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In December 2021, young people gathered at the 44th Annual Lakota Nation Invitational (LNI) across the Great Plains to compete in sports, arts, and cultural activities.

And First Peoples Fund’s Dances with Words program sponsored a day-long poetry event that included an artist workshop, a poetry slam, and an open-mic for youth poets.

The event was emceed by award-winning actor Zahn McClarnon (Lakota), who has appeared in over 80 film and television productions, including the groundbreaking FX series Reservation Dogs and the Disney+ series Hawkeye. McClarnon facilitated an artist workshop and offered career advice for future performers and actors.

At the poetry slam (a competition where poets perform spoken-word poetry in front of an audience and judges), eight youth poets performed 3-minute poems, followed by a lightning round consisting of 90-second poems. Poem topics ranged from climate change and protecting Mother Earth, to mental health advocacy, and social movements for the Lakota language and for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women/Relatives, also known as MMIW/R.

"Hearing the youth share their stories out loud with the community was truly inspiring,” says Autumn White Eyes (Oglala Lakota, Turtle Mountain Band of Anishinaabe), Youth Development Program Manager at First Peoples Fund.  “Sharing their stories on stage is a truly vulnerable action, so I was so proud of their bravery and willingness to share.”

The judge panel included community members Tiarra Little, Peter Strong, and Eleanor Ferguson, while musician and DJ Zuya Lakota Rapper, also known as Almadon Swalley, performed original music.

The winning poets were Jaxsyn Claymore from Rapid City Schools, Charlize Pourier from Red Cloud High School, and Antonio Rojos from Little Wound High School. Additionally, excellence awards in categories such as best performance, melancholy and emotional content, and Native pride were presented.

“I loved being a part of the LNI Poetry Slam,” says Frankie Miner, a Lakota poet from Cheyenne River Eagle Butte.  “I appreciate being presented with the Meadowlark Award” that honors excellence in engaging the audience’s emotions. “We have a lot of meadowlarks where I live and they remind me of home,” says Miner.

The event ended with an open-mic and a freestyling performance between youth poet Lamara Howe and DJ Zuya Lakota Rapper.

For eight years, the Lakota Nation Invitational Poetry Slam has created space for Lakota youth to share their stories when popular American culture is unaware of the issues young Native people face.

“Indigenous youth are writing about issues that matter to them most: climate change, mental health, language,” says White Eyes. “The LNI poetry slam is an event to hear directly from youth on how society is impacting them."

The event was the first in-person poetry slam since 2020 when the COVID-19 pandemic began. At the event, Lakota youth practiced social distancing and wore masks to protect elders and their community.

First Peoples Fund congratulates the young people for sharing their stories and for speaking their truths.

In 2016, First Peoples Fund launched Rolling Rez Arts (RRA) to provide art and business workshops for artists and cultural bearers living on the Pine Ridge Reservation

Two years later in 2018, RRA hosted 80 in-person workshops that reached over 800 community members, due in part to the program’s unique approach: via a state-of-the-art mobile unit (which was featured on PBS Newshour).

The success of RRA’s mobile unit coincided with a 2018 groundbreaking ceremony for the Oglala Lakota Artspace (OLA), a reservation-based facility for Pine Ridge artists (and future homebase for RRA).

The mission of OLA is to offer a home base for comprehensive outreach services and arts programming to the Pine Ridge community through a partnership between Artspace, Lakota Funds, and First Peoples Fund. The facility was scheduled to open in 2020 but the COVID-19 pandemic unfolded, subsequently postponing OLA’s grand opening– twice.

Rolling Rez Arts, on the other hand, adapted its programming to serve Native communities when they needed art the most: during the uncertainty of a pandemic.

On The (Virtual) Road

Like many nonprofit organizations during the pandemic’s onset in 2020, First Peoples Fund quickly adapted in-person workshops and transformed them into virtual events using online resources, like Zoom, Facebook Live, and Youtube.

What helped RRA maintain its arts programming –  now called On the Virtual Road with Rolling Rez Arts – were dedicated teaching artists like Cynthia Masterson (Comanche). Masterson taught a beading workshop last December on Zoom.

“I wanted to set up [workshop attendees] for success,” says Masterson, who is a bead artist and a 2019 Cultural Capital fellow at First Peoples Fund. “We need an easy win right now, as everything is so hard” for Native people.

As a result, Masterson taught students an introductory beading project that could be gifted during the holiday season. “Beads are just props that facilitate sharing an emotion,” says Masterson. “[Beading] is how we connect with somebody.”

