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Jeremy Red Eagle (Sisseton Wahpeton Oyat) is a 2021 Cultural Capital Fellow who focuses his artwork on creating items that have cultural relevance to Dakota men and boys.  He uses materials that are responsibly harvested from the land. The materials include various wood types, earth paints, natural dyes, seeds from different fruits, tanned hides from hunting, bones, claws, and teeth from animals.  

But Red Eagle admits he’s still trying to find himself in the art world. As a traditional craftsman, would his ancestors have called him that? In this interview, Red Eagle shares complex issues that traditional artists face.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

You make bows, jewelry, and other craft work. Often, these artists are categorized as “mixed media artists.” But how do you describe yourself as an artist?

I struggle with the concept of looking at myself as an artist. Everything that I do is based on [Dakota] culture and through the years I've crafted and created different things. I'm still trying to find my place [in the art world].

That's interesting because what you do is what’s called “craft” nowadays. But did your ancestors see themselves that way? Bow making was for survival, say, two hundred years ago. How does that make you feel?

I struggle with it. Today, as Indigenous people, we put a price on our art to get paid for our worth. Our [artistic] knowledge may come from Western institutions of education. And some of our training comes from knowledge handed down by ancestors. At the same time I have a responsibility to my community, so I struggle with pricing my art. I know the worth of my work, but finding that balance is something I haven’t accomplished yet. There's certain [art] pieces I don't have a problem putting a price on. There are other pieces that I can't and won't put a price on. It’s about what the individual can afford.

But bows and arrows were for survival. At the same time my work is symbolic. Archery has been colonized like everything else. I teach traditional games. Most sports and games today were influenced by North American [tribes] and they've been colonized. So I learned about the origins of archery, and it’s not necessarily about the art but rather the lessons connected to artmaking.

So for me, [art] is survival.

In our language we say bdiheca, which means to be industrious. Our people understood that busyness keeps us out of trouble. Art is a way of expression that keeps my mind busy. My goal is to help people to understand there's a reason why our people create [art].

As a 2021 Cultural Capital Fellow, how has First Peoples Fund boosted your creativity?

Just getting the fellowship was huge. I was able to purchase tools and materials and travel to teach workshops. I’m also taking care of myself. Instead of working full time, I teach language revitalization classes for my community, which allows me to focus on my fellowship.

To be financially stable and do what I love

[is a big part of First Peoples Fund].

What are some everyday challenges you face with your artmaking?

I attempt to keep all of my art materials as natural as possible. What I use is gathered from the land. My work is dependent on the seasons and locations.

I also create only what I want to create. I get requests from people to create specific jewelry, for example, and sometimes I don’t feel like doing it. I want to do my own thing. Other times when somebody asks me to create a specific piece, I love it because it’s new to me. I try to put my heart and soul into my work.

Your artwork is deeply rooted in culture. When did you begin making art? And how did it evolve?

This sounds cheesy but when I was a teenager I made dream catchers. As I got older I learned how to peyote stitch, a form of beadwork. What really set me on my path was attending crafting workshops hosted by the International Traditional Game Society based in Great Falls, Montana. Instructors were impressed how quickly I moved through the workshops, and eventually I became their main instructor.

Then I slowly got into making earrings and other jewelry, and then hand drums and drumsticks. But when I moved back to my reservation seven years ago, a college advisor had hosted traditional arts workshops, including bow making. My dream was to learn how to make a bow. Out of twenty or so workshop participants, the instructor chose me to spend a week with Joe Giago from the Pine Ridge reservation to learn bow making.

From there, I applied for a fellowship through the Minnesota Historical Society and I was denied. I did receive a small grant and was told to reapply next year. I didn't. I let it go. When a third time came around, I changed my application a bit and worked on new pieces. I got the fellowship. I was surprised because I don’t see myself as an artist. Next, I entered an art show in Sioux Falls. I was ready to withdraw my entry but my wife submitted my application for me.

I didn't have confidence in myself. But I won first place in my category and I won first place in ‘Overall Traditional.’

I’m noticing your artistic growth has been gradual. What advice can you offer to artists just starting out?

Art is grounded in our identity. Never lose focus on that. I understand some artists need to make a living. I'm at a place where I could make art for a living. But I'm careful because I don't want my art to be about money. Stay grounded in the teachings and the stories connected to our art forms. Also, what doesn't get talked about is cultural appropriation between Indigenous people. It’s a touchy subject, but tap into your identity. Tell your story and remain true to the ancient knowledge that has been passed down to you.

Follow Jeremy Red Eagle on Instagram and Facebook.

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First Peoples Fund is pleased to welcome Nicholas Graham, the newest member of the Communications team! Graham is a graphic designer based in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

“I yearned to find an organization that makes a positive impact,” says Graham, which is why he joined First Peoples Fund. “I joined the team in August right as the Santa Fe Indian Market was happening, and to be immersed in the art and stories each day was humbling and inspiring.” Graham is responsible for creating and publishing content across First People’s Funds digital channels.

