is also addressed in this movement, as it is in this exhibition.

Most of the artwork is on display in the Samuel and Minna Grodin Gallery, while key pieces are in the ongoing Art of the West exhibition in the Irene Helen Jones Parks Gallery of Art. The curators of Future Imaginaries are Suzanne Newman Fricke, who curated Indigenous Futurisms: Transcending Past/Present/ Future in 2020; Amy Scott, the Autry’s Marilyn B. and Calvin B. Gross Curator of Visual Arts; art historian and Indigenous fashion designer Amber-Dawn Bear Robe (Siksika); and jeweler and sculptor Kristen Dorsey (Chickasaw).

Art in the form of fashion fills the first space of the main gallery. Mannequins are lined up in a semicircle garbed in designs that combine customary with couture, handmade and machine-made.

I was glad to see attention brought to the destructive plastics that permeate our planet, such as the laminate flooring materials Caroline Monnet (Kitigan Zibi Algonquin) shaped into a tunic and cape

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in Aïcha’s Regalia (2022). The ensemble is also modeled in Monnet’s large-scale print, Echoes from a Near Future (2022), a portrait of Native women and children wearing her other clever designs made of polymer “fabrics.” The almost life-sized portrait also serves as a poignant, off-center backdrop to the mannequins on the curved runway.

Opposite the runway, the artwork behind glass quickly drew my attention: distinctive and innovative neckwear, headwear, and footwear, including the hand-beaded Christian Louboutin boots Jamie Okuma (Luiseño/Shoshone-Bannock/Wailaki) created in 2011: Beaded High Heel Boots. To see them in person was akin to a “Wizard of Oz” nerd seeing Dorothy’s ruby slippers; the evident beading skills could make anyone’s jaw drop. How these boots sparkle in person!

Photos do not do them justice. Also captivating was We Honor Bison (2022), with a headband made of bison horn, unsmoked caribou hide, antique beads, and many other precious objects as well as its detail to inlay work, lovely sterling touches, and the miniature medallion, a beaded portrait of a buffalo, dangling on chains between the horns. Catherine Blackburn (English River Dene) and Rykelle Kemp (Mvskoke/ Euchee/Choctaw/Diné) collaborated on this fierce yet feminine headdress; I’d wear it in a heartbeat. Presence Stratified (2024) by Mona Cliff (Aaniiih/Nakota) slyly encompassed the exhibition title: a gas mask covered in seed beads, beeswax, pine rosin, braintanned leather, dried resin plants, and copper wire.

Several works included sound, like the soft buzzing of bees above Regalia Naamoi'stotoohsin (Bumblebee Regalia), created in 2021 by Siksika artists Adrian Stimson and Lucille Wright Payotapaihpiyakii (Dancing the opposite direction woman). Next to it was the collaborative work of Kite (Oglala Lakota) and Devin Ronnenberg (Native Hawaiian/Okinawan), Ínyan Iyé (Telling Rock) (2019), which looked more like a dystopian jellyfish with tentacles hanging down from the ceiling, its futuristic bleeps transmuting as visitors walked by or touched the braided cords. And steps away was Glitch in Perpetual Time (2024), a sensory artwork installation by X (Koasati/ CHamoru), with music encouraging

viewers to step into the cave-like space and surround themselves with the audio and visuals. The sound from Telling Rock was loud enough to be distracting when engaging with the other two works, but the concepts still came across.

In a separate space within the gallery, the machinima Words Before All Else (2022) by Skawennati (Kahnawá:ke Mohawk) played on a loop as the artist’s animated avatar recited the Ohén:ton Karihwatéhkwen (Thanksgiving Address) in Mohawk, French, and English. Machinima is the art of making animated narrative films from computer graphics, typically with video game technology.

Although it didn’t move me, I think my teenaged stepchild would have enjoyed it.

What caught my eye right away as I exited the machinima theater was a piece

by Chase Kahwinhut Earles (Caddo), Xi-nee'si II: Spiritual Leader Effigy (2022), a hand-coiled, Red River clay vessel whose likeness to Yoda is unmistakable. His earthen eyes! How could they be so knowing? I swear the little guy was looking right back at me. I hung out with him for several minutes in case he had a message for me.

Characters from Star Wars are popular in Future Imaginaries and show up in a variety of moods. In the digital print Welcome (2014), Jeffrey Veregge (Port Gamble S'Klallam, 1970–2024) has presented an elegant yet foreboding interpretation in Northwest Coast formline. (Veregge sadly passed on last

April; the exhibition catalogue devotes a page in memoriam.) Ryan Singer (Diné) expresses his sense of humor in Sand People Sand Painting (2019) and They Have Both Coffees (2023), two funny works on canvas that had me peering closely at the backgrounds. I couldn’t help but notice the style of his signature, distinct on each canvas. Fans I know would go gaga over the helmets K'ómoks/Kwakwaka'wakw artist Andy Everson fabricates in his Northwest Coast style, especially the battle-worn ones, and would be rendered speechless to see the photograph of Everson himself in complete stormtrooper armor captured by Will Wilson (Diné) in his K'ómoks Imperial Stormtrooper (2017) from the Critical Indigenous Photographic Exchange: dzidzǝlalič series.

I made my way to the other gallery where I found Grounded, a partner to Ground (Witness) in the main exhibition. In these two works, Rose B. Simpson (Santa Clara Pueblo) has crafted extraordinarily tall and powerful clay figures clad in ragged black leather and metal. If I were alive in a post-apocalyptic world, I would be tagging along with these gigantic warriors, veritable Native Mad Maxes.

I found them mesmerizing and intense.

Also installed in this part of the Autry is a life-sized moonscape diorama with a mannequin modeling the real-life regalia from the performance art Stirs up the Dust by Wendy Red Star (Apsáalooke), from her 2011 series, Thunder Up Above.

above Caroline Monnet (Kitigan Zibi Algonquin), Echoes from a Near Future, 2022, inkjet print on Lasal photo matte paper mounted on Alupanel, 80 × 120 in., ed. of 3.

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above Virgil Ortiz (Cochiti), Jai Nopek, Recon Watchman, 2022, high-fire clay, glaze, 41 × 31 × 17 in. Image courtesy of the Autry Museum of the American West.

Just as I thought I’d reached the end, I stepped into the world of Virgil Ortiz's (Cochiti Pueblo) Sirens and Sikas, from his 2023 ReVOlt 1680/2180 series. The multimedia installation was like entering a 3D video game: entrancing film footage, sometimes mirrored, Ortiz’s sculptures in the flesh, and a story to make me forget I was sitting in a museum. I watched it a few times. It was hauntingly beautiful.

As I walked out to my car, I could not help but think that these artists—with their wily yet subtle sense of humor and spiritual connections to past, present, and future—have a lot to teach those of us who don’t even grasp that Griffith Park is a gift from Mother Earth, and we better appreciate it before it’s too late. Future Imaginaries was no contrast at all. More like a wake-up call.

Future Imaginaries: Art, Fashion, Technology will be at the Autry Museum through June 21, 2026.

—Rosa Cays (Chicana)

POJOAQUE, NEW MEXICO

Rhiannon Sky Tafoya: My Hands Are Tied Poeh Cultural Center and Museum

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N VIEW through February 21, 2025, Rhiannon Skye Tafoya: My Hands Are Tied offers a visualization of the artist’s intertwining of her cultural heritage in colorful works on paper through an interdisciplinary practice of printmaking and weaving. Rhiannon Skye Tafoya (Eastern Band Cherokee/Santa Clara Pueblo), born in North Carolina, lived in New Mexico during her teenage years, and creates artworks as containers. These hold new connections generated by her process of bringing together memories from diverse cultural landscapes. From prints to paper weavings to combinations of the two, Tafoya produces a rhythm between tandem sets of patterns. Sideby-side designs visually alternate between

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receding and protruding. This technique engages a visual reciprocity between the representations of shared designs rooted in the artist’s two cultures. The resulting artworks synthesize Tafoya’s bicultural patterning into unique artworks, and, as the exhibition title indicates, attest to her hands being tied to two cultural homes.

Tafoya’s mother is Eastern Band Cherokee, and her father is from Santa Clara Pueblo. While Santa Clara is most well-known for its pottery, both tribes honor basketry as a cultural art form, and Tafoya creates a dialogue with both basket weaving and clay. A seasoned printmaker, Tafoya earned her MFA in print media from the Pacific Northwest College of Art and her BFA in printmaking at the Institute of American Indian Arts.