But Masterson admits teaching virtual workshops is a learning process. “We were throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks” during the first year of the pandemic, says Masterson. “But I think the pandemic was good for my teaching. Even though it's not ideal, I've connected with so many more people” due to the geographical reach and flexibility of virtual learning.

The Heart of RRA: Teaching Artists

In 2021, RRA curated over a dozen workshops covering an array of artistic disciplines, such as beading, fashion, and performance. Workshop titles included:

• Moccasin Making for Baby with V.R. Janis (Ojibwe)
• Creating Applique for Lakota Fashion and Dance Regalia with Helene Gaddie (Oglala Lakota)
• Learn How to Quillwork with Mary Lebeaux (Oglala Sioux)
• Rez Rap Crate Digging with Talon Bazille (Crow Creek Dakota, Cheyenne River Lakota)
• Matting and Framing Your Art by Wade Patton (Oglala Lakota)

Moreover, what drives the virtual success of RRA are the teaching artists themselves. “Every class was an exciting wealth of knowledge with a glimpse into the creative process and techniques used by professional working Native artists,” says Bryan Parker, Rolling Rez Arts Program Manager. “The idea is that classes will be the stepping stone to the more concentrated programming that will happen at the Oglala Lakota Artspace.”

The Road Ahead

In 2021, RRA extended its programming to support elders residing at the Lakota Sioux Nursing Home and on the Pine Ridge Reservation. “Elders will utilize pre-recorded videos from our artists and learn new skills,” says Parker.

“Our strength and knowledge come from our elders,” says Parker. “And it is our responsibility to continue to help pass on that knowledge and continue to celebrate Indigenous art and culture.”

The video series is the starting point for a long-term plan. “Our ultimate goal is for elders to participate at the Oglala Lakota Artspace [in-person],” says Parker. “The Oglala Sioux Tribe has restrictions on how many people can gather indoors [due to COVID-19], so we patiently wait for the ordinance to lift.”

Until then, the new video series keeps elders engaged in RRA programming safely in their homes.

In 2022, Parker hopes elders can participate in person. “I hope that [program] success is defined not only through gaining new skills and trying new mediums,” says Parker, “But that cultural stories are shared [to inspire] creative solutions to better serve the community,” which is the heart of Rolling Rez Arts’s legacy.

Descending from the Osage Nation and Otoe-Missouria Tribes

Francis “Rock” (Nayi-Hu) Pipestem is a singer, drum maker, and teacher. He was taught by his elders and has sung in the Grayhorse Inlonshka since 1992. In 2018, he founded Pipestem Drums and Rawhide Development, an organization serving Native communities that’s dedicated to the preservation and teaching of cultural arts.  Pipestem strives to promote, practice, and sustain cultural arts for coming generations. Residing in Pawhuska, he and his wife Anna have four children, Kingston, Katelynn Rose, Emma, and Jesse. Pipestem is a Minister of Jesus Christ licensed through the Osage Indian Baptist Church in Pawhuska.

For decades, Francis “Rock” Pipestem has been creating handmade drums for ceremonial and social gatherings. “The Osages/Wazhazhes have ceremonial dances every June,” says Pipestem. “There are three different districts, and each district has its own drum. These communities are Grayhorse, Hominy, and Pawhuska, and I have been singing in the Grayhorse community since 1992.”  According to Pipestem, the Grayhorse drum was given to his People from the Poncas in the late 1800s. “The Grayhorse drum we use today is over 130 years old,” says Pipestem.  

For his 2021 Cultural Capital fellowship, Pipestem is building Thunder, a bison hide drum measuring 42 inches in diameter. “I will be using hides from the Ioway bison herd,” explains Pipestem. “The frame is going to be made of select maple hardwoods and birch plywood of the finest quality.”

Moreover, Thunder represents Pipestem’s connection and strength to his faith. “I plan on having [Thunder] painted and keeping it as a mighty instrument to praise God,” says Pipestem. “Thunder will represent the heartbeat of the Father.”

“And I’m so thankful to First Peoples Fund’s Cultural Capital Fellowship because it’s helping me to accomplish my mission.”

The Road To Recovery

Pipestem advocates that drum making is a healing tool for those in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction. “Over the past three years I have been employed as a Cultural Consultant for the Osage Nation Primary Residential Treatment Center,” says Pipestem. “I am a graduate of meth and alcohol addiction.”