And Graham’s passion for graphic design began at an early age. “My grandpa was a printer and he would occasionally take me to his shop in my formative years,” explains Graham. “And being around the letterpresses and smelling ink and paper instilled a love for craftsmanship.”

Graham studied digital media at Full Sail University in Florida. He then worked as a press operator in a print shop while freelancing as a graphic designer. Graham eventually formed Sheet Fortress, a graphic design studio. “My hope is to draw from my experiences with print production and digital design to assist First Peoples Fund in boosting their mission.”

“My hope is to draw from my experiences with print production and digital design to assist First Peoples Fund in boosting their mission.”

Graham is thrilled to amplify Indigenous voices. “What I find most exciting are the voices, artwork, and narratives,” celebrates Graham.

Outside of work, Graham enjoys troubleshooting fatherhood, or as he explains, “I love raising my son in this wild world!”

Kevin Locke is an internationally-recognized master traditional folk artist, visionary hoop dancer, indigenous Northern Plains flute player/recording artist, cultural ambassador, and an educator. A citizen of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, and coming from the ancestral line of Lakota and Anishinabe, he self-identifies as a World Citizen.

Locke is a 2021 Cultural Capital Fellow and he’s thankful for the opportunity. Locke went 14 months without any financial means during the pandemic lockdowns. “I felt so fortunate to have support,” says Locke. “Even though everything's on lockdown, you can't shut yourself down.”

Kevin Locke discusses his origin story, artistic mentors who shaped him, and a shocking fact about the origin of the Native American flute.

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Your creativity spans several mediums, including music, dancing, and storytelling. What is the origin of your art-making practice? Is there a specific moment when you realized you were an artist?

As a little kid I loved to draw all kinds of artwork. I had an inclination to create all kinds of things. It didn’t matter if it was with pencil and paper, or making things outside. But as a teenager, I read about the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) and applied back when it was a high school in 1969. It's been almost 50 years since I graduated from IAIA. But I didn't have a specific [artistic] focus at the time. Instead, I learned from great artists like sculptor Allan Houser (Chiricahua Apache), poet Barney Bush (Shawnee/Cayuga), and artist and designer Lloyd Kiva New (Cherokee).

Was it helpful to be surrounded by other Native artists during your formative years?

Yeah, I really think so. I didn't really have an artistic focus at all. Then I started learning flute music. My original mentor was Richard Fool Bull (Rosebud Sioux Tribe), and he was my main source of encouragement. He was a centenarian, so he was born in the 1870s. That's how I was introduced to the Indigenous flute

Speaking of, you’re a respected and well-known flute player. How has flute playing changed over the years?

In 1983 or 1982, a German American named Michael Graham Allen invented the Native American flute. It's based on the Japanese wind instrument called a shakuhachi. I asked Allen why he did that. He said he made an original Indigenous flute but he didn't know how to market it. He came upon this tuning system based on the Japanese shakuhachi and renamed it as a Native American flute. Then R. Carlos Nikai (Navajo, Ute) recorded albums using the instrument and his albums went platinum. Pretty soon, everybody all over the world got interested in this instrument. But it’s not an Indigenous North American musical aesthetic. It's basically Japanese. But the beautiful thing about it — and I'm not knocking it, I'm just saying people need to be aware where this instrument comes from — it uses a beautiful scale called a minor pentatonic scale, and it really lends itself to improvisation. So people can just pick it up and play any kind of random assortment of notes on it.

And the instrument sounds so good! There are thousands of Native American flute music recordings that are just improvisational. I don't want to discredit the music. I think it's a great thing, but it has nothing to do with Indigenous tradition.

That in itself is a problem because the original genre associated with the Indigenous flute is a classic poetic or literary style that comes from the woodlands in the Great Lakes area, Northern Plains, and Southern Plains. And it existed for so many generations because the genre has characteristics that are uniform across most of North America. It’s a formulaic compositional pattern, even though the songs are diverse within themselves.

That’s so wild. First, I didn’t know the history of the Native American flute. Initially I had mixed feelings about its non-Indigenous origins. But what I’m hearing is that this musical instrument lifts your creativity. Is that accurate?

Yeah.

I think that’s fantastic. I’m wondering, then, what have you learned about yourself as an artist? You are a multidisciplinary artist, so how has your art changed you as a human being?

You know, I have to tell you that I make a livelihood through school presentations and I really love the audience. A school is perfect because you have a captive audience of elementary students. And they can’t escape! [laughs] All kidding aside, I do have a great time with them because it’s interactive and participatory. So I use my music and storytelling to teach songs [to the youth] and I enjoy it.

And I hoop dance, too. I've been dancing for 42 years.

