NORTHAMPTON, Mass. (WGGB/WSHM) – In Northampton, hundreds of art enthusiasts had a chance to check out some cool pieces at the Paradise City Art Festival.

“You’ll see things at Paradise City that you probably won’t see anywhere,” said Linda Post.

In a scenic backdrop, art fans from near and far gathered at the 29th annual Paradise City Arts Festival.

Western Mass News spoke with Linda Post, she’s the founding director of the event that brings local and national artists together.

“First of all, it’s all about the artist; and there are 220 of them here, coming from every part of the country,” explained Post. “We have a contingent definitely from here in the pioneer valley. There’s probably about 40 artists from western Massachusetts. But we have artists from California, New Mexico, from Florida, from North Carolina.”

One of those artists is Bay State native, Whitmore Boogaerts, he and his sculptures have been here from the very beginning and he’s not moving them any time soon.

“It’s the present, the past, and the future,” added Boogaerts. “I can’t tell you how many people I talk to that have bought five, six pieces; ‘we love our piece’ and they come and buy another one.”

Post told us her event not only spotlights talented artists, but gives a glimpse into their host city.

“We are so much about the art, the food, the music; that’s very much what Northampton is all about too, and so we personify the very best, we like to think, of Northampton,” expressed Post.

In addition to highlighting the city, the festival also showcased some rarities in the art world.

“There’s one woman here, who’s stuff I haven’t seen before,” noted Bonni Bynes, one of the visitors. “She knits, with tiny, tiny needles; making jewelry. So she makes these small knitted things with beads and jewelry, that’s absolutely phenomenal.”

If you or anyone would like to stop by the fair, you still have time to visit. The paint dries on this perfect picture, Monday at 4 p.m.

Copyright 2023. Western Mass News (WGGB/WSHM). All rights reserved.

Visual artist John Halaka came into a greater awareness of civil and human rights as a college student in the 1970s, and that desire to learn about and amplify the varied histories and experiences of others has only expanded over the years. That expansion can be seen in his latest exhibition, “Listening to the Unheard/Drawing the Unseen: Meditations on Presence and Absence in Native Lands,” focused on the stories of Native American, Black, and Palestinian people.

“I wanted to figure out a way to place the experience of Palestinians in this broader anti-colonial discourse, this broader history of resisting colonization, imperialism. One of the ways to do that — and I’m not inventing this in any way, there are a lot of others who have done this — is to talk about the similarities in terms of the anti-colonial struggle,” he says, noting that his own Palestinian ancestry has been part of what motivates his work. “This history of erasure that was experienced by a whole lot of people across the planet. Residing here in America, and being influenced by the American Indian Movement, the Civil Rights Movement, I wanted to learn more about that and there are definitely heroes within those movements.”

The drawings — on display at the Oceanside Museum of Art through Feb. 18, 2024, with a celebration event on Nov. 18 —are taken from the artist’s “Landscapes of Resistance” and “Forgotten Survivors” series, featuring drawings on maps of the United States and Palestine and narratives of dispossession, reclamation, and resistance.

Halaka was born in Egypt to Palestinian and Lebanese parents before his family immigrated to the U.S. when he was 12. He is a professor of visual art at the University of San Diego. His work has been exhibited nationally and internationally, and he’s won numerous grants and awards (including a Fulbright fellowship in 2011 to document the stories of Palestinian refugees living in Lebanon). He took some time to talk about his latest exhibition and why he finds it critical to listen, to see, and to learn about these histories of erasure. (This interview has been edited for length and clarity. )

Q: What led you to focus on these experiences of displacement and survival in “Listening to the Unheard/Drawing the Unseen”?

A: It definitely started a bunch of years ago with focusing on the rights of Palestinians, the rights of an indigenous population that was forcibly displaced from their land, that has, in many ways, been sort of erased from history. In 1982, I remember going to the library and looking at every dictionary and the word “Palestine” only referenced the historical land, there was nothing in there for Palestinians, so they had literally been erased from our discourse in the West. Being a person who’s interested in civil rights and human rights, I felt like I needed to begin to focus on that. In part, yes, my history as a descendant of Palestinians had something to do with that, but it was really kind of a deep interest in the rights of human beings, the people that I was most familiar with.

