In the workshops, master artists led classrooms of eager adult learners as they showcased and passed on the knowledge, craftsmanship, and creativity of diverse Indigenous cultures:

This year’s theme, Celebrating Kinship Through the Power of Storytelling, took us on a journey full of culture, creativity, and passion. Attendees gathered on our campus from far and wide for our many enriching public events, including the exhibition opening of “Blue Corn and Other Stories” by Joe Baker, the Michael Kabotie Lecture Series highlighting the work and perspectives of many talented Indigenous storytellers, a special screening of the zombie horror film “Blood Quantum,” and an artist meet & greet with ����ֱ�� student Tain Half (Apsáalooke)), who presented a photography exhibition, and ����ֱ�� alum Emily Clarke (Cahuilla), who debuted a beautiful new poem. The Native American Arts Market and the third annual bird singing celebration, “Welcoming Home the Birds,” was the perfect way to close out the week.

We are grateful to our outstanding contributing artists, teachers, and presenters, and to everyone who joined us on campus for this truly unique experience. Please save the date for the Native American Arts Center’s next upcoming event, Indigenous Peoples Day on Monday, October 14th! Join the ����ֱ�� Community on our beautiful Southern California mountain campus for a day of programming featuring the Delbert Anderson Jazz Quartet as well as lectures, film, food, and more! All events are free and open to the public. Learn more here.

Details for this and all other upcoming public events will be added to our event calendar and shared via our email newsletter (sign up ) and social media channels (, , and ).

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One of the highlights of this summer took place at the very beginning, in June: IA’s fifth annual trip to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Spearheaded by the NAAC’s Executive Director, Shaliyah Ben (Diné), this trip brought arts education to the students of Red Cloud Indian School. The partnership between IA and Red Cloud Indian School was originally fostered by Marianne Kent-Stoll, IA’s prior Head of School.

This year, Shaliyah Ben, alongside IA faculty Abbie Bosworth (Chair of the InterArts Department) and Rachel Welch (Visual Arts Faculty), conducted a week-long, interdisciplinary arts workshop in which the students of Red Cloud Indian School saw their culture represented in art and had the chance to use art to celebrate it themselves.

A Play By and For the Oceti Sakowin

Ben, Bosworth, and Welch kicked off the week by bringing the students to see the Cornerstone Theatre Company’s production of Wicoun [wee-CHO], a play written by Larissa FastHorse (the first Native American woman playwright to have her work shown on Broadway—).

FastHorse’s play, Wicoun (which translates to “way of life”) is described as “a new play with and about the Oceti Sakowin.” The Oceti Sakowin Oyate [oh-CHEH-tee shaw-KOH-we oh-YAH-tay], or the People of Seven Council Fires, refers collectively to the Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota people. From late May to early June, throughout the South Dakota communities and reservations that inspired it (). The play itself—a comedy about superpowered Lakota teens—addresses several contemporary issues facing these Indigenous communities while emphasizing the strength that can be found in heritage.

The play also celebrates the legacy of genderqueer identities in Indigenous culture through the journey of its protagonist, the female-presenting teenager Áya. As Áya seeks the strength to protect their family, they learn to embrace and express their innate gender identity. When Áya transitions, they become the super-powered Ahí, a (someone with both a masculine and feminine spirit—hence, two spirits). It’s no coincidence that they become a superhero when they become their true self. In choosing to center a two-spirit character, FastHorse pays homage to the long-standing cultural significance of two-spirit people (or “two-spirits”) in various Indigenous communities (read more , , and ).

For the students of Red Cloud Indian School, Larissa FastHorse’s writing and the Cornerstone Theatre Company’s work demonstrated how one can honor their culture and give back to their community through art. Meanwhile, the play itself—with its emphasis on celebrating identity—expressed a theme of combining the traditional with the contemporary while empowering the voices that have not had the chance to speak for themselves.