I’m guessing you’ve participated at the World Championship Hoop Dance Contest at the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona?

You know what, I've never entered any kind of contests. I like contests. I think it's the greatest thing because it encourages excellence. It  doesn't matter what kind of contest. Whether it's dancing or singing at powwows,  you’ll see people that are so proficient, just like world-class athletes. Regalia, for example, encourages beautiful craftsmanship, and the artists create all that beauty.

I have nothing against contests but it’s not for me. I'd be overthinking if I’m better than my competition, or I'd start thinking about what the judges thought of me. I don't want any stress. And I don't have to compete with anybody. I just compete with myself. For instance, I was working on this song and I went out for a run. Outside, everything is all open. Eagles fly around. And that's how I get my inspiration.

That’s great advice because the pressure in competitions sometimes is distracting. What other advice can you share with young Native artists?

No matter where you are, spend time outside for inspiration. It's like when I run laps around an old village nearby and I pretend I can smell soup cooking. And I can hear children laughing. I hear people talking. And I can almost smell a campfire. It’s like being in touch with the spirit, you know? Holy souls walk upon this land, the great teachers that inspire the people. And that inspiration was expressed by them long ago through their music and dancing. It comes down intergenerationally. So, even though the ancestors are not here, we can fulfill their dreams on their behalf. And that comes through our own artistic expressions.

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Learn more about Kevin Locke on his website, and follow him on Instagram and Facebook.

First Peoples Fund welcomes D.A. Navoti (Hopi, Zuni, O’otham, Yavapai-Apache), a multidisciplinary writer and member of the Gila River Indian Community.

Navoti’s writing explores what it means to be Indigenous in the 21st century. “I’m thrilled to join First Peoples Fund as the eSpirit Writer,” says Navoti. “I’m learning so much from everyone’s stories and artwork.”

Navoti spearheads the eSpirit Newsletter, a monthly e-publication curated by First Peoples Fund. “What’s so unique about my role is I get to interview so many artists and hear their stories of hardship and triumph,” says Navoti.

Navoti earned graduate degrees from Northern Arizona University and Arizona State. “I’m naturally a curious person, perhaps even nosey,” jokes Navoti. “And I enjoy writing about topics that interest me, like Native empowerment.” Navoti is recipient of the Radical Imagination grant from NDN Collective, and he curates several literary series in the Seattle area, including We the Indigenous, which celebrates Indigenous writers and artists.

“What recharges my creative batteries is rolling up my sleeves and working with and for the community,”

“What recharges my creative batteries is rolling up my sleeves and working with and for the community,” advocates Navoti.

In addition to writing, Navoti is a business communications instructor at Seattle Colleges. “My goal is to bring my professional knowledge and leadership to First Peoples Fund,” says Navoti. “But I know the fellows and staff are going to teach me plenty!”

Santa Fe Indian Market is the world’s largest Native American arts show, and the annual 4-day event wrapped up in New Mexico.

Among the 600 vendors selling artwork, nearly 30 First Peoples Fund artists and cultural bearers participated in this year’s market (some virtually), including Artist in Business Leadership Fellow Lauren Good Day (Arikara, Hidatsa, Blackfeet, Plains Cree), whose fashion was featured at the Southwestern Association for Indian Arts (SWAIA) 2021 Indigenous Fashion Show.

The market also featured Kelly Church (Gun Lake Tribe), recipient of the 2021 Jennifer Easton Community Spirit Award. Church, a basket maker and weaver, was nominated for and honored with a $25,000 award amount from First Peoples Fund for embodying her People's cultural assets in her creations and in her life. “Black ash basketry teaches us to work together,” says Church. “As you cannot safely harvest a tree alone.”

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The mission of Santa Fe Indian Market is to bring Native arts to the world by inspiring artistic excellence, fostering education, and creating meaningful partnerships. Santa Fe Indian Market began in 1922. Ninety-nine years later, the annual event brings in over $160 million in state revenue, according to SWAIA, with hundreds of gallery openings and events overtaking Santa Fe’s central plaza and streets.

The market included a live auction featuring artwork by 2016 Artist in Business Leadership Fellow Jason Brown (Penobscot), otherwise known as Firefly. Jason is inspired by his Wabanaki ancestors, and his jewelry pieces incorporate nature designs from his Penobscot culture.

Santa Fe Indian Market has been boosting artist careers for nearly a century by introducing event attendees to new and established artists. And each year, the market awards several accolades, including Best in Show. This year’s winners include Artist in Business Leadership Fellows Dana Warrington (Menominee/Potawatomi) in the diverse arts category for Defending the Homeland, and Jeremy Frey (Passamaquoddy) in basketry for Malsom (Wolf).