There was also a strong influence when I was a college student in the ‘70s in New York. I started to become aware of the Civil Rights Movement. It’s not like it was new in the world, but it was sort of new to me, these rights of people fighting to be seen as human beings, to be treated as equals, to have a place in society without being forced to constantly compromise or justify their existence. At the same time, I started to become aware of the American Indian Movement, AIM, and the Native folks that began to address the history of erasure that they have experienced over multiple generations. The history of denial of their humanity. Those were pivotal influences on me in the ‘70s. Later on, in the ‘80s, as I began to address and make work that explored ideas of justice, I began to focus on the rights of Palestinians because that was the topic that I felt closest to, most interested in, and began to spend a whole lot of time researching it, reading, listening to people, and reading some more and becoming familiar with both the capital “H” history and the lowercase “h” history. What I mean by that is the history of individual men and women who experience dispossession, who experience displacement, who experience a sense of being rendered unseen in a world where we can easily be forgotten. That began in 2004 or 2005 when I took my first trip to Palestine. Before that, it was all reading about it. Then, having conversations with people in Gaza, having conversations with people in the West Bank, having conversations with internally displaced Palestinians who became citizens of Israel and learning things that books never fully, clearly, or eloquently conveyed. I spent from that time on going back and beginning to record the stories of these individuals. Not that the books were in any way bad, I’m not saying that, but compared to the stories of these folks — in many cases men and women who never went to school, they spent their lives as laborers, as farmers, a whole bunch of them in refugee camps in extremely rough conditions — they were able to convey their personal and their families’ experiences, which I found tremendously moving. So, yes, for me, it started with an interest in the rights of individuals, civil rights, American Indian rights, and the rights of Palestinians as a displaced population that I was most familiar with and most connected to.

Q: And do you mind briefly sharing a bit about your personal connection to the Palestinian refugees and that experience?

A: I was born in Egypt. My father’s family is Palestinian; my mother’s family is Lebanese. We grew up as Arabs in Egypt, so you blend in. Both sides of my family are working-class, middle-class families. My dad worked in a bank, my mom was a seamstress and made dresses at home on our dining room table. We were very much a working-class family, but they were completely apolitical. They didn’t talk about politics. Occasionally, when uncles would visit, they would have conversations about politics, but I didn’t grow up in a household where we discussed politics. There are a whole lot of reasons for that, and I don’t want to go into it now, but I didn’t grow up with an emotional kind of connection to Palestine. I knew my father’s family was Palestinian, I knew my mama’s family was Lebanese, and we heard good things, but we didn’t really grow up knowing about the history of displacement, which is really odd, right? My father’s family is not a refugee family; my grandfather moved to Egypt before Israel was established by probably three decades. He died as a relatively young person in the early ‘30s, so I don’t know his story. He moved to Egypt, probably in the early 20th century, maybe just when the British settled into Palestine at the end of World War I and kind of took over the administration of Palestine after the Ottoman Empire was sort of dismantled at the end of World War I. I think that’s the period when my grandfather moved from Palestine to Egypt. His brothers stayed in Palestine, so there’s still a branch in Palestine. So, there is the historical connection, but it’s really the political connection that I came to when I was coming of age as a college student.

Q: Some of the pieces are taken from “Landscapes of Resistance,” a series honoring the work of Native American, Black, and Palestinian artists, activists, and scholars, including images of Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Mary Brave Bird, and Leonard CrowDog. Can you talk a bit about what you learned during your research process of a couple of these individuals, and how that informed the resulting images of them that we’ll see in this exhibit?

A: There were a lot of things that brought this project about. One of those things was that I wanted to figure out a way to place the experience of Palestinians in this broader anti-colonial discourse, this broader history of resisting colonization, imperialism. One of the ways to do that — and I’m not inventing this in any way, there are a lot of others who have done this — is to talk about the similarities in terms of the anti-colonial struggle. This history of erasure that was experienced by a whole lot of people across the planet. Residing here in America, and being influenced by the American Indian Movement, the Civil Rights Movement, I wanted to learn more about that and there are definitely heroes within those movements.

