My latest sketch: mostly soft charcoal, some graphite. The original photo was taken by Edward Curtis – and yes, she is smiling!

Click for larger view

See also: Edward Curtis and Smiling Indians

In a post I did a couple of months ago I wrote about Edward Curtis and the “smiling Indian” controversy. My question was, how much responsibility did early 20th century photographers have in manufacturing stereotypes of Native Americans – in particular the image of the “stoic” Indian – and how did that influence popular opinion through the mass-media later in the century?

The reason the works of early photographers have come under such scrutiny is because their pieces became the groundwork for the way media would approach Native Americans for the next century. The popular appeal of Native Americans as a cultural symbol was much the same around the turn of the 20th century as it is today. It was customary to portray them with the usual templates – the noble, stoic warrior race; the romanticized breed of nature’s children; the “vanishing kind”; and so on.

Granted, the period around turn of that century might well have been the worst time to be an Indian. Tribal lands (and sovereignty) had been wrested away in shocking proportions; resistance movements had been brutally crushed one by one; Indian children were being forcibly re-educated under the residential school system; Native languages and religions were outlawed and the very existence of many Native lifestyles was in question. In this setting it is partly understandable why so many people would be interested in projecting that idea that Indians were about to disappear altogether.

But as we know today, Indians did not disappear. Their perennial humor, ingenuity, and fortitude have helped carry them through the horrors of colonialism and the reservation system. And while their ways of living have changed and adapted, they have been largely successful in reclaiming their cultural identity. Part of that is by actively challenging and confronting false or misconstrued representations of their history and heritage.

It’s not only the Indians who are concerned with this kind of integrity. Artists, and those seeking to be well-informed about art, bear the responsibility of seeing works of historical or cultural significance in a critical way. When evaluating such pieces, one asks what the photographer or artist is trying to communicate when they represent their model in a certain way – what are they saying, both intentionally and unintentionally, about their concept of the subject? What is the overall tone of the portrait? Is the apparel authentic? This is where details such as a mere facial expression can become such a hotly disputed topic.

Case Study: Gertrude Kasebier

Bio

Kasebier was born Gertrude Stanton in 1852 and grew up alternately in the environments of the industrialized East and the frontier West, giving her an early taste of both worlds. An unhappy marriage led her to seek a creative outlet in photography, and in her late thirties she began formal study in the US and abroad. Counter to all decorum, she began to establish herself professionally, and by the 1890′s she was operating out of her own studio and was in demand for lectures and commissions.

Kasebier’s first foray into Native American portraiture came when Buffalo Bill’s “Wild West Show” visited New York. Like many artists, she was drawn to the expressiveness in the faces of the Indians she saw. She began by photographing the Lakota performers and later expanded to documentary work during a brief tour with the show. While the project comprised a relatively small portion of her output, it resulted in some of her finest and best-known pieces.

Above right: Gertrude Kasebier, c1900 (Wikimedia Commons)

During the pinnacle of her career, Kasebier was considered one of the elite of modern photographers, complete with a distinguished clientele – and scathing professional rivalries. Her strong business sense – and certainly her ambition – not only preserved her career but made her a role model for many enterprising young women of the new century. She was a leading figure of the emerging pictoralist movement. By the 1920′s, an elderly woman past 70, she retired and dismantled her studio. She died in 1934, leaving her collection in the hands of her daughter, who followed in her footsteps.

Kasebier’s Indians

So what makes Kasebier’s Indian portraits different from those of her contemporaries such as Curtis or Rinehart? Also, what bearing did the fact that she was a woman trying to make a career in a male-dominated society have on her portfolio?

Some of Kasebier’s portrait pieces appear to represent Indians in what to our modern sensibilities seems the most detached, iconic, and predictable way.

Take this one for instance: a person who sees it is likely to think, “That’s the quintessential Indian chief.” Complete with the feather headdress, he could have been the model for a college sports mascot – which is exactly why pictures like it are such a problem for people today who recognize the “stoic Indian” stereotype and the false connotations that go along with it. So often there are underlying ideologies that are implied, like the elephant in the room, that once accepted become part of a passive stereotype – like the myth of the vanishing race.

Above: Whirling Horse, an Indian Chief (Library of Congress)

But my argument is that it’s not necessarily the fault of the artist if the subject he/she presents has a double-life as a pop icon. It isn’t equitable to accuse the photographer of contributing to a harmful stereotype without at least examining both the method and the motive behind the work. Certainly Kasebier’s pieces bear a closer look.