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Lorraine Gala Lewis (Laguna Pueblo, Taos Pueblo, Hopi-Tewa) is another market participant. Lewis, a pottery maker and 2021 Artist in Business Leadership Fellow, has been attending and selling artwork at Santa Fe Indian Market since the early 1970s. “The market has really grown!” explains Lewis. “When I started at the Indian market, it was focused only on Southwest artists.” But Lewis praises tribal diversity at the 2021 market.

And at a different events across Santa Fe, Artist in Business Leadership Fellow Delina White (Leech Lake Band of Objibwe, Minnesota Chippewa Tribe) showcased her fashion line at the Indian Market Gala Reception. White creates her own fabrics from her original beadwork designs, drawing inspiration from Anishinaabe/Ojibwe history.

First Peoples Fund welcomes Heidi K. Brandow (Diné & Kānaka Maoli) as the new Communications Manager!

Brandow is a multi-disciplinary artist based in Santa Fe, New Mexico, whose work is centered on the inclusion of Indigenous people and perspectives in the development of ethical and sustainable methods of creative engagement. She is co-founder of the Harvard Indigenous Design Collective, which supports the education and work of Indigenous architects, planners, designers, scholars, allies, and alumni of the Harvard Graduate School of Design, where Brandow earned her Master of Design Studies.

While Brandow considers herself a visual artist more than a designer, she admits her artmaking process is nontraditional. “I realized that art and design are a perfect marriage,” says Brandow, who was featured on the Design Voice Podcast. “Because where art asks the questions, I think design opposes the answers.”

Brandow is also an advocate in social justice. While studying Industrial Design at Istanbul Technical University, Brandow co-led an art-project that documented the solid waste and recycling industry in Turkey. The (in)dispensable Project revealed the harsh day-to-day lives of individuals working in the solid waste industry.

Human trafficking and unsafe working conditions were some of the everyday threats these workers faced. “I always have this intention of thinking how I can apply my experience and energy towards uplifting not only Navajo Nation or Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian) people,” said Brandow on the Design Voice Podcast. “But for Native people at large,” including kağıt toplayıcı (or garbage collectors) in Turkey.

In May 2021, Brandow led a community lecture called Decolonial Curatorial Praxis & Community Engagement. In her lecture, Brandow challenges museums, including her alma mater Harvard University,  on their unethical collection practices. In recent decades, academic institutions and museums have been called out for gathering artifacts without consent from the communities they steal from. But Brandow is changing that.

“We hope to initiate a different type of thinking,” says Brandow.

As Communications Manager, Brandow is excited to elevate the mission of First Peoples Fund, where she plans to execute communication strategies that will advance Native artists and cultural bearers across the nation.

First Peoples Fund is pleased to introduce Jessica Kaneakua (Kānaka Maoli) as the new Development Assistant! Kaneakua is a community organizer and advocate based in Hawai’i.

“When I saw the opportunity to become the new Development Assistant,” says Kaneakua, “I jumped at the chance!”

In her professional work and community leadership, Jessica seeks opportunities that help build personal and community agency, or “chang[ing] the conditions in which flowers reside so that they may thrive.”

Kaneakua attended Macalester College, where she received a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology. “I am a trauma-informed care trainer,” says Kaneakua. “And I look forward to bring trauma-informed care practices to my work.”

Kaneakua is also a board member for the Office of Hawaiian Affairs Native Hawaiian Revolving Loan Fund, which works to improve the lives of Native Hawaiians through financial assistance. “As Kānaka Maoli [Native Hawaiin], I'm drawn to organizations that recognize and perpetuate values and practices that reflect my own,” which is why Kaneakua joined First Peoples Fund. “I am passionate about actively decolonizing so that I may reconnect to my own ancestral wisdom.”

As the new Development Assistant, Kaneakua supports fundraising efforts that lift programs and initiatives at First Peoples Fund.

“I have been following First Peoples Fund for some time. My role will support the Collective Spirit of artists and culture bearers.”

Kaneakua is currently pursuing a Master of Legal Studies in Indigenous Peoples Law through the University of Oklahoma, College of Law. “I look forward to bringing my knowledge and skills from my educational program to First Peoples Fund,” says Kaneakua.

Lorraine Gala Lewis was born in southern California. She is a high school and college graduate of the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, NM. At a young age, she lost her father from Taos Pueblo/ Hopi. Her mother, who is from Laguna Pueblo, moved the family back to New Mexico. Lewis’ mother met her step-father from Nambe Pueblo and she was raised with a traditional upbringing. She grew up taking part in the dances & ceremonies.

The Past

Lorraine Gala Lewis (Laguna Pueblo, Taos Pueblo, Hopi-Tewa) has been selling artwork at Santa Fe Indian Market since the age of twelve. And the market has changed significantly since the 1970s, says Lewis, who is a clay artist and a 2021 Artist in Business Leadership Fellow. “The arts have creatively evolved and have taken off in a wonderful direction. Mediums are changing, [and they’re] progressively moving forward generationally.”  