So, I started with the idea that I was going to do a whole bunch of drawings on maps of the U.S. and a whole bunch of drawings on maps of Palestine. I deliberately chose activists, artists, and scholars because those are people that I’m most influenced by, and honor their efforts by doing two things: one is presenting their image on this map as a way of reclaiming a land that has been denied them. What is a map? A map is a graphic representation of a space that gives us permission to say, ‘Oh, this is America and it reveals roads and states and cities and towns,’ but it also conceals a massive history of destructive dispossession. So, a map is a dual reality, the seen and the unseen. What I wanted to do is reclaim the map, and I started out with Native American activists to reclaim the land by subduing the map by having their faces, their presence, be reemerging from those fields of colors and roads. There’s two things that happen at the same time: one is I want to honor the work of folks that I thought were really important to me, and two is I wanted to use it as an opportunity to really learn a lot about each of them. I made a list and I started to read and read and read, and also listen to anything that was available online, in terms of their presentations and lectures. It was this accumulation of knowledge; by no means am I an expert or scholar or somebody who can talk about these folks with great depth, but it was a way of immersing myself in their work and allowing them to emerge from these graphic fields of domination that represented this history of erasure. They become, in a way (and I say this word with some reluctance, but I can’t think of a better word) the drawings become these micro-monuments for these individuals. They’re not set in stone by any means; they’re kind of scrambles of lines that emerge from a field. From the early stages of this project, the drawings were fairly light and the faces were even more ghostly than they became and I think because I often tend to work and rework drawings, they became a lot more solid in the drawings. This idea of playing with ghosts, of spirits, that have taught me, that have guided me and a lot of others in reflecting on this history of denial, erasure, and oppression.

I wanted to pay homage to them, and I have to admit that there was always this trepidation of, is it my place to make drawings of these human beings, whether they’re Native American, African American because I’m neither? I’m not in any way speaking for them, I’m simply honoring them and it is my place to honor them because they’re remarkable human beings, influential human beings. I wanted these micro, personal monuments spoke to the emergence of African American folks, of Native American folks, of their presence. Not that they’ve been invisible, but they’ve been unseen. What these scholars and artists do is that they make that history seen, they make that history accessible to us, and that’s what this show is about, is helping to make the unseen, seen against these contemporary and historical waves of erasure.

Part of that series was also to address the invisible, or the unseen, work of migrant farmers or laborers. So, there’s a series of drawings of hands. I really just wanted to focus on the hands of laborers, the people that feed us, the people that clothe us, the people that fix our things and build our things. That’s an important part of it because this country is built on bonded hands, of laborers who have been unseen, whether they’re an enslaved population, whether they’re under indentured servitude, or whether they’re very horribly paid and horribly treated laborers. I mean, my refrigerator has apples that were probably picked by somebody who’s getting very little money, so we’re all part of that cycle of consumption that is based on the sweat and blood of folks that we don’t even consider. Not only that, but who are often horrifically mistreated.

Q: Indigenous People’s Day is Monday, honoring the histories and cultures of Indigenous people in America. In thinking about the ideas of displacement and survival you talk about in your work, some of your pieces include the imagery of maps — of the United States and of Palestine — noting their use as political tools that guide “its users to embrace as normal, virtuous, and permanent, a political worldview of a nation that has been shaped by documented histories of genocidal settler-colonial expansion, ruthless and dehumanizing enslavement, as well as exceptionally abusive labor practices that have greatly enriched the settlers.” How has the work you’ve done here caused you to think about your own part in helping to rectify this continued oppression?