Two serigraphs, Look how high the water is! (2024) and Up weather (2024), showcase images of ollas with woven designs. The first, in blue and turquoise, offers a repetition of diagonal, linear forms. The shapes blend a Santa Clara Pueblo water jar with Cherokee basket designs. The second print, in red, features bands of crosses—a pattern in common between both Cherokee rivercane baskets and Santa Clara Pueblo pottery.

Tafoya carries this focus on the cross motif in an adjacent body of work that suggests both Pueblo embroidery and Cherokee basketry. rhythmic (2024), a series of six serigraphs, demonstrates the artist’s exploration of multiple prints of a set of cross motifs overlaid on horizontal lines in several variations of color palettes. She plays with positive and negative space—a method also used in Santa Clara Pueblo red willow basketry. Each composition features a pair of vertical, zigzag forms filled with crosses and lines as mirror image reflections. These shapes stay visually connected through a set of horizontal lines that define two stacked diamonds at the center of these works.

In this group of serigraphs, Tafoya’s use of gradated blues and reds to stark blackand-white monochromes reveals the power of light and its ability to change our perception of visual forms. Her compositions create a visual scaffolding to connect the arts of cloth embroidery and basket weaving. The flow of the crosses becomes a road for Tafoya—as footsteps to follow across a bridge in visual language formed between her two cultures.

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On an opposite wall, a woven paper form with a hexagonal shape simpler than those of the rhythmic prints holds presence as one of the larger artworks in the exhibition. Bloodroot patch (2024), with screen-printed paper in pink-orange foregrounded on a black paper background, amplifies a sense of cloth embroidery.

With a single bend at the midpoint of the two V-shaped forms, the visual composition suggests an elasticity, and its title denotes a medicinal plant used for dye in Cherokee baskets. Square and spiral designs anchor this artwork while notched motifs suggest both multicolor plant fibers and plaiting techniques. The diagonal, wavy lines provide a shared visual language found in both Pueblo embroidery and Cherokee baskets.

In Windy (2024), a smaller work made of screen-printed paper woven with letterpress-printed, handmade paper, Tafoya unifies all of her techniques shown in the exhibition. The gradation from blue to red in a trifold form along the zigzag edges gives the effect of the paper floating. The depth in each fold comes from an optical illusion. The patterned motifs, reminiscent of plaiting, are filled with geometric shapes from the letterpress print. The overall form becomes a layered vessel in a mat-like form that holds Tafoya’s cultural designs.

Rejuvenate (2024), a series of three serigraphs, presents the effect of patterns receding and protruding at once. A composition focused on summer honors the growing season. Two works focused on winter celebrate the time of year for both basket weaving and storytelling and also suggest geometric patterns from woven Pueblo sash belts. In the lowest band of both Winter compositions, Tafoya designated one motif as more foregrounded than the others, suggesting a curvature, and, by extension, a Cherokee basket form.

Rejuvenate (Summer), with a gradation from pink to orange to yellow, conveys the colors of sunrise and sunset.

The black patterns and warm colors carry equal visual weight. Checkerboards and stepped patterns among diagonal lines and squares fuse to form a dynamic array of shapes. These reflect hints of cultural landscapes in the motifs found in both Pueblo pottery and Cherokee basketry.

Rejuvenate (Winter 3) portrays a

above Rhiannon Skye Tafoya (Eastern Band Cherokee/Santa Clara Pueblo), Bloodroot patch, 2022, black paper woven with serigraphy on paper, 23¼ × 21½ in.

cool color palette in blue with a shimmering grey background. With an emphasis on stepped patterns, this composition conveys a sense of moisture from ice and snow, with the geometric forms suggesting snowflakes. The white units in the plaited-like designs blur the boundary between the motifs and the background, triggering an oscillation between both layers of the composition. The foreground and background alternate in these positions in Tafoya’s optical illusion of a frozen landscape. Rejuvenate (Winter 1) features a composition of blue and dark green, suggesting an upward view of pines along the sky. As evergreens, the pines hold their color and form year round, being a versatile tree during all seasons.

Associated with Pueblo designs, the terraced patterns suggest the symbiotic relationships of water and plant life.

Tafoya’s works in this exhibition impart a sense of growth. They combine

the qualities of both containers and gardens. In her combinations of weaving and printmaking, each band of patterns seems to hold form for each other. Tafoya’s sense of composition associates her art practice with those of Shan Goshorn (Eastern Band Cherokee, 1957–2018) and Sarah Sense (Chitimacha/Choctaw)—two artists known for their weaving of printed paper into cultural landscapes associated with cultural basketry patterns.

In locating shared motifs between Eastern Band of Cherokee and Santa Clara Pueblo cultures, Tafoya creates a pathway through multiple cultural landscapes that shape her identity, recording her memories of her journey in her artworks. In her words, she seeks to “create relationships in the world” through her art.1 In this exhibition, her pathways join those at the Poeh, or “pathway,” Cultural Center and Museum on Tewa land.

—Michelle J. Lanteri, PhD

1. Skye Tafoya, “‘Relatives, 2022,’ by Skye Tafoya,” SHGTV, June 22, 2022, YouTube video, 8:46, web.

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MUSIC ᎾᏍᎩᏃ ᎢᎾᎨ ᏂᏓᏳᎴᏅᎢ Nasgino Inage Nidayulenvi (It Started in the Woods) Agalisiga Horton Records, 2024

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GALISIGA MACKEY “THE CHUJ”(Cherokee Nation) is a 21-year-old singer/songwriter from Kenwood, Oklahoma.

Tulsa-based Horton Records released his debut album Nasgino Inage Nidayulenvi (It Started in the Woods) in October 2024. Wrapped in Oklahoma lore, the album includes a list of great musicians, both local and national, and a formidable list of translators.

Respected Americana singer-songwriter

Jared Tyler produced the album, which was recorded at Ripley Farm Studio. It’s wonderful to see this kind of support for a young musician, and Agalisiga certainly earned it.

The initial sounds on this album provide a grounding of deep sincerity and authenticity. First and foremost, it’s wonderful to hear old-school country and western again, without any frills or artifice. His music is stripped down to the basics and we are rewarded as listeners immediately. This harkens back to an

era that has often been neglected in the commercial realm, and much respect is due for Agalisiga’s commitment in this regard. All that said, every song is sung in Cherokee, which adds a level of depth unlike anything I’ve heard before in this genre. It is an inspiring way for listeners to learn the language. The phrasing and rhythm of the Cherokee language are perfectly suited to country music, and, though the meaning of each phrase is wonderful, I encourage

listeners to also take it in first without concern for knowing the significance of each word and immerse yourself in the music of the language.

From the album’s liner notes: “What I want is for other Indigenous folks to see what I do and be inspired to do the same, make art in their own way, as long as they’re putting their culture out.” As much as this is clearly the case, he’s also very much interested in respect for the history of the music he is playing, inspired by the likes of Jimmie Rodgers (widely considered the originator of country and western music) and R.L. Burnside, an obscure blues musician who didn’t gain recognition until well into his 60s.

The first song of the album, “ᏥᏧᏣ ᏥᎨᏒ (Tsitsutsa Tsigesv / When I Was A Boy),” expresses a profound simplicity, dedication to community and elders, and appreciation for nature. Its guitar and vocal melody is very memorable, especially the yodeling. As I type it is skipping around my mind, a perfect marriage of music and lyrics. The liner notes state that his voice is honed from singing Cherokee ceremonial songs growing up, which is especially evident in his yodeling.

Following the opening song is a cover of perhaps the most classic of country and western songs, “ᎠᎩᏐᏓᏁ ᏱᎦᏠᏱᎦ (Akisodane Yigatloyiga / I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry).” First of all, it’s a beautiful rendition that would’ve certainly sounded right at home to Hank Williams who wrote and originally sang it, but hearing it sung in the Cherokee language is a particular wonder. Another song Agalisiga covers is Bob Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released,” which he also sang at the opening of Tulsa’s Bob Dylan Center in May 2022 . Though he wasn’t at the opening, I hope Dylan has had an opportunity to hear this rendition, which is unlike any of the thousands of covers that have come before. The Los Angeles Times noted that Dylan chose Tulsa to host the center in large part because of the Indigenous presence in the region as well as the Woody Guthrie Center and Cain’s Ballroom, a historic music venue.1

1. R.J. Smith, “In Tulsa, the new Bob Dylan museum reconsiders the legacies of an icon and a city,” Los Angeles Times, May 11, 2022, web.