Pueblo pottery, on the other hand, has been consistent over the decades, says Lewis. For instance, clay sources, paints, and firing methods are a centuries-old process that are still being used today. “Although my work is contemporary,” says Lewis, “[Pottery] is a gift given to us by our ancestors. And it’s a gift I would like to pass on to my grandchildren.”

The Present

Researching the past inspires Lewis. “There is a need to teach others to protect and preserve our natural and cultural resources,” says Lewis.  

Contemporary art issues, however, like cultural theft and appropriation, concern her.

Like many Native artists, Lewis worries her original and recreated pottery designs might be copied and mass-produced by non-Native businesses for profit. “I don’t want ancient designs commercialized,” says Lewis, who prefers in-person business opportunities at art markets, or connecting via email, rather than marketing over the internet. “I’m protective [of my pottery designs], as there is a lot of misrepresentation of our ancestral arts,” explains Lewis. “Because once it’s on the internet, everyone has access to it and everyone can see it.”

As a result, Lewis builds relationships with people at museums, research centers, cultural centers, art markets, nonprofit organizations, and foundations. For her, developing a strong network among fellow artists is especially vital. “Our world is changing,” says Lewis. “And [artists] face challenges, so we must stay connected and balanced, and our art is our connection.”

And Lewis expresses appreciation for First Peoples Fund and their network of staff, artists, and cultural bearers —or her extended “family,” as she describes.

“[First Peoples Fund] created artist resources when things were at a standstill [due to the pandemic]. They’re always there for [artists] and they’re always checking on us.”

The Future

Lewis attended and sold her artwork at the 2021 Santa Fe Indian Market. The market today operates on a much grander scale, admits Lewis, who compares her most recent participation with her first market experience nearly 50 years ago, which, in the early 1970s, highlighted only Southwestern artists. “Yet as the market evolved through the years,” says Lewis. “I see artwork from tribal nations across the country and I learn from this experience. Indian Country is vast, we have an Indigenous presence globally with our art. As artists, we continuously evolve.”

Ty Defoe (Giizhig) is an interdisciplinary artist, writer, storyteller, and Grammy Award winner from the Oneida and Ojibwe Nations. Ty has an integral approach to artistic projects by pulling in social justice messages rooted through words, music, literature, theatre, and now film with digital media components. Some of his favorite places to tour (virtually or physically) are in Native communities across Turtle Island and inspiring future generations to come with Indigenous futurism.

More than a decade ago, Ty Defoe (Giizhig) won a Grammy for his collaboration on the album Come to Me Great Mystery - Native American Healing Songs (2008). As a writer and interdisciplinary artist — who also hoop dances, acts, and directs — what can top a Grammy? Dreaming seven generations ahead.

“If you aren’t dreaming seven generations ahead,” explains Defoe, who quotes an Anishinaabe value, “You’re not dreaming big enough.”

“If you aren’t dreaming seven generations ahead,” explains Defoe, who quotes an Anishinaabe value, “You’re not dreaming big enough.”

The future Defoe dreams of is fiercely Indigenous and queer. “As an Indigi-queer person who comes from a myriad of artmaking practices, I am forecasting rainbows,” advocates Defoe.

Recently, Defoe was commissioned by the Oregon Shakespeare Festival to produce a digital story for the Visual Sovereignty Project, which aims to decolonize O!, the Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s digital platform. Defoe’s project, titled Strong Like Flower, is about tribal and personal sovereignty. “It’s an intimate piece of symbolic literacy from my Ashinaabe worldview,” Defoe explained in a Q&A session with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

A central force of Defoe’s work is decolonizing western depictions of gender. “Art  has the power to amplify and uplift Two-Spirit and Indigi-queer individuals, processes, and practices.” For instance, Defoe is making a Two-Spirit Indigi-queer pop-up powwow at the Crystal Bridges Museum of Art at The Momentary in Bentonville, Arkansas, for Fuse Box Festival’s Live in America scheduled to debut in October 2021. The powwow is co-produced by his collaborators Amanda Luke and Jamelyn Ebelacker at All My Relations Collective, a social justice arts collective.

Future Forward with First Peoples Fund

As a 2021 Cultural Capital Fellow, Defoe is publishing a digital graphic novel (again, with his collaborators Lux Haac and Katherine Freer from All My Relations Collective) that will offer cultural knowledge —  or narrative artful medicine, as Defoe describes —  for Two-Spirit and Indigi-queer people, especially youth. “My worldview is Anishinaabe,” elaborates Defoe.”This [project] is about centralizing peace and at the same time exploring artful disruptions.”

Offering wisdom that withstands time is important for Defoe, just like his Ashinaabe and Oneida ancestors did for him. “I lead with messages and stories about what’s happening in current times,” says Defoe, which shapes a better future for Native people. “Futurism is something I’ve been dreaming about. And some settlers are like, ‘What’s that?’”