The Bonnin Photographs

Many of the portraits, like her photographs of the musician Zitkala Sa (aka Gertrude Simmons Bonnin) would have been considered quite avant-garde in her day, both in the way the model is presented and the kind of statement it makes to the viewer.

The strong pictoralist styling creates a close, evocative mood, while the depiction of Bonnin in both Indian and white garb actively challenged prevailing stereotypes about assimilation. Kasebier presents her as a woman and an artist foremost, with her ethnicity taking second place. She seems uniquely qualified to have photographed Bonnin; maybe it took a fellow woman and artist to appreciate these qualities.

(College of Staten Island Library “Images of Zitkala Sa“)

The thing that struck me the most about Kasebier’s Indians is how frequently they are shown smiling – even laughing – relative to the total number of portraits. Just imagine if “smiling Indians” made up as large a proportion of Curtis’ portfolio (although there are quite a few they are obscure by comparison).

Joseph Black Fox (Library of Congress)

Charging Thunder, American Indian (Library of Congress)

This one below is my favorite (as a matter of fact it is part of the banner of my website). One wonders what was making William (left) smile and Luke (on the right) have to hold in a laugh? Was Kasebier in on the joke? (Library of Congress)

(Click to enlarge)

If we are to judge what is reflected in these portraits, Kasebier’s Lakota subjects must have felt quite at ease. With the photography taking place in a quiet studio setting, rather than the indignity of the performance stage, and the subjects actively participating in the portrait process, it’s no wonder she was able to capture such a palpable human essence.

Fortunately, Kasebier’s Indian pictures also include a balanced variety of gender and age combination, so while portraits of adult men still predominate in the collection, women and children of various age groups also receive ample attention.

Samuel American Horse and his wife – A sensitive and rather domestic portrait. Note the wedding ring on her hand. (Library of Congress)

Mary Lone Bear (Smithsonian)

One of the most poignant and emotionally haunting portraits, Charles American Horse in his Wild West Show costume. (Library of Congress)

The point Kasebier seems to make with this photo is, “What a way to grow up” – a young person whose nation was invaded and resettled, and as if to add insult to injury, made into a public exhibition. It serves as an example of how the collection does a good job of portraying individual humanity, but not at the price of ignoring stark reality.

Summary

Based on the recommendation of these facts, Kasebier’s work stands quite favorably as both a historic record and an artistic product.

A few key observations of what defines Kasebier’s portraits:

• Approach

  Kasebier’s approach was completely different from Curtis’s – in fact almost opposite – in that her portraits are deeply personal and introspective. But while they are intimate in nature, they avoid melodrama. It would have been all too easy to lapse into a sorrowful, elegiac “vanishing breed” tone. They do not politicize the Indians or cast them as ethnographic objects.

• Authenticity

  Kasebier’s portraits are refreshingly honest and un-contrived. She never used artificial poses, apparel or props to achieve a more “photogenic” result at the expense of authenticity. In fact she often portrayed her models without their signature regalia, so as not to detract focus from the individual. Frequently the subjects chose their own costumes and posed in the way that seemed most natural to them. This difference gives Kasebier’s pictures a more dynamic and spontaneous, less “picture book” quality.

• Motive

  Kasebier’s Indian project was a purely personal and artistic one; while she stood to make a considerable profit off of the pieces, she never offered any of them for sale, and only produced prints for a select few individuals.

• Human connection

  Finally and (in my opinion) most importantly, Kasebier didn’t just take pictures of these people – she built a rapport with them, and in some cases, became a close friend. In this light, one wonders whether she felt more than a passing kinship with them; both experienced the constraints of a society that denied them their identity. Both experienced the personal rewards that resulted from this mutual understanding and respect – and that’s ultimately the biggest take-away from the end result of this unique collaboration.

Links

Smithsonian Institute: Gertrude Kasebier Collection Images

Library of Congress: Prints & Photographs Division – Results for Gertrude Kasebier

Wikipedia: Gertrude Kasebier

Smithsonian Research: “Portraits offer intimate look at Wild West performers” (If you don’t mind the missing html symbols then this is a pretty good article)

Edward Curtis and the Myth of the Vanishing Race

Related Posts

Edward Curtis and The Curtis Collection

Edward Curtis and Smiling Indians

Much of the discussion centers around the photographic work of Edward Curtis and his impact on the public image of Native Americans. Granted, for better or for worse, Curtis has always had a huge monopoly in this field – mainly because his output was so enormous that very few photographers could have matched the exhaustive effort he put into documenting his travels through Indian country.

