Chicago’s Field Museum has begun a new collecting initiative focusing on the impact of COVID-19 – and Evanstonians are a key part of the Pandemic Collection Project, as curators and artists.

When the new coronavirus began making headlines, museum staff realized they had no archives relating to the 1918 flu pandemic to shed light on the 2020 situation. Even though the museum was actively collecting back in 1918, when the city was hit hard by influenza, there was nothing for scholars to study.

Interestingly, the two eras are quite similar – and not just because of the twin pandemics.

Pandemic period parallels

The “Red Summer” of 1919 was one of violent racial unrest and protests throughout the country. The worst violence that year was in Chicago, beginning with the stoning and consequent drowning of a young black man who had ventured into a “white” swimming area on the South Side.

And it was also a time of rising pre-World War II antisemitism: In 1919, Hitler issued his first written comment on “the Jewish question,” calling for the removal of Jews from Germany.

The coronavirus pandemic period (2020 through 2022) has been rife with racial injustice and protests as well. Most demonstrations began in 2020, inspired by the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis. There was also an increase in antisemitic events nationwide in 2022.

The 2020 removal of three Christopher Columbus statues in Chicago, and others throughout the country, was in response to further public protests against the narrative of white supremacy and one-sided views of history.

New model for Field

The new, ongoing Field Museum collection is meant to be a record of expression and cultural responses – to the modern pandemic and to simultaneous movements for social justice – in art.

“This is new and innovative for the Field, which has been a traditional museum, one following an evolutionary model,” said sociocultural anthropologist Ana Croegaert, who is research director for the new collection’s curator team and a research affiliate for the Field.

The museum, Croegaert said, is using an expansive definition of art: dance, song, handmade objects, poems, photos. Already acquired are 180 objects, including digital files and textiles. The bulk are from Chicago, and often by Black makers, growing the museum’s diverse urban cultural anthropology collection. 

Croegaert said that since the 1990s the Field has pursued community-based partnerships in the Chicago area, in Amazonia (particularly in Bogotá, Colombia, where the museum is focusing on environmental conservation), in the Philippines and in Indigenous communities in North America.

So the pandemic collection will include objects from Amazonia, a few from the Philippines and materials from Native American communities as well.

Pop-up display promised for Evanston

Five general themes emerged as interviews were analyzed: home, marking time, care and medicine, the public square, and food. The Native portion focuses on wellbeing, medicine and mental health. 

Accompanying this collection and starting this fall will be a series of free “pop-up” displays around the Chicago area, with one promised for Evanston. The displays will be mostly projected, virtual rather than actual, and access will be open, with no fees. The collection is currently available for viewing on the museum website. 

As part of the new collection, the Field has officially accessioned artwork by Evanstonians Beth Adler and Ben Blount. 

During the pandemic isolation, Adler kept a daily journal of collaged art and created a series of paper sculptures. About the latter she said, ”Each month from the beginning of the pandemic until we had the vaccine, I constructed a  paper ‘house’ and lined it with news reports from magazines and newspapers from that month, chronicling the progress of the virus as it was reported. These ‘houses’ were little memorials to those that suffered and died from COVID.” 

Fitting into the theme of “home,” the Field acquired some of Adler’s “houses” and also a piece from her series Covid House Prints. Most of those prints featured a linoleum print of a crow.

“The crow came to represent COVID to me and being quarantined for weeks on end inspired this print,” said the artist. She donated her COVID journal to the collection. 

Adler attended the Art Institute and has been a graphic designer ever since. Her company, Herman Adler, specialized in nonprofit communications and textbook design. She closed her company in 2019 and then retired as creative director for a publishing development company in 2021.

Blount is also a graphic designer, with an MFA from Columbia College in Chicago. He moved with his family from Detroit to Evanston in 2014. He works as associate creative director at Razorfish Health, an advertising agency, where he is working on marketing the RSV (respiratory syncytial virus) vaccine.

Blount’s personal artwork consists primarily of posters done by letterpress, a relief printing process, and their often unusual installations. The Field acquired prints from his White Supremacy Is protest artwork that was installed both here in Evanston and on the exterior of the Minnesota Center for Book Arts in Minneapolis.

This work falls into the “public square” category. The Field also purchased his letterpress print Blursday from January 2021. 

Both artists said they were happy being isolated in their studios during the pandemic. They have contiguous studios with large storefront windows facing the street, so they were both able to see passersby, who often waved or gestured hello.

A third Evanstonian, Sarah Hinojosa, also participates in the museum’s pandemic collection. Her tree-mounted installation of poems and drawings is not considered an “artifact,” but part of the broader, community-based project.

