Rocking the Canyon; Celebrating the future
“I am a member of the Bitter Water Clan, born for the Salt, Many Goats, my maternal grandfather and Tsi’najinni’, my paternal grandfather.” This is how we begin a conversation. Soon the canyon walls will be echoing the sounds of revelry as we commence the ninth annual Shonto Rock the Canyon event in the canyon of my Arizona community of Shonto. This will be taking place on June 3 of this year (the first Saturday in June, annually). Music, food, and art spaces alongside the best social event where I get to mingle with community members and...
read moreThe boy within; Healing journey in dreams
I dreamt again of a young boy cradled in the wings of angels, while ancestors moved gently into the light. In my recent ceremony of sound healing, I saw the boy again in my trance. It was a beautiful moment, a healing moment. As I went deeper into calmness, I heard the hum of the universe. It is this boy I traveled with in many dreams. Three-and-half years of moving through troubled terrain and situations. I stepped in and out of relationships always mindful of the child’s care. It is a sacred reality, these dreams. Later in a trance dream a...
read moreMy school visits; Reclaiming time for art
Recently, I did a school visit with Ms. Julia’s second grade class in Cornville. As with most school visits, it was a treat and inspiring to see them. I drove through Oak Creek Canyon, through Sedona, and down into the expansive Verde Valley. Along the way, I pulled off the road a couple times to sit atop my camper shell and draw the beauty of the space. In this manner, I prepared myself for the class of eager young artists. Vehicles blew by as I sat deep in meditation, coaxing out the red rocks onto the sketchbook. I had brought my pad of...
read moreOceti Sakowin; A day of protecting and thanking water
This is part two, continued from last week’s issue of Flagstaff Live.… The wind blew all through the cold night. The protective covering I rigged over our shared tent flapped frozen against the outside. I was too tired to even be bothered by it at all. I laid there hoping I didn’t have to go empty my bladder soon. Fortunately, the sleeping bag was designed for this climate. I hoped my tent partner, Jasmine, was warm enough as I covered her gently in an extra blanket. A person I have never met before from Brooklyn was sharing her tent....
read moreOceti Sakowin; Water Is Life
I went up to Standing Rock Reservation in Cannonball, N.D., to join in the alliance of Water Protectors, one more among thousands. We gathered here to protect the Missouri River from the Army Corps of Engineers, putting water in jeopardy for all downriver. The Dakota Access Pipeline is the “monster” whom we are here to defeat in peace. To speak for the voice silenced, the Standing Rock Lakota. I feel a great urgency to share in this experience and try to bring home the magnitude of our collective struggle. We arrived on a cold and deceptively...
read moreMosi’; Sheep camp guardian of spirits
For days, Old Lady Smallcanyon complained of weakness. She had seen 84 winters without an illness. She had walked miles after her flock of sheep. She said her body ached and vision blurred. Medicine men were called upon and they came and went. “She has Lightning illness,” one proclaimed. Another diagnosed a Skinwalker witch infection. Finally, it was determined that it was old age and nothing more. She had lived long and seen much. There was nothing more to be done and the shamans shuffled away helpless. “Prepare for her a death bed away from...
read moreSlipping 1995; Kicking and gouging in the mud, the blood, and the beer
Like drunkards we are, we staggered along in the rain-soaked clay. The rain continued steadily on, mocking our slow progress toward our goal: the teacher’s housing project in the distance. Alcohol and rain haze made it difficult to judge space and time. We slipped simultaneously and fell side-by-side in the mud; this was the fifth or sixth time. We struggled to our feet, our glasses smeared with clay, our hair matted with mud and my white shirt the color of Kayenta gray. Slightly stupid, we half dragged each other across another 100 yards....
read moreN’daa; Season of the Healing Spirit
In the Diné world, this is the season of ceremonies, the time when the clans come together to heal collectively through summer N’daa ceremonies. N’daa, also called Enemy Way Ceremonies, is performed exclusively in the warmer seasons. Their announcement marks the first moaning of early summer thunder and the first lightning to the very first chill of fall. In this span of time, I remember it as being a social time for us kids and our elders. I remember excitement in sheep camps as the elders made plans to attend the upcoming healing ceremony...
read moreThe cradle of my youth; Speaking its language
I go home often, out into the heart of the Diné country, out to the Shonto area to be specific. This is the land that carved features in my character. This land that gave to me lessons on life and how one should speak with her. Recently, I took my love to meet her as well. It is an amazing thing to experience the newness of this land through another’s innocent eyes. The beauty of the land is especially accentuated when I invite guests into my part of the land and life. Such invites, at times, elicit magical effects on people,...