There is ongoing controversy about Curtis’ methods and motives (more on that here…) We know he was a major proponent of the “vanishing race” doctrine, and admittedly, he occasionally doctored his photos with props and artificial poses. But what the debate really hinges on is whether the way Indians are reflected in his work is detrimental, and with what attitude they should be approached today.

In terms of the article mentioned above, the issue is that the Curtis photos reinforce the static image of the stern, solemn, downcast and downtrodden native – the noble has-been; because Curtis’ Indians, as well as those of his peers, just don’t smile.

Being closely familiar with Curtis’ work, I felt inclined to offer up a few thoughts.

1. Don’t ignore the reality
   Granted, if many of the Indians in historical photos looked grim or solemn, it was very likely due to the fact that they had very little to smile about. If you were an Indian living anytime around the advent of the camera, then you were admittedly facing one of the worst periods ever faced by Native Americans. The Indians participating in these early photographs were often doing so in the midst of the bleakest of circumstances themselves.
2. Customs of the day
   Add to this the simple fact that it wasn’t customary to smile in photographs in that age. To be fair, how many smiling Civil War soldiers have you seen? Or even common family portraits full of grinning faces? If it wasn’t considered dignified to put on a happy face for a photo in those days (which in many cases would have been difficult considering the prolonged exposure times) then why would anything different be expected of the period’s Native American subjects?
3. Take the photo into account
   Some of the portraits, particularly common in Curtis’s documentary-style work, are quite random and spontaneous. If the person was caught in action, working at their daily duties or engaged in some other activity then it’s understandable that they didn’t just stop to say “cheese.” In other words, he could not have been expected to go out of his way to have his models smile.

I think reasons like these would account for a large portion of the photos in Curtis’ inventory.

Additionally I would like to point out the considerable number of portraits that do show their subjects in a pleasanter light – one of the things that first drew me to these photos is the incredibly confident, self-assured, even serene outlook of many of the Indian people portrayed.

That said, there’s always going to be ambivalence surrounding Curtis’ portrayals of Indians, and the way Curtis’ portrayals are used – which brings up an important point: that even the most objective record can be warped by misappropriation. Fundamentally, it’s the mindless repetition stemming mainly from ignorance that spawns and feeds a stereotype. People take it for granted, the notion spreads, and what begins as a thoughtless generalization becomes doctrine.

Above: “Young Girl Smiling” (Navajo); Left: “Okuwa Tsire” (“Little Bird,” San Ildefonso Pueblo); Below: “Zuni Girl.” If photos like these lesser-known Curtis works were given ample representation, would this be a non-issue?

In the case of the “stoic Indian,” it goes like this: “Way back in the day of the noble savage, Indians never smiled because they were tough and solemn and humorless. After they lost their land and their way of life, they never smiled because there are so few of them left and they are vanishing fast.”

That may not be how most people think, but that’s what is presented to them on a subconscious level when Indians are portrayed this way.

The real gaff is that humor is and always has been an integral characteristic of all Native American cultures. And it was a way of life long before it became a survival tactic. Anyone who has spent time with Indian people can instantly vouch for this. Once again, it’s a case of cultural projection, where the mainstream says, “they are what we imagine them” – and quite often it’s the opposite of the truth.

Bottom line: If you want to show an Indian looking intense and serious, do it because he/she is intense and serious – not because he/she is an Indian. In art or media they should be treated exactly the same as any other subject, without the sociopolitical overtones. Doing so loses the human element – and with the richness of humanity found in the faces of Indian country, that would be a crying shame.

And the verdict on Curtis? I concede that much of his effort was overshadowed by misconception and this is doubtlessly betrayed in his work. But it is also surrounded by irony on multiple levels. For one, the end result – despite its flaws – was certainly the most extensive and complete visual record of early 20th century Native America. And, in his eagerness to preserve the visage of what he thought was a doomed race, Curtis has become a prime witness to the resilience and vitality of Indian cultures.

Just as perceptions of Native people have changed through the years, and will continue change, so will the thoughts and feelings about the Curtis photographs. Might it be said that in some ways, Curtis and his work have also become the victims of stereotype?