Like Hinojosa’s Poetree, a hand stitching by artist-therapist Melissa Blount was not formally accessioned, but is included as part of the broader collection materials. The stitching by Blount, wife of Ben Blount, was inspired by a campaign that modified the sex-positive Cardi-B and Megan Thee Stallion song W.A.P. acronym to “What About Prosecuting” the police officers who killed Breonna Taylor in March 2020.

Croegaert is an Evanstonian too. She earned her doctorate in anthropology at Northwestern University, where she has taught. She also has taught at the University of New Orleans, Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts and Loyola University Chicago. 

Croegaert is part of the Field’s core team creating the pandemic collection, which includes two more Evanstonians, Alaka Wali (co-lead for the project and the museum’s curator of North American anthropology) and Madeleine Tudor (senior environmental social scientist on the project and an applied urban anthropologist at the Field’s Keller Science Action Center).

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By Neely Bardwell

August 01, 2023

We asked and you answered: Who would you want to see play Native Barbie? Native Barbie can be anyone or anything. She is a water protector, model, leader, artist, dancer, teacher, and so much more. All Indigenous women are sacred and beautiful inside and out. 

Here are some of your responses to our question on social media. 

Theodora ItancanChief

Willie Jack !!!!!!

Ute Rose

Tia Wood!! Tatts and all!

Nicole R. Lybarger

Oh we could pick ourselves ? Yesss I definitely would!

Chandra Stewart Freeman

I think Jana Schmieding would be awesome!

Misty MFkn Martin

Either one of my sisters, nieces, or cousins! Us Native women are beautiful!

Hillary Gularte

I’m going to amend it to Indigenous and say Willow Allen.

Many readers suggested Ashley Callingbull, the Cree First Nations Canadian model, actress, and television personality who became the first Canadian and Indigenous woman to win the Mrs. Universe title in 2015.

Many others suggested Quannah Chasinghorse, Hän Gwich’in and Oglala Lakota model and climate protector who has been featured on the cover of Vogue and National Geographic. 

Noelle Surveyor

Auntie Beachress! I like the concept because we would totally bring the native cultural love of the earth to such a plastic persona. With our indigenous power of humor and laughter

Christina Thomas

A regular girl from the Rez! our cousins, our aunties that we grew up to love! One who knows her culture and language. And not one who does cultural posts for social media likes and follows!

Alicia

I have Native Barbie’s that have been gifted to me and I hate all of them cause they’re all put in what’s supposed to be regalia. Can I get a regular Native Barbie in a skoden tee & jeans

J.F “One of Many” Sambranos

@ShaunaBaker all the way.

CleomMire

The gal from PREY

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About The Author

Author: Neely BardwellEmail: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Neely Bardwell (descendant of the Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indian) is a staff reporter for Native News Online. Bardwell is also a student at Michigan State University where she is majoring in policy and minoring in Native American studies.

Celebrating themes of transformation, heritage, and nature, glass artist Preston Singletary (Tlingit) has become a national figure within the Northwest Native glass art movement.

Ravens. Eagles. Totem poles. Think Northwest Native glass art and his name springs to mind. With his global reputation, glass artist Preston Singletary (Tlingit) stands front and center in Seattle’s celebrated studio glass movement. His pieces range from blown and sand-carved glass tabletop sculptures to massive multisensory installations — and you’ll find them in museums from Seattle to Alaska, Massachusetts to France, Sweden to Scotland. 

Inspired by his Tlingit roots, Singletary reinterprets Native American art in glass sculptures carved with the curving arcs of the Northwest coastal Indigenous formline design. Transformation is inherent in the work. When light hits the luminous glass, it can seem alive, as if with a spirit inside. “Glass changes when the sun hits it and makes it very dynamic,” he says. “It’s also transforming the cultural art.”

Stillness, blown and sand-carved glass, 19″ x 9.5″ x 8″.

Singletary grew up in Seattle, learning about his heritage from his Tlingit great-grandmother, who passed on her culture to her family in the traditional matrilineal way, relocated the family from Alaska to Seattle, and kept a pet grizzly bear in the late 1800s. “She lived to be 100. She died in 1981,” he recalls. His bohemian-inclined parents played folk music, and Singletary plays in a mostly Native band. Glass art drew him in as a teenager in this city near where blown-glass sculptor Dale Chihuly took the world by storm and co-founded the Pilchuck Glass School, where Singletary maintains continuing ties.

Dominant themes in Singletary’s art tend toward transformation, animal spirits, and shamanism. Ravens appear frequently. “The raven is the basis of a lot of the stories. How Raven brought order to the world. Not only did he steal the sun from this old man who was hoarding it, and give it as a gift to the world, but he also did several other actions. He essentially brought order to the world. He stole the spring water from Petrel and tried to swallow it up, and the water dripping out of his mouth became the rivers and streams,” Singletary explains. Eagle is the other Tlingit tribal moiety. “There was this boy playing on the beach and there was famine, so the eagle dropped salmon down for the boy. So that’s Eagle as a spirit helper in the context of the story. He provides food to the boy, who shares it with his village and becomes a leader because of his special connection with Eagle,” Singletary says.