read moreA wedding basket revisited; Weaving a tight union
I will be attending a wedding soon back East as a guest—something I know a few things about. It is always a journey of hope, promises and pitfalls. Rather than dwelling on the latter, let me just say that I am honored to be among the throngs of well-wishers and metaphorical breezes that launch this ship of dreams. I have attended many weddings out here in the West. I have even officiated a couple of them, which I am happy to say are still intact. It’s always exhausting to see how much love and labor goes into making one happen. I have been in...
read moreHoghaan Insomniac; Wrestling with imagined fear
I am nine years old. I am lying in our Hoghaan awake in the middle of the night. To my left and right my brothers and cousins are sleeping soundly beneath the blankets, dreaming dreams sheepskin bedding brings. I am awake to the full rhythmic snoring and occasional cough and sleep mumbles. I am trying to fall back asleep. My mind is full of terror and other compositions of my young life. The moonlight pouring through the smoke hole washes the interior of our hoghaan in darker shadows, forcing all things metallic to shine on the periphery of...
read moreNo ribbons required; Pageantry of colors, arts awards and beyond
The Viola Awards celebration is just around the corner and the excitement in the arts community here in Flagstaff and beyond is almost tangible. The nominations are out; I am sure many fingers are crossed. I wish all the nominees much luck and that the eyes of the judging panels are kind, and not as divisive as the Academy Awards. I believe I see one artist of color in the running: My cousin, David Dawangumptewa. I wish him much success. David’s quality and perseverance, along with his love of vision and culture, has earned him...
read moreUncharted water; Boldly into the unknown (continued)
As I peered past the hard rain against my windshield, I saw multiple shades of gray composing my new world in a wiggly abstract. The Sierra disappeared from my rearview mirror and was replaced by beacons of headlights urging me forth. Welcome to the Golden State for this dusty Rez boy. I was definitely in uncharted water and there was no turning back. The award and acceptance letter from the art college in my glove compartment confirmed that. This was just another stage of life’s journey and transitions. That gave me a little semblance of...
read moreBoldly into the unknown; On the wild road less traveled
It has been many years since I broke through the beauty that is the rainbow that surrounds our Dineh’ homeland. I exited innocence of all that I knew and loved, which sustained me, but the hunger of new places, people and experiences is too powerful a drive to let pass. Each time I have embraced newness, it was not without some cultural shock. Much of what is “out there” is dangerously close to taboo and must be negotiated with great care. You see, I had never lived in a city or engaged with its content up to that time I left my sheep camp....
read moreMarking seasons; A view from the New Year
As late summer’s warmth relents to the early chills of autumn, I am reminded of how these changes affected my observation from the threshold of my mother’s hearth and home. From a very young age, when I first learned of the cycle of seasons, I learned to gauge those stages in the changes of the Earth’s tone. Before and aside from the intrusion of U.S. government schools, it was the subtle signs I witnessed: the lowering heads of sunflowers as if in sadness; the cries of migratory birds far above my sheep trails as they traveled south; the...
read moreHero Twins; On the edge of Creation
As the season changes in the waning year, I hear once again the voice of my elder as the story of the great legends of Creation is retold. When our animal family begin their slumber for the winter, it is deemed safe to settle around the hearth of the hogan to embark upon this journey, again. To the blazing wood fire of winter’s night, to the aroma of Navajo Tea and cedar smudging, we await on the first lines of our origin. “Aal,kiida’, Haaji’na’b’daa de’.”
read moreLetting the mysteries be; A journey with many unknowns
There are many mysteries I grew up with that remain a mystery. I welcome that. As in the new world I am thrust into, the mysteries of technologies and beliefs in guidance from different gods. I welcome that. I do not know how cell phones and computers work from such a small format. Halloween and Santa Claus: mysteries. I do not know much of what is in nature, such as what keeps millions of tons of moisture above our heads in these fantastic summer thunderheads. How nature works and all that maintains life has always been explained to me through the creation stories and through the voices, songs and the antics of animal kin. My forebears passed those on as tenets of living life as Dineh’.
read moreExiting innocence; My summer roads, 1970
At the age of 15 I broke through the horizon of the familiar. From a remote sheep camp, with $5 in my pocket, I left home. I remember that day as I packed a few pieces of clothing and exited innocence. I offered a quick farewell to my family; leaving them thinking I was just going overnight at some distant relative’s place. A thick sheep camp tortilla and cooked meat with a chunk of government cheese (the best and tastiest kind) was my provision in a knapsack. I left home that hot day with not a single cloud in the thick blue sky....