All of this made watching Wicoun the perfect start to IA’s arts education workshop with the Red Cloud students. As the week-long workshop progressed, Bosworth and Welch led the students in learning about different aspects of theatre and art, mixing tradition with the contemporary as they shared their unique voices.

Exploring Art and Honoring Culture

After watching Wicoun, the students of Red Cloud Indian School set out to create a production of their own. Throughout the week, Bosworth and Welch led the students in activities and exercises spanning several disciplines: theatre, creative writing, visual arts, and more; they did so with help from a teaching assistant and IA alumna Emilee Swalley (Oglala Lakota), an InterArts student of the Class of 2022.��

With guidance from Bosworth and Welch, the students ultimately brought their interdisciplinary work to life in an original play—Wówauŋśila: The Flower of the Amazon. “Wówauŋśila” [wo-WAHN-shee-luh] refers to the Lakota virtue of Compassion and Kindness.

The students took inspiration from FastHorse’s Wicoun as they structured their play and—like FastHorse—incorporated the Lakota language throughout the script and dialogue. As the students developed the plot and the conflict, they reflected on their personal experiences and the challenges their community has faced. “They were ready to connect their lives with art,” said Bosworth.

Various theatre games helped students build the ensemble, creating an environment of trust, collaboration, and interconnectedness. Through exercises in role-play and improvisation, the students developed the story of their play and the characters within it; visual arts activities aided the process as they helped the students plan, visualize, and personally connect to the material. 

One exercise had the students pick an animal protector they would take with them if they went on a journey like the one in Wicoun. The students then made 3D models of their chosen animal protectors out of simple materials (as Welch says, “Butcher paper and tape can do anything”) and could be seen carrying their protectors around; at the end of the week, every animal was eagerly taken home.

Putting it All Into Play (and Putting on a Play)

The students were eventually divided into two groups: actors and technicians. The actors joined Bosworth in various exercises to workshop and rehearse scenes for the play. Meanwhile, the technicians worked with Welch to finish backdrops, props, costumes, and the set: a floor-to-ceiling construction paper rainforest depicting the Amazon.��

Bosworth and Welch remember the moment when the two groups reunited: the technicians had just finished the set and the actors were seeing it for the first time. The excitement in the air was tangible as the students really saw their production coming together and appreciated everything they had accomplished so far.

The week culminated in a performance of Wówauŋśila: The Flower of the Amazon for an audience of proud parents and family members. The production really showcased how much the students had learned during the week as the show exhibited the many different artistic disciplines that were involved in its making. Most importantly, the students walked away having had an incredible experience in using art to share their voices, tell their stories, and make an impact.

We would like to take this opportunity to thank Ben, Bosworth, and Welch for extending IA’s impact by bringing such a valuable inter-arts experience to the students of Pine Ridge. We would also like to thank Red Cloud Indian School and everyone who made this collaborative workshop possible. 

Welch described it as a “transformative” experience for both the students and the teachers: “The whole time I was like, ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this, this is so amazing,’” she said. Bosworth echoed her sentiments, saying, “I’d like to keep up the partnership—I’m so grateful that I was able to be involved.” Providing arts access to young creatives—especially those in historically disenfranchised communities—continually proves to be a meaningful experience for all.

Celebrate Native Arts with Us on Campus at ����ֱ��

There are several upcoming opportunities to engage with Native Arts at IA in person. To learn more about IA’s Native American Arts Center (NAAC), please join us in person on Sunday, October 8th at 2 p.m. for a specially-catered engagement at Lowman Concert Hall, followed by a concert with NAMMY-winning Navajo pianist and composer Connor Chee. To learn more about the NAAC, click here.��

This all leads up to Indigenous People’s Day at IA. On October 9th, IA will host its annual Indigenous People’s Day celebration, complete with a full day of in-person arts and educational programming, all free and open to the public. The day’s events will feature performances, lectures, outdoor concerts, and Native foods, as well as several special guests, including (but not limited to) musician Keith Secola; hoop dancers Sky and Talon Duncan; artist Steven Paul Judd; filmmaker Ivey Camille Manybeads Tso; singer Tia Wood; and designer Bethany Yellowtail. 