“[Indigenous futurism] is about glitterizing traditional practices while creating reparations to give back to our communities.”

And what nurtures Indigenous futurism, explains Defoe, is First Peoples Fund. “Being a Cultural Capital Fellow, I’m able to contact First Peoples Fund staff, who are there to engage in conversation about the artmaking process.”

While the artmaking process isn’t always easy, admits Defoe, collaborating with non-Native and colonized arts programs is even more challenging. “But I feel I don’t have to do cultural translation [with First Peoples Fund]. I can fully be myself. This is why it’s important to uplift Indigenous queer people, and why it’s important to talk about futurism for our people.”

“At First Peoples Fund, I get to dream,” says Defoe, perhaps seven generations ahead.

Tyler Star Comes Out (Húŋkpapȟa/ Mnikȟówožu/Oglala Lakȟóta/Cheyenne) has been passionate about writing since 5th grade. “Poetry is something I really love. I always carry a notebook just in case I get inspired.” Star Comes Out, who graduated high school last month, participates in Dances with Words, a youth development initiative of First Peoples Fund that works with young writers on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.

“I write poems in Lakota to help myself be more culturally involved,” says Star Comes Out.

Established in 2015, Dances with Words has collaborated with nearly three dozen young people this year alone, says Autumn White Eyes (Oglala Lakota/Turtle Mountain Band of Anishinaabe), Program Manager of Youth Development at First Peoples Fund. “The program offers workshops, open mics, feedback sessions, and invites guest speakers to talk with our youth.”

Poet and 2020 Cultural Capital Fellow CooXooEii Black (Northern Arapaho/African American) was thrilled to collaborate with Dances with Words for an open mic event. “You could tell [the youth] are passionate about their writing,” says Black. “Dances with Words gives young people a chance to be heard, which is especially important for indigenous writers at a young age.”

Wohpe Clamore (Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe), an 11th grader from Rapid City, South Dakota, wants to grow as a poet. “We had guest speakers who told us to incorporate Lakota words into our work,” says Claymore. “We did a lot of writing prompts and icebreakers which helped my writing. And we’re encouraged to give and receive feedback on our work. I love feedback!”

Claymore plans to write a book of poetry about relationships and grief.

History and Healing

Like many young Native writers,  Wohpe Claymore and Tyler Star Comes Out acknowledge writing can help process intergenerational trauma and personal grief. “We learned about land treaties,” says Star Comes Out. “And we wrote our feelings down, which was helpful and healing.”

Star Comes Out also describes learning about Indian residential schools during a writing session, a tragic history for all Native peoples, especially when Native communities are uncovering unmarked mass graves in Canada and the U.S. in recent months. After their writing session, youth were encouraged to smudge themselves. “The staff are part of our tribe, so they understand our ways,” says Star Comes Out. “And it helps me feel connected and safe.”

Confronting difficult subject matter, like racial injustice, and writing about it was a recent workshop topic at Wóoyake Théča Oyáte, an inaugural virtual poetry festival hosted by Dances with Words. Ty Defoe (Giizhig), an interdisciplinary artist who led the workshop in May 2021, was invigorated by what he saw.  “I felt I was in conversation with not only future generations, but it was healing at the same time,” says Defoe. “[The youth] gave me hope.”

“I felt I was in conversation with not only future generations, but it was healing at the same time,” says Defoe. “[The youth] gave me hope.”

Wóoyake Théča Oyáte is a week-long virtual poetry festival that offers daily workshops, open mics, and networking opportunities for youth ages 13-19 residing in Oceti Sakowin Territory. The purpose of this festival is to assist Native youth in exploring literary and oral history traditions across cultures, develop their own narratives, and to be heard in their communities.

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CooXooEii (pronounced Jaw-Kah-Hay) Black advocates that youth should express their feelings, especially through writing. “In Indian Country, youth are not taught [to share their feelings],” says Black. “Bottling emotions can lead to toxicity, and emotional maturity is important for breaking [harmful] cycles we’ve seen in the past.”

Voices of the Future

In March 2021, youth from the Pine Ridge Reservation participated in the Thunder Valley Youth Initiative Leadership Summit, in partnership with Dances with Words and the Native Wellness Institute. The summit discussed topics such as health and wellness, drug and alcohol prevention, environmental justice, and racial equity. And two Dances with Words participants led a morning blessing in the Lakota language.

"We were really excited to offer this Youth Leadership Summit with Thundervalley CDC,” says Autumn White Eyes. “In the height of the pandemic when schools were entirely virtual, First Peoples Fund wanted to offer a virtual summit for youth all across the reservation to gather and learn together in leadership and art skills.”