read moreWalking dark; Another midsummer night’s dream
That late evening when the shadows blended thick I walked away from the festivity of lights and laughter into the night. I stepped beyond the perimeter of flashing lights and carnival barkers. Before me I see only the sweltering evening heat of the night. It held another population as I negotiated alleys. I walked deeper into the unlit city accented only by an occasional glow of cigarettes and low voices. I stumbled once or twice upon a sleeping animal, startling them into motion. I stepped over sleeping figures. I walked into a...
read moreRock the Canyon; Giving back to the community
As late spring rolls out its verdant carpet for summer’s entrance, I will once again step into its promise of the season’s fullness and festivities. This is the promise I yearned for as a child. It is called Shii’ in Navajo (Summer)—The Time When Late Snow Showers and Thunderstorms Mingle. The late storm we call Aye’he ne’dinni’yoodi (Chasing Away the In-laws)—When the Young Suitor Runs Home to the Comfort of His Own Mother’s Hoghaan. It is followed by carpets of bright and cheery wildflowers that will only wither with the...
read moreMoon of the Earth’s stirring; Renewal season
This was my third Passover Seder/Shabbat observance. This year, I accompanied my girlfriend Tamar and my adopted son Daniel to this wonderful celebration of the shedding of the bondage of darkness in any form. It was the Navajo Moon of the Earth’s stirring. The moon was early full and all the hills, free of lights, showed its muted shine. The hills of the San Francisco Bay glittered and winked in allure. It was a fine night like many I’ve known where healing began. I came to be present and not just to eat. Many years ago, in Greenwich...
read moreDrawing life; Delineating my world
“Drawing is more than a tool for rendering and capturing likeness. It is a language, with its own syntax, grammar, and urgency. Learning to draw is about learning to see. In this way; it is a metaphor for all art activity. Whatever its form, drawing transforms perception and thought into image and teaches us how to think with our eyes.” — Kit White, from 101 Things to Learn in Art School The very first stirrings of “thinking with my eyes” as a means to create my own world, filled with subjects and symbols of my unconventional and safe...
read moreSouth to Cantu Cove; Journey in the direction of turquoise
The headlights revealed only more sand ahead of us as we negotiated our way down the Mexican dirt road. As the passenger, my feet worked the phantom pedals. Tamar and I were both strangers here and we had no way of contacting our hosts somewhere there on the beach of the Sea of Cortez. The street we were on had no signs. It abruptly turned to dirt and became uneven. We continued the perilous drive through the sand and rock outcroppings. The Mazda3 under Tamar’s guidance and my indigenous GPS tracked carefully; we swallowed our doubts and...
read moreThe mentor of youth; My brother’s pain
I had a brother once that I looked up to, to no end. I had a brother once that loved me through expressions of the face and words, and yet still he beat me up when I transgressed in my young boyhood as I learned to be a man. Nelson was two years older than me and my closest sibling. He was a charismatic child, and at an early age even the animals gravitated to his charms. He was my brother. I loved him. He exuded what I wanted to be, but could never achieve. I felt he was Charles Atlas, Jim Shoulder and Marlon Brando all in one. The tales of...
read moreSomeone saved my life; Being each others’ angels
As we enter another season of feasting, gift giving and love, I want to talk about what that is all about for me. I was always under an impression that a great prophet was born in the season and through him we are promised salvation. It is about saving lives and opening up heart and hearth. Our collective story of our vulnerability and our saviors come together in our conversation. It is not about the Gods of our creation that I am speaking of here. The men and women who do these deeds are just humans who happen to be in the right place at...
read moreState of dreams; The other life
I do dream my dreams dreaming me, where my reality conscience is folded onto itself. We all do. It’s the world we populate nearly half of our living and breathing state. A plane of conscience we give little credence to. A powerful place and space we all know too well. I visit that dimension each night where all my angst and triumph resides. Where I either find sanctuary or encounter my fears. It’s where I believe I complete motions, act on a promise or simply dismember the rules of nature. I see coming collisions of lives around the bend of...
read moreOn the edge of the ages; Plein air on the rim
Once again, I am in the company of wonderfully talented landscape painters. I will spend this week here at the rim of the Grand Canyon trying to capture and interpret, in my own way, the grandness of the Canyon. As one of 20-some painters from all over the country, I am thrilled to be here among this inspirational throng, among peers, fellow visionaries and, of course, good friends. This will be my third time participating in this event. En plein air, a French expression, means “In the open air.” A painting done on the spot on the land. All...
read moreMy three muses
In many of my past writing journeys here, I speak much of growing up Dineh’—about the uniqueness of the culture I come from—about the sacredness of ceremonies and the brutality of the government boarding schools. I speak of life and living within the horizon that is my universe. I want to speak more on the beauty and the magic that makes my own life as an artist. The wonders that began within my hogan, my landscape, my passion of family. I want to speak on my three wonderful daughters—my ultimate muses. I want to know I carry that sense...
