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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!”

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 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!”

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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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.

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.”