Killer Whale Totem (reverse), lead crystal, 106″ x 33.5″ x 22″.

Influenced by both modernism and primitivism, Singletary, 59, often works with amulet forms. “There are a lot of shaman amulets, like pieces of bone or tooth. I make them larger as sculptural objects. Then I’ll put themes of transformation—animals morphing into humans. So it alludes to the spirituality of humankind,” he says. Recently he’s been delving deeper into symbolism and metaphors. “I’ve been working with elders, with people who help me understand the stories from different perspectives, so more of a Joseph Campbell type of approach,” he says. “You can create an art piece from any action within the story.”

His monumental Killer Whale Totem standing over eight feet tall was created with woodcarver David Svenson then cast in lead crystal in the Czech Republic. “It’s talking about the killer whale as the main crest symbol representing my family and the eagle moiety on the top, and the bottom is a wolf design, which is a more archaic crest symbol,” Singletary says. There’s also a thunderbird representing the clan that adopted Svenson.

Golden Eagle, blown and sand-carved glass, 20.5″ x 14″ x 11″.

The Two Ravens totem explores cross-cultural mythology. “Odin is there because my wife is Swedish,” Singletary says. “He’s a Norse god and kind of a shaman figure. The two birds on his shoulder are ravens. Odin is always associated with ravens. The other characters are my daughter and my son and a wolf representing our cockapoo. And my wife on top.”

Raven in the Beginning of Time is a stand-alone raven covered with formline designs. “Raven is originally a white bird. Most albino animals in Indigenous culture are thought of as supernatural beings, so the raven has transformational capabilities,” Singletary says. The regal Golden Eagle has a curved beak. “It’s a newer form with the extended wings. Eagles are a symbol of power. And they’re hunters and pretty special. They have powers in their own right.”

The Place Where You Go to Listen, blown and sand carved glass, 22.75″ x 24″ x 7″.

The untitled oystercatcher rattle in black and amber portrays an oystercatcher on the top with a mountain goat on the bottom. Lying across it is a reclining shaman figure. “The shaman is emaciated and fasting, or potentially dying, based on a real traditional image of a shaman I’ve seen in carved style,” Singletary says. “Those rattles were originally made to connect a shaman to his spirit helpers and for healing rituals.” 

A poignant egg-shaped sculpture titled Unassimilated depicts a raven in front of a cityscape. “It was based on a song my band does. It’s a spoken-word piece about Raven coming back from a long journey. He comes back to his homeland and instead of tall trees, he sees these tall buildings. He finds this tree that’s been washed out to sea, and it’s all heavy with salt water. So he’s sitting on this log and sort of crying because his homeland is transformed to where he can’t even recognize it.”

Unassimilated, blown and sand-carved glass, 18.5″ x 12.5″ x 3.5″.

Standing outdoors in Portland, Oregon, the abstracted Tlingit Dancing Staff sculpture was a collaboration between Singletary and David Franklin. “That’s a steel and glass construction for public art. We were looking for durable materials that could be made and installed outside,” Singletary says. The red dot on the top represents the sun, with a raven’s beak holding it up.

Taken as a whole, Singletary believes his work is “a connection to ancient tradition, but now it’s very modern. Now the culture has a new medium.” 

Raven in the Beginning of Time, blown and sand-carved glass, 20.75″ x 9″ x 16″.

Preston Singletary’s traveling exhibition Raven and the Box of Daylight is on view at Chrysler Museum of Art in Norfolk, Virginia, through July 2, 2023, then at Oklahoma City Museum of Art in Oklahoma City November 11, 2023 – April 28, 2024. He is represented by Blue Rain Gallery in Santa Fe, Sandra Ainsley Gallery in Toronto, and Traver Gallery in Seattle. Smaller works may be found at additional galleries and museum stores. Visit the artist online at prestonsingletary.com.

In Bellingham, two public entities manage most of the parks, trails, and transit centers: the city government and the Port of Bellingham. The City of Bellingham’s One Percent for the Arts code has ensured the funding of public art all around the city. Although it governs a narrower area, the Port has collaborated with artists to install sculptures, murals, and experimental works along the waterways.

The Port of Bellingham operates Bellingham International Airport and port facilities and marinas along Bellingham Bay, plus port facilities in surrounding towns. With artists’ help, the waterfront continues to develop from its industrial roots into a beautiful destination.

Squalicum Harbor

The Port of Bellingham oversees Squalicum Harbor, a popular site for kite flying, private boating, and resort stays at Bellwether on the Bay. Two historic Port officials, commissioner Pete Zuanich and manager Tom Glenn, inspired the names of local features. Between Zuanich Point Park, Tom Glenn Common, and Squalicum Promenade, the area features much of the Port’s public art.