“I help [residents] construct rawhide shields,” says Pipestem. “I also teach them songs about having courage [during] their recovery.”

Pipestem says his role as a Cultural Consultant is a rewarding experience. “To see someone succeed is so beautiful and powerful. In my time there, I have made countless hand drums and shields. I take this work very seriously, as many of our people struggle with addiction. I am thankful God gave me my dream job.”

Believing In Community Spirit

Recently, Pipestem was commissioned to create drums for the Voices of the Drum exhibit, which features artwork from over 20 traditional artists. “My goal is to be the best drum maker, and God opened the door for me to build 19 drums,” celebrates Pipestem, whose own artwork inspired the exhibit’s concept. According to Osage Nation Museum Director Marla Redcorn-Miller (Osage/Kiowa/Caddo), the exhibit “opens an avenue for fresh perspectives to enter our traditional practices, celebrating them and renewing their purpose for people of today.”

And Pipestem’s long-term vision is to build drums that are enhanced by his faith. “As I grow spiritually, my art form has grown immensely,” says Pipestem. “I build drums dedicated to the Great Spirit.”

“And as a [Cultural Capital] fellow, I will be able to uplift my art and inspire other artists from my community.”

Asa Benally is a 2021 Cultural Capital fellow and he was raised on the Navajo Reservation in northern Arizona.

His grandmother, a traditional weaver, and his father, a silversmith, fostered his love for design. Benally studied at the Parsons School of Design in New York City, and in 2016, he received a Master of Fine Arts degree in costume design at Yale University. Benally lives and works in New York City.

“I have been a costume designer for twenty years,” says Asa Benally (Navajo/Cherokee), who studied fashion design during his undergraduate studies. “I create different worlds for the stage,” in which Benally compares costume designing to storytelling. “My process starts with sketching and painting the designs and then taking those ideas and making them a reality.”

During his Cultural Capital fellowship, Benally learned more about Indigenous fashion. “I wanted to explore aspects of native art and design,” says Benally.

But his research wasn’t easy. “The pandemic certainly made things challenging,” says Benally. “I was cut off from so many resources.” Still, he discovered new pathways to learn. “I’ve become more savvy in how to present and research digitally. I realized that the digital connection can be imperative in knowledge sharing.”

“I’ve become more savvy in how to present and research digitally. I realized that the digital connection can be imperative in knowledge sharing.”

What inspires Benally’s designing process is what he learned while growing up on the Navajo reservation. “I learned to be an innovative and problem-solving designer from my time spent on the reservation,” says Benally. “I learned to create something out of what I found around me, and I had boundless space for my imagination to fly.”

Benally has designed for theatre, musical theater, and opera, including Devilfish, a 2019 play written by Vera Starbard (Tlingit/Dena'ina) that featured an all Native cast. “I got to collaborate with Tlinqit Artists and we created an ancient Alaska [that] brought to life the legend of the creation of the Raven clan.”

Nora Packineau is from the Mandan Hidatsa Arikara Nation, also known as the Three Affiliated Tribes

Her clan is Knife Clan, and she is passionate about collecting and documenting stories about her people. Packineau records and researches tribal customs to teach language to youth.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Describe your 2021 Cultural Capital fellowship. What were you able to accomplish?

The Mandan Hidatsa Arikara Nation [in central North Dakota] is vigilant at revitalizing our languages. We are “M.H.A.”: Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara tribes. I'm all three. My mother was Hidatsa and Mandan, and my father was Arikara. Two [of the three] tribes have lost fluent speakers, so I started recording elders who spoke our traditional languages. We founded an L.L.C. called Maagarishda Hidatsa Learning Nest. We were inspired by language immersion programs in Hawai’i, and we actually raised money to travel to Hawai’i so we could learn from [Hawaiian language immersion expert] Nāmaka Rawlins (Keaukaha/Panaʻewa). We were impressed. We learned about what was needed to open [our own language revitalization program]. But when we returned from Hawai’i in March 2020, COVID-19 hit and we were shut down. Still, we decided to continue and build a digital curriculum for youth.

Hidatsa on the Go! is a smartphone app [with hundreds of words and phrases]. We recorded elders saying snippets of Hidatsa, such as greetings, introductions, and commands. Our youth use phones a lot, so we met them where they're at. That was a big thing for us because the reservation is a different environment. We're trying to push our culture [on the younger generation], which is their culture.

That’s wonderful news. What’s driving the urgency behind your language revitalization work?