read moreThe Heart Vase; Why the tree has seven hearts
Some months ago when the preparation for my new exhibition at the Museum of Northern Arizona was beginning, my friend and brother of a lighter shade, glassblower George Averbeck, approached me with the idea of collaborating on a piece for the museum gala auction. In our continuing support for this fine institution, I readily agreed. George has shown his support through various donations and verbal testaments, and so have I. It also was a real testament in the knowledge that if we all work together to create a greater beauty, then we all...
read moreMap of My Heart; A view from above the storm clouds
Once again, I am honored with a full show at the Museum of Northern Arizona. The show begins with a gala with all the trimmings on Summer Solstice. It is a place all artists sharing this universal language wish to be. I am humbled by this distinction and I know it is my stories of being an integral part of my land that brings me here. I gladly share these for my own spiritual growth as well as keeping my identity strong with the land I speak for in the name of Art. I titled the show Map of My Heart because that is what it attempts to...
read morePieces of April; My spring prayer
Aaah, the rites of Spring! Yaa’ Daa’n. This is the time of year when smiling hearts blossom everywhere it seems. I used to see it in the early thunderheads looming high above the parched grounds of the government boarding school compound. There seemed to be newness even in the gray geometry we called home away from our sheep camp homes. Like the towering promise of moisture far above, my spirit would rise out of the pit, because summer break was not too far ahead. In this I saw the promise of the victory of surviving another school year. I...
read moreScreen cowboys; Dreams from an aged saddle
They rode hard with intensity upon their Palomino steed. They sat in their saddles with confidence, synchronized as they moved through brushes and deadfalls. The Horse and his Cowboy. They were overwhelming there up on the movie screen. Their hats disturbed not in the slightest by the wind they often rode into. They squinted hard and narrow into the storm and at their adversaries. Their six-guns blazed easily from their gloved hands. I saw bad men falling by the wayside as our screen Cowboy again evened the scale of Justice. The dusty and...
read moreTrees of knowledge; Tending roots through art
“… aa’de’h, ha ho dil ya, bi’ daa de. Tsin, t’iis, noseel,i’ be’ ya’ bi’ne’ es tsi jinni’. Da’ hoodi dsi, da hodi’ zhoosh go’ da hode’ knii’de’e’ daa’ ho,l dziil’ jinni.” “… on the cusp of creation, trees, and all that takes root ties down the undulating restlessness of the Mother. stillness with prayers, that is the wisdom and strength of grandparents …” – Moses T. Yazzie Sr. (1981) It begins with the wrist, then the elbow, the shoulder and eventually the whole body. These are the movements; the dance of creation to the blank space of the...
read moreBefore Santa Claus; Recollections of the gifts of winter
Celebrations of the season began way before Christmas as I know it now. Before the lighted trees, gifts and Santa Claus. There were times remembered in events and emotions. There was a sense of holiness that comes with the hibernations of animals and the loss of warmth, as the world became more surreal suspended farther from the Sun. The short days and long story-filled nights in low voices gave a reason to go inward to seek out those gems hibernating within us. The season when we open those bundles of carefully wrapped songs and stories of...
read moreThrough fresh eyes; Renewing the Map of my Heart
Sap oozes from a sweet vanilla pine. Its scent rides the morning current. Nectar of hummingbird plant, (Da’yii t,ii Daa’) still on my tongue and cliff roses fragrance in my senses. We ride the morning roads upon this land of many incredible moods, many fascinating plays of light and the space. It has its own vocabulary. The land of my ancestors once spoke its esoteric language. Through new sets of eyes, with new enthusiasm, I reset and replay my intense appreciation of its beauty. Besides its obvious landmarks, it is the supporting casts of...
read moreA day in the life of a B.I.A. child; Government school revisited from the late 1960s
The morning alarm goes off early, blaring harshly as we stumble out of our bunk beds at the boarding school. Another morning. The overseer swaggers in with his switch tapping his calves. He yells down the hallway echoing the unkind sound of the bell. We line up in our pajamas for inspection and a head count; 60 young boys in a wing of the massive cinderblock dormitory. We line up to throw cold water on our faces, after which we again line up to head out into the predawn chill. In our government-issued Converse, we stretch, push, pull and hop...
read moreBaa’ ol taa ,a’; Key to my new world knowledge
It is often said that it takes a village to raise a child. I know that it takes an army of teachers to make that child a productive and giving member of society. I am such a child still. I can never say enough of my traditional Dineh elders who taught me before I stepped into a classroom. The elders still hold that position in our lives as we also take on that helm ourselves. As a Baby Boomer on the Rez I revisit the memory of that special group of people who expanded my horizons in many classrooms. As school resumes for another year I am...