“Safe Return” was inspired by Eugene Fairbanks’ son John, who wished to pay tribute to fishermen after his friend Greg Schwindt died in the Bering Sea. Photo credit: Anna Diehl
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Zuanich Point Park is home to one of Bellingham’s most famous landmarks: a memorial to the city’s fishermen lost at sea. “Safe Return,” the 16-foot, 38,000-pound bronze statue, reads: “In memory of fishers who have gone to sea…in pursuit of their livelihood…never to return.” The red granite base lists the fishers’ names alongside bas relief panels illustrating maritime scenes.

Dr. Eugene Fairbanks created the “Safe Return” monument, which was dedicated on Memorial Day, May 31, 1999. However, the Puget Sound Gillnetters Women’s Auxiliary contributed an earlier wooden plaque memorializing fishermen in 1974. On the park’s renaming in 1995, a large historic anchor joined this plaque. The Port website states, “According to local legend, the anchor got caught in a local fisherman’s nets and, due its weight, substantially damaged both his boat and his fishing equipment,.” It reportedly dates to English vessels from the 1800s.

Jay Gould of Port Townsend allegedly first found Zuanich Point’s anchor in his net and sold it to Tom Glenn for $2,500. Photo credit: Anna Diehl
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Squalicum Promenade, the loop around the harbor and Bellwether, displays the Double Thunderbird by master carver Jewell James of Lummi Nation House of Tears Carvers (featured photo). This 2022 story pole depicts three traditional stories in an archway: Salmon and Raven, Bear and Steelhead, and Thunderbird. Plaques underneath the pole explain each of these stories.

Waterfront District

Bellingham’s Waterfront District has been a continuous Port and City project since the historic Georgia-Pacific paper mill closed in 2001. The most recent development is Waypoint Park, dedicated in 2017 on the old mill site. The City of Bellingham has overseen the repurposing of mill equipment such as the “Acid Ball,” which is now an illuminated art installation. The Port has worked with Whatcom Mountain Bike Coalition to install the pump track and with Paper Whale to enhance the area with art.

The Boardmill Building piece was conceived as a temporary mural to renew interest in the building awaiting new uses. Photo credit: Anna Diehl
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A mural called “Honoring the Salish Sea” adorns the waterfront’s historic Boardmill Building, a 1946 structure that survives the old paper mill. Paper Whale artists Jason LaClair, Eagle Borsey, Raven Borsey, and Gretchen Leggitt created the mural with Port approval in 2022. Drawing on traditional Coast Salish art, the mural honors the Lummi, Nooksack, Samish, and Semiahmoo peoples. Additionally, it serves to excite the public for the building’s pending redevelopment under the Port.

The Portal Container Village at Waypoint Park repurposes shipping containers with artistic flair. Seasonal businesses such as a bike rental, mini golf course, brewery, eatery, and ice cream stand operate out of shipping containers on the waterfront. In 2021, local artist Sarah Finger created the mural that welcomes visitors through the threshold of community spirit.

Adjacent to these developments, a community of artists also continually paints new murals on the wall dividing Waypoint Park’s playground area and parking lot.

The Portal Container Village is constantly developing with the rest of the waterfront, continually gaining new businesses. Photo credit: Anna Diehl
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Beyond Bellingham’s Waterfront

The Port of Bellingham also displays public art at other facilities and parks outside the marinas.

At Bellingham International Airport, the story pole “It’s Mine” depicts two Coast Salish fishermen and a serpent pursuing salmon from opposite sides. Lummi artist Felix Solomon created the pole in 2016, using the serpent to symbolize environmental threats to salmon such as overfishing, overfertilization, and deforestation. Solomon has received national recognition from the National Museum of the Native American Indian in Washington, DC.

Outside of Bellingham, the Port operates Blaine Public Fishing Pier at Blaine Harbor. This area features Blaine Seafarers’ Memorial, the town’s own tribute to fishermen lost at sea. Just adjacent is Blaine Marine Park, which features depictions of orca whales, salmon, and a totem pole.

Just outside Bellingham Cruise Terminal, a series of interpretive signs encircle a sculpture of a seagull. These signs detail the history of the area’s earliest inhabitants, Bellingham Bay, Fairhaven, Pacific American Fisheries, Northwest Shipbuilding Company, Commercial Point Shipyard, and the Schooner Zodiac. Bellingham Cruise Terminal itself is a popular destination for concerts, weddings, and other gatherings.

The Port’s website lists more parks and trails where visitors can further discover educational and artistic gems in and around Bellingham.

CHICAGO (AP) — The beginning of the pandemic was devasting for the leader of the indie rock band Black Belt Eagle Scout, Katherine Paul. All her tours, including one headlining across North America, were canceled and she feared her ascending music career might be over.