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BOOKS To Take Shape and Meaning: Form and Design in Contemporary American Indian Art

By Nancy Strickland Fields, with Rose B. Simpson and Stephen Fadden North Carolina Museum of Art, 2024

P His lyrics repeat and spiral, like the fiddlehead of a fern, eventually unfurling toward their goal that often ends where it begins—almost.

Agalisiga’s lyrics read like poetry and are satisfying to say aloud, even without the music. His approach has a simple beauty, an elegance, and a minimalism.

The words repeat and spiral, like the fiddlehead of a fern, eventually unfurling toward their goal that often ends where it begins—almost. Topics include love and loss, bears, caring for elders, respect for cultural lifeways, and revitalizing the Cherokee language, and, though at first glance they seem obvious, much more meaning, below the surface, reveals itself over multiple experiences.

NPR’s Weekend Edition featured Agalisiga in June 2024, and Bandcamp listed his album in “The Best Country Music of 2024.” I look forward to seeing and hearing the directions Agalisiga goes in the future!

—Thollem above Agalisiga Mackey. Both images courtesy of Horton Records. opposite Nasgino Inage Nidayulenvi (It Started in the Woods) (2024), cover art by Keli Gonzales (Cherokee Nation).

USHING BEYOND the formal aesthetics of a piece, To Take Shape and Meaning: Form and Design in Contemporary American Indian Art entices viewers to dive into the implicit knowledges, spirits, and connections integral to the creation and understanding of Indigenous art.

Curated chiefly by Nancy Strickland Fields (Lumbee), with Rose B. Simpson (Santa Clara Pueblo) and Stephen Fadden (Mohawk), the North Carolina Museum of Art’s exhibition, which centers three-dimensional artworks created by 20th and 21st century artists, ran from March 2 to July 28, 2024. For those unable to visit, the catalogue immortalizes the exhibition, immersing the reader in the show’s manifold and multidimensional pieces.

Returning animacy and agency to ancestral Southeastern pottery, Strickland Fields, director/curator of the Museum of the Southeast Indian at the University of North Carolina—Pembroke, opens the catalogue with a touching narrative about a grandmother and granddaughter’s ceremonial creation process for a family burial pot. Through Strickland Fields’s use of storytelling, she foregrounds the focus of the show by highlighting the integral role of the land, survivance, and cultural knowledge that went into the pot’s creation. She underscores the fact that each artwork in the exhibition, like the ancestral Southeastern pot, “relates knowledge [and] information, a message—this art was created with intent and meaning. Each object has a spirit, a life.” Importantly, while Strickland Fields discusses the encoded wisdom embedded in each piece, she acknowledges that some information is not for the public, and that is okay.

Acclaimed mixed-media artist, Rose B. Simpson, opens the second introductory text by centering the importance of intergenerational knowledge and art’s role in maintaining ancestral and future kinship ties. Broken into four parts, Simpson’s contributions relay the many lessons that art has taught her and can subsequently teach us. She urges the audience to listen to their body and follow their feelings, explaining that artistic aesthetics, in part, come from a “hypersensory awareness.” She encourages a community of inclusivity, kindness, and love. Simpson, like the other contributors, motivates the audience to look beyond the aesthetics. Only by actively looking and learning—at the pieces in the show and otherwise—can we as a society start to understand one another and work toward a truly inclusive world.

“Creating a Future of Hope,” by Stephen Fadden, concludes the opening texts. Beautifully and respectfully pushing back against Eurocentric conceptions of art, Fadden, a Mohawk storyteller, poet, artist, and director of programming at

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… To Take Shape and Meaning is an “exhibition of hope in the present, as we consider the possibility that with shared cultural understandings, encoded in the stories we remember and tell, we can co-create a shared future.” the Poeh Cultural Center, highlights the spiritual and transformative properties of Indigenous artistic production. Like Simpson and Strickland Fields, Fadden urges viewers to take the initiative of deeply learning about each piece, allowing them to become an active participant.

Lastly, Fadden discusses the long-term effects of this exhibition, stating that To Take Shape and Meaning is an “exhibition of hope in the present, as we consider the possibility that with shared cultural understandings, encoded in the stories we remember and tell, we can co-create a shared future.”

After the contributions from the curators, the catalogue is divided into five interconnected sections: “Place of Being,” “Rootedness,” “Genealogy,” “Encoded Commentary,” and “Revival and Evolution.”

Underscoring the sacredness of place for each artist, “Place of Being” demonstrates the knowledge communicated through each artwork’s materiality.

Through the array of media and pieces, including Woodland People Bowl by Senora Lynch (Haliwa-Saponi), Warriors of Snaketown by Marcus Amerman (Choctaw Nation), and Star Quilt by Millie Bridwell (Cheyenne River Lakota, 1925–2016), the exhibition demonstrates the multidimensionality of being and space. It transcends beyond the explicit physicality of the land. Philosophical, spiritual, and cultural aspects are expressed by each artist’s medium that harken to individual and collective conceptions of “Place of Being.”

“Rootedness” builds off “Place of Being’s” focus on the land but emphasizes each piece’s role in preserving deep, ancestral, and intergenerational knowledge anchored in a community’s understanding of the landscape and kin. In the face of ongoing settler colonial constraints, the pieces included in “Rootedness,” such as Quilted Cedar by Jeremy Frey (Passam-

above Virgil Ortiz (Cochiti), Convergence, Defenders Descend from Portal to Pueblo, 2023, Cochiti red clay, white clay slip, red clay slip, and wild spinach plant paint, 28½ × 19 × 18 in., collection of the North Carolina Museum of Art.

aquoddy), The Last Lakota Horse Raid

by Rhonda Holy Bear (Cheyenne River Lakota), and Indian Head Jar by Georgia Harris (Catawba) affirm art as a visual language that surpasses time and place.

Whether kinship among ancestors, descendants, mentors, mentees, students, mothers, or teachers, “Genealogy” cements the importance of relationships and community. The pieces in this section, like tribute to my ancestors by Richard Zane Smith (Wyandot Nation, designated artisan), Seed Basket

by Gloria Tara Lowery (Lumbee), and When the Highlands Met the Mounds by Martha Berry (Cherokee Nation), highlight the bonds that advise the creative process, techniques, media, and message engrained in each piece.

While the whole catalogue encourages audience engagement, “Encoded Commentary” specifically acknowledges that when the artist and

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audience meet, combining their own perspectives, opinions, and prior knowledge, true conversations and change can happen. Badass Buckle by Jodi Webster (Ho-Chunk /Prairie Band Potawatomi), Convergence: Defenders Descend from Portal to Pueblo by Virgil Ortiz (Cochiti), and Buffalo Robe by Dallin Maybee (Northern Arapaho/Seneca) among others demonstrate the inherent intellectual complexity that allows for this type of exchange between audience and artists, Native and non-Native, that is present throughout the entire exhibition.

The catalogue would not be complete without a discussion about the struggles that Indigenous artists, historic and living, have faced, continue to face, and overcome to ensure the survival of their communities and art. The pieces in “Revival and Evolution,” including Horse Tripod by Chase Earles (Caddo), Tah’s Medicine by Keri Ataumbi (Kiowa), and Rainbow Wedge by Venancio Aragon (Navajo), underscore the ingenuity of Indigenous artists and the power of art to supersede the imposed forces that have historically aimed to suppress their culture and artistic practice.

Aside from the curators’ statements, brief introductions preceding each section, artist biographies, and captions, the catalogue is visibly void of written text, physically echoing the call to actively learn about the embedded shape, meaning, and knowledge of the art itself. In high resolution, photographs of each piece are blown up, filling the entire page. Aside from the “tombstone information” of the captions, the works stand on their own. This serves to accentuate the beauty of each, but it also forces the audience to do their own work. There are no short descriptions. If the audience wants to learn more, they need to be the ones to do so.

To Take Shape and Meaning: Form and Design in American Indian Art brings together the vast individual and collective experiences of Indigenous artists.

Whether basketry, glasswork, weaving, quilting, beadwork, mixed-media, or pottery, the 91 pieces immortalized in the catalogue ensure that the exhibition, its artists, and its message, are, as Fadden writes, “ephemeral-eternal.”