“…The Earth does not belong to man; man belongs to Earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself…”

- Chief Seattle

The famous oration by Chief Seattle is believed to have been made in 1854; the venue was supposedly a public meeting called by the governor in Seattle, Washington to discuss the transfer of native lands to the whites. There, the chief of the local Suquamish and Duwamish tribes stood up to deliver his eloquent final word on the massive changeover taking place in his world.

It’s been touted as one of the most compelling environmental messages ever spoken, a moving plea from an Indian watching his culture and his natural homeland disappear. Millions of copies have sold across the world; it’s been used throughout the media, from radio to movies to books (including an appearance in an Al Gore book). But a closer look may reveal a disappointing past to this iconic bestseller.

The speech with many faces

There are several versions of the speech in circulation, so obviously they can’t all be right. And each is littered with subtle anachronisms and other textual flaws that raise red flags about their authenticity.

The most popular (and most quoted) version was written by Texas professor Ted Perry as part of a screenplay for a 1972 film called “Home.” It was this version that soon became a war-cry for environmentalists – and the one that contains the biggest gaffs.

Buffalo and iron horses?

“…I’ve seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and I do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive…”

Readers will notice that Chief Seattle speaks of the “iron horse” or railroad. The first railroad in Washington was built by the Cascades Railroad Company in 1858 – several years after Chief Seattle supposedly delivered his speech. The Transcontinental Railroad wasn’t completed until 1869.

Above all, the “lament over the buffalo” is a dead giveaway. Chief Seattle lived in the Pacific Northwest – not the Great Plains – and never traveled beyond his homeland. We all know there are no buffalo anywhere near the Puget Sound. But I doubt it would have been as effective if the chief was quoted mourning over a diminishing seafood population. That just wouldn’t sell.

This reminds me of the scene in the movie Smoke Signals where Victor tries to teach his friend Thomas the “stoic” Indian look:

Victor: You gotta look mean or people won’t respect you. White people will run all over you if you don’t look mean. You gotta look like a warrior! You gotta look like you just came back from killing a buffalo!

Victor: What! You want to look like you just came back from catching a fish? This ain’t “Dances With Salmon” you know!

This illustrates how much the stereotype of the Plains Indians has permeated the white view of Native Americans. In the perception of many people, Indians = vast herds of buffalo roaming the prairie, wild ponies running through the wind, and tepees silhouetted against the sunset. One image becomes a mass-scale stereotype of all Indians, everywhere. Then, out of sight, out of mind: no more buffalo, no more tepees = no more Indians – thus the “vanishing race.” Cut and dry, two-dimensional thinking.

This is the kind of thinking that is projected all through the Chief Seattle speech. And it’s perhaps one of the biggest indicators that it’s nothing more than a fake – well-intentioned, perhaps, but still a fake.

A troubled history

The speech was reworked on at least three separate occasions before its most famous reincarnation in the 1970′s.

The earliest publication of the speech purportedly dates to an 1887 Seattle newspaper article by Washington pioneer Henry Smith. He was a doctor (and a poet, curiously enough) who claimed to have “taken notes” on Seattle’s words at the 1854 land conference.

Years later, in 1929, it was adapted for a book on Washington history. In 1932, John M. Rich created a pamphlet allegedly based on the Smith article; it became widely circulated and landed a copy in the Library of Congress. This was later revised in the 1960′s (by another poet, no less) in an attempt to modernize the speech for a more contemporary audience.

Even though the oldest versions of the speech contain nothing about buffalo or railroads (proving that these were later interjections), many researchers have pointed out that the validity of the original version is in doubt. The flowery, ornate language is strongly indicative of the poetic style of the day. What’s more, there’s no support for the assertion that Henry Smith was present at any of the public meetings attended by Chief Seattle, or that he ever witnessed an oration given by the chief.

Lost in translation?

One minor detail commonly overlooked is the fact that Chief Seattle couldn’t speak English. So the speech is quite a feat, either for the chief, or for some very accomplished mystery translator of the little known Lushootsheed dialect. More likely, any words spoken by the chief would have been loosely translated into the Chinook jargon – the lingua franca used by native peoples throughout the Pacific coast. It’s open to debate whether any text relayed through translation several times over can preserve much of its original character.

Moreover, the fact that the earliest draft of the Smith version didn’t appear until more than 30 years later, gives rise to suspicions about Smith’s motives in publicizing his memoir.

Jerry Clark, of the National Archives and Records Administration, says “…this memorable statement loses its moral force and validity if it is the literary creation of a frontier physician rather than the thinking of an articulate and wise Indian leader.”