She got a day job at a nonprofit and returned to the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community’s homelands in Western Washington. But as Paul, or KP to her friends, spent time in the cedar forests and walked along the Skagit River, she turned to her guitar to deal with the isolation and stress. Those snippets, recorded on her phone, provided the foundation for what would become songs on her powerful, grunge-soaked new record “The Land, The Water, The Sky.”

“I feel like if the pandemic hadn’t happened, I probably wouldn’t have made this record,” said KP, who writes the songs, sings and plays guitar in the band that was the only Native American artist at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago this month.

“I spent a lot of time outside. I spent a lot more time than normal going on hikes, being part of the land,” she continued. “It’s not like I never do that stuff but it brought me back to a place where this is who I am.”

The new record, which came out in February, helped launch what has probably been the most successful year so far for Black Belt Eagle Scout. The band toured Europe and will go to Australia later this year. Two of her songs, “Soft Stud” from an earlier record and “Salmon Stinta” from her latest, appear this season on the television series “Reservation Dogs.”

Reservation Dogs Music Supervisor Tiffany Anders said she was introduced to the band’s music by the show’s creator, Sterlin Harjo, when they started working on the second season.

“It’s always been important for us on this show to include Native American artists, but beyond representation, Black Belt Eagle Scout’s music is beautiful and emotional, and fits these characters, their world and landscape — and the vibe of the show,’” she said in a statement.

Then there was Pitchfork, a three-day festival that is a significant milestone for indie musicians. The festival is held every year in Chicago’s Union Park and this year’s headliners included Bon Iver, Big Thief and The Smile, which has members of Radiohead.

She admitted stepping on that stage last weekend was nerve-wracking given her high hopes for the show, a feeling compounded by concerns that storms could scuttle their performance. But as she launched into the blistering set of mostly new songs in front of thousands of eager fans, KP found solace in her guitar. She launched several long jams that were punctuated by her twirling her jet-black hair around to the point it obscured her face.

“It was totally a moment,” she said with a laugh.

“I kind of cried after we played because it felt so meaningful,” she added. “Like, I’ve always wanted to play this music festival. I remember trying to play one of the years before the pandemic when I was touring and it didn’t happen. This year, I was just so stoked to play.”

Reaching Pitchfork has been a long journey for the 34-year-old artist, who is a member of the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community and left her home on the reservation in LaConner, Washington, when she was 17 to attend Lewis & Clark College in Oregon and play rock music.

Growing up on the reservation off the Washington coast on islands in the Salish Sea, she drummed and sang cultural songs. As a teenager, she discovered local Pacific Northwest bands like Mount Eerie and the sounds of the Riot Grrrl movement and played one of her first gigs at a small bar called Department of Safety. She moved to Portland, Oregon, due to its outsized role in the indie scene that featured bands like Sleater-Kinney and quickly immersed herself in the music scene playing drums and guitar.

She joined an all-female outfit whom she met at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls in Portland. She went on to play a lot of small, basement shows with bands like Genders — whose wolf tattoo she still has on her left arm.

But she wanted to write her own songs and formed Black Belt Eagle Scout in 2013. Her early music was defined by her ethereal singing about love, friendship and healing — often only accompanied by minimal guitar strumming. But she did rock out on songs like “Soft Stud,” which featured searing solos.

“She is a really an authentic musician and she carries a lot of power on stage with her presence and sound,” Claire Glass, who plays guitar in the band and first saw KP seven years ago.

KP has said her Native American identify has always been present on her records. But her latest music paints a more vivid picture of life on the Swinomish reservation. There are references to chinook salmon, which are traditionally fished, and a powwow dance.

“I started thinking of feeling grateful for the life that I have been given; this place that I’m from; how much the land, the water, the sky means to me — being surrounded by it,” KP said of writing the song ”Don’t Give Up.” “It has so much more meaning because the land, that’s where my people are from.”

Her songs aren’t meant to directly confront issues like the crisis of missing and murdered Native American women or tribes’ forced relocation. It’s not the way she writes songs. Instead, she envisions them connecting with people, drawing more Native Americans to indie rock shows in places like Minneapolis, which has a vibrant Native American community, and inspiring young Native Americans to connect with her after shows.

“Isn’t me like being here existing with my music good enough? Can’t I just be who I am?” she asked, adding she doesn’t need to speak out from stage about these issues because being Native often means she is already wrestling with them. A judge, for example, ruled in March that BNSF Railway intentionally violated the terms of an easement agreement with the tribe by running 100-car trains carrying crude oil over the reservation.

“As a Native person, you know someone who is missing. Your tribe is trying to get your land back. Those are topics that are part of your every day life,” she said. ”I care about those things deeply but there are certain ways in which my music is, maybe not as direct, but it can be healing.”