Coming Soon: Michael Kabotie Lectures Premiere Online

With this November also comes the chance to experience (or revisit) this summer’s celebrated Lecture Series online. This lecture series partners with Indigenous creators to promote Native Art and highlight Native perspectives.

Each Wednesday in November at 7 pm PDT, a recording of one of this summer’s Michael Kabotie Lectures will debut online via . Check out the line-up below: 

• Nov. 8 – Still We Smile: Humor as Correction and Joy with artist and curator Meranda Roberts (Numu/Xicana). 
• Nov. 15 – An All Around Comedy and Cat Guy, A Conversation with Joey Clift (Cowlitz): comedian, TV writer, and cat guy. 
• Nov. 22 – Art that Makes You Laugh, Makes You Think, and Makes You Feel Pride with filmmaker, director, screenwriter, fiction writer, and visualist Steven Paul Judd (Kiowa/Choctaw). 
• Nov. 29 – Good Medicine Comedy with stand-up comedian, writer, actor, and producer Jackie Keliiaa (Yerington Paiute/Washoe/Native Hawaiian) and showrunner, screenwriter, filmmaker, and weaver Sierra Teller Ornelas (Navajo). 

These lectures all focus on the power of comedy, humor, and joy in Indigenous communities; all of the lecturers are working artists and creators who continuously promote these themes through their work while playfully rewriting some of the false preconceptions about Native American people. Save the dates, and To stay updated on upcoming events—and see more of Native Arts at IA—follow us on . You can also find us on TikTok, , and LinkedIn.

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While the creativity was spilling out of the classrooms, laughter echoed through the San Jacinto Mountains (Cahuilla Land) as we invited community members from near and far for the Native American Arts Festival week, which centered around “comedy and humor in Indigenous expression.” This was a welcome theme after the past few difficult years, and demonstrated how humor is an important tool to help heal within while also coping with and accepting new realities. The engaging programming inspired internal reflection and laughter while also igniting important conversations about topics that shape Indigenous communities. Scientific, intuitive, and trickster voices came together for a balanced and provocative learning experience:

We are grateful to our outstanding contributing artists, teachers, and presenters, and to everyone who joined us on campus for this truly unique experience. Please save the dates for our next upcoming Native American Arts Center programs:

• A series of online premieres each Wednesday of September, featuring the video recordings from this year’s Michael Kabotie Lecture Series, for those who missed it
• Indigenous Peoples Day on October 9th, which will offer a full day of arts and educational programming, free and open to the public

Details will be added to our��event calendar��and shared via our email newsletter (sign up��) and social media channels (,��, and��).

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“The opening of the Native American Arts Center is the realization and celebration of the long history that Native Arts has at ����ֱ��,” says Executive Director Shaliyah Ben (Diné), who will be at the helm of the NAAC, curating programming and community events. Under her leadership, Indigenous teaching artists, traditional knowledge bearers, and scholars will have new opportunities to cross-pollinate their creative talents and develop their craft.

“My vision for the Native American Arts Center celebrates and pays homage to the long history of Indigenous people on this land,” states ����ֱ�� Foundation President Pamela Jordan. “The opening of the Native American Arts Center affirms that ����ֱ�� is firmly rooted in respect and reverence of Native American arts and culture.” The NAAC also facilitates the identification and expansion of new ways to contribute to a global art community through education, a vital part ����ֱ��’ mission.

Los Angeles-based Sander Architects, known for pushing the boundaries of hybrid construction, has been selected to design the new NAAC building following their success building ����ֱ��’ William M. Lowman Concert Hall (which has become, quite literally, the centerpiece of the campus). The new center’s gently curved form will gesture subtly towards “The Meadow,” which has been a sacred gathering place for local Cahuilla for tens of thousands of years, as evidenced by the depth of the acorn grinding holes in the rocks there.

