Native American Artists Take Control of their Market
Brian Frejo, “Earthlodge – A New Old Way of Life”
Not often, when a popular board member leaves an arts organization, do constituents get riled enough to do something about it, other than perhaps grumble on Facebook. However, John Torres Nez’s resignation from the Southwestern Association of Indian Art (SWAIA) in April tapped a well of discontent that had been bubbling for a while: Native artists were unhappy with Native art markets run by non-Natives. Nez’s departure set off a quick succession of events that led to the creation of the Indigenous Fine Art Market (IFAM). The all Native-run event has its debut August 21–23 in the Santa Fe Farmers Market building in the Railyard District. It’s the same week that SWAIA hosts its annual “Indian Market” in Santa Fe’s historic downtown.
Lines Across the Land
SITE Santa Fe launches its three-part, “transregional” Americas-focused series in dramatic fashion, with examinations of the earth.
The Soniferous Æther of The Land Beyond The Land Beyond
Film installation, 10:18 minutes
Photo: courtesy of the artist
Life cannot exist without water. Complex, expensive systems of haulage, drainage and storage have been devised to confront the immediacy of this fact in the desert states—so too have bureaucratic networks of competing interests. Artist Inigo Manglano-Ovalle responds to these conditions through one of the oldest and simplest forms of water reclamation: he digs a well. He carves it on land owned by the Santa Clara Pueblo, a Native American reservation north of Santa Fe, then donates it to the tribe. In truth, the act took some negotiation with tribal government, but, importantly, only tribal members will have access. The water belongs to them.
Land Art Pioneer: Nancy Holt
”We stepped off the plane into the vastness of the desert. I had an overwhelming experience of my inner landscape and the outer landscape being identical.”
— Nancy Holt, in “Nancy Holt: Sightlines”
In the year before Land Art pioneer Nancy Holt died, she had finished a new edit of her film about Robert Smithson’s Amarillo Ramp (1973), and had witnessed the first national retrospective of her work. She also left a handful of projects incomplete, and acres of land where new ideas might have been expressed. This combined sense of wholeness and the fragmentary is—for an artist influenced early on by conceptualism and later by Buddhism—part of the enduring framework for Holt’s work, and her legacy to the artists who follow her.
Report: New Media New Mexico
A joint project to explore and advance new media art begins this summer in Northern New Mexico. Uniting the efforts of Albuquerque’s 516 ARTS and Santa Fe’s Parallel Studios, the aptly named “New Media New Mexico” launches with 516’s exhibition-centered “Digital Latin America” and Parallel’s annual festival of new media, “Currents 2014.”
On the Scene: Land of Entrapment
In northern New Mexico, the landscape determines all
Back in 2000, just before the members of FUSION Theatre Company banded under that name in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the nascent production team staged a performance of Wakefield Mystery Cycle’s “The Crucifixion.” After one week of rehearsals, they opened the piece in Cerrillos, an incorporated village of less than 300 people in Santa Fe County. The site was a burned-out shell of a New Deal-era grade school with a small gymnasium where Georgia O’Keeffe roller-skated as a kid. Sculptor Jesus Morales had gutted the building, tearing out the roof and digging an amphitheater into the foundation.
One night, while the cast of “The Crucifixion” performed the Stations of the Cross, the Jesus character rose to his place above the audience and took his final breath when a flock of swallows burst into the building, settling into nests they’d assembled in the walls. A pink and violet New Mexico sunset filled the sky.
“It was a stunningly beautiful, truly New Mexican life moment,” says FUSION executive director Dennis Gromelski.
Q&A: Fusebox Festival Director Ron Berry
Austin’s Fusebox Festival will begin with a sort of anti-elegy, a zombie score. “Mozart Requiem Undead”—a re-imagining of Mozart’s “Requiem” comprising new compositions by indie artists including Glenn Kotche (Wilco), Caroline Shaw, DJ Spooky, Justin Sherburn (Okkervil River) and Adrian Quesada (Grupo Fantasma)—will be performed by a full orchestra and a 150-person choir. Graham Reynolds and Peter Stopschinski of Golden Hornet Project will lead the piece outside the French Legation Museum.
The directors call Fusebox a “hybrid art festival,” because it plays host to music, theater, performance art, documentaries, artist talks and round-table discussions. Additionally, Executive Director Ron Berry has begun referring to it as a “festival about festivals,” i.e., an opportunity to measure the impact of a festival on it host community, especially when that community is as festival-happy as Austin.