KP also doesn’t want to be seen just as a rock musician or as a Native artist. “I am a musician who happens to be Native, but I am also a Native musician … I think I am always both,” she said.

Her latest record aims to show that.

“I kind of had in the back of mind, just kept thinking what would Built to Spill do,” KP said of the guitar-heavy, indie-rock band from the Pacific Northwest. “I’ve gone on tour with them and seen their three guitars at one point playing together and how they overlap and all these other things.”

It’s also a more collaborative effort with more musicians playing on the record— a departure for KP, who is accustomed to doing everything herself. A cellist who played with Nirvana, Lori Goldston, is featured on several songs, as are two violinists, as well as a saxophone and mellotron player.

Takiaya Reed, a first-time producer who is also in a doom metal band, described the experience of working on the record as “beautiful and amazing” and said the two bonded over their love of punk. Reid also brought her classical training and love of “heavier sounds” to the studio.

“We approached it fearlessly. It was wonderful to be expansive in terms of sonic possibilities,” she said.

KP also wanted to find a place for her parents, whom she had grown especially close to during the pandemic, to play on the record. She chose the song “Spaces,” which she described as having a “healing vibe.” Her dad, who is one of the main singers at the tribe’s cultural events, embraced the idea of lending his powerful powwow chant to the song. Her mom sang harmonies.

KP said: “It meant the world to me to have my parents sing because it felt like it was full circle in who I am.”

The Recorder – Now in 10th year, Pocumtuck Homelands Festival continues sharing Indigenous traditions

News > Local

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  From left, Billy Myers, Tom Porter, Jennifer Lee and Robbie Leppzer talk around a table where Porter displays ceremonial tobacco bags during the 2021 Pocumtuck Homelands Festival in Turners Falls. The 10th annual event returns this weekend. STAFF FILE PHOTO/DAN LITTLE

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  Vendors line the bike trail along Unity Park during the 2021 Pocumtuck Homelands Festival in Turners Falls. The 10th annual event returns this weekend. STAFF FILE PHOTO/DAN LITTLE

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  The Black Hawk Singers, from left, Bryan Blanchette, Bill DiBenedetto and George Michaud, perform during the 2021 Pocumtuck Homelands Festival in Turners Falls. The 10th annual event returns this weekend. STAFF FILE PHOTO/DAN LITTLE

Staff Writer

Published: 8/1/2023 11:26:36 AM

TURNERS FALLS — The annual Pocumtuck Homelands Festival will serve as an intertribal confluence once again this weekend, returning to Unity Park for its 10th year.

Organized by the Nolumbeka Project — a nonprofit dedicated to cultural and historical preservation of Native American history — with help from RiverCulture, the free festival celebrates Indigenous art, music and culture from the region and beyond. It aims to reprise the 12,000-plus-year tradition of Indigenous peoples from all over the Northeastern United States gathering at the site, according to event coordinator Diane Dix.

Organizers hope continuing this tradition can foster a feeling of togetherness and help people heal from a history of violence and tension between tribal and non-tribal peoples that impeded such congregations.

“For millennia, the Pocumtuck hosted huge annual gatherings of tribal nations at the falls from all over the Northeast to celebrate and share the bounty of the prolific fish runs,” Dix wrote in her event announcement. “Today, their descendants, who were forced to deny their heritage for centuries, come together again to share their traditions and stories with the public, reclaiming the joy of reunion and thanksgiving.”

“There was an interruption, but we are trying to facilitate the continuation of this gathering that the Pocumtuck hosted,” added David Brule, president of the Nolumbeka Project. “The healing is taking place and we are resuming the ancient tradition of welcoming people.”

Ushering in this year’s festival will be the fourth “Paddle to Peskeompskut,” which will take place on Friday from 9:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. Aquinnah-Wampanoag artist Jonathan James Perry, along with the craft’s original builders, will paddle their mishoon — a dugout canoe — along the Connecticut River starting from the Barton Cove campground in Gill.

The celebratory procession will proceed up the river for approximately 3 miles, stopping for lunch on the return leg before returning to the point of departure. The paddle will take roughly three hours and may include waves from boats, reversing currents due to hydro storage pumping, strong headwinds and unmarked debris. Prior paddling experience is encouraged. Paddlers with kayaks or canoes may register to join the paddle at peskeompskut_paddle.eventbrite.com.

The main portion of the Pocumtuck Homelands Festival will be held from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Saturday and 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Sunday. It will feature Indigenous music, dancing, storytelling, skill demonstrations and more. There will be more than 30 vendors and artisans, as well as at least 20 tribes represented by those in attendance, Dix said.

New to the festival this year will be an “author’s tent” featuring Brule and Dr. Ron Welburn, who will be telling stories they’ve written about. There will also be three featured Indigenous artists from Spanish-speaking communities, including Vincent Cruz, who makes jewelry, leather, tee-shirts, blankets, flutes and textiles; Sito Zapaktli of Earthworks Creative Indigenous Arts and Crafts; and craftsperson Marcelo Cachiguange.