When we went to Hawai’i, we learned [Native Hawaiians] don't have fluent speakers anymore. They’re all learners now. That pushed us to act quickly. Our elders are the last fluent speakers, so I record them every week. And their desire is to not let the languages die. I'm just so impressed with them. Every day our elders help our children. But we lost two elders due to COVID-19. We push language revitalization because our elders won’t be here forever.

But my work is not just about language. Language, spirituality, and culture go together. Our tribe is thousands of years old. Spirituality is important for us. [Up until] the American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978, our tribe couldn’t practice [our spirituality] publicly. That’s what we're bringing back.

What advice can you offer to other tribes who want to revitalize their traditional languages?

Just do it. Get in there and do it with boots on the ground. That’s how I feel. Do it regardless of what others say. I don't listen to people who say [language revitalization] won’t or can’t happen.  If you don't do it, who's going to do the work for you? If you don't help your kids, who else will? We've had [language] programs fail, but we made attempts. No matter what, get out there and try. Do it and don't be afraid. And thankfully, it worked and we’re successful.

Our elders work hard, too, to teach our youth that language requires ownership. It’s [the younger generation’s] culture.‍

“And I appreciate First Peoples Fund. We purchased supplies [for our language program], and we're working on preschool curriculum.”‍

Connect with Nora Packineau on Facebook to learn more about the Maagarishda Hidatsa Learning Nest.

Charine Pilar Gonzales (San Ildefonso Pueblo) is a Tewa writer and director

She enjoys creating a wide range of artistic films including live-action narrative fiction, short documentaries, and stop motion projects. She's currently in post-production for her short narrative fiction film River Bank, a modern interpretation of Robin Hood where a young Tewa woman gives to the River and the River gives back to the Pueblo people. Gonzales is the Lead Editor for Native Lens, a crowdsourced collaboration by Rocky Mountain PBS and KSUT Tribal Radio, a 2021 Sundance Institute Indigenous Program Native Lab Artist in Residence, and a 2021 Artist in Business Leadership Fellow through First Peoples Fund. She is a recent graduate of Institute of American Indian Arts where she earned a BFA in Cinematic Arts and Technology. She resides in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What’s the story behind your art-making practice? When did it begin?

I come from six generations of Pueblo pottery artists, so my family has a long history in the art world. We work with clay, so we are working with our ancestors. It’s important to let clay tell the story. So for me, [and as] a filmmaker, I feel the heartbeat of the story that I'm telling. The story takes its own form through my writing and directing. Everything has a spirit. From six generations of pottery makers to my storytelling endeavors, I make sure to honor that spirit and to share [my art] with others.

Speaking of clay, I want to know more about your short film Clay and Earth (What Ignites You?). What inspired you to create that film?

I lost my brother in 2017. He was 19 years old and an Army veteran. Like I said earlier, when we work with clay, we honor those gone before us. Clay Earth is about honoring spirits who are still with us when we work with clay. At the same time, [the film] is about reflecting on myself. Some of the footage is from before he passed away and some of it is after. It’s about the ultimate feeling of healing while recognizing those who are gone still watch over.

A central force in your filmmaking is Pueblo people. Why is that important to you?

Being Pueblo is a special experience. I grew up participating in dances and ceremonies. There’s something special about those traditions. Portraying the Pueblo experience in a respectful way on film will excite younger generations to continue upholding their traditions and beliefs. On a more personal note, I'd like more representation of Native people in the media. Historically, we haven't [been able to] control our own narratives or be the authors of our own stories. We deserve to be seen on screen.

What is some inspiration you can share with emerging Native filmmakers?

Put yourself out there. There are many opportunities for us. Take that extra step and apply for different opportunities. Because if you don't, you’ll never get those acceptances that feel great and that push you forward. Don't focus so much on rejection because rejection is part of the process. Whether that's applying for grants, fellowships, or scholarships, you have to get rejected to get accepted. And your story matters. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. If you keep at it and maintain a good heart through the process, you'll get where you need to be.

How has the Artist in Business Leadership Fellowship impacted your creativity?

First Peoples Fund made it possible for me to film my debut short film Riverbank, which is a Pueblo Robin Hood story starring Helena Pena. The film is currently in the editing stage, but we hope to have it ready for audiences by January 2022.

“The fellowship gave me the confidence to complete the project. And it's exciting because there isn't a lot of Pueblo representation in the media.  Being able to make this short film for my community and for Indigenous kids is amazing. Thank you, First Peoples Fund.”