read moreHow did I get here? You can get there from here
“How did you get to where you are now, and How can I get there?” I am often posed this question from young artists. Some days I do look about me and pose the same question. It seems like it was not that long ago that I was listening intently for sheep bells and nestled inside big sagebrushes with comic books. It seems only days ago I felt the hot wind on my back as I stuck my thumb out again in search of something. Yes, I need to revisit that question for myself also. It has been a journey marked by much obstacles and opportunities. It is a...
read moreThe project of slaying monsters; Tapping into our private messiah
In the great story of Navajo Creation, the Hero twins are a constant presence of adventure in warring against the Monsters of the Fourth World. It is through the conquest of this world, this dimension, that we are allowed peace and prosperity in the present world. The “people” were forced to move from one world level to another for their own misdeeds and sacrilege. In the First World, as insect beings, in the darkened and frozen world where little survives, they moved. In the Second World as small mammal beings, such as birds and lizards,...
read moreHitchhikers on life’s journey; Picking up stories of the road
These days I pick up a hitchhiker alongside the roadways of the Navajo Rez. I find that familiar and safe as a former traveler of such. The onset of the spring in all its glory brings to mind such longings. Out there was another world awaiting. The deep turquoise sky, a background of towering cumulous clouds promising rain and more. Freedom was my horizon, untethered and unexpected. These days I pick up people I know as well as strangers. Stories and laughter shared is compensation in kind for the ride. “Yaa ateeh, Hxaa de’ , Yin aal’?”...
read moreHighway memories; Going west again … and again
I have traveled this road many times. Too many to recount. I measure them by my adventures and misadventures upon this stretch of life line. The route is from the foot of the Sacred Mountain of the West to the California coast. I am once again riding the rhythms of the road west into the San Francisco Bay. I have no flower in my hair, just the West Coast wind. I am musing on this magical passage where angels and ghosts weave themselves into the tapestry of these journeys. The fading signs and dilapidated structures of the Mojave Desert give...
read moreDreamscape with hawk; Journey in dreams/between realities
In my life creating art, I am asked where my inspirations and images come from. My world of unconventional reality. Much of it does come from dreams dreamt at night. Dreams I can still recall from decades ago. Dreamscapes I walked among and participated in. Dreams that are coming to reality now. On canvas and in our shared reality. Dreams are the drivers of my creations. A constant of questionings. What is real for me? Dream # 42, March, 1986… “On the road to somewhere. Somewhere my heart aches to be. The sun glared brilliantly off my...
read moreFebruary storm; Hearts blowing in the wind
Our classroom was cramped; tiny and not designed for 30 students. It actually was an apartment for the overseer attached to the girls’ dormitory. We were the overflow at another government boarding school that ran out of space for us. While the new school was being constructed at Shonto for us, we were guests at Leupp School. That was a hard year. This was 1962. I spent my second grade in the girls’ dormitory and called it a classroom. At a long table we worked diligently and quietly, an occasional sniffling and rustlings of paper was the...
read moreHa goneii” Shi’Ke’ii; Goodbyes in the closing year
In these waning days of 2012, we have lost more than a few people who have touched us all collectively in the entertainment, political and sports worlds. With that consciousness, the past couple of months also found me saying goodbye to several close relatives as they journeyed into the Spirit world. Sadly, it is an all-too-common event these days, especially on the rez it seems. It is the only time relationships and community come together bonded by tears and a sense of mortality. Unexpectedly, I lost my cousin in early November to alcohol...
read moreTipping my hat to mystery; The odyssey of our headwear
The wind, in the form of a dust devil, took my hat many years ago. I was 5 years old. I stepped out into the calm and warming day crowned by my new straw cowboy hat. I beamed beneath its brims as I showed it off to the daily gods. The mysteries. It took many days of piñon picking covered in tree pitch and aching knees to afford that fine hat from the local trading post. The gods must have felt a tinge of jealousy. The calmness of the day erupted into a moving chaos and tumult of dust and debris. “Yii wo’ de’ Yii wo’ de’, naa ko ol, dissi’...
read moreLegacy of brutality; Surviving bullies and reclaiming a life
As another season of harvest and preparation for colder weather begins, my mind cannot help but wander back to the days of innocence lost, courtesy of my Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding school experience. School resumed for another year and with it came the pained expectation of family separations and abuses at the hands of the B.I.A. officials and my peers. This is suppose to be a happy and promised season of shedding of the old, yet the stories of those who attended these institutions are all the same, at least up to the late...