— Abby Mikalauskas

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The Royal Inca Tunic: A Biography of an Andean Masterpiece

By Andrew James Hamilton, PhD Princeton University Press, 2024

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ome historical objects tell stories or invoke a whole cycle of stories merely by their display. Other items come from beyond the ready-access memory of the modern day.

Their world is off the mainstream’s timeline of events, and to understand the world referenced by these objects and their artists requires a deep dive of investigation.

Enter The Royal Inca Tunic by Andrew James Hamilton, art historian, Art Institute of Chicago associate curator, and University of Chicago lecturer. This three-hundred-page forensic, historical, technical, and cultural analysis explores a single robe housed now in the Dumbarton Oaks Museum in Washington, DC. Known as the All T'oqapu Tunic, this uncu is a royal male tunic, much like a long, elegantly decorated poncho, of cotton and camelid wool. Probably worn by an Inca emperor, the tunic dates from 1450 to 1540 CE. In a lack of provenience, the tunic’s original ownership is not known, nor are all the steps in its journey to the American capitol.

Hamilton’s anthropomorphic “biography” of the tunic is an exploration of the tunic’s world. He argues that the study of this work’s construction and the recreation of its use and meaning—as much as possible—creates a new window into the world of the pre-Colombian Andes. He writes, “The pinnacle of Inca art cannot be studied without this object, and it arguably can only be studied through it.”

Studious indeed—the six chapters examine different facets of the tunic and its world in the past and its recreated use in the present day. Hamilton examines writings and illustrations by Andean authors of the first post–Spanish Conquest generation who reference the royal dress code and the reverence that Inca royals commanded in Andean society. Having established the importance of such tunics and their wearers, Hamilton celebrates the technical skills of the weavers who created the regalia.

Having explored what is possible of the pre-Hispanic weavers, he examines the survival and adaptation of Andean weaving and the tocapu style of geometric beauty1 through the Spanish Era. In so doing, Hamilton interprets a story of royal wearers and surviving creators who would have otherwise been invisible through the simple presence of the yet-unfinished royal tunic.

Rather than 300 pages about one tunic, the text surveys society, art, and living Native legacies through the lens of the tunic.

The book’s length also comes from its copious illustrations, photos, artifact displays, and recreations. In order to fully understand the culture, technology, and symbology that created the royal regalia that graces the cover, Hamilton essentially created a gallery exhibit with color illustrations on average every five pages throughout the text.

Discussion of the royal robe itself is as detailed as the written record and material studies allow. Hamilton rarely engages in theory or speculation across the text. He concludes: “There is no substitute for examining an object firsthand, and when doing so, even the tiniest details can bear tremendous implications.

Moreover, academia often prioritizes scholarship that advances theories about the nature of art. To be sure, these have their utility—but only if they are actually grounded in substantial physical studies of the objects they expound on.”

Hamilton’s analysis, visual documentation, and extensive context provide a substantive case study. Independent of the Andean focus, it is a testament to the potential lode of stories that can be found through material history. This is all the more encouraging for art historians of Indian Country, where Indigenous written accounts are often lamentably sparse.

Hamilton succeeds in the two most important elements of any art historical case study. His story is well told, and the significance of the tale is made clear and convincing throughout.

As mentioned above, his generous deployment of photographs and illustrations brings both depth and context to the explanation of what would otherwise be a single label in a coffee table book. Like the full gallery exhibit it is, The Royal Inca Tunic can be perused quickly and enjoyed through the beautiful images or scoured in detail for the peculiar and fascinating stories. Readers should be warned, however, that a full digestion of the text will keep them percolating and mulling over historical pieces much longer and deeper than previously expected. —James G. Bland

1. Tocapu or t’oqapu are square abstract geometric motifs in Andean art that may have referenced specific leaders, locations, or ranks within Inca society. —Ed.

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Six Nations Mohawk/Tuscarora Author & Poet

JANUARY ROGERS

By Matthew Ryan Smith, PhD

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ORN IN VANCOUVER, January Rogers lived in Victoria for nearly 20 years before moving to the Six Nations of the Grand River territory in Southwestern Ontario. She is recognized for her multidisciplinary artistic practice that incorporates elements of poetry, spoken word, performance, and music. When Ekstasis Editions published her debut poetry collection, Splitting the Heart, in 2007, it established Rogers as one of Canada’s most formidable poets. Other acclaimed collections followed, namely Red Erotic (2010), Peace in Duress (2014), and Totem Poles and Railroads (2016).

In 2020 Rogers founded Ojistoh Publishing, a small Indigenous-determined press supporting emerging Six Nations writers and poets. That same year, her video poem Ego of a Nation won Best Music Video at the American Indian

International Film Festival. In 2021 her audio project The Battle Within won Best Experimental Audio at the ImagineNATIVE Film + Media Arts Festival. Rogers has been a writer-in-residence at higher education institutions across Canada including Western University, Northern British Columbia University, University of Alberta, and McMaster University.

In recent years, she formed the poetry collective Ikkwenyes (Dare to Do) with Mohawk poet Alex Jacobs and received a Collaborative Exchange Award from the Canada Council for the Arts and the Loft Literary Fellowship Prize.

Rogers also founded the production company 2Ro Media Collective with media artist Jackson 2bears (Mohawk) and produced the short documentary NDNs on the Airwaves about CKRZ 100.3 FM Six Nations radio.

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MRS: How has poetry stayed relevant and impactful for you through the decades?

JR: Perhaps because I didn’t come through any particular school of poetry or had formal institutional training as a poet, I intuitively expanded my poetry into other areas of expression, without questioning myself or my practice—if this is “allowed.”

Incorporating and blending poetry with performance art, audio recordings, video poetry, etc. made me feel very excited.

The more places I discovered where poetry could live in harmony with other mediums, the more I wanted to make that kind of art. Sometimes bringing my poetry into areas that were not my own area of practice meant I got to invite other artists to collaborate with me. Basically finding playmates to make art with in itself helped to validate what I was doing with poetry, but also it was really fun.

Why poetry? For me, it’s just something that was meant to be. Poetry chose me because, in my early days as an artist, I really thought I would follow the path of becoming a visual artist. I had a small budding career as a visual artist in Toronto, Ontario. But I struggled with that work and with the trajectory of that career. But writing took no time at all, I discovered. It seemed to go further in a shorter amount of time than the visual work did. Back in the day, I would craft small chapbooks and staple them together. People would actually give me five dollars for my books and that was very encouraging to me. Now I have seven published poetry books and one published play out there in the world.

MRS: How has your poetry changed and evolved? What do you take with you from the past, and what have you discarded?

JR: With most literary practices, the art of writing is very telling for the author.

Poetry especially. But I wouldn’t say,

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even in my early days, I indulged myself in “navel-gazey” writing. I didn’t wax on about me, me, and more about me. I always felt it was part of the artist’s and writer’s responsibility to report on the world around them. I walk in this world as a visibly Native person, so that was the perspective I offered in my poetry.

Writing from my perspective, but not necessarily about me—assuming the role of “Poet as Witness.” And there is always so much to witness. Sometimes it’s the injustices of my race, sometimes it’s the absolute beauty of my culture and environment.

Yes, I would write poems about my love affairs, but they didn’t usually make it into my published work mostly because I regard love poetry as boring. But I loved to write erotic poetry, and that seemed to hit a nerve with readers. My erotic collection Red Erotic was answering a call, creating a space, and providing permission with Indigenous communities.

Letting them know it’s more than okay to speak about our erotic experiences, and yes, we need to reclaim that part of ourselves that the residential school shamed out of us. That was important work. Now that I am 61 years old, I still stand by that work, but I don’t create it so much anymore. I’d love to see the next generation explore and offer their erotic writing.

MRS: Can you share a glimpse into how you form a work out of the ether?

JR: Travel really inspires me. I love taking long train rides. It’s the perfect scenario for writing. Sitting down in a moving vehicle with long stretches of time to do nothing but write. And the views provide endless inspiration. There’s something about the motion of the train and just being in the middle of a journey between point A and point B that really works for me as a writer.