Another change involves moving history talks from a side tent to the main stage.

“That’s an important change because we were finding people wanted to be at the main stage to hear some music … and people were having to choose between activities,” said Brule, who will be delivering a history talk alongside Evan Pritchard, founder of the national Center for Algonquin Culture.

Dix and Brule highlighted Mohawk elder and spiritual leader Tom Porter, as well as Nipmuc flute maker, flute player and culture bearer Hawk Henries, as returning speakers that those in the area shouldn’t miss catching.

“We feel tremendous honor when people like Tom Porter and Hawk Henries come,” Dix said of the performers, who are two of more than a dozen featured guests slated to demonstrate at the festival.

Dix also voiced particular excitement for the “really outstanding acts” that will be featured Saturday evening to close out the festival’s first day. Afro-Algonquin instrumentalist Mixashawn will perform alongside percussionist Royal Hartigan and Greenfield-based violinist Nina Gross, who teaches and performs across the Pioneer Valley. Their performance will be “a blend of contemporary arrangements of traditional Indigenous styles and original songs that span this hemisphere and time as we conveniently perceive it,” Dix said.

“So many times,” she added, “people are focused on the traditional and sometimes forget, ‘Oh yeah, Indigenous people became modern like the rest of us.’”

Reach Julian Mendoza at 413-930-4231 or jmendoza@recorder.com.

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Jamaican-born artist Cosmo Whyte (b. 1982) believes the past is a living, breathing being. The artist, who lives and works in Los Angeles, is known for his multidisciplinary works that explore how objects, documents, and even artworks can become emblems of time and its passage—and how these records are often wily in their truth-telling abilities.

Scouring archives of institutions large and small, Whyte seeks out captivating photographs, usually depicting African diasporic history, particularly that of the Caribbean. These photographs serve as the basis for his wide-ranging artistic interventions. “Hush Now, Don’t Explain,” the artist’s second solo exhibition at Anat Ebgi in Los Angeles, brings together his most recent explorations. Here, Whyte has rendered aspects of these archival photographs onto beaded curtains like those commonly found in his native Jamaica, allowing visitors to interact with these images while hinting at the porous nature of record-keeping. Similarly, in “Agitation,” a new series of large-scale drawings, Whyte introduces pixelation as a way of obscuring the identities of individuals in an image in order to refocus attention on the events themselves. These investigations of public and personal archives also take sculptural form;  for the exhibition, Whyte has constructed a large metal structure based on drawings by his father, an architect, in the process asking complex questions about the space between artistic preservation and memorial. 

Whyte develops his nuanced artworks in his studio in Downtown Los Angeles. The artist, who also teaches at UCLA, typically spends his nights in the studio—painting, drawing, and thinking.  

Right before his show opened, we caught up with Whyte who told us what’s on his bookshelf, why he’s embraced the possibility of failure, and how “duds” sometimes come back to life. 

Tell us about your studio. Where is it, how did you find it, what kind of space is it?
My studio is in the Fashion District in Downtown L.A. at Mohilef Studios. Stefano di Paola, a partner at Anat Ebgi, helped me find it. It’s an old garment warehouse with ample light and a great community of artists. 

Do you have studio assistants or other team members working with you? What do they do?
I do, not full-time, but on a project basis. Aryana Polat is my current studio assistant. She is a very promising young artist. As a studio assistant, she’s been great. She’s helped troubleshoot ideas and is very organized and reliable. Also, since 2021 I have been working with Maggie Jones of FSU Master Craftsman on projects related to my series of beaded curtains. She has been instrumental in helping me streamline the painting process and logistics for those works.  

How many hours do you typically spend in the studio, what time of day do you feel most productive, and what activities fill the majority of that time?  
It depends on the time of year. While I’m teaching, I am in the studio in the evening and into the night, typically for three to five hours at a time. During the summer, or in periods when the teaching load is not as demanding, I’m there longer. In terms of what I do, I have periods of research where I am primarily reading, looking through archives, thinking through bodies of work, and sketching. There are periods when I need to step away from the studio to take in new stimuli and then there are other periods where I’m in full production mode. But I do believe the mind of an artist is always at work. You are always in the process of art-making and everything is a potential source of inspiration.  

A work in progress in the artist’s studio. Courtesy of Cosmo Whyte.

What are you working on right now?  
I’m working on a series of beaded curtains. They will be central to an installation for my solo exhibition. The curtains are all hand-painted and will be hung from an architectural structure in the middle of the gallery. The image depicted on the curtains is based on an archival image. The idea is that when you walk through the image, you momentarily disrupt the legibility of that image.  

