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PRESS & MEDIA |
We recently spoke with Rapid City, SD-based artist Joe Pulliam ahead of his visit to our Lafayette, CO Hub on March 9th for next month’s Nagi Circle Gathering. Read on to learn about the powerful experiences and Lakota identity that inform his art: Watercolor on ledger paper, Joe Pulliam 2017 As a child and young adult, Joe Pulliam underwent hardships deeply rooted in colonization and ongoing generational trauma - but through a journey into traditional Lakota ways, ledger art, and the #NoDAPL movement at Standing Rock, he has carved out a unique path as an artist and advocate. Born on the Pine Ridge Reservation, Joe was impacted at a young age by a number of the challenges facing Indigenous Peoples. His family was sent to St. Paul, Minnesota in the 1970s as part of the Bureau of Indian Affairs’ relocation program before eventually returning to Pine Ridge, and he describes his upbringing as one that took place within an alcoholic family. Over 100,000 Indigenous people were relocated by the BIA to urban areas between 1952 and 1972, in a bid by the federal government to make reservations and tribes obsolete (APM Reports, 2019). Hard alcohol was originally introduced to Indigenous communities by European settlers in an effort to establish a market demand for the substance, and to gain the upper hand during land and trade negotiations with tribes (National Institute of Health, 1998). Alongside the challenges of Joe’s youth, however, sat a budding interest in art. After three years of service in the US Army, he entered graphic design school and studied at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He began to explore the medium of ledger art - a style which first appeared in the 19th-century, when warriors of the Plains tribes would record important events through visuals painted or drawn onto the pages of the US Army ledgers they had seized. During this same period of artistic discovery, Joe was battling a severe addiction to alcohol and the psychological effects of trauma. “I was dealing with anger, guilt, and PTSD,” he shared. Still, he persevered, working to hone his painting and design skills, raising two children on his own, and making a living selling art to tourists in the town of Pine Ridge. The Oceti Sakowin Camp at Standing Rock, pictured in 2016 during a Tipi Raisers visit to deliver firewood to demonstrators. In April 2016, Native youth and elders began to gather along the Cannonball River on the Standing Rock Reservation to pray - for the earth, for future generations, and for a stop to the planned construction of a pipeline through sacred Lakota lands and waterways. As the camp at Standing Rock and the #NoDAPL demonstrations grew, Joe was inspired to head north and join the movement. Still struggling with alcohol addiction, he was immediately taken in by the grandmothers at the camp. Amidst tense interactions with heavily armed private law enforcement, a tactical, warlike environment enveloped the camp. This atmosphere triggered some of Joe’s memories of military service - but the grandmothers kept him grounded, sharing traditional teachings with him: “Standing Rock gave me a sense of what my true identity is as a Lakota Wiċasa (man). It blew away the stereotypes and misinformation we hear, even growing up on the Rez. I didn’t really know who I was until I went to Standing Rock.” His experience at Standing Rock was a profound one, stirring him to paint ledger art which recorded important events of the #NoDAPL movement in real time - just like the Lakota artist-warriors of old. “As a modern warrior, it’s my role to take on this role [of ledger artist] and carry it forward. It changed my whole life,” Joe shared. Camp Whiteclay Justice, 2017, pictured here during a service project with a Tipi Raisers volunteer group. Upon his return to Pine Ridge in 2017, Joe was sober, inspired, and determined to make a difference for his People. Modeled after the Standing Rock encampment, he established Camp Whiteclay Justice on the reservation’s border with Whiteclay - a Nebraska town established by white residents for the purpose of selling alcohol to Indigenous people. For nearly a year, Joe and fellow demonstrators from the Standing Rock Movement brought awareness to the issue of alcohol abuse and the Whiteclay businesses profiting from addiction on Pine Ridge. In late 2017, the Nebraska Supreme Court ruled against the businesses selling alcohol in Whiteclay, revoking the liquor licenses of all four local stores. Today, Joe continues to advocate for change through artistic expression. On his artistic ethos, Joe stated: “My art brings awareness to a lot of the injustice and current situations. I intended to use this traditional art form of ledger art to do the same thing the original ledger artists were doing - to preserve history and culture.” Alongside a non-Native business partner, he plans to open a gallery in downtown Rapid City, SD that will highlight the work of both Native and non-Native artists within a shared space: “It will be an example of Natives and non-Natives working together through art to bring about a better cultural understanding and reconciliation." Joe Pulliam chatting with local attendees of last year's Indigenous Wisdom Gathering in Eagle, CO A cross-cultural partnership such as this is somewhat uncommon in Rapid City, a town in which Indigenous people still face rampant discrimination. In celebrating contemporary art across lines of difference, Joe hopes the gallery will bridge cultural gaps and challenge prejudice in the local community: “There's a need to see our people active in our community as businessmen or councilmembers, to break the stereotypes of the drunken Indian, the lazy Indian - especially here in Rapid City. It’s a challenge, but it’s something we can do.” His previous business, Tusweca Gallery, was housed in the old central bank of Rapid City, from which countless deeds for Indigenous lands were signed off to white settlers. We had the privilege of visiting the gallery in the summer of 2023; there was a deep poetic justice in witnessing the reclamation of the space by a Lakota artist, surrounded by empowering images of Native resilience and ledger art painted on the pages of century-old bank logs. In the face of ongoing challenges impacting the Lakota people - poverty, generational trauma, addiction and beyond - Joe continues to work towards institutional change and healing through art, and to build bridges across cultures and backgrounds: “That’s what my gallery is about: Natives and non-Natives can work together. That’s where the solutions are.” Joe will be joining us here at our Hub in Lafayette, CO next week for the March Nagi Circle Gathering, where he will share more about his art and story with attendees. His art will also be available for sale.