read moreRendezvous with amigos; Musings on the edge of the dusty world, 1974
A colorfully dressed young cowboy with a slight limp shuffled past me. I stood with one hand on the railings of the rodeo corral. I had come to see a friend I haven’t seen since my boarding school days. Seven years? The drone of the announcer’s amplified voice wore on: “Now out of chute four, we have a cowboy from Red Lake, Arizona, ‘Ba ahii da’ had’. Clap for this young cowboy … and wish him luck.” The sole of my boot had worn thin and the sandy heat penetrated it. I should have worn more socks. The heat spared none that July day—the sheep...
read moreThe father I remember; Our father who art in heaven …
Sunday past was Father’s Day, a day set aside to honor the adult man in our lives—the constant source of strength and wrath. Our fathers. Growing up on the Dineh’ land of the 1960s, I do not recall any celebration for these ties. Summer set in and the dry and dusty days multiplied as my father’s voice echoed throughout the sheep camp. He sang loudly as he worked the timbers for the new hogans, as he hauled water in 50-gallon drums to water the fledgling cornfield and us alongside him. I heard his voice in the late night, with healing chants...
read moreMoon of the earth’s stirring; Planting thoughts on spring
Gazing across the vast and dusty Klethla Valley, my young eyes saw the boundaries of my world where the looming Black Mesa meets the sky, blue and eternal. The last stubborn remnant of snow patches hid away beneath the thick junipers. The sun traveled ever so slightly back towards the north; warming days reminded us that planting time was upon us soon. I saw and participated in these changes of seasons in our exodus from one sheep camp to another. It was always an exciting time. Chickens and cats were caught and bagged for the trip across the...
read moreThe view I have from here; A prayer for the desecrators
I have a view from here, “y’aa.” What a view. My three sisters, they shine in the distance. “Sis na Jinni’” (Mt. Blanco to the east), “So Dzil’ (Mt. Taylor to the south), “Di be’ N’tsaa” (Hesperus peak to the north). My view has clouds today, like cataracts outside of my eyes. Like clouds bearing no rain. It is hard to hold onto ice, onto “Ke’sh je’” songs. With the dimming of the light, there upon my blanket is the fabric once woven in the undisturbed pattern of virgin green, once channeling petitions through the grooves of my folds. Now...
read moreVisions within bound; Painting with consciousness
At the young age of 8, I sat in awe as my elders hunched over a smooth bed of sand as the holy deities once again were given form. There on the hogan floor, to the low drone of an ancient chant, deft fingers gnarled by years of labor, drew fine lines of colored sand from their fingertips. As the son of a very important medicine man, I knew the significance of these images as a recreation of the universal healing patterns. They dazzled my youthful eyes and carried my spirit aloft. These were very sacred undertakings I sat witness to time and...
read moreCommunity Clan; Flag’s original jovial troubadour
I am sitting across the booth from Tony Norris at Brandy’s restaurant. It is still early for breakfast, but late enough so we can talk without disturbing the patrons. Except for the clinkings of dishes and utensils, it is a good place for our hushed conversation. This is new for me. Usually I am the one being interviewed. This is also Tony’s brainstorm. He says that our audience knows our words and the pictures we paint, but they need to know who we are. So the idea of picking each other’s brains to expose our journey thus far, was given...
read moreRedeeming Santa; My First BIA Boarding School Christmas
“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright …” The chorus rang off the canyon walls of my childhood at this time of the year. Beaming, hopeful and confused brown little faces sang heartily into the night so many years ago. There in the sandstone buildings, sitting on our knees, we were told about the reason for the season. Beneath an old grove of massive Fremont cottonwood, gifting us with snow on outstretched limbs, all seemed holy. Yes it did. There was a holy child discovered in a manger. All the universe held its breath, for...
read moreShelly in the spring of 1976; Musing from the breeze of northern New Mexico
“April gave us springtime, and the promise of the flowers … We knew no time for sadness, that’s the road we each had crossed. We were living a time meant for us, and even when it would rain, we would laugh it off. I’ve got pieces of April, I keep them in a memory bouquet. I’ve got pieces of April, it’s a morning in May.” –Dave Loggins’ “Pieces of April,” performed by Three Dog Night Lithe and beautiful, she attracted attentions of confident young men. I was such a young man. In those wonderful days of bellbottoms and eight-track music....
read moreFace the truth; Give peaks a chance
With messages against snow making written upon our faces, we stare out from alleys and street corners of Flagstaff. Like Maori warriors, we speak our ancestors’ prayers across our skin. When audible words no longer carry weight and pleas cast into the coming storm dissipate, we volunteered our faces to carry our messages. You have seen us, our mugs wheat-pasted and enlarged in black-and-white expressions of our intent as you navigate the streets of this town. My good friend and fellow artist/visionary, Chip Thomas, is the driving force behind...