I took the train from Buffalo to Santa Fe in August 2023 to go to Indian Market—three days on the train with a transfer in Chicago. Sadly, I got COVID three days after arriving in Santa Fe, which was really, really bad. It’s the sickest I’ve ever been in my life. And then this past January, I took the train to Miami, Florida, for my 61st birthday. Again,

three days on the train with a transfer in New York City. Two days into that trip, I fell and broke my arm. But I wrote new poetry on those train trips and even while I was suffering through my accident and ailment. Part of my process though is also waiting to feel that undeniable buzz in the stomach where you know you’ve been moved and excited about something and that the writing is sure to come. I also write when I’m upset about something, like when someone has done me wrong.

It’s very therapeutic, and those poems are usually very strong.

above Ego of a Nation (Ojistoh Publishing, 2020). opposite January Rogers. Both images courtesy of the artist.

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IN THE SHADOW OF A FLAG in the shadow of a flag we learn the word nation ineffective definition red representation, blood on dresses white, blinding, benefiting those in denial a disgusting design removing me and mine, successfully erasing singing so deafening an assault on my senses lyrics of lies written in bias our songs, absent of language trickery our songs, sung from love not pride our songs so comforting we feel collective healing spirit harmonies hover above us like love electricity around the corner from big stone houses the drunken children inherit entitled settlements celebrating never earned a minute of understanding origins, they have no clue cleverly calculated treaties and doctrines of intolerance dismissing us from where we stand what is this destiny, you tell me respect is never too much to ask for we forge a path so follow is all you have to do but never repeat or appropriate no more excuses in these days of mass information serial offenders walk freely among us so much to process and repetition becomes necessity lessons are blessings found in our stories we are taking free will and rejecting patterns of self-deprecation for we are beautiful beings we have obligations in knowledge brought forth we keep singing our songs long into a future for those returning, calling everyone home until the day the laws are no more and that flag flown in winds of ignorance is blown right off its pole forever more —January Rogers (Six Nations Mohawk/Tuscarora)

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MRS: Collaboration continues to be a central component of your poetry and performance practice. How does collaboration add richness to the overall project?

JR: I’ve been very fortunate in that the majority of my collaborations have been successful. And by successful, I mean that the collaboration was executed with equality for all voices involved, with all ideas and concerns being heard and acted upon. A collaboration for me is very much like finding playmates, except in an adult scenario, the playmates have professional skills that I don’t have, and vice versa. I love collaborating on video projects because I am usually the one contributing writing to the project, and I get to witness how my collaborators breathe their own life into the words.

What makes a successful collaboration for me is that I’m not terribly precious about my words or finished poems. I work from a place of serving the overall projects in terms of what works best. I’m happy to change or edit or adapt. But I also know how to negotiate smartly and genuinely if something of mine needs to stay true to its origin. All relationships—all relationships—are based on smart negotiation.

MRS: Your work breaks from the European/North American poetry conventions, namely by including Indigenous worldviews, stories, and symbolism. How are you using language to disrupt or unsettle such conventions?

JR: Well, it is the words, but it is also how those words are strung together, which creates the message. And as I was coming up as a poet—again, not being from any particular school of writing—I was quite free to craft my message to convey my experiences from where I was at, at the time. My Indigenous worldview, as you put it, grew the more I grew as an Indigenous person. That is to say, when I was younger I knew I had lovely cocoa skin and lovely Native features, and I knew which nations I came from, but I didn’t grow up with the culture around me. Every now and then, my father who is full-blood Mohawk/Tuscarora would take my sister and me up to the Six Nations rez, to the powwow, or just

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of someone who should have had all of my cultural birthrights available to me.

But as it is, I am reclaiming them, and I am continually returning home, although I live in my community of Six Nations.

above As Long as the Sun Shines (BookLand Press, 2018).

to cruise around with him in his car. He would point out places of business or certain peoples’ houses and say, “We’re related to them.” But Hamilton, Ontario, was more his [home], which is only 30 minutes away from Six Nations.

In my early writing days, I could and would authentically write about being a visibly Native person in a white-dominated (Canadian) culture where it was a struggle to be seen and heard. But the more work I did to reconnect with my lands and community of Six

Nations, those themes started to appear more prominently in my writing. This land, my land, really speaks to me and informs me about myself.… I also found the imagery, symbols, and culture from my Nations to lend themselves quite well in erotic writing—the smoke, the scent of leather, wisps of long braided hair, the earth itself, etc. My Indigenous worldview is that of someone who walks in the skin

MRS: How important was it for you to return to Six Nations to live and to found Ojistoh Publishing?

JR: Moving back home to southern Ontario and to Six Nations was very pivotal in my life and my career. And I certainly didn’t think that I would just move to Six Nations and start to reap any and all benefits there are to living here.

I came back ready to serve my community. I knew that being able to identify Six Nations as my cultural home and being able to come here to live [comes with] many layers of responsibility. Namely, what was I coming home with? How could I let my community know that I wasn’t coming home to take, that I was coming home to give?

Before moving to Six Nations, I was living out of a suitcase for two years doing residencies in Vancouver, Santa Fe, and Edmonton. And I was accumulating so much as a writer during those residencies. I knew I wanted to start the Ojistoh Publishing label, and I kind of just got right to it shortly after moving back. I knew there were writers on Six Nations, and I wanted to share the skills and knowledge I have with writing and publishing with the writers here. As such, I published one of my own collections on the label, at first more as an experiment to see how it would go. It went pretty well.

Then a year later I published a collection of memoirs by Dawn Cheryl Hill, which also went well. Her book Memory Keeper is in its second printing.

In addition to publishing and writing poetry, Rogers is the producer of 2RO Media, an art and curatorial collective based in Ohsweken, Ontario, that has hosted festivals and film screenings and produced installations, performances, documentaries, and other media since 2015.

2ROMEDIA.STUDIO

OJISTOHPUBLISHING.COM FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 89

MEMORIAL

KERRI DICK February 2, 1983–October 7, 2024

above Kerri Dick weaving in a New York hotel room, 2022. Photo: Sarah Macauley. Image courtesy of Ceremonial / Art, Vancouver.

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ERRI-LYNNE EMILY DICK (Kwakwaka'wakw/Haida/ Kootenay), was a sensation in the Pacific Northwest fiber arts community. She embraced a can-do approach to Chilkat and Raven’s Tail weaving, and aimed to teach youth these centuries-old arts so that they would endure for future generations.

Dick was born to Chief Beau Dick (Kwakwaka'wakw, 1955–2017) and Sherri Dick (Haida/Kootenay) in Burnaby, British Columbia. She lived and worked in Haida Gwaii with her family. Creativity ran in Kerri’s blood. Her parents were both accomplished artists. Beau was an award-winning Northwest Coast wood-carver while Sherri wove Chilkat, Ravenstail, and cedar textiles. Tragically, Beau passed away in 2017, several months after experiencing a stroke.

Raised within the Indigenous cuture and art, Kerri began weaving at age eight. Her mother taught her to gather

cedar bark and spruce roots for weaving, fiber blending, and spinning. Over the course of her life, Kerri became a carver, weaver, and beader, blending all three art forms to create her unique works.

At age 20, Kerri began teaching cedar bark weaving in Kingcome Inlet as a way to give back to her community.

Her parents had instilled in her a deep appreciation for oral histories passed down through generations, so in turn, she shared these with her students alongside weaving techniques. At a 2019 School for Advanced Research talk, Meghann O’Brien (Haida/Kwakwaka'wakw) acknowledged the impact of her weaving teachers, including Kerri Dick: “They shared with me … a pretty deep respect for the techniques of Chilkat and Raven’s Tail weaving and the ceremonial use and cultural use.… They very much trained me in the old way.”1 Kerri sought to delve further into Chilkat weaving in 2008. “I’ve always been

an immaculate weaver, and some people wanted me to keep it a secret,” she said in a 2009 interview. “But I wanted to hand it down to the generations. It’s not about money, and it’s not about popularity.…

It’s about how many generations this knowledge will extend into the future. To be remembered by my students and family is my payment.”2 Some of Kerri Dick’s woven pieces are now housed in permanent collections of the U'mista Cultural Centre, University of British Columbia’s Museum of Anthropology, and Museum of Northern British Columbia.

In 2022 Kerri held her first art exhibition, NANMGAMALA, at Ceremonial / Art, a gallery in Vancouver. Her Chilkat, Ravenstail, and cedar bark pieces walked “the line between form and function.” The assemblage included formline handbags that incorporated otter fur, wool, cotton, suede, and cedar bark. Taking center stage was an ensemble of woven ceremonial regalia. NANMGAMALA was also exhibited at DIANA New York in October 2022.