A: I’m glad you asked me that question because it’s a really complicated issue to grapple with. As a person of Palestinian descent, as a person who’s really active in thinking about culture and history of displacement, I’m sort of torn because I’m also an immigrant to this so-called nation of immigrants. I challenge the idea that we’re a nation of immigrants; I often will say that we’re really a nation of settlers. So, how do we deal with that history? How do I deal with the history of benefiting from these centuries of genocide, of land theft? I don’t have an answer for that and I don’t know very many people that do, but I address it and I grapple with it. I live in San Diego, right? I live on land that was taken from people and I don’t have a clear answer, so I grapple with that and I’m very uncomfortable. I acknowledge that, as an immigrant, I have to acknowledge my history and my presence as a settler on people’s land. I have to acknowledge that this is their land that I’m occupying, that I’m living on. Hopefully, I’m living on in a thoughtful manner, but I don’t have an answer on how to rectify that history.

Q: Your artist’s statement for “Listening to the Unheard” talks about the ongoing erasure and resistance of Indigenous and formerly enslaved peoples, and our responsibility to these communities. What do you make of the more recent increase we’ve seen to censor and silence books, education, and conversations about the experiences and histories of both the LGBTQ community and people of color? What happens when we don’t listen to, and refuse to see, the people who’ve been historically and repeatedly pushed to the margins?

A: I think it’s an amazingly troubling process, the censorship that’s going on and increasing across this nation. It’s troubling because it perpetuates this history of making these folks unseen and unheard. Whether they’re issues that are addressed currently with LGBT issues, or histories of formerly enslaved populations, or even histories of Indigenous populations that are not told in a comfortable, sensitive, Kumbaya kind of way. These are complex histories and they need to be heard. I think we all have a responsibility to learn, we all have a responsibility to listen, we all have a responsibility to acknowledge that we’re benefiting from this history. When there are questions, I say to folks, “We’re not guilty of our parents’ sins, but we are responsible to learn of the wrongs that they’ve done and how those wrongs benefit us.” That responsibility is an important thing that we take on and I think it’s been denied, it’s been suppressed, it’s been silenced and erased by these efforts to censor books. That is very troubling. It’s an effort by ultra right-wing individuals, or maybe thoughtless individuals, who are afraid to acknowledge that history and are afraid to acknowledge that they’re benefiting from it. I think it’s very troubling. Again, I don’t have answers, but I think it’s a question that we need to address and I think we need to address it in complex ways. It’s not just a black-and-white thing like, ‘Oh, they’re wrong. They’re right.’ I think we need to acknowledge the fear of those who are erasing these histories and say, ‘What’s going on? What’s your fear?’ I’m not saying to justify or coddle it, but I think we need to have complex conversations about these histories and their efforts to censor it are not complex conversations, they’re oppressive acts, but I think we need to be better than that in addressing those acts. But yeah, it’s a very troubling time in America.

Native America past, present and future comes alive across cinema, television, and fine art this fall. Leading the way is director Martin Scorsese’s film adaption of David Grann’s bestselling “Killers of the Flower Moon.”

The true-life murder mystery centers on the Reign of Terror which befell the Osage Nation in Oklahoma when oil was discovered on the reservation in the 1920s, transforming the Osage, overnight, from poverty into millionaires.

In addition to featuring the greatest filmmaker of his generation, “Killers of the Flower Moon” co-stars Robert DiNiro, the greatest actor of his generation, and Leonardo DiCaprio, the greatest actor of his generation.

The three-and-a-half-hour movie’s production was informed throughout by the Osage Nation and filmed in Oklahoma, assuring historical accuracy.

“Killers of the Flower Moon” opens nationwide in theaters on October 20, but only scratches the surface of opportunities to see Native America anew this month.

“Native America”

The PBS series “Native America” returns this October with four new hour-long episodes presenting a groundbreaking portrait of contemporary Native America. Each explores a core tenet of Native American heritage: the power of Indigenous design, how language and artistry fuel the soul, the diverse ways Native women lead, and the resilience of the warrior spirit.

“We want to reframe folks’ ideas around who Native people are, to have a very contemporary and modern look at Native people all across the country, creating and doing in ways that are very much aligned with the ways that we were taught and learned growing up, but also our way of innovating and thinking of new solutions to problems that persists today,” series producer Jennifer Johns (Diné) said.