What have you learned about yourself during the filmmaking process?

[Filmmaking] helps me make sense of the world. I hope to help young Native and Indigenous kids make sense of the world around them, too. [But] the filmmaking journey is a huge healing process. I've been pushing myself to be a healthier person, mentally and physically. I need to be in a healthy state of mind to make films. And I'll tie it back to the first question. I was taught that when we work with clay, we must think good thoughts. And I translate that into filmmaking and storytelling. When I write a screenplay or a script, I maintain good thoughts and a healthy spirit, because I want those feelings to transfer over to my script and on the screen. And I want a safe place to reflect on hardship. Whether that's grief, mental illness, or physical illness, creating a healthy space to talk is important, [especially as a] female filmmaker.

What wisdom can you share for Native girls who want to be filmmakers?

Always believe in yourself. Never think of yourself as less, because your story and your voice deserve to be seen and heard on your terms. You're the only person that can share your story. And don't be discouraged by white males controlling the film world, because we're in a shifting period.

“Times are changing. It's a great time to be a Native woman filmmaker, and I believe in you.”

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Charine Gonzales is one of six Native women filmmakers who are debuting short films at We the Peoples Before, a celebration of Native culture, sovereignty, history, and vitality, produced by First Peoples Fund in February 2022 at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Click here to learn more about the screening and panel discussion.

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Learn more about Charine Gonzales on her Instagram.

Angela Babby (Oglala Lakota) is a kiln-fired glass mosaic artist and a 2021 Artist in Business Leadership fellow

Her work is influenced by her Lakota ancestry and the mysterious nature of glass. Babby’s artworks are glass mosaic tiles and she primarily uses images based on black and white photographs of her ancestors. Babby was initially drawn to glass during college and fascinated with the origins and creation of glass. She would later accept a position at the Bullseye Stained Glass factory in Portland, Oregon where she immersed herself in the manufacture and use of art glass. Babby is featured in the exhibition Clearly Indigenous: Native Visions Reimagined in Glass at the Museum of Indian Arts & Culture in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity

What’s the origin story of your artmaking practice?

I've been painting my whole life. I painted the bathroom with toothpaste at age five. But I avoided being an artist until the bitter end. I tried every college major. I kept visualizing myself in an office or in a lab, but I couldn't get through the classes. And then I got into an art major in college. I loved it, and I got straight A’s. [But] I was always told that [artmaking] was not a viable career.

I [moved] to Seattle and started picture framing for a while. That was not for me. I moved to Portland, Oregon. My absolute favorite stained glass factory was in Portland, so I applied for a job [that] I didn't get. I had no experience whatsoever, except that I used stained glass in my college work. I applied again and got the job and started working [with] stained glass. I had a meteoric rise because I just loved it. Within a year and a half, I was the head of quality control.

From there, I moved to Phoenix and started a decorative painting business. I still didn't think I could be a fine artist. So I worked and worked. I was successful and I was burned out. So I took a pottery class for fun. Somebody in that class said I should get in the [Santa Fe] Indian Market. I applied and got in on my first try. I didn't even really have any art. I walked around and there were relatives and people just like me. We got rained on and my glass collection evolved into a waterproof medium.

That’s when I started pursuing art as a career. It was an accident.

You've been told that art is not a viable career. What advice can you offer that challenges that type of thinking?

[Being] an artist is a permanent condition. You could try not doing it, but it comes back. If you want happiness, commit right now. The old trick is to keep doing it no matter what happens. Any problem is an opportunity to learn. And for me, the whole reason I love art is [because I] never stop learning. There's an array of new things to learn, study, or try. And that's the best career you can have.

What barriers have you faced during the art-making process?

When I first [sold] glass at Santa Fe [Indian Market], [the organizers] didn't know how to classify my work. The artworks I submitted were described as glass mosaics. Then they debated whether [my artworks] were paintings. I took solace in potter Mary Martin (Cochita Pueblo) who, when she first started making pots, she changed the color to black. She fought for the acceptance of black pottery. It takes a long time for people to catch up to new things.

Your artwork is non-traditional. What inspires your pieces?

My art is focused on old photographs. Then it's combined with what I'm thinking today. Like, what's going on around me? What do I care about? What do I need to get off my chest? So I'll take photographs and start drawing. Then I go into the studio and start messing around with glass.