First Peoples Fund offered two workshops based on feedback from the youth. Jaida Grey Eagle (Oglala Lakota) led a photography workshop on racial equity, and Dances with Words poet mentors led a writing workshop on environmental justice. Nearly a dozen youth participated in the summit.

Dances with Words is more than a writing program for young writers. The program offers arts education knowledge connected to community and societal issues, while preparing youth to grow as emerging artists and civic leaders. Tyler Star Comes Out didn’t realize she was an artist and an activist until Dances with Words. “I learned that I really like activism,” says Star Comes Out, who participated in the Black Hills protest against white supremacy last year and wrote a poem about her experience. “That’s another thing Dances with Words talks about: politics and environmentalism go together. That’s what inspired me to go to college.”

“That’s another thing Dances with Words talks about: politics and environmentalism go together. That’s what inspired me to go to college.”

Star Comes Out plans to attend Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado this fall to study political science.

“I realized my resiliency starts with standing up for things I believe in.”  

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Anthony Hudson is a member of the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde and is a multidisciplinary artist, writer, performer, and filmmaker. Anthony is known as Portland, Oregon’s premier drag clown Carla Rossi, an immortal trickster whose attempts at realness almost always result in fantastic failure. Together they have been featured at the Portland and Seattle Art Museums, the Vancouver Queer Film Festival, the 2019 Portland Biennial, the Risk/Reward Festival, PICA's TBA Festival, Melbourne’s Yirramboi Festival, and more. Anthony also regularly hosts and programs Queer Horror – the only LGBTQ+ horror film screening series in the United States – at the historic Hollywood Theatre.

“I’ve always been an activist,” says Two-Spirit Anthony Hudson (Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde), who uses they/them pronouns. “And I see my [creative] work as activist work.” Hudson is a multidisciplinary artist, writer, filmmaker, and performer. Notably, Hudson performs as the hilarious drag queen Carla Rossi in Portland, Oregon.

“I’m an angry, tired person,” jokes Hudson. “And a lot of my work comes from responding to things I see in the world, like confronting white supremacy.”

Hudson says their drag persona Carla Rossi lampoons colonization. During the height of the 2020 U.S. Presidential election, Hudson released a video in which Carla mocks former Fox News anchor and Trump supporter Kimberly Guifolyle, who garnered attention on the internet for her over-the-top speech at the 2020 Republican National Convention.

Hudson explains their activism is always humor-centered. “I want [my work] to be funny, and I want it to be relatable, and I want to make something that people can empathize and connect with and laugh with and laugh over.”

“I want [my work] to be funny, and I want it to be relatable, and I want to make something that people can empathize and connect with and laugh with and laugh over.”

“Otherwise people won't listen,” warns Hudson.

Yet confronting white supremacy and other prejudices hasn’t been easy.

“I started the first gay-straight alliance in my school district when I was in high school,” says Hudson, who grew up in a small town in rural Oregon. “And we got death threats and parents would threaten to picket.” But funneling these hardships to produce art — and drag persona Carla Rossi — motivates Hudson. “I try to do the things that young Anthony would have wanted to see in that small town.”

In addition to drag performances, Hudson co-hosts Gaylords of Darkness, a weekly queer feminist horror podcast, and they curate and host Queer Horror, a bi-monthly screening series at Portland’s historic Hollywood Theatre. As a multidisciplinary artist, Hudson also acts, produces, writes, and lectures, which is arduous work, especially while managing a touring schedule to make ends meet.

STANDING UP (AND OUT)

Then COVID-19 hit.

Like many artists who rely on in-person performances for income, Hudson had to rethink their career when a global pandemic unfolded in 2020. “I realized that I had broken myself by overworking for several years,” admits Hudson, which is why they applied to the Artist in Business Leadership Fellowship with First Peoples Fund.

“[The fellowship] is about refocusing and recentering,” says Hudson. One of Hudson’s fellowship projects is to figure out how to do less income-driven touring and expand more of their time to generate new art, particularly digital media. And Hudson doesn’t have to strategize alone. The camaraderie and support from other First Peoples Fund fellows has been significant, Hudson says.

“[First Peoples Fund] is about bettering ourselves and our communities together.”

As pandemic restrictions lift, Hudson wonders how they (and Carla Rossi) will return to in-person performances. “The world is racing to go back to normal. I don’t want to be a part of that,” says Hudson. In particular, Hudson is critical toward venues that were reluctant to help artists during lockdowns but who are now rapidly booking artists as restrictions loosen or lift, despite COVID-19 related deaths still occurring.

The inconsistent venue support during lockdown, on the other hand, inspired new work for Hudson. Carla Does Drag is a new show in which Carla Rossi is held captive and is forced to perform for an audience. “Carla hasn’t performed since before the pandemic,” jokes Hudson. “So the entire show is about Carla failing to do drag correctly!” Carla Does Drag will premiere at Stanford University in November 2021. Hudson also plans to film and distribute Carla Does Drag as part of their fellowship project.