“The building represents our promise, our land acknowledgement, and it is a step in the right direction to welcoming home Cahuilla people to this culturally significant place,” says Ben, referencing the ����ֱ�� Land Acknowledgement that is read out at every major meeting and event: ����ֱ�� respectfully acknowledges the Qawishpa Cahuillangnah (also known as Cahuilla Band of Indians) and all nine sovereign Bands of Cahuilla people who have stewarded this land throughout the generations and continue to steward this land for all future generations.

“[The] NAAC is conceived as an offering, a place of reflection, viewing, talking and discussing, and of listening, welcoming all interested people,” says Whitney Sander, principal of Sander Architects. “It will provide a place for the traditional transference of knowledge, and the continuum of creation and innovation, which will be reflected throughout the design.”

Utmost care will be taken to protect and respect the sacredness of the site as the NAAC is designed and constructed. The hybrid construction will meet the most stringent energy conservation codes, a long practice with any new construction on campus. Prefabricated steel frames will use 85% recycled steel. Solid western walls will provide internal space for exhibited artifacts. An external wall will display two of the ����ֱ��’s Native American murals, painted by Nanibah Chacon (Diné/Chicana) and former ����ֱ�� students. The building, with windows facing East toward The Meadow, will be built around pine trees on the site, preserving them, too, for future generations.

Another important aspect of the NAAC is the partnership with the Dorothy Ramon Learning Center (DRLC), of San Gorgonio, in Banning, just 27 miles from ����ֱ��. Shayliah Ben recognized potential synergies between the NAAC and DRLC, and approached them to facilitate year-round programming together. DRLC is well-respected and highly regarded in their efforts to preserve and share Serrano and Cahuilla Culture. Some activities that are already planned are the IA Native American Arts Festival, the DRLC’s Dragonfly Speaker Series and popular annual Native Voices: Poetry Festival returning in March, 2023.

Native Arts have always been a cornerstone of ����ֱ��’ mission; the organization’s founding artists sought the nature and beauty of Idyllwild and The Meadow as a salve to the pains and problems besetting a tumultuous world following WWII. Confirming the importance of this endeavor, Ben muses, “after 75 or so years we can now be a Center, and I think it’s a nod to the work that came before me. [The] NAAC is a realization of years of excellence in the Arts. We will bring the world’s most prestigious Native Artists, to grow, to shape, to explore.”

The NAAC is set to break ground in August, 2023. Stay in touch for future updates on its progress and developing Native Arts Programming.

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����ֱ�� is pleased to announce that Shaliyah Ben has been named Director of the Native American Arts Program by ����ֱ�� Foundation President Pamela Jordan. Under the guidance of Heather Companiott, ����ֱ��’ Native American Arts Program became a formidable player in the world of Native American arts in recent decades. Ben, who worked closely with Companiott for the last two and half years until her recent retirement, is supremely qualified to continue building upon this strong foundation to solidify the program’s leading role in the continued growth and recognition of ����ֱ�� as an internationally renowned center for arts education.��

A Transformative Presence to Drive Transformation

Shaliyah Ben, Diné (Navajo), was born in Shiprock, New Mexico on the Navajo Nation and is the first Native American to direct the ����ֱ�� Native American Arts Program. Before coming to ����ֱ�� in 2019, she worked at the Heard Museum in Phoenix, an institution dedicated to the advancement of American Indian art. During twenty years with the Heard, her positions included Director of Public Programming.��

�����’s profound understanding of Native American traditions is rooted in her family’s continuing practice of traditional farming methods, but she is also determined to position Native American art, life, history, and pedagogies as relevant to the modern global conversation. The breadth of her education at Arizona State University, where she earned a Bachelor’s degree in French as well as certificates in Arabic Language and Islamic Studies, suggests her desire and ability to connect Native American arts to the wider world.��

Seeking the Full Integration of Native American Arts

Education and promotion of Native American arts have been central to the work of Idyllwild Arts ever since the Foundation’s establishment shortly after the end of the Second World War. While the popular Native American Arts ����ֱ�� Workshops and Native American Arts Festival

Week & Exhibition will continue to flourish and grow, in her new role Ben will also work to further integrate the Native American Arts Program into ����ֱ��’ mission of “changing lives through the transformative power of art.”��

This integration will both strengthen the pursuit of that mission and bring lasting benefits to the Native American arts community, driving the implementation of Indigenous pedagogies in the classroom, on the stage, on the set, and in the studio while recognizing the extraordinary contributions of Indigenous people to science, mathematics, language arts, and history. By promoting this integration of Indigenous perspectives, ����ֱ�� will actively take steps toward dismantling long-held attitudes that position Indigenous people and other people of color within an inferior past.��

Reconciliation and Humility

The integration of Indigenous perspectives will take one of its most dramatically visible forms in a land stewardship initiative in partnership with the Native American Land Conservancy. While “land acknowledgement” statements have sometimes been criticized as hollow or performative, the goal of this partnership is to create a living and breathing land acknowledgement that puts words into daily action. By engaging in appropriate care for the land, the partnership is intended as a transformative step toward reconciliation with local Cahuilla communities on whose tribal land the ����ֱ�� campus rests, and to respectfully demonstrate an authentic interest and investment in connecting the Foundation’s community with their own.��

There is considerable irony in ����ֱ��’ devotion to these efforts; ����ֱ�� is a boarding school, and boarding schools have an ugly history in relation to Indigenous people. ����ֱ�� cannot erase this, but it can acknowledge and teach that history—not only to Native American students, but to itself. And from this lesson ����ֱ�� can draw the determination to provide to Native students a learning experience that will be radically different from the experience found at US Indian Federal boarding schools of the past. ����ֱ�� can provide an education that honors the culture of Native American students and that gives them the support they need in order to succeed here.��

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“To start with, I’m looking forward to more time with my husband, George.”

Heather��Companiott was speaking on Wednesday, September 1. In two more days she would retire from her position as��Director of the Adult Arts Center and Native American Arts Program for ����ֱ��.

“By the way, I have to give George a shout-out: over the years he’s taken more ����ֱ�� Program classes than anyone else in the history of������ֱ��. And he’s taken classes in every kind of art you could imagine!”

Heather’s speech is animated. It suggests the restless energy that, since January 1991, had made her indispensable to the growth and success of the������ֱ�� ����ֱ�� and��Native American Arts Programs. But she had worked hard to help put new leadership in place. Now she could turn her attention and her still-vital energy elsewhere.

“I loved the work, but it was completely immersive. You don’t have time to do other things, so now there are trips to explore the world that��George and I can finally take. And I’ll have time to read more books and listen to more music.”

She laughs.

“And I grew up in Southern California but I’ve never been on a surfboard. Maybe��George and I will take one of those one-day crash courses in surfing. He’s up for anything.”

Her laughter is aimed at herself: she doesn’t expect to become good at surfing. She knows that what she has been good at — better than good — throughout the decades are collegiality and collaboration.

Catalogs of Names

Heather’s thoughts turn to the people she has worked with. Dutifully, she mentions a handful of names. But she stops. The catalog of names includes the dead as well as the living and it’s thick. She knows that her interviewer won’t write down every single name. It’s less important to list the names of the people than to talk about their achievements.

“Another thing I want to do is make art myself. The countless brilliant, creative people who’ve passed through��the������ֱ�� Program and the��Native American Arts Program have been so generous in sharing their��creativity and so open to collaborating. I’ve been lucky to work with people like that.

“I see all those I’ve worked with as mentors. I think in particular of the multifaceted��Hopi artist Michael Kabotie [1942-2009], who guided me when I first arrived in Idyllwild and continued to be a major mentor to me and to advise on the ����ֱ�� Native American Arts Festival until his death.