Then I'm just lost. [I] have a conversation with the medium. [I] do what [I] want to do, but then something doesn’t work. Or [I] have another idea because a piece of glass is sitting close by and [I’m] like, “Oh, that would go good in here.”  It’s very organic.

But glass, for me, is connecting with the cosmos. I really feel that when any artist is truly in the zone, they’re relaxed and in their element. This truth comes from the cosmos.

When a piece is finished, is it tough for you to let go?

Another thing that happens with this medium is your ideas keep evolving. They keep telling you whether they want more, and you're completely out of control. You have to keep doing it until it's done, even though you want to throw it off the table and start crushing it. You have to hold yourself back sometimes and walk away.

How has your art changed you?

[Art] brought me back to my tribe. My grandfather left the [Pine Ridge] reservation because of the Great Depression, so my family lived all over. But I ended up [participating] in the Red Cloud Art Show, and I made a major piece for a high school. It's my largest piece.

How has the fellowship helped your art?

My mom died and then COVID hit all at once. [I was] trying to figure out what the future could look like. I didn't feel like working on art. But to receive help and encouragement [from First Peoples Fund] is extremely important. [The fellowship] encouraged me to get back to work.

“The fellowship changed my life.”

The next phase of my art career [launched]. I purchased a new kiln to figure out new glass techniques. And having a new kiln allows me to teach people.

Madeline Easley (Wyandotte Nation) is a New York City-based actor and a 2021 Cultural Capital fellow. Originally from Kansas City, Kansas, she is a recent graduate of the University of Evansville where she received her Bachelor of Performance with a Minor in Creative Writing. Easely is a member of the Wyandotte Nation of Oklahoma and seeks to incorporate her peoples’ stories into her artistic mediums. In performance, she is known for her comedic timing and for bringing classical qualities to modern work. In writing, Maddie focuses on telling Native stories rooted in her tribe’s traditions.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

What inspired you to act and write?

I come from a family of storytellers. We're Native. We're always telling crazy stories and making each other laugh. My brother was into musical theater. I would see him perform and I was like, “Oh, I want to do that.” But come to find out, I cannot sing or dance. But I could act.

In my family, we had a rule about [attending] college outside of Kansas, where I was born. I had to get a scholarship. I tried everything. I played every sport, and I was the worst of the best. I was in the top tier [of athletes], but I was the worst one. I was offered scholarships [to attend college] and my tribe [provided] a housing stipend. All the pieces just fell into place. I majored in theatre at the University of Evansville, a liberal arts school in Indiana. And it was great. I loved it. I was the only Native person there.

On the other hand, I couldn’t tell my story. No one produced Native plays. There were no Native people to collaborate with. And so, I started writing. I picked a minor in creative writing and I wrote a one-woman show called Poolside Murder Party.

[During] my senior year, I started following a bunch of Native theater people. I connected with playwright and theatre director Tara Moses (Seminole Nation of Oklahoma, Muskogee/Mvskoke/Creek Nation of Oklahoma), who is also a 2015 Artist in Business Leadership fellow. I just reached out and I was like, “Hey, I think you're spectacular.” She asked if I wanted to audition for her show. And I was cast in The True Story of Pocahontas.

Ever since then, I've been steeped in Native theater and film.

I want to learn more about your one-woman show Poolside Murder Party. What inspired you to tell that story? And what type of impact did you make?

My one-woman show was based on a short story that I had written about the Violence Against Women Act expiring in 2018. And the impact was that it was the first piece of Native theater that people [I knew] had seen. It was the first time I talked in depth about what it meant to be Wyandotte. [Audiences] were shocked that this was inside of me the whole time. People didn't know how to talk to me about [the subject].

I would ask, “What did you think of the performance?” It made people uncomfortable, which is natural. My show came from a desire to put my skills together [and to] base it on something that was close to me.

Is audience discomfort your overall objective as an artist? Or do you want audiences to learn new things?

My writing is fantastical realism, like borderline horror. It’s a mix of Midsommar (2019) by the entertainment company A24, the film Get Out (2017), and the classic novel Anna Karenina (1878). I want [Native audiences] to watch my work and feel like another facet of their experience is being explored. My [own] experience is very specific and it's not going to represent every Native person. I hope they understand something more about themselves. (Read Easley’s article The Only Thing ‘The Politician’ Needs to Cancel is Redface, published by Medium).

It sounds like your storytelling is focused on nurturing Native folks.