At the root of Hudson’s work (and drag persona Carla Rossi) is radical honesty. “This is about confrontation,” advocates Hudson. “This is about discomfort. This is inspired by my ancestors. I want to be unabashedly Native, unabashedly queer, unabashedly me.”

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Aaluk Edwardson (Iñupiaq) has been performing on stage since she was five years old.

She's performed classical work, new plays, experimental theater, dance theater, period plays and in film. In addition to acting, Aaluk has directed, sang, recited poetry and supported productions backstage. She is most drawn to performance with a social consciousness, theater that explores the infinitely perplexing nature of human emotion, and art that continually questions the nature of existence itself.  Aaluk is a 2021 Cultural Capital Fellow.

Aaluk Edwardson (Iñupiaq) admits she can’t do it all, although she has accomplished plenty. She’s an actress, a singer, an emerging novelist, a playwright, a director, and a community facilitator. “I'm in my 30s,” Edwardson says. “And I feel like in your 30s, you realize you can't do everything, which is a good thing to realize.”

In addition to her artistic range, Edwardson is also the founder and director of Creative Decolonization, LLC, which is “dedicated to supporting decolonization efforts that use art and the creative process to learn, inspire and heal.” In fall of 2021, Creative Decolonization will launch an online course for students to learn what culture is while exploring their own cultural identities. Course topics will include “creative engagement in the service of culture” and “storytelling as a healing medium,” just to name a few.

The origin of Edwardson’s culturally-rooted creative projects started at home, in Utqiagvik, Alaska, when she began performing in community theater productions. Then, in 2004, she worked in recruitment at Iḷisaġvik College, Alaska’s only tribal college. Next, she worked in health and community grants for the Arctic Slope Native Association. Eventually, she moved from Alaska to New Hampshire with her three-year-old son to finish her undergraduate degree at Dartmouth College.

Yet Edwardson began to notice a disconnect between what people thought about her cultural identity, Inupiaq — known as Alaskan Eskimo when she was growing up — and what she understood it to be. The disconnect seemed to extend to other Native people she knew, too.  “There was a misunderstanding about what it meant to be Iñupiat,” Edwardson says. “I was a cultural ambassador. I started trying to bridge cultural misunderstandings. I really fell in love with cultural exploration and the formation of identity, especially within the context of a collectivist society at Dartmouth. It was the missing piece I needed to really launch myself as a creative and cultural professional”

In 2019, Edwardson debuted ATTA, an Iñupiat play she wrote and directed that responded to swelling suicide rates for Iñupiat boys and young men. “My writing has always focused on digesting what it means to have a cultural identity alongside trauma, addiction, loss, or grief for the purposes of facing challenging emotions and healing.”

A year prior, Edwardson wrote an autobiographical poem that was published in a deeply personal anthology for teen survivors of sexual abuse. Edited by Erin Moulton, Things We Haven't Said: Sexual Violence Survivors Speak Out (2018, Zest Books) received positive reviews from Booklist and Kirkus Reviews.

“I've dealt with PTSD [Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder] my whole life,” Edwardson shares. “And a lot of people I know have as well.“ In her poem Where I Go When I Go Away, Edwardson mentions it’s “a really good example of exploring what it means to be whole while living with PTSD. The poem takes the reader on a journey to gain a deeper sense of personal empowerment through healing.”

“It’s through learning from this pain

That I’ll finally find that happy place

That I’ve heard about

but never thought I could attain.”

- From Where I Go When I Go Away by Aaluk Edwardson

Sovereignty Stories

“I’m honored to be selected as a fellow amongst the other incredible fellows,” she says.

As part of Edwardson’s Cultural Capital fellowship, her project Sovereignty Stories will be a virtual curation of unipkaat, or legends, told in both Iñupiat and English.

“Our legends bring me joy, hope, show me how to be and how not to be,” Edwardson says. “As an Iñuit artist, I stand on the shoulders of hundreds of generations of beautifully creative people. This fellowship will support the education, practice and sharing of these important ancient stories to help us work together as stewards of the land, sea, and sovereignty.”

Edwardson is currently producing five short media projects with Iñuit artists, filmmakers, videographers, and cultural knowledge bearers for Sovereignty Stories, a three-phase project designed to engage Inuit families across the Arctic in intergenerational storytelling conversations. The first phase of the project will launch in fall of 2021 with the release of a video, accompanied with culturally-rooted discussions and Inuit language learning resources. Follow the campaign on Bright Shores social media channels Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube, and sign up for the newsletter.  

“The impact of this project is huge,” Edwardson says. “Bringing those old stories that encourage sovereignty, cultural empowerment, and community wellness will help us regain balance as Iñupiat.”

“And First Peoples Fund is helping with that. Thank you!”

-  Aaluk Edwardson