“Still, there’ve been quite a few besides Michael, and they’ve given me so many ideas for making art that I’ve stored up but had no time to do something with. It’s a lot of ideas, but the people I’ve worked with won’t let me forget them. So I’m looking forward to continuing my adventures in the arts with old — and new — collaborators.”

Mentioning her good fortune in the people she has worked with reminds her of other ways in which she’s been lucky.

“Because we’re not a museum, we’ve had the kind of flexibility that museums��and larger organizations��don’t��necessarily��have. Think about our Native American chef event��back in 2015��that��was��so popular: a��museum would take months��or even years��to plan and organize something like that. But here: boom, it’s over and we’re on to envisioning the next thing and getting excited about it.”

She is��excited now as she relives the��envisioning of all the next things that belong to the past. She is reminded of the pleasure of working with people who made the��envisioning possible.

“I’ve also��been lucky to work with donors like��Lillian Lovelace and. .��.”

She pauses.

“There I go again, wanting to read from a��catalog! But to think there’ve been so many��donors who understood what the experience of art does for people, and that it’s been important to them to give their money to make those experiences happen. . . It’s very moving.”

Still more people must be��thanked.

“You know, the other day I was counting up all the great assistants I’ve had over the years, and the number I came up with was about sixty. I need to thank them. But I think they’re all grateful to������ֱ�� for the training they’ve received in arts administration. It’s easy to overlook that because we focus so much on the education we provide in making art.”

An Unexpected Career

Heather’s own��education had not originally been meant to prepare her for a career in��arts administration.

“I was born in Palo Alto but my family moved south to Riverside when I was very young. I went to Colorado College, in Colorado Springs, for undergraduate studies in anthropology. I had good reasons to stay in Colorado for a while: my first job after college was in archaeology there — and I met George!”

She also worked for the Colorado History Museum (since replaced by the History Colorado Center), in Denver, and the Squash Blossom Gallery,��in Denver, featuring��Native American art.��

“Then I went to Indiana University for my Master’s degree in Folklore. Meanwhile, George was training to be a teacher. He did his student teaching on the��White Mountain Apache reservation,��in northeastern Arizona, and I worked in the Apache Culture Center.

Idyllwild came next: teaching at the public school for George, and for��Heather, of course, working for������ֱ��.

“Back in��1991������ֱ����was a lot smaller and there was practically no separation between the������ֱ�� Program and the Academy. So I worked for both, and that included helping out with the��Academy’s Commencement speakers. It was fun because we had some wonderful��speakers. And I was able to spend a couple of days touring Idyllwild with��Fritz Scholder [1937-2005], the great expressionist painter��who was an enrolled member of the La Jolla Band of Luiseño��Indians!”

She recalls the year 2000 as a turning point.

“Around then, almost overnight, the generosity of��Lillian Lovelace and other donors suddenly made us so big that ever since I’ve only had time for the ����ֱ�� Program��Adult Arts Center��and the Native American Arts Program.”

Rich Memories

The memories are rich and plentiful. Yet��Heather��can’t resist highlighting a small number of them.

“I think of 2013, when the San Manuel Band of Mission Indians, at their Forging Hope Event, gave ����ֱ�� the Yawa’ Award which signifies ‘a call to manifest one’s beliefs through action.’ They produced a video about the ����ֱ�� Native American Arts Program, which was screened at the event for about a thousand guests from the organizations they support.

“And the PBS show,��Craft in America, filmed part of their��, which aired in 2016, at Idyllwild��Arts. It featured Barbara Ornelas and Lynda Pete and their Navajo Weaving workshop and highlighted our Native American Arts Program.��It was a real honor.”

Heather��won’t say this. Her work at ����ֱ�� has been about��collegiality and collaboration. Her work has been, to her mind, about others: artist/teachers, students, donors, assistants. Therefore let someone else say that������ֱ�� has been��honored to have��Heather��Companiott��work here.