Yeah. I think the line that I will never cross as an artist is I won't [create anything] that would traumatize Native people. I'm not going to throw something up that has no purpose. I feel like horror rests on the Indian graveyard or a Native [character] who wakes up and is surrounded by dead tribal members.

What wisdom can you offer to emerging talent who want to go into performing arts?

Ground yourself in community. As Native artists, we don't operate the same way like non-Native artists. We're not only accountable to ourselves, but we have a whole community behind us and we're accountable to our tribes. Native people suffer from hyper-invisibility. Everything that we put out influences the larger story of who we are as a people and how we're treated.

What’s your next project?

I finished my first full-length screenplay called When We Lived There, which takes the Indian graveyard horror trope and reclaims it. The story is about a cult wanting to give land back to my tribe but then a horror story ensues. It’s going to be workshopped next week for the first time.

How has First Peoples Fund supported your art?

First Peoples Fund is investing in me as an early-career artist. I've never written a screenplay before, but they've decided I can do it and that they're going to support me in doing that.

“First Peoples Fund is like, ‘Oh, we believe in you. You just go do it.’ And I think that's amazing.”

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Madeline Easley is one of six Native women filmmakers who are debuting short films at We the Peoples Before, a celebration of Native culture, sovereignty, history, and vitality, produced by First Peoples Fund in February 2022 at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Click here to learn more about the screening and panel discussion.

Learn more about Madeline Easley on her website, Facebook, and Instagram.

Kateri Masten is a member of the Yurok Tribe. She is a traditional basket weaver and a recipient of First People Fund’s  2021 Community Spirit Award, which honors and celebrates exceptional Native artists and culture bearers.

“I have been weaving since I was a child,” says Masten. “My skill of basket weaving continues to challenge and nurture my spirit.”

Basketry is an honorable craft, says Masten, especially in making baskets for infants. “Baby Baskets are used from infant to toddler years, [and] it’s one of the safest places for the baby to sleep,” says Masten. “Knowing that parents choose and entrust me to create these safe baskets for their newborn is truly the greatest honor."

Masten also collaborates with the Native Women’s Collective, a nonprofit organization that supports the continued growth of Native American arts and culture. “I have started to work on a project that will bring our community together,” says Masten. “[It will] honor missing and murdered Indigenous women and empower future generations.” Masten will lead online tutorials, storytelling panels, and workshops to make traditional women’s dance dresses.

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Learn more about Kateri Masten on the Native Women’s Collective website.

Natalie Benally was born into the Grey Streaked Ends Clan and the Red Running into Water Clan

As a young Diné girl growing up on the Navajo Reservation, Benally’s first dance studio was the land she was surrounded by, which taught her movement embedded in cultural reconnection and storytelling. Benally attended Fort Lewis College and earned a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre. She has performed with Dancing Earth Contemporary Dance Company and has led youth workshops for Native youth. Benally performed the lead role of Dory in the Navajo dubbed-version of Pixar’s Finding Nemo and directed/choreographed the production I’m Native And... at the Indigenous Arts Festival. She also co-founded the storytelling company Tse’Nato’ which shares stories through dance, theater, and film.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

When did you know you wanted to become a dancer?

I've been dancing for as long as I can remember. Whenever I would hear music, I would instinctively dance. I didn’t care who watched. I just needed to move. I didn't receive any formal training. I'm a self-taught dancer because I grew up on the Navajo reservation and we didn't have dance studios. So I would watch music videos and movies and copy what I saw. [But] I kept dancing [in secret] for a long time because I didn't want anyone to think I was weird. My family was against dancing and art for a long time. I secretly taught myself in the canyons where I grew up so my family wouldn't see me. I did that for a long time. And then I was able to train when I went to school for my undergraduate degree. Not only was I able to [formally] train in college, I met other people who loved dancing as much as I did. I immersed myself in theater as well. I wanted to act, but dance kept sneaking in. People kept telling me, “Hey, you're a really good dancer.”

You mentioned you secretly danced in canyons while growing up. Did dancing feel like it was taboo?

Yeah. My family left our traditional ways and they converted to Christianity. Growing up, I was always stuck in in-between spaces. My family was Christian, but they still knew a lot of traditional stuff. I didn't know what to believe in. My parents were against anything that was around the arts. They thought there was no point in it. There was no living that could be made from [art]. So, of course, me being the rebel, I'm going to [dance]. Curiosity got the best of me. [Dancing] was a taboo in my family for a long time. I think it was because my parents didn't understand it. But now, they know it makes me happy and that it gives me strength.