Kerri brought her mother and brother, Jay Bellis (Haida/Kootenay), with her so they could present their work alongside hers, as she believed her artistry was inextricable from her familial connections.

Kerri Dick has often credited her community teachers for showing her the ropes. She expressed that a master artist is always learning and that many teachers contribute to an artist’s journey throughout their career. She cited as hers Primrose Adams (Haida, 1926–2020), William White (Tsimshian), Donna Cranmer (’Namgis Kwakwaka'wakw), Evelyn Vanderhoop (Haida), and April Churchill (Haida).3 Kerri leaves behind her three children, mother, and many relatives and friends in Haida Gwaii and beyond. Those who knew her remember her humor and her steadfast love for her community.

—Christy Hanson (Diné)

1. Meghann O’Brien, “Chilkat Weaver Jaad Kuujus / Meghann O’Brien, 2019 Eric and Barbara Dobkin Native Artist Talk,” SAR School for Advanced Research, July 2, 2019, YouTube video, 46:03, web.

2. Mack McColl, “Cedar Bark Weaving Comes From Deep Roots,” McColl Magazine, 2009, web.

3. Maya Pontone, “Kerri Dick, Chilkat Weaver of Wonders, Dies at 41,” Hyperallergic, October 9, 2024, web.

90 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

MEMORIAL

DAVID JOHN DRAGONFLY June 9, 1956–October 25, 2024

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CITIZEN OF THE BLACKFEET TRIBE and Assiniboine descendant, David John Dragonfly lived and died on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation in Montana. He was born in Kalispell, Montana, to John Joseph Dragonfly Jr. (Fort Belknap Assiniboine, 1931–2012) and Dorothy Annette Wells Dragonfly (Blackfeet, 1937–1997).

Growing up, John David Dragonfly’s spent his life in the Blackfeet homelands except when studying or exhibiting his art.

Dragonfly began painting and drawing at a very young age. Throughout his life as an artist, he developed an interest in Plains narrative pictographic art. This visual language has historically been used by many Plains Indian tribes on rock art, hide painting, and quillwork before being translated to beadwork, Ledger Art, metals, and more.

Dragonfly attended the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe where he learned to make jewelry and carve stone.

At the University of Montana in Missoula, he studied with professors Don Bunse and Jim Todd and mastered linocut and woodblock printmaking processes. He earned his BFA from the University of Montana in 1988.

He enjoyed going around to Native art markets throughout the West, including Santa Fe Indian Market where he won awards in printmaking. In 1999 Dragonfly was the featured artist at the Northern Plains Indian Art Market and in 2006 at the Harvest Moon Ball, an annual fundraiser to support the Blackfeet Community Foundation. The Museum of the Plains Indian showcased The Artforms of David Dragonfly in 2021 as being exemplary of Blackfeet culture. The National Museum of the American Indian included his artwork in Unbound: Narrative Art of the Plains (2024–26).

Dragonfly used his art to share the culture and history of the Blackfeet Indian people. He specialized in many art forms, such as linoleum block printing, ledger painting, hide painting, and woodwork in pictographic style. His style used very clean lines and broad, strong colors. These different media allowed him to express his creativity by capturing the vibrant colors and designs that radiate from his interpretations of life among the Blackfeet people.

In works like Blackfeet Homeland (2019), a linocut print, he depicted the Rocky Mountains in the background, a place where the Blackfeet roamed and hunted for hundreds of years in the winter. The three tipis in the foreground illustrate their accommodations during the warmer months when they were out hunting buffalo on the Plains. This linocut also depicts horses, an essential part of the world of the Amskapi-Pikuni, the Southern Blackfeet in Montana, one of the four Blackfeet nations.

Dragonfly’s hide painting White Quiver (2019) exemplifies the acclaimed Blackfeet horse thief who once stole 50 Crow horses all by himself. After horses were reintroduced to the

above David John Dragonfly. Image courtesy of the Indian Arts and Crafts Board, Washington, DC.

Northern Plains, the stealing of horses became an important activity as it improved a camp’s ability to hunt and fight and, when stealing from the Blackfeet’s enemies, it limited their abilities to engage in warfare. He accomplished this painting in the Northern Plains pictographic style on buffalo hide. He also painted narrative scenes on elk hide drums.

In Dragonfly’s woodburning, Buffalo Hunters Ensuring Camp Survival (2019), he burned ledger-style depictions of the bison and hunters on horses. For the Blackfeet, buffalo were the primary source of food and hides, which provided clothing, storage, summer housing, and warm cloaks for the winter months.

This later manifestation of his talent in Ledger Art showed his evolution as an artist.

As with his linocuts, Dragonfly’s artwork never stayed static. He always challenged himself as an artist while staying true to the aesthetics and visual language of his Blackfeet people.

—Matt Jarvis (Osage) FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 91

MEMORIAL

THELMA FORREST February 9, 1940–November 17, 2024

above Thelma Vann Forrest in seventh grade, Oaks-Mission High School, Oaks, Oklahoma, 1954.

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ECOGNIZED AS A CHEROKEE NATIONAL TREASURE, then known as Cherokee Living Treasures and Master Craftsmen, Thelma Lou Vann Forrest (Cherokee Nation) received this honor in 1992 for basketry.

This designation recognizes Cherokee Nation artists who have excelled at their art and have made significant contributions to promote and preserve Cherokee art and culture. They are cultural ambassadors for our nation.

Raised by her grandmother at Chewey, Oklahoma, Thelma attended Seneca Indian School in Wyandotte and later lived at the Oaks, both in Oklahoma, for many years. She spoke fondly of her time at Oaks but sometimes mentioned that she missed daily exposure to Cherokee culture at the school.

Thelma learned to weave buckbrush and honeysuckle baskets from Cherokee Nation artist Jennie Sapp of the Kenwood community in Delaware County. John A. Ketcher, who later served as a tribal council member and as Cherokee Nation deputy chief under Principal Chief Wilma Mankiller, was Thelma’s first boss. He took a group of women from Cherokee Nation to Kenwood to learn basket weaving. The Kenwood basket makers were well-known and highly respected for their skill in weaving tough buckbrush runners into large baskets. Since Ms. Sapp taught in the Cherokee language, an interpreter was provided. Honeysuckle was Thelma’s favorite, and she would gather and process honeysuckle with bloodroot or walnut for dyes throughout her life.

92 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

Thelma described Jennie Sapp’s classes as informal and social occasions, with family members sometimes accompanying students. They would bring food and share a meal. Many elders today teach in this manner, as did Thelma. She and her students at Cherokee Arts Center would bring food or often cook on-site. It might be a full meal, or bologna sandwiches, chips, and fruit, but it was shared. Over lunch, stories were exchanged, and cultural learning took place, along with lots of laughter. I treasure the memories of sitting with Thelma and her students over lunch, laughing and learning, reminiscing about the early days at Cherokee Nation.

She spent a lot of time at Cherokee Arts Center, teaching, working on her projects, and socializing. She was very independent, and when she could no longer drive, she caught the local van service, and a grandchild would pick her up. A favorite memory is finding Thelma sitting on the kitchen counter, a chair pulled up for access, stirring a pot of dye on the stove.

Thelma has a long legacy of teaching basketry. Information was not as easily accessible as today, with no written instructions and photos sometimes hard to find. She often traveled to Cherokee, North Carolina, to bring back techniques and weaving patterns to share with Cherokee communities. She taught in Cherokee communities through the tribe’s community arts and crafts program. I met her in the mid-1980s when I was a new Cherokee Nation employee. She taught several of us to weave baskets on our lunch break. She was my first basket teacher, and this began a long friendship.

During Principal Chief Wilma Mankiller’s administration, Thelma became manager of the tribal gift shop where she purchased and sold cultural arts, some made by her former students.

She later worked at the Cherokee Heritage Center and continued to share Cherokee art and culture.

In recent years, she taught through the Cherokee National Treasures Mentor Program. This program was created because the number of artists who know the full processes and have reached master level of our cultural arts is dwindling. Cherokee National Treasures are paid to teach long-term classes at no cost to the student. Thelma knew how to make a basket from start to finish, from identifying and harvesting materials for dyes to processing the materials to weave a basket. She knew where to find these plants, divulging locations to only a trusted few. Honeysuckle was more accessible, but she knew how to harvest and process buckbrush and rivercane as well. She taught many classes with commercial round reed and flat reed, and through the mentor program, she taught gathering and preparing materials.