read moreBetween pain and sanctuary; Putting the past to rest to understand the present
In 1862, my people were rounded up and forced to walk over 450 miles to Bosque Redondo, near Ft. Sumner, N.M. This was Manifest Destiny in its glorious and ugly expansion with no regard to the preceding culture. There were four different routes that brought 9,000 prisoners eventually. Hundreds died along the trail. In 1865, the Bosque was the most populated place anywhere in New Mexico. Four years of excruciating and marginal existence at the “reservation” saw many deaths. In the end, it was a failure at an attempt to “Americanize” us. It was...
read moreAt home on earth; Meditations on returning to one’s source
Now that I have seen 57 winters, I know I have fewer winters to feel. I feel more connected than ever before to that ground that holds my umbilical cord, as well as my childrens’. I can never sever my tether there … and here. Every week I see my mother’s face, and upon her face, all will read clearly, “I am happy, my son, I am light of grief seeing you here again.” She feeds me. She shuffles on arthritic ankles mixing dough there in her kitchen, the kitchen that rung with her silvery laughter. She speaks of time past when my father lived and...
read moreBreaking Through My Horizon; A hitchhiker’s lost diary
On that very hot and dusty summers day in 1972, I held out my thumb an willed and old Chevy truck to a stop. “Haa nizaa goh?” (How far?) “A’ayiddi ji’, Cowsprings Ji.” (A short way, just to Cowsprings.) It was a brief ride but it was progress nonetheless. I had walked out that morning from my sheepcamp four and a half miles off U.S. 160 that courses through our portion of the Rez. A week before 4th of July events in neighboring towns, I was fueled with expectations. It was an excitement of that unknown that was partially responsible for...
read moreFear no art; Icon and controversy
It has been over 10 years since I created a stir in my community with my art. I want to revisit this tempest not out of any residual angst, but to further educate the viewing public. Fortunately for me, most of my viewing public is made up of sophisticated consumers. But for those not familiar with this event, here it is … again. Three months into an exhibit of my paintings at the Museum of Northern Arizona in 1998, I received a call from the newspaper informing me of a complaint lodged by a local mother, who was concerned that her grade...
read moreSpring messenger; Connections though contact
Spring is finally here again. The long winter’s slumber once again is awakened by squawking pinyon jays. The red earth once again dominates as winter’s lace of ice recedes. Sheepcamps are alive with bleatings of newborn lambs and kids. The moon of “the stirring of the seedlings” is steeped in Mother Earth. Cornfields are ready to receive this year’s crop. It’s time for the sheep shears to be sharpened. It is the time of Mysteries and Miracles. At this time one spring morning in ’04, six months after the passing of my father, my mother stepped...
read moreAccepting acceptance; At home in a community of artists
As some of you may know by now, I was the featured artist at the Heard Museum a couple of weekends ago and therefore was not able to attend the third annual Viola Awards gala. I would like to congratulate all the recipients of the Viola awards. It truly is a blessing to be part of such a vibrant community of artists, to be part of a community that treasures you. All of you, especially the nominees that went home without awards, you are someone’s muse, someone’s nomination. The Heard Museum held its 53rd annual Native Fair and Market the first...
read moreWinona me over; It will be heard
In spite of the extreme cold weather, I was glad to see many people out to hear Winona LaDuke at the Audrey Auditorium last Tuesday evening. It was good to see and hear her again. As a native woman, she holds a very sacred position as a messenger of humanity and Mother Earth. I believe it is always appropriate to begin in one’s own language. It is the recognition of the divine. To create a cleansing vibration of the larynx and to position the tongue to speak power gives one an identity. As Winona spoke of issues concerning human interaction...
read moreMay we all; A prayer for the new decade
May we all move forward into the New Year and decade with courage. This is written as a petition to God, to the Great Spirit and many more power names. Yet in the end it is into the great mystery, however we view it, whatever name we gave it. Our appeals for mercy and validation of our being remains always the truth. A common cry from a humble From the foot of the Sacred Mountain, Do’k’o oos liid, I cast my prayers into the infinite soul of the universe. In the name of all that calls her mother, in the name of all that receives and is...
read moreMusing on a sound quest; Education and inspiration through music
I was recently asked what I enjoy listening to as an inspiration or background in my studio. Like most artists, I do not have a particular favorite in music makers nor genre. I take what I can synchronize my movements with, in body and spirit—sounds that amplify the depth of the colors and the sensuality of forms. I listen to music that creates for me an atmosphere best suited to a vision quest at hand. Most times, it is radio sounds that fill that need. I am somewhat tired of the old standards when I am trying to move forward. I feel that I...