The performance of “Mozart Requiem Undead” will launch the 10th anniversary installment of the two-week festival (April 16-27 at venues throughout the capital), as well as a new Fusebox initiative called “Free Range Art.” That’s a branded way of saying that all festival events are free. Registration and the schedule are available online at fuseboxfestival.com.
The Observer caught up with Berry to find out why Austin needs a hybrid art festival, what Fusebox can teach us about festivals in general, and why, after a decade, Fusebox has moved to a free model.
High Desert Test Sites
Various venues, Arizona, California & New Mexico, USA
My first impression of High Desert Test Sites (HDTS) is decidedly negative. Los Angeles hipsters in designer boots, high-waisted shorts and sunhats scramble up a desert wash in Joshua Tree, California to view Desert Appliqué by Léa Donnan (all works 2013). The nomadic settlement of abandoned crochet blankets is beautiful and colourful, if static in its nostalgia for homesteading and American craft culture. But viewers leave footprints up the wash, damaging flora. I struggle with any artistic statement that holds the potential to destroy that which it attempts to celebrate. Yet, HDTS teeters on this precipice – one on side awareness, on the other exploitation, the hope of participation risks the cynicism of tourism. These are contradictions that appear within the 2013 itinerary, in the locations as well as the projects. Over the course of the event, I come to view HDTS itself as the work, testing the limitations of community and individual effort, which are essential limitations of art in the world at-large.
The man in front of me with a pencil-thin moustache slouches back in his chair like a younger man on a barstool, money in his pocket and the memory of an unapproachable woman still in his bed.
“I guess you have to see what you can do, just to see if you can do it,” he says. “I wanted to see if I could have a wife and a girlfriend, and I did. I wanted to see if I could have my girlfriend live with me and my wife and I did.”
There be dragons in England
In the midst of fighting for his way of life, a washed-up performer and drug dealer stirs the moral ambiguity in all of us.
Appears in ABQ arts & entertainment
Jez Butterworth’s play Jerusalem is a working-class drama about taking arms against the moral authority. It’s a folk tale about the end of myth, an allegory for the last days of the fairies. It’s a dark comedy about a performer who has outlived his charms.
These are a few of the reasons Marty Epstein wanted to direct Jerusalem at the Vortex Theatre. Here’s another one: He just knew that fellow Vortex Rep board member Charles Fischer would make a perfect Rooster Byron.
“Charles … originates from the same area of England,” Epstein says. “He understands the English mindset and English history. He is one of the finer Albuquerque actors and someone who can handle a role of this complexity.”
Chapter 1: Desert
Neal McCormac came to me at a time when my thoughts had nearly abandoned me. I couldn’t write, despite several bursts of urgency that held potential to form a clear picture of Ohio where I grew up. Instead, I recognized the pages to be full of petty and judgmental scribbling, the expressions of a 30-year-old man still resenting his childhood. What’s more, the world around me carried on, regardless of my inabilities or grievances. It became obscenely involved in a pageantry of self-satisfaction. The nation and its financers waged wars against countries full of oppressed people. Our fear of retaliation compelled us to accept arbitrary interventions in our daily lives. Our patriotism compelled us to defend financial liberties for the richest among us while the poorest became subjects of contempt. Pardon me for being so general, so unenthusiastic. The war was just everywhere then—especially in San Diego, of the border and the Navy—and yet we treated it like a seasonal occasion, like football or elections. We pored through stats, attempted to make predictions, but we were overwhelmed and divided. So we did what we could. We concerned ourselves with travel plans, careers and unobtainable real estate. We took pictures of ourselves helping others. We went snowboarding on weekends and read thick, fanciful books meant for children. We horded music and film because they didn’t cost anything. We discussed television shows. And we seasoned our food with sexual innuendo, the drippy, pretentious fantasy coupling of romance novels. The painters I knew had become graphic designers; the musicians had become entertainment lawyers. I worked in public relations. We were trying to pay off our debts. We were gathering up our experiences for our biographies. “We were,” in the words of the poet Adrienne Rich, “trying to live a personal life.” And maybe that was all we could do. Nonetheless, I understood that the war and our inability to confront it were related to those wonder years back in Ohio, the returning promise that our work would achieve what our parents’ hadn’t, their generation bogged down by history. I knew that writing about Ohio would bring clarity to our circumstances. Yet, clarity of mind was exactly the problem. I couldn’t write, and I very nearly repeated my habit of throwing out all the materials related to my book when Neal appeared, reappeared in my life.