Those problems include housing, teen suicide, political marginalization through gerrymandering and environmental catastrophe. Outcomes are in equal measure inspiring and heartbreaking.

“The series, we hope, begins to make people aware that there’s no limit to indigenous innovation and impact, and that we hope folks really get to see the breadth and diversity of our indigenous communities and our handprint and where we’re at,” Johns added.

Each episode is Native-directed and the series is narrated by Joy Harjo (Muscogee (Creek) Nation), who served three terms as the 23rd Poet Laureate of the United States.

While all stand alone, throughlines are prevalent.

“It’s survival. All of these (episodes) talk about our survival. Our survival physically in terms of health and happiness, and then also our spiritual survival, our culture, our language, all of these things that people are working on that the series talks about, it all has to do with our survival in a good way,” Manuelito Wheeler (Navajo), director of the Navajo Nation Museum, and a featured subject of the “language and artistry” episode for his work with major studios like Lucasfilm Ltd. and Walt Disney Pictures dubbing popular movies into the Navajo language. “When I say in a good way, that’s a common Native phrase, when we ask for things, and we want things, we’re careful about how we ask for them because it’s, ‘be careful what you ask for, you might get it,’ but Natives have an answer for that, we ask for things in a good way. I think that’s what all of our stories are about, we’re asking for things in a good way.”

“Native America” premieres Tuesdays, October 24 through November 14, 2023, from 9:00-10:00 p.m. ET (check local listings) on PBS, PBS.org and the PBS App.

“The American Buffalo”

Also premiering on PBS this fall is “The American Buffalo,” a new two-part, four-hour film directed by Ken Burns.

Think of this documentary as the opposite of Wheeler’s “a good way.” The history of North America’s largest land mammal, the icon of the Plains, the icon of the West, exposes “a bad way.”

The worst way.

The settler colonial way.

The white man’s way.

The American way.

Much of the buffalo’s story viewers will be aware of, the full depth and detail of the tragedy, however, proves shocking.

The series, in production four years, takes viewers on a journey through more than 10,000 years of North American history and across the continent’s most iconic landscapes, tracing the mammal’s evolution, its significance to the Great Plains and, most importantly, its relationship to the Indigenous People of North America.

“It is a quintessentially American story filled with unforgettable stories and people, but it is also a morality tale encompassing two historically significant lessons that resonate today: how humans can damage the natural world and also how we can work together to make choices to preserve the environment around us,” Ken Burns said. “The story of the American buffalo is also the story of Native nations who lived with and relied on the buffalo to survive, developing a sacred relationship that evolved over more than 10,000 years, but which was almost completely severed.”

The stories of Native people anchor the series, including the Kiowa, Comanche and Cheyenne of the Southern Plains; the Pawnee of the Central Plains; the Salish, Kootenai, Lakota, Mandan-Hidatasa, Aaniiih, Crow, Northern Cheyenne and Blackfeet from the Northern Plains; and others.

The film includes interviews with leading Native American scholars, land experts and Tribal Nation members.

“The story of American bison really is two different stories,” historian Rosalyn LaPier (Blackfeet of Montana and Métis), says in the film. “It’s a story of Indigenous people and their relationship with the bison for thousands of years. And then, enter not just the Europeans, but the Americans…that’s a completely different story. That really is a story of utter destruction.”

Destruction, waste and obliteration of an animal on a scale not previously experienced in human history. An industrial revolution of killing.

“The American Buffalo” will air October 16 and 17, from 8:00 to 10:00 p.m. ET (check local listings) on PBS, PBS.org and the PBS App.

The buffalo’s best hope for survival now rests in the hands of the Native people who so cherished the animal and continue doing so today. “Homecoming,” a new film directed by Julianna Brannum (Quahada band of the Comanche Nation of Oklahoma), who also served as consulting producer for “The American Buffalo,” extends Burns’ story to the present by examining the return of the species to Indigenous lands today.