How do you know when an artwork you are working on is clicking? How do you know when an artwork you are working on is a dud?  
I remember during my first year in grad school, I bought a roll of good paper. On a grad school budget, it was an expensive investment. To get over the preciousness of the paper, I decided to work on a large drawing until I broke it. There were several moments in the process where I knew if I just stopped here, I could salvage a good drawing or at least parts of it. I went into that exercise to embrace the process’s ups and downs and be completely open to the possibility of failure. I wanted to know: At what point does the artwork cross over and become overworked or unsalvageable, and what happens when you keep going? 

That exercise was good because I was present through each stage of the process, paying close attention to my intuition. Now I immediately know when things are clicking and, more importantly, when to step back and regroup.  

In terms of a dud, I have run into issues where I cannot fix a piece at a specific moment, but I don’t always discard the duds. I put them away and look at them later, maybe even a year later.  

A work alongside an archival image. Courtesy of Cosmo Whyte.

When you feel stuck while preparing for a show, what do you do to get unstuck?
I have a very small circle of close friends I can talk to, to work through a project, writing, or idea. It’s reciprocal; whenever they’re bouncing around an idea, I try to make myself available to help. I trust them to be honest with me and value their opinion. Typically when I reach out, I am asking questions like: Does this make sense? Are these concepts getting across? How can I improve upon a particular piece? While their input goes a long way, ultimately, I must decide on what’s right for the work and my vision.

What images or objects do you look at while you work? Do you have any other artists’ work in your studio?
I have a bookshelf with artist monographs in the studio. I try to keep the majority of my books outside of the studio and only bring a handful into the workspace. Of late, I’ve been re-engaging with the paintings of Hurvin Anderson, Noah Davis, and Jennifer Packer. There is a quality to both Hurvin Anderson’s and Jennifer Packer’s paintings that feels so elusive and ephemeral. I really love their work.   

As I continue to work on the curtains, my readings have become more focused on photography lately. The books currently in the studio are: The Civil Contract of Photography by Ariella Azoulay; Regarding the Pain of Others by Susan Sontag, which I am rereading; and I just picked up Seeing Through Race: A Reinterpretation of Civil Rights Photography by Martin Berger. 

I also have a few archival images scattered around the studio. These are simple prints or photocopies. I like to keep them visible, as I may request to acquire rights to use them in a later project. Sometimes I’ll place them next to works I’ve made to see what kind of dialogue can happen. At the moment, I have one curtain piece of a limbo dancer next to an image of two women on a stroll in the aftermath of a protest in Florida in 1989. There is a tenderness as these two women hold hands amid the chaos that I just love. There is something interesting happening with it next to the contortion of the limbo dancer depicted in the curtain. I try to leave space for moments like this throughout the studio, to see what new direction the work can take.  

What’s the last museum exhibition or gallery show you saw that really affected you and why?
A late professor of mine from Bennington College, Milford Graves, had a traveling retrospective at the ICA LA. Music was central to his work, but to see his sculptures was surprising and reminded me of my time with him in my last years as an undergraduate. He taught a class called Music Healing that looked at the role of sound in healing. He was an improvisational, experimental jazz drummer and the class had that improvisational structure. I still have notes from that course. 

He was the only Black faculty during my time at Bennington and really took me on as an unofficial mentee my last year there. His support was very important and we kept in touch for a year after I graduated.  

Seeing that show, I was still shocked at how good of a sculptor he was. I never knew that part of his practice. I knew him primarily as a musician, healer, and martial artist. It was beautiful to see his interest in Eastern medicine and experimental jazz and martial arts all coalesce in the show. It was very special and made me grateful for the time I had with him.    

Two taxidermied roosters in the studio. Courtesy of Cosmo Whyte.

Is there anything in your studio that a visitor might find surprising? 
I always have an odd collection of things in the studio, which I try to keep as organized as possible. I have a collection of airplane chairs which I have been making into sculptures since 2015. My latest surprising acquisitions are three taxidermied roosters that I ordered from eBay. Undoubtedly, they will become parts of some sculpture at some point. Right now, I need to sit with them. During my research, I found the majority of these taxidermied roosters come from Germany but the best taxidermied roosters are made in Ukraine. The standard of taxidermy there seems to be extremely high. Taxidermy roosters seem like an odd niche market.  

How does your studio environment influence the way you work?
Over the years I have had so many different types of studios. As you would expect, size determines the possibilities of what you can do. I have tall ceilings, so this impacts my scale. Temperature is a factor, too. Sometimes it gets too hot, so I must adjust my work schedule. For instance, when working on the curtains, which are so labor intensive, I’d rather not be making those during the hottest time of the day. Going up and down scaffolding in the heat is taxing. So on those days, work begins in the early morning. However, when there is a looming deadline all that gets thrown out the window as the work must get done by any means. I also like my studio space. It’s a pleasure to come to it and work. It really makes a difference.  

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