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Only later did the interviewer realize that he had missed an opportunity to ask more important questions. Hamilton might have talked about how her people, residents and protectors of Idyllwild and environs for untold generations, were coping with summers that seemed to grow hotter year by year. She might have talked about the ways that climate change had affected the land and creatures recalled by her grandmother.

During the Great Depression, Hamilton’s grandmother had crafted hundreds of baskets. The sale of her creations brought the family some income at a time when staying alive was not assured.

“I never observed her making baskets,” Hamilton says. “Yet��I knew it was something I wanted to learn. Her work was��beautiful and��intriguing.”

As an adult, Hamilton found another teacher.

“I learned from Donna Largo, who was the very first teacher of Cahuilla basketry at ����ֱ��. For about fifteen years, sometimes I assisted Donna and sometimes I substituted for her when she wasn’t available to teach.”

The relationship with Donna Largo was a profound one.

“I knew Donna for over forty years. She was my mother’s cousin so I grew up knowing her since I was a little girl. I played with her sons, and later when she worked for the Indian Health Clinic she drove us to our appointments. Along the way we would talk about basketry and look at plants.”

Eventually, after��Largo’s��death��in March 2009, her��family would ask Hamilton to take over the class.

“So I taught Donna’s class that summer. I always say that it’s bittersweet how the opportunity to teach at ����ֱ�� came to me. I was deeply honored to be asked by��Donna’s��family to carry on��her��teaching.”

This past summer, Largo and Hamilton and other Cahuilla basket makers were memorialized on the ����ֱ�� campus. The Navajo artist Nani Chacon consulted with Hamilton to create a vibrant mural on the outside of one of the Meadows classrooms. Hamilton explains that the mural “honors Cahuilla culture and the artistry of Cahuilla basket weaving and brings awareness that we are still here��and very much connected to the environment as its caretakers.”

Chacon’s mural makes a fitting companion for the older mural depicting Cahuilla Bird Singers, which faces the Meadows classroom from the exterior wall of Stephens Recital Hall, perhaps fifty meters away.

Many Changes

The pandemic has been hard on Hamilton: for much of the last year and a half her opportunities to teach and exhibit have been limited. Worse, she lost a brother to the virus in January.

But while Hamilton has suffered losses during the pandemic, she has also endured. The ����ֱ�� ����ֱ�� Program has benefited from long association with her, and ����ֱ�� Program students will continue to be moved by her instruction in the making of Cahuilla baskets, which serve utilitarian as well as ceremonial purposes.

Finally, every resident of Southern California can benefit from Hamilton’s reflections on the environmental changes she has seen. Several weeks after their initial phone call, Hamilton’s interviewer contacted her again. The chance to ask her about environmental change hadn’t been lost; it had��only been delayed. Hamilton was generous with her thoughts.

“There has been great change to our environment and yes it does affect us in countless ways: the streams’ springs drying out cause our sacred plants to wither and die, making it difficult to find plants that flourished at one time. Development and fires, and dumping into the environment we call home certainly make for a challenge. . . but we have seen fires in the mountains, and then things grow back and we pray for the plants and our home to continue in a good way.

“One more thing: the animals have sure been reduced. I have memories of herds of deer running through Garner Valley, a few miles southeast of Idyllwild. Seeing them could be counted on while driving to Idyllwild. . . And in my grandmother’s time she recalled that the snow would be so deep you couldn’t get out of the house. In the winter,��the doors were covered by snow here in Cahuilla.

“So, yes: many changes.”

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The��longtime������ֱ�� ����ֱ�� Program teacher is��Mountain Cahuilla and��Fort Sill Apache.��For decades,��Lorene has collaborated��with��Barbara Drake��in teaching native plant uses and basketry.

Yet Lorene’s expertise transcends basket-making.��Cahuilla baskets are made from yucca, deer grass, and��juncus��(rushes). These are native California plants that point to her devotion to��place-based arts.