In fact, Chief Seattle’s only officially documented words are found in the minutes of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, recorded at an 1855 conference with several coastal tribes to discuss the Point Elliot Treaty. They consist of two very brief paragraphs discussing the chief’s willingness to cooperate with the American officials. That’s all – nothing about the environment, or the spirit world, or anything remotely resembling later versions of his famous speech.

The real Chief Seattle

The real Duwamish chief, also known as Sealth, See-ahth, or Si’ahl, was born around 1780 near present-day Blake Island, Washington. He inherited his position from his maternal uncle and became a leader renowned for his imposing presence and his speaking ability.

As Salish lands throughout the Northwest became overrun with white settlers, particularly in the period following the Oregon Trail, he was notable for his eagerness to accommodate and even extend friendship towards whites. His negotiations helped the Duwamish avert conflicts and secure a more peaceful transition to reservation life.

His close friend “Doc” Maynard was responsible for naming the city of Seattle in his honor. Seattle died on the reservation in 1866.

Left: The only known real photo of Seattle, taken in 1865, just a year before his death.

Right: A supposed portrait of Chief Seattle, reworked and touched up – just like his words.

Right: Princess Angeline, or Kikisoblu, was the last living descendant of Chief Seattle. This photo was taken in 1895 by an up-and-coming photographer named Edward Curtis. It was the first of more than 40,000 portraits of Native Americans he took over the course of his career.

See also:

Snopes.com:
Chief Seattle’s Speech (includes the complete text of the most popular version by Ted Perry)

“Thus Spoke Chief Seattle: The Story of An Undocumented Speech” – an excellent essay from the National Archives

Human Ecology Review: The Myth of Chief Seattle by William S. Abruzzi [PDF]

NY Times: Chief’s Speech of 1854 Given New Meaning (and Words) by Timothy Egan

March Point – a real look at environmental issues from the point of view of the Coast Salish (who, contrary to some, have not “vanished”…) This independent documentary hinges on the lives of three Swinomish youths growing up on the rez in Washington state.

George Catlin was born in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, into the large family of a Revolutionary War veteran. His mother’s and grandmother’s accounts of their experiences as Indian captives may have sparked his early fascination with Native Americans that later became a lifelong passion. As a young man he abandoned a law career to accompany expeditions researching and documenting indigenous peoples throughout North and South America.

During the 1830s, he traveled extensively through the Midwest and the Great Plains, where he spent weeks and months at a time among the Indian nations of the Mississippi and Missouri river valleys – becoming one of the first Europeans to do so. The notes and drawings he compiled during this tour formed the basis of his collection of documentary paintings, which he later published in a two-volume work entitled Manners, Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians. He amassed a huge collection of artifacts and kept a detailed record of the customs and appearances of the Native American peoples he encountered. His total output consisted of more than 600 original paintings and over 700 drawings and sketches, making him one of the premier painters of Native Americana.

Catlin attempted unsuccessfully to sell his portfolio to the United States government as a public historical exhibit; eventually he sold his original works to a private collector. He spent much of his later career traveling, writing memoirs, and marketing his work in European tours. He died in New Jersey in 1872; his works were later donated to the Smithsonian Museum.

About His Work

George Catlin is certainly not a painter who became famous solely on account of his artistic skills. In technical terms, his works range from mediocre to downright primitive, as some critics have labeled it. What drove his career was an almost obsessive desire to portray Native Americans from across the continent in the most original setting possible.

Like Edward Curtis, he felt compelled to portray the appearance and customs of peoples whom he felt were a “vanishing race.” In some cases, this proved to be fateful; for example, his extensive work among the Mandan barely preceded a smallpox epidemic that reduced their number to a mere handful. As a result, Catlin’s depictions of the Mandan are valuable today because no artist after him was able to produce such a successful pictorial record of them.

Above: The White Cloud, Head Chief of the Iowas; Below: Mandan Buffalo Dance

There is much controversy over the duplicity in Catlin’s portrayals of Indians. On one hand, his genuine appreciation of Native Americans fueled his eagerness to preserve their cultural record; on the other, he stooped to using white models in Indian apparel for some paintings, and staging performing acts similar to later wild west shows as part of his marketing scheme. Both of these contributed to spreading and reinforcing damaging stereotypes that are still prevalent today.