You use dancing to reconnect with tradition. What does that look like?

I tell stories through my body. The body and [its] movement should never be wasted. [Every artist] uses materials, and they use as much of those materials as possible. That’s how I feel about dance. Whenever I tell a story with my body, I have intention built into it. I don't dance to just dance. I'm not throwing out movement here and there. I have to have a reason to raise my hand. [Or I ask myself], ‘Why do I feel the need to touch the ground when I need to?’ Whenever I dance, I'm not just connecting to the stories that I carry, but I also carry it from my parents, my grandparents, and from people who came before them. I keep stories alive using my body. And [dancing] is a healing tool. Traditional and ceremonial dances bring healing and purpose.

How has First Peoples Fund supported your art?

The fellowship allowed me to take an idea I had for a long time. Azhizh: Stories in Motion (a Native youth performing arts program and film series) was my vision quest [and] I wanted to make it happen for the longest time. A lot of people don't know the diversity amongst [Native] dancing. People know [about] traditional dances and powwows, but there are other styles that Native dancers are talented in. I haven’t seen it highlighted in the way I think it should be.

What advice can you offer to emerging dancers?

No matter who you are or what art you [practice], find ways to serve your community. Art is a tool that helps others. And First Peoples Fund helped me with the Cultural Capital fellowship. I'm currently working with young Native dancers, and I'm excited because I recently [produced] a dance film about a young ballet dancer from San Ildefonso Pueblo. She's a Native dancer in a predominantly white world of art: the ballet world. And the film, called Séng Wah, documents how she balances who she is with who she has to be. She just wants to be herself. I'm currently in the editing [phase].

“What I want to do as an artist is not just create art. [I want to] create pathways to opportunity.”

That was something I didn't have as a young person. I wanted to dance. I wanted to perform. I wanted to create art. But I didn't have an avenue. I had to make my own. I want to [create a] pathway for other [dancers] who come after me. What I strive for is accessibility. Kids struggle to find themselves in the world, especially on reservations like my own. I'm a huge advocate for making the arts accessible to our kids. I think that's a universal feeling for a lot of artists.

Benally’s film Séng Wah is anticipated to premiere in January 2022. Visit Tsenato.com for additional information. Benally also wants to expand Azhizh: Stories in Motion into a film series showcasing different types of Native dancers.

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Learn more about Natalie Benally on her Instagram.

Kelly Church is Ottawa and Pottawatomi, a descendant from the Gun Lake and Grand Traverse Bands. She has an experienced master’s eye for selecting the best materials for her baskets. Church is also a recipient of First People Fund’s  2021 Community Spirit Award, which honors and celebrates exceptional Native artists and culture bearers.

“I am a black ash basket maker,” says Church. “I harvest all materials directly from the woods and forests of Michigan.”

What inspires Church’s creativity is what was passed down to her by her ancestors. “The traditional teachings that my elders have so generously shared with me are used in every aspect of our everyday Anishnabe lives."

Moreover, what excites Church are the life lessons that basketry offers. “Black ash basketry teaches us to work together,” says Church. “You cannot safely harvest a tree alone.”

Church teaches basketry and supports individuals in recovery from drugs and alcohol. “I worked with the Grand Traverse band for seven months teaching Black ash basketry,” says Church.

“The traditional arts are for everyone. And [they’re] beneficial for those in recovery.”

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Learn more about Kelly Church on her website.

Petrina Arnold is Assiniboine from Fort Belknap, Montana. At eight years old, her family moved to Cloquet, Minnesota to the Fond du Lac reservation. Although she is enrolled in Ft. Belknap, Arnold considers Fond du Lac her community.

Petrina Arnold is a porcupine quillwork artist and instructor of porcupine appliqué. She was taught by her mother, who was taught by her mother and by her mother before her. “So what I teach is an ancient art,” says Arnold.

Arnold is a 2021 Artist in Business Leadership Fellow, and what motivates her to teach is family. “My grandchildren are my biggest motivation in practicing my art,” says Arnold. “It is important for me to pass on this knowledge to them, and hopefully one day [I will] see my grandchildren quilling.”

Arnold’s quillwork reflects designs found in the natural world, and she uses raw materials in her work. “Long before Europeans brought glass beads,” explains Arnold, “We used porcupine quills and other natural things, like bone shell and feathers, to decorate our clothing and other regalia.”

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Learn more about Petrina Arnold by following her on Facebook.