Thelma was known for her baskets, purses, and woven mats, works that are displayed in Cherokee Nation museums, hotel and casino properties, and health clinics. A Cherokee National Treasure, her influence is woven into the generations of basket weavers under her guidance. —Lisa Rutherford (Cherokee Nation), Cherokee National Treasure

MEMORIAL

VIRGINIA STROUD March 13, 1951–November 8, 2024

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Autographed postcard of Virginia Stroud as Miss Indian America, 1971.

IRGINIA ALICE STROUD, a cherished Keetoowah Cherokee/Muscogee painter and beacon of Native American art and culture, passed away at the age of 73 in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Born in Madera, California, Virginia’s journey led her to Muskogee, Oklahoma, after she lost her mother, Eliza Beaver, when she was 13. She found solace and purpose in her cultural heritage and the loving embrace of her sister, Elizabeth Higgins, and brothers Don and Roger Stroud. In 1971, Virginia was ceremonially adopted in the Kiowa way by Jacob and Evelyn Tahome Ahtone, with adopted siblings Levon Ahtone French, Sharron Ahtone Harjo, Deborah Ahtone, Howard Ahtone, and Harding Ahtone (all Kiowa).

Virginia began her artistic career at a young age, selling her first painting at the Philbrook Indian Annual when she was 13. She graduated from Muskogee High School in 1969 and then studied art at Bacone College with Professor Richard West Sr. Virginia’s artistic prowess continued to flourish at the University of Oklahoma, setting the stage for a remarkable career that celebrated and preserved Native American culture.

In 1970 Sharron Ahtone Harjo, Miss Indian America 1965, encouraged Virginia to compete for this title. The Cherokee Nation was still in its early stages of reorganizing its government.

A committee of Cherokee women researched a dress for Virginia to wear, leading to the creation of the first tear dress. Her sister, Elizabeth Higgins (Cherokee Nation/Muscogee) sewed the tear dress, which Virginia wore when she was crowned Miss Indian America XIII in 1970, and the dress became a beloved emblem of Cherokee identity. Virginia was also the first Miss Cherokee to wear a feather cape. Wynona Day (Cherokee Nation) made her white turkey feather cape.

Virginia’s artistic media ranged from acrylic and gouache to printmaking. She and Ahtone Harjo were instrumental in reviving Ledger Art in the 1970s. Virginia also wrote and illustrated children’s books, drawing from ancient pictographs and historical Ledger Art, designed for Pendleton Woolen Mills and others, and published with Book Partners. Her distinctive narrative style featured minimal facial details and exuberant floral backgrounds.

Virginia’s artistry extended to kinetic wooden sculptures and fine art furniture, each piece a narrative of Native histories.

Her contributions to the art world in prestigious art collections include the Gilcrease Museum, Millicent Rogers Museum, Philbrook Museum of Art, Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art, Cherokee Heritage Center, National Museum of the American Indian, and Cherokee Nation, to name a few. Virginia’s philosophy was simple yet profound: “I paint for my people. Art is a way for our culture to survive ... perhaps the only way.” This ethos, a testament to the depth of her commitment to her people and culture, earned her numerous accolades, including being the youngest Native artist to win first place in the Woodlands division of the Philbrook Indian Annual in 1970, Artist of the Year by the Indian Arts and Crafts Association in 1982, Master Artist by the Five Civilized Tribes Museum in 1986, and the prestigious

Cherokee Medal of Honor, Trail of Tears Award in 2000. Most recently she was featured in Lighting Pathways: Matriarchs of Oklahoma Native Art at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum. This show honored and celebrated Virginia as one of the guiding artists in the 1985 national traveling exhibition Daughters of the Earth, which she co-curated.

Her loving family carries Virginia’s legacy forward, including her son Tsali Jacob Cross (Caddo/Cherokee/ Muscogee/Potawatomi) of Portland, Oregon. She is preceded in death by her parents and her daughter Tananeese Cross Massey (Caddo/Cherokee/Muscogee/Potawatomi, 1973–2014).

Virginia Stroud’s life was a vibrant tapestry of art and cultural heritage. Her spirit, creativity, and thoughtful nature will continue to inspire and influence future generations. She leaves a rich legacy that will resonate in the hearts and minds of all who had the privilege of knowing her and experiencing her art.

Virginia’s journey through life was one of purpose, passion, and profound impact—a true testament to the enduring power of cultural expression and the human spirit.

—Tahnee Ahtone (Kiowa/Seminole/Mvskoki) FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 93

CALENDAR Museum, Museum, Art Art Gallery Gallery & Texas Canyon Nature & Texas Canyon Nature Preserve Preserve

Connecting Connecting People, People, Tradition, Tradition, and and History History Founded by William Shirley Fulton in 1937, today’s Amerind is a world-class museum, fine art gallery, private archaeological research institute, and a beautiful nature preserve nestled among 1,900 acres of pristine desert grasslands. For nearly 90 years, Amerind has grown as an influential voice and public space for people to learn about contemporary Native American culture and art, anthropology, and the art and history of the American West.

Art Gallery Exhibitions

• “Our Song is Our Strength”

Pascua Yaqui artists: Luis Rodriguez (painter, digital artist), Francisco Fraire (painter, digital artist), and Mariana Rivera (poet) highlight the resilience of the Yaqui people. Through Aug. 31, 2025

• “Phantasm” Unseen, by Fransisco Fraire, Jr.

Photography of Ryan Moreno Si’al (Tohono O’odham), Amerind 2024 Emerging Artist in Residence.

Through May 31, 2025

Untitled, by Ryan Moreno Si’al

• “Apache Presence & Continuity with Basketry” Apache basketry from the Amerind collection. Through Sept. 30, 2025

• “Woman of Her Word”

by America Meredith

Paintings by America Meredith (Cherokee Nation). Through November 30, 2025

January 7–February 2: Norman, OK taca:kira:kʔickskwa:wa:stic / We had dreams: Art by Wichitas and Descendants at Tribes Gallery, 512 W. Main Street. Co-curated by Robin Williams (Wichita/Caddo) and America Meredith (Cherokee Nation) (405) 329-4442 | tribesgalleryok.com January 12–July 13: Los Angeles, CA Fire Kinship: Southern California Native Ecology and Art at the Fowler Museum, University of California–Los Angeles, 308 Charles E. Young Drive West | (310) 825-4361 | fowler.ucla.edu January 13–February 20: Norman, OK Black Wolf 's Legacy at the Lightwell Gallery, School of Visual Arts, University of Oklahoma, 520 Parrington Oval. Solo exhibition for Nicole Emmons (Citizen Potawatomi) | ou.edu/finearts January 18–August 10: Hanover, NH Cara Romero: Panûpünüwügai (Living Light) at the Hood Museum, Dartmouth, 6 East Wheelock Street. Curated by Jami Powell (Osage) (603) 646–2808 | hoodmuseum.dartmouth.edu January 20: Evanston, IL Indigenous Artist Pop-Up Market at the Gichigamiin Indigenous Nations Museum, 3001 Central Street | gichigamiin-museum.org January 23, 2025–December 2027: Knoxville, TN Homelands: Connecting to Mounds through Native Art at the McClung Museum of Natural History and Culture, 1327 Circle Park Drive. Featuring works by 17 Southeastern artists | mcclungmuseum.utk.edu January 25–July 13: Evanston, IL Woven Being: Art for Zhegagoynak / Chicagoland at the Block Museum of Art, Northwestern University, 40 Arts Circle Drive | (847) 491-4000 blockmuseum.northwestern.edu January 25 & 26: Denver, CO 43rd Annual Colorado Indian Market and Southwest Art Fest at the Colorado Convention Center, 700 14th Street | dashevents.com January 25–March 15: Martinsville, VA Words Matter: Contemporary Native American Works on Paper at Piedmont Arts, 215 Starling Avenue | piedmontarts.org January 25–March 22: Salem, OR Brenda Mallory: The North Star Changes at the Hallie Ford Museum of Art, Willamette University, 700 State Street | willamette.edu January 27, 2025–January 5, 2026: Evanston, IL Living Stories: Contemporary Woodland Native American Art at the Gichigamiin Indigenous Nations Museum, 3001 Central Street artdesignchicago.org | gichigamiin-museum.org January 28–March 14: Aurora, IL Away from Home: American Indian Boarding School Stories at the Schingoethe Center of Aurora University, 1315 Prairie Street (630) 844-7843 | aurora.edu/museum