“Plants are everything to us,” she says. “Our food, clothing, homes, tools, and��medicine. This means that responsible caretaking of the earth, by using responsibly��the gifts we’re given, is also��everything.”

Humans driven to create art are not necessarily limited to drawing upon the places where they live—otherwise, we would have no science fiction! But the study of��place-based arts like��Cahuilla basketry acquires urgency in a time of��catastrophic climate change. Fabricating out of yucca, deer grass,��and juncus requires a familiarity with them that includes being able to distinguish between healthy and unhealthy plants, and��being able to recognize when they’re available for harvest or must instead be left in the wild. Perhaps only by cultivating such��familiarity, which relates to��native resources as if they are��family, can we experience the love needed to preserve them.

Lorene’s love of��native California plants has been almost, but not quite, life-long.

“I became interested and started learning when I was around ten or eleven.”

Though she attended public schools, she was��born and��raised��on the��Riverside, California,��campus of the��off-reservation boarding high school��for��Native Americans called The Sherman Institute,��which would become����in 1971.��She recalls that her��mother had also been raised on the campus and��“.”

In Box Canyon

Lorene would take a roundabout path to becoming Curator of the��.

“I was in my��teens at a time when a lot of Natives were forming Native communes as a way to resist��mainstream culture. So at thirteen, I joined an intertribal commune in Box Canyon.”

California features more than a dozen��Box Canyons. But Lorene’s��commune was situated in the��Box Canyon that is part of a census-designated place in western Los Angeles County that still��bears the name given by the Native American Tongva tribe:��Topanga.

She left the commune after four years, when she was seventeen. The��four years had been memorable and decisive.

“People have certain ideas about the communes from those days, but this one wasn’t like that. It was all about discipline and learning—learning about��Native history and traditions and culture—and I loved it.”

A year after leaving the commune she gave birth to the first of her three children. (Today she has seven grandchildren and a great-grandchild.) Four years after that she returned to Sherman Indian High School as part of the dormitory staff.

Eventually, she began teaching at��Sherman. Her vast, ever-growing knowledge of California’s native resources and of place-based arts has made her a prized educator whose other��teaching credits include not only������ֱ��, but the University of California, Riverside, and the��.

Like millions of teachers around the world, Lorene is relieved by the retreat of the pandemic. She expects��the Sherman students to return to campus this fall.

But the prospect of teaching in-person again might thrill her even more than it does most teachers. Some subjects are surely more adaptable to remote learning than others are. The importance to��Lorene’s��subject of a felt connection to place suggests that her students will also benefit��profoundly from sharing the��place of learning with her.

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“Believe it or not,” she says, “it was��Ben Nighthorse Campbell, the former U.S. Senator from Colorado, who made jewelry, who told me about��the markets. The Indian world is small.”

But Susan’s debut as an exhibiting quilt-maker–she won the top prize at her very first festival–was a sign of things to come. She has recently won��the third annual ����ֱ�� Imagination Award at this year’s��.

Museum curators, scholars, and practicing artists judge the competition, rewarding work that succeeds in “addressing issues of importance to Indigenous communities.”��Starting seven and a half minutes into��,��Susan explains that��her��MMIW: The Tree of Many Dresses dramatizes the epidemic of missing and murdered��Indigenous women and girls.

The quilts pictured here illustrate the same theme, including the one that shows the little shepherd girl,��Robbed of Their Innocence.

Given��her profound sensitivity to Native American history,��Susan’s work inevitably��addresses��important��issues like this one.

“I started showing my quilts late,” she says, “but I’d had the skills for a long time. I started sewing–making new clothes and mending old��clothes–when I was nine because I was poor.”

That was during her childhood in East Los Angeles.

“In the Indian boarding schools my mother and grandmother were forced to sew. Of course they were��severely��punished when they didn’t sew exactly the way