We invite you to join us for this free, all ages event on Saturday March 9th from 2pm-4pm. Additional details can be found HERE.
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In the 1991 film, Grand Canyon, starring Kevin Kline (who plays Mack), Danny Glover plays the role of Simon, an uncle, father, mentor, wizened cultural elder . . . and a tow truck driver who finds himself facing a gang leader with a gun while trying to do his job and tow Kevin Kline’s Lamborghini. Kline’s character, an immigration lawyer, had left a late-night Laker’s game in his car and is detoured from his normal route by traffic and a series of missed turns. As it happens, his car breaks down in a dangerous neighborhood patrolled by gangs. Knowing that he is lost and in trouble, he calls for help from the towing company . . . and from Simon, whom he had never met previously.
Simon arrives after the gang has arrived, after Mack had been forced out of his car and just before life was becoming visibly precious and precarious. Simon steps in between the gang leader and Mack . . . Simon: I've gotta ask you for a favor. Let me go my way here. This truck's my responsibility, and now that the car's hooked up to it, it's my responsibility too. Rocstar (the gang leader): Do you think I'm stupid? Simon: Look, I don't know nothing about you; you don't know nothing about me. I don't know if you're stupid, or some kind of genius. All I know is that I need to get out of here, and you got the gun. So I'm asking you, for the second time, let me go my way here. Rocstar: I'm gonna grant you that favor, and I'm gonna expect you to remember it if we ever meet again. But tell me this, are you asking me as a sign of respect, or are you asking because I've got the gun? Simon: Man, the world ain't supposed to work like this. I mean, maybe you don't know that yet. I'm supposed to be able to do my job without having to ask you if I can. That dude is supposed to be able to wait with his car without you ripping him off. Everything is supposed to be different than it is. I think of Simon’s words often in my role. I think of those words when the proud Lakota mother calls virtually every morning to see if she can earn money delivering firewood and food to her community. I think of those words when our 71-year-old firekeeper struggles under the weight of raising six children with less than $750/month. I think of those words when I hear the brothers share the stories of their sisters being groomed and bribed to leave their home and become prostitutes. Of how the FBI is aware of the sex ring, but ineffective this time (and so many others) to stop it. I think of it as I drive by the “Death to the Whiteman” painting in Whiteclay that welcomes, warns, and explains of the landscape ahead. The world is not supposed to work like this. Maybe none of us really know that anymore. Families are supposed to be warm, fed, and safe. Governments are supposed to be at least moderately able to ensure those same conditions. And to work with other entities responsible for the health and safety of the people they serve. In the midst of plenty, there should be (is) enough to feed, warm and keep safe our neighbors and relatives. Tragically, that is not the way the reservations are though. I am struck sometimes by how – despite our valiant army of volunteers; and intensely proud, hardworking tribal allies; and generous donors; and well-intentioned efforts – I am struck by how difficult it is to provide enough to ease the suffering. Last year, we had several of our long time Lakota friends from Pine Ridge join us on the Hopi and Diné reservations to volunteer rebuilding homes, cutting, and stacking firewood, etc. On one of the days, a group took a day off from the work to travel for the first time to the Grand Canyon – from South Dakota to one of the seven natural wonders of the world. That evening, in the circle as we processed our day, one of the Lakota men remarked how stunning the experience of standing on the south rim was . . . and how someday he hoped to bring youth from his reservation down to see what he saw and to experience what he experienced . . . He was inspired to someday release red balloons from the rim with his young people who are caught in a world that doesn’t have to be . . . and must change. In the movie, Simon asks Mack: You ever been to the Grand Canyon? It's pretty, but that's not the thing of it. You can sit on the edge of that big ol' thing and those rocks... the cliffs and rocks are so old... it took so long for that thing to get like that... and it ain't done either! It happens right there while you’re watching it. Its happening right now as we are sitting here in this ugly town. When you sit on the edge of that thing, you realize that our time here means diddly to those rocks. Just a split second we have been here, the whole lot of us. That's a piece of time so small to even get a name. Those rocks are laughing at me right now, me and my worries... Yeah, it’s real humorous, that Grand Canyon. And so, I take comfort in knowing that Simon and the rocks are right. Change is happening. Good and magnificent changes. For all of you who work alongside us in this slow, sometimes painful and frustrating, often tragic and but ultimately beautiful work, I share my heartfelt gratitude. Thank you. Wopila. Askwali. Kwakwhay. Ahéhee'. - Dave |
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July 2024
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