Woman of Her Word

Art and Text by America Meredith Retrospective on view through Nov. 30 AMERIND MUSEUM, Dragoon, AZ Reception: Sat., April 5, 11 am | amerind.org 94 | FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025

January 30–October 20: Oklahoma City, OK Hock E Aye Vi Edgar Heap of Birds: Honor Song at Oklahoma Contemporary, 11 NW 11th Street | oklahomacontemporary.org January 31–February 2: Hollywood, FL Seminole Tribal Fair and Powwow at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, Hollywood | (866) 625-5374 | semtribefair.com February 1 & 2: Scottsdale, AZ Arizona Indian Festival at the Scottsdale Civic Center, 3939 N. Drinkwater Boulevard | arizonaindiantourism.org/azindianfestival

February 1–28: Virtual Animation Celebration! hosted by the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution, eight Indigenous animated films americanindian.si.edu/events February 1–December 21: New Brunswick, NJ Indigenous Identities: Here, Now & Always at the Zimmerli Art Museum, Rutgers University, 71 Hamilton Street | zimmerli.rutgers.edu February 6–8: Clewiston, FL Big Cypress Indigenous Arts and Music Festival at the Junior Cypress Entertainment Complex, 500 Rodeo Drive | indigenousamf.com February 7–TBA: Phoenix, AZ Adorned with Memory: Jewelry from the Basha Family Collection of American Indian Art at the Heard Museum, 2301 N. Central Avenue.

Curated by Roshii Montaño (Diné) | heard.org February 7–June 29: Santa Fe, NM Jordan Ann Craig at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place | (888) 922-4242 | iaia.edu/mocna February 8–June 7: Santa Fe, NM Echoes at the Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian, 704 Camino Lejo | (505) 982-4636 | wheelwright.org

Blueberry Azurite Bear

by Brian Yatsattie, Zuni Pueblo

February 13–16: Stuttgart, Germany Indigen: Das Nordamerika Filmfestival, 10th ed., at TREFFPUNKT Rotebühlplatz, Rotebühlplatz 28 | nordamerika-filmfestival.com February 13–July 6: Durham, NC Cannupa Hanska Luger: Speechless at the Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University, 2001 Campus Drive | nasher.duke.edu February 15 & 16: Phoenix, AZ 35th Annual World Championship Hoop Dance Contest at the Heard Museum, 2301 N. Central Avenue | (602) 252-8840 | heard.org

Since 1981 Jewelry Carvings Pottery 227 Don Gaspar, Santa Fe Keshi.com 505.989.8728

February 15–TBA: Toronto, ON Letendre/Morrisseau at the Art Gallery of Ontario, 317 Dundas Street.

Paintings by Rita Letendre (Abenaki descent, 1928–2021) and Norval Morrisseau (Bingwi Neyaashi Ojibwa, 1932–2007) | ago.ca February 15–December 31: Toronto, ON Kenojuak Ashevak: Highlights from the Dr. Ronald M. Haynes Collection at the Art Gallery of Ontario, 317 Dundas Street | ago.ca February 21, 2025–March 18, 2026: Indianapolis, IN Voices from the Arctic: Contemporary Inuit Art at the Eiteljorg Museum, 500 W. Washington Street | eiteljorg.org February 22–June 15: Charlottesville, VA O'Powa O'Meng: The Art and Legacy of Jody Folwell at the Fralin Museum of Art, University of Virginia, 155 Rugby Road. Curated by Adriana Greci Green, Jill Ahlberg Yohe, and Bruce Bernstein uvafralinartmuseum.virginia.edu February 25–27: Marksville, LA 10th Annual Association on American Indian Affairs Repatriation Conference at the Paragon Casino Resort, 711 Paragon Place. Hosted by the Tunica-Biloxi Tribe of Louisiana | indian-affairs.org

NAAAINC.COM | (855) NAAA-INC

February 26–March 2: Anchorage, AK Charlotte Jensen Native Art Market at the Diamond Center, 800 E. Diamond Boulevard | (907) 274-1177 | furrondy.net February 28–May 19: Santa Fe, NM Dakota Mace: Dahodiyinii–Sacred Places at SITE Santa Fe, 1606 Paseo de Peralta. Curated by Brandee Caoba | sitesantafe.org March 1 & 2: Phoenix, AZ 67th Annual Heard Museum Guild Indian Fair & Market at the Heard Museum, 2301 N. Central Avenue | heard.org/event/fair FIRST AMERICAN ART MAGAZINE NO. 45, WINTER 2025 | 95

NICOLE EMMONS (Citizen Potawatomi)

filmmaker, educator & mixed-media/installation artist

March 1–June 29: Toledo, OH Return to Turtle Island: Indigenous Nation-Building in the 18th Century at the Toledo Museum of Art, 2445 Monroe Street | toledomuseum.org March 2: Kansas City, MO Native American Cultural Celebration at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, 4525 Oak Street. 10:00 am–4:00 pm | nelson-atkins.org March 8–July 6: Rockland, ME Native Prospects: Indigeneity and Landscape Painting at the Farnsworth Art Museum, 16 Museum Street | (206) 596-6457 | farnsworthmuseum.org March 14–May 16: Santa Fe, NM 2024–2025 IAIA BFA Exhibition at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place. Co-curated by Christine Adams (Tlingit) and Stephanie Stewart (Diné/Kiowa) | iaia.edu/event March 15–July 13: Albuquerque, NM Sage Mountainflower: House of Fashion at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, 2401 12th Street NW | (505) 843-7270 | indianpueblo.org

BLACK WOLF’S LEGACY

Art exploring the Potawatomi Trail of Death Lightwell Gallery, OU School of Visual Arts 520 Parrington Oval, Norman, OK

Jan 13–Feb 21, 2025 | nicoleemmons.com

March 14–July 13: New York, NY Nancy Elizabeth Prophet: I Will Not Bend an Inch at the Brooklyn Museum, 200 Eastern Parkway | brooklynmuseum.org March 21–23: Oklahoma City, OK 39th Annual Red Earth Festival at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, 1700 NE 63rd Street | redearth.org March 21–July 13: Santa Fe, NM Kite and Wíhaŋble S’a Lab: Dreaming with AI at the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, 108 Cathedral Place | iaia.edu/mocna March 21–September 14: St. Louis, MO Grounded in Clay: The Spirit of Pueblo Pottery at the Saint Louis Art Museum, 1 Fine Arts Drive | slam.org March 22–November 16: Reno, NV The Art of Judith Lowry at the Nevada Museum of Art, 160 W. Liberty Street. Retrospective for Hammawi/Maidu/Washoe painter | nevadaart.org March 25–December 7: Albuquerque, NM Restorying Our HeartPlaces: Contemporary Pueblo Architecture at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, 2401 12th Street NW | indianpueblo.org April 4–TBA: Phoenix, AZ Bob Haozous: A Retrospective View at the Heard Museum, 2301 N. Central Avenue | (602) 252-8840 | heard.org

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April 5: Sulphur, OK 12th annual Artesian Arts Festival in Artesian Plaza, West Muskogee Avenue. Hosted by the Chickasaw Nation | artesianartsfestival.com April 5–January 4, 2026: Fargo, ND Jaque Fragua: Ghost Writing at the Plains Art Museum, 704 First Avenue North | (701) 551-6100 | plainsart.org April 5: Phoenix, AZ Katsina Doll Marketplace at the Heard Museum, 2301 N. Central Avenue.

10:00 am–4:00 pm | (602) 252-8840 | heard.org April 10 & 11: Fargo, ND Indigenous Art Fair at the Plains Art Museum, 704 First Avenue N. 10:00 am to 5:00 pm both days | (701) 551-6100 | plainsart.org April 8–12: Victor, NY 7th Annual Hodinöhsö:ni’ Juried Art Show at the Seneca Art & Cultural Center at Ganondagan, 7000 County Road 41. Reception: Tuesday, April 8. Market: Saturday, April 12 | (585) 398-6151 | ganondagan.org

For more events, visit our online calendar at

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