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 thing. Sharing a table and applause with the Babbitts and, of course, Viola’s daughter, Rayma, was special. I feel a sense of sacredness in the company of elders who possess strong ties to history and my own invitation to that wonderful bonding. The awards ceremony was paced well to accommodate for the time. We had the stage only long enough for a quick word of gratitude and smile for the camera. I guess this is going to suffice for an acceptance speech.
Viola Award. What does it mean to me and the future of my art? More sales? Greater validation? I do not know as of yet. But probably not so much the former in this recession time. But the value your own community places on you as a person of vision goes a long way. Long after the money is spent, and long after the audible adulations dims into the past, long after the beautiful exercise of externalizing current angst and moving onto the next, the validation of my peers stays fresh. Aside from the piece of ground that holds my umbilical cord where my heart is, Shonto, I am proud to always be tied to Flagstaff as a place I keep a studio and where I participate in life fully.
If ever there is a dream job, I am blessed with one.
In the beginning, I drew my first line upon the earthen floor of the hogan not to gain recognition or notoriety. It was simply an exercise in honoring visions, life’s color and movements, and a way of stating that life matters no matter how arduous. It was a way of composing the tableau of my universe. It was a practice in dexterity for I was my father’s helper in forming great healing sand paintings. Prayers, as well as sand, trickle from my fingertips. It was woven intrinsically into the beautiful and mysterious patterns on my mother’s loom. It was what you do without television. I have referred to my style of painting as a neo-impressionism set in my unconventional reality. My art is a ritual of personal ceremony that heals. The broken lines and short strokes have always been a visual chant for me. Each piece is another Blessingway, maybe an Enemyway ceremony. I paint because I must, as one needs nutrients and air to sustain the self. I learned that I am better at creating art than being a rodeo star. Paint stained hands trumps a mouthful of dirt any day.
I paint images I know, experiences that shaped my worldview and cries that failed to form words. I paint through the lens I was born with. I try to paint my truth. To paraphrase another great Native artist, “I paint Indians real, not red.” To create from the depth requires self actualization. I pay homage to the great creator, grateful in my gifts and accepting of my faults. I paint with no market or audience in mind, replaying all the voices that carried me with encouragements, aware of where this is really coming from.
Recognitions such as the Viola Awards serve to sustain us as artists. The artistic community here is truly a blessing. It makes my heart happy and hopeful when an artist sells. Please continue to pat an artist on the back, take a piece of us home. You will be amazed at the beauty a piece of Flagstaff artist brings into your heart and hearth. To all my collectors in this town, I thank you wholeheartedly. If you have been sitting on the fence, make that leap of faith because I sense more and greater rewards ahead. Thank you.