read moreLightness in paradise; National park perks
Among the many journeys I’ve taken, I have to say that being in the ranks of the National Park Service as a naturalist/ranger tops the list. In all, I spent 10 years in various parks in the American west. A stint in the Tetons in northwestern Wyoming was glorious and adventurous, as was my time on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon in the late 1970s and teaching intercultural interpretation at the Albright Academy later in the ’80s. Capping off the Park Service decade at Navajo National Monument near Shonto was very apt for me. I knew then, as...
read moreA name, a prayer; Welcoming new lives
She was born on the 10th of September at 4:30 a.m. PST in Fairbanks, Alaska. She is my newest granddaughter and the third blessed daughter of my eldest daughter, Enei and her husband, Evon. She joins a beautiful young family of four kids, the eldest being my grandson, Olav and his sisters Na NI eezh and Cheii lil. I have yet to greet her personally. With great expectation, I await that moment. I will gaze upon that child and see the face of the whole world; the blood and histories of many cultures course through her veins. Upon their faces...
read moreSummer’s end; From sheepskins to bunk beds
As the summer comes to an end again, I feel that slight tint of autumn waiting upon the late summer air, waiting to gather up the sounds and colors of the season’s excitement. There is a bit of residual sadness that I have learned to associate with this changing of season. For me, it has always been the time when you put away your carefree days and begin to prepare for the beginning of school. The ending and beginning sentiments are rooted in my government boarding school experiences. When the sunflowers’ heads began to droop, so did mine....
read moreGracing the wall; Dancing with art
There is now a brand new piece of public art in Williams, Ariz., on the exterior wall of Native America gift store in the heart of downtown in this small town that I have come to enjoy. The image commands attention a block away in a gentle way, and I am proud to say that this latest piece is my creation—a gift I chose to give. On a chance lunch months ago in Williams with my good friend and mayor of said town, John Moore, we discussed the possibility of a Shonto mural. My brother and friend in the Dineh way, Clarence Clearwater, was my...
read moreThe promise of possibility; Learning to find a path
Along with welcoming in the heat of summer after a very long and dramatic winter, we have much to hope for and celebrate. An event that holds the greatest hope for us is the graduation of our youths. I wish you all the best as you enter the “real” world, the world where you are the captain of your own ship. As you venture forth, just know whatever the outcome, it is mostly in your very capable hands. I never experienced that cap-and-gown walk with my fellow graduating class of ’74. I quietly earned a GED later that year, so I did not hear...
read moreShi’ma; Revisiting the maternal energy
Ya’ateeh’ Shi Ya azh, a’we’. “My beautiful baby, my child”—a loving greeting of a mother to her son. Blessedly, this is the line I know well. My mother and all mothers draped their child in these tender words of affection. Unconditionally. I glow in the knowledge that I have a mother that gently releases this truth. I was always told that we need to be conscious of this bond, beginning with the first cry cast into the heavens. This seat in the heart is nurtured and protected from neglect. We all have this most sacred of all connections with...
read moreViola; Community spirit sustained
Last month I was given the honor of receiving the 2010 Viola Award for individual artist contributing to the aesthetic health and wealth of our community. I am truly humbled and grateful for the recognition. The capacity crowd filled the hall of the Radisson to celebrate the organizations and individuals picked for this year’s award ceremony. Familiar Flagstaff faces and those I never met before exchanged congratulatory words and gestures. We are fortunate to practice in a town that values creative people and events—and that is a very good...
read morePromises a-bloomin’; Campaign musings between City Hall and the Chapter House
With the storm behind us and another birthday behind me, I feel the tinge of spring in the air. Soon the ice-sculpted curbs and alleyways of our town will be but a memory. Ahead is the lush carpet of wildflowers of spring, where a field of campaign signs are blooming. It’s late winter, a city council and mayoral campaign is under way, and a fresh crop of promises adorns yards and bumpers. I’ve had a brush with politics myself. In the early 1990s I was approached by my community of Shonto to run for council delegate, a chapter representative...
read moreSnowstorm of 1967; Embracing the newness
By the time you read this piece, we should know if all the hype of this week’s back-to-back snowstorms lived up to the expectation. Two to three feet we are told, and anything less will be a letdown. With natural emergency what it is today, we have to be extra careful and prepare for such ominous predictions. This elevated sense of danger and adventure brings to mind the winter of 1967. I was 12 years old and living with my surrogate family, the B.I.A. boarding school. I was safe and warm in those concrete bunkers behind hurricane fences. It...
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