The 18 minute-film takes viewers into the 21st century and examines how the InterTribal Buffalo Council’s Bison Conservation and Transfer Program is supporting buffalo restoration to the Indigenous people whose lives, spiritually and physically, were inextricably linked to the bison for thousands of years.

“Homecoming” premieres on Wednesday, October 18 on PBS.org and the PBS app, and on PBS’s YouTube Channel on November 24.

“The Land Carries Our Ancestors”

Artist Jaune Quick-to-See Smith (Citizen of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Nation) curated “The Land Carries Our Ancestors: Contemporary Art by Native Americans,” an exhibition at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. highlighting artworks visualizing Indigenous knowledge of land, landbase and landscape. As the first artist to curate an exhibition at the National Gallery, Smith underscores the self-determination, survivance, and right to self-representation of Indigenous peoples in her selection of artworks.

“I am honored to share these powerful works that demonstrate the vital, ongoing contributions of Native artists,” Smith said. “Breaking the ‘Buckskin Ceiling’ is not a smooth transition, but the National Gallery of Art is engaged with making change in their system of collecting art as well as demonstrating their ability to be more inclusive in their exhibitions. ‘The Land Carries Our Ancestors’ is an example of more parity in their exhibition schedule, and we are very pleased to be a party of this change.”

It’s long overdue.

The National Gallery owns a shameful record of Native American representation. This marks the first exhibition of Native art presented at America’s art museum in 30 years and the first exhibition of contemporary Native art there in 70 years.

Works by an intergenerational group of artists from across the nation span a range of practices, including weaving, beadwork, sculpture, painting, printmaking, drawing, photography, performance, and video. The exhibition includes several recent acquisitions for the National Gallery’s permanent collection, including works by G. Peter Jemison (Seneca Nation of Indians, Heron Clan), Linda Lomahaftewa (Hopi/Choctaw), Marie Watt (Seneca Nation of Indians/European descent), and Emmi Whitehorse (Diné).

“The Land Carries Our Ancestors” can be seen at the National Gallery through January 15, 2024, and then at the New Britain Museum of American Art from April 18 through September 15, 2024.

DOYLESTOWN, Pa. (WPVI) — Never Broken: Visualizing Lenape Histories presents new Indigenous perspectives on historic events in early America.

“We look at the way that art can shape and convey stories about history and identity throughout time,” says Dr. Laura Turner Igoe, the Gerry and Marguerite Lenfest Chief Curator at the Michener Art Museum.

“Showing it here, in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, holds extra meaning,” says Joe Baker, who is an enrolled member of the Delaware Tribe of Indians.

“This is our ancestral land, so this exhibit is really about a homecoming,” he says.

Baker is the Co-Curator of Never Broken: Visualizing Lenape Histories, as well as the Co-Founder and Executive Director of Lenape Center in Manhattan, New York.

He’s also an artist who made pieces for the exhibition, like the Big House Post, made from a Bigtooth Aspen tree.

“The Big House ceremony was the principal religion of the Lenape,” he says.

Three other Indigenous artists are featured.

Holly Wilson uses sculptures to tell her story with a piece she calls “Bloodline.”

Wilson says she originally created it trying to prove her son’s lineage.

“Each of these logs represents a generation of my family,” she says.

Ahchipaptunhe, a modern native artist, created paintings “made in response to historic Lenape ceramics and baskets,” according to Dr. Igoe.

Ahchipaptunhe says the four works he created are “based on fire, water, earth and breath.”

“From the idea of the life that’s put into the pottery,” he says.

Artist Nathan Young reexamines the Walking Purchase of 1737 in his sound and video installation.

“I really don’t know what things were like for them,” says Young of his ancestors.

However, he says that’s what he would like people to think about, “being faced with being forced to leave,” when viewing his work.

“The exhibition is really intended to be a conversation,” says Baker. “It’s about really bringing back our contemporary voice to this ancestral land.”

You can see Never Broken: Visualizing Lenape Histories at the Michener Art Museum through January 14, 2024.

Never Broken: Visualizing Lenape Histories | Tickets at the Michener Art Museum