Right: Sha-kó-ka (“Mint”), a Mandan girl (1832)

The fact remains that his personal mentality in regards to American Indians was far ahead of his time. Whatever his motives in promoting his own work, and his means for marketing it, his profound respect for the cultures he encountered was remarkable, and would have still been uncommon a generation or more ahead of his time.

His confidence in the character of Indian society as a whole was boundless. “The very use of the word savage, as it is applied in its general sense, I am inclined to believe is an abuse of the word, and the people to whom it is applied,” Catlin asserted. Towards the end of his career, he remarked, “No Indian ever betrayed me, struck me with a blow, or stole from me a shilling’s worth of my property.” And this at a time when Indians were still perceived largely as inferior humans predisposed toward aggression and brutality.

Right: Stu-mick-o-súcks, Head Chief of the Blood tribe (Blackfoot)

At its best, it could be said that Catlin’s work helped to graduate the public perception of Native Americans from bloodthirsty savages to that of a more noble race that deserved to be saved from oblivion. It was this perspective that persisted through the end of Catlin’s century – through the climax of the removals, the Indian Wars, and the boarding school era – and into the 20th century, when Native American identity began to re-assert itself in a newer and more permanent context.

Smithsonian Magazine: Catlin’s Obsession by Bruce Watson – a highly recommended biography and assessment

George Catlin: The Complete Works – online gallery

See also:

Manners, Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians by George Catlin (1857) – Digital Edition from the Internet Archives’ American Libraries (also available as PDF)

George Catlin: Smithsonian Exhibitions

Explore Pennsylvania History: Birthplace of George Catlin

BROWSE THE COMPLETE CATALOG OF GEORGE CATLIN PRINTED WORKS:
(courtesy of the University of Cincinnati Digital Libraries Collection)

Acoma, 18×24 pastel on suede matboard.
The original photo was taken in 1905 by Edward Curtis.

JESSICA CRABTREE NATIVE AMERICAN PORTRAITS & WILDLIFE: Acoma

About the Acoma

The Acoma people, who call themselves “Haaku,” are one of nearly two dozen Pueblo communities in northern New Mexico. Their pueblo, known as “Sky City,” is built on top of a mesa where for centuries the only access was a single staircase carved by hand out of the sheer sandstone walls. Thanks in part to this defensive position, Acoma is possibly the oldest continuously inhabited constructed settlement in North America.

From its remote perch on the steep white plateau, the Acoma pueblo has witnessed the rise and fall of the Aztec and Maya empires (its trading partners in ancient times), the incursions of Spanish conquistadors, and the American conquest of the Southwest. Today, the Acoma still live in their ancestral fortress, where they continue to practice traditional arts, ceremonies, and farming.

More on Acoma history:

Acoma Sky City

Pueblo of Acoma

There’s not much about this event that hasn’t been said – both true and not so true. It has been studied more extensively, and become more entrenched in popular culture, than possibly any other encounter between Indians and US forces. Maybe that’s because it involved so many influential figures – General Custer, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse – or maybe because it was so shocking to Americans when it occurred that it was instantly and permanently seared into the public memory. Whatever the reasons, our understanding of the conflict and the events surrounding it have changed dramatically through time. The technologies of forensic archaeology and ballistics have reconstructed the course of events on the Greasy Grass, from the movements on the field to weapons used and the nature of the combat.

Perhaps the biggest change in perception is the shift in bias. The role of the US military, and of Custer in particular, is no longer so glorified as it once was, and the Indians not so vilified. We’ve come to understand how the hunger for gold in the forbidden Black Hills motivated the Custer Expedition of 1876. And with more Native accounts coming to light – and being heard – our understanding of the events on the ground has become more objective and comprehensive.

These changes are relatively recent, however. For most of the 20th century, discussing the legitimacy of US Indian policies was strictly taboo – and so was challenging the objectivity of “official” accounts.

This was the obstacle that Edward Curtis encountered when he released the research accompanying his photographic work among the Crow. He made detailed notes from interviews with former Crow army scouts who were present to witness the events at Little Bighorn. But political forces intervened before these reports could be published. President Theodore Roosevelt, while supportive of Curtis’s photographic work, “recommended” that he keep his research under hat. So it was years before the Crow accounts saw the light of day.

Whatever his motives, maybe Roosevelt was just riding the political currents of his day. While public attitudes towards Native Americans were beginning to change, the fact remained that the nation was still embroiled in the aftermath of the Great Indian Wars of the Plains and the Southwest. Vitriolic feelings towards the Indians, and the Lakota in particular, were still high, even a generation after Little Big Horn. The century had barely turned on one of the worst crimes committed on the Indians, the massacre at Wounded Knee in 1890 – which was motivated in part by a hunger for revenge on the part of soldiers, eager to avenge their fallen compatriots at Little Big Horn.

This was the height of the boarding school era, where Indian children were being taken from their families to be “civilized” and re-educated in hopes of completing the assimilation into white culture. Distorted accounts of events such as Little Bighorn continued to fuel stereotypical images of Indians and justify the military’s reactions. Perhaps by depriving Indians of a voice at this time, it was easier to portray them as a “disappearing race”: a casualty of Manifest Destiny, a lost cause – a thing of the past – in order to whitewash the horror of an outright cultural genocide still in full swing.

See also:
History Channel documentary LITTLE BIGHORN: THE UNTOLD STORY

Wikipedia: Battle of Little Bighorn

Wild West Magazine: Ten Myths of the Little Big Horn (HistoryNet)

Library of Congress Digital Collections “This Day in History: Little Bighorn“

Library of Congress: Edward Curtis

The Curtis Collection

JESSICA CRABTREE NATIVE AMERICAN PORTRAITS & WILDLIFE: Zuni

Now I can add the signature and it will be ready for my Gallery. You can see the painting in various stages by clicking the “Latest” tag below, or “Sneak Peek” on the menu.

This portrait is based on a 1903 photograph from the Edward Curtis collection. A huge portion of this work is dedicated to images of the Southwest, particularly the Pueblo regions where this man is from.

One of the most interesting features of this picture, I think, is the fairly inconspicuous heishi necklace he is wearing. Heishi is a Pueblo word meaning “shell jewelry” which refers to a type of jewelry manufactured only by the Pueblo Indians. It is possibly the oldest form of jewelry in the Americas, and examples of this ancient art form dating back as far as 8,000 years have been unearthed throughout the ancestral Pueblo homelands in the Four Corners area.

(Click to enlarge)

Heishi making is an extremely fine and painstaking craft that involves the grinding, piercing, and threading of tiny pieces of shell and semi-precious stones into uniformly shaped beads. The materials best suited to heishi jewelry were usually imported via trade network from the Pacific and Gulf Coasts, and sometimes from as far away as South America. A single necklace composed of several strands could contain thousands of beads. Pueblo craftsmen still produce these exquisite necklaces today.

The Collector’s Guide – New Mexico Native Arts: Heishi Jewelry

The portrait is based on a 1906 photograph by Edward Curtis entitled “Tsahizn Tseh.”

JESSICA CRABTREE NATIVE AMERICAN PORTRAITS & WILDLIFE: Apache

The Apache people, along with their close relatives the Navajo, call themselves “Dine,” meaning “the people.” These nations are part of an extended group of closely related nations and bands who once inhabited large areas of the Western Plains. When they reached the deserts of the Southwest in the 1500s, the Navajo gradually adopted a farming lifestyle similar to the region’s Pueblo peoples, while the Apache continued their traditional nomadic ways. Their fierce independence and their incredible knowledge of desert survival have made them legendary.

The Nez Perce, fearing military reprisals after skirmishes with white settlers, abandoned their reservation and fled 1,000 miles through four states in the blustery cold of a Northwestern fall. More than a quarter of them – mostly women and children – died before they reached the Canadian border. Their pursuit by the US army and their subsequent exile from their beloved homeland in the Wallowa Valley is among the most tragic episodes in American history.

“The name of Chief Joseph is better known than that of any other Northwestern Indian. To him popular opinion has given the credit of conducting a remarkable strategic movement from Idaho to northern Montana in the flight of the Nez Perce in 1877. The unfortunate effort to retain what was rightly their own makes an unparalleled story in the annals of the Indians’ resistance to the greed of the whites.”

Edward Curtis, “The North American Indian”

Click here to read more about the grueling trek of the Nez Perce and the events behind Chief Joseph’s legendary “I will fight no more” speech.

Chief Joseph: in Nez Perce, Hinmuuttu-yalatlat "Thunder Rolling Down the Mountains" (Photo: Edward Curtis, 1903)

Edward Curtis’s photographic collection The North American Indian has been arguably the most comprehensive and influential Native-themed work of the last century. If you can recall seeing old black and white or sepia-toned photos of Indians, chances are they were part of the Curtis collection.

The enormous scope of his thirty-year project attempted to document the lives of Native Americans all over the western half of the continent at a time when these Indian nations were in transition to the restrictions of life on reservation. In the eyes of most people living around the turn of the 20th century, Native Americans were considered a vanishing race and their ways of life a lost cause. The cultures of the West, and especially of the Great Plains, came to typify all Native American heritage, largely because the final period of their traditional lifestyle coincided with the advent of mass media.

It can be easy to forget that there were no cameras in the days when Europeans began their advance of colonization across the Eastern part of the American continent. We have photos of many of the individuals who participated in the Battle of Little Big Horn, but not of the Wampanoag of Massasoit’s day; we know what Geronimo looked like, but there is no newsreel footage of the Indian Removals of the 1820′s and 30′s. This is largely why the Indian stereotype of today is usually a Plains Indian in war regalia, while so few of us can easily conjure up an image of an Iroquois or a Pequot – not because these nations were small or played an insignificant role in American history – but because of the comparative lack of documentation. By the time the modern communications infrastructure had been established, these peoples were easily and conveniently relegated to the recesses of the distant past.

With the exception of painters such as George Catlin and Karl Bodmer, whose travels through the Midwest in the early 1800′s foreshadowed Edward Curtis’s careers more than a century later, there was little effort – and perhaps little incentive – to express respectful interest in Native communities on behalf of the general public – a public that gladly would have ignored their very existence. After the Civil War, when the camera had firmly established itself as a primary method of communication, America turned its attention to the development of the West, and the camera was there to record it. Nearly all of the period of encounter and conflict between white settlers and the Native Americans of the Great Plains, Southwest, Great Basin, and Pacific Northwest is well-documented, and particularly rich in photographs. Ironically much of this documentation did not represent an attempt to preserve Native culture so much as it revealed the skewed mentality that the same process of assimilation and removal would take place exactly as it had in the East.

The shocking brutality involved in the conquest of the Western United States was unparalleled in our modern culture and helped to galvanize the people, places, and events of the “Indian Wars” into the American mythology. People of Edward Curtis’s generation – as far away as Europe – watched via photo reporting as the Western Indian resistance was crushed and their “exotic” nomadic lifestyle drastically transformed into the inglorious life on reservation. This transition was misconceived as a death blow, and mass attractions such as Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show traveled the world proliferating the mistaken idea that “real Indians” were a thing of the past.

Many scholars today criticize Curtis’s work because it reflects much of the ideology of that era. They point out that he occasionally costumed his Indian subjects to fit the popular stereotypes, and often perpetuated in his research the same kind of misperceptions that persist even into this century. But it is important to take into account that no artist is completely immune from the ideas of his time, and it is often those individuals we accuse most for monopolizing on the ignorance of their surroundings who leave behind the most valuable legacies. The enormous contribution Curtis made as an artist, in recording and transmitting a first-hand view of Native culture, bespeaks a dedication and sensitivity that were well beyond both the political climate and the social consciousness of his day.

Edward Curtis and the Myth of the Vanishing Race

Edward Sheriff Curtis was born in 1868 in Wisconsin. His family moved to Minnesota and later the West coast. As a teenager he became an apprentice photographer and eventually opened his own studio in Seattle. He made his first Native American photograph in 1895 – a portrait of Princess Angeline, daughter of Chief Seattle. Around the turn of the century he and his camera accompanied several research expeditions on local tribal lands and through the Plains, Southwest, and Alaska. This launched his life-long interest in documenting Native American heritage.

In 1906 J.P.Morgan commissioned Curtis to produce a 20-volume photographic series on the Native Americans of the West. The series, entitled The North American Indian, was to contain 1,500 original photographic prints, and was slated for completion in 5 years. The first volume was published the following year, with a preface by President Theodore Roosevelt – but it was to be another 25 years before the project finally saw completion.

Curtis traveled extensively throughout the country west of the Mississippi River, taking over 40,000 photographs of Native Americans, documenting biographies, cultural practices, and traditional narratives, and even making recordings of speech and songs in Native languages.

Unfortunately, Curtis lost his studio and much of his original work in a nasty divorce settlement that was drawn out for years. He ultimately sold the rights to the entire project to J.P.Morgan’s son. The final volume of The North American Indian was published in 1930, but the majority of Curtis’s work landed in obscurity and changed hands several times over the next 50 years, with much of it being lost or destroyed. Curtis died in 1952 at the age of 84.

Next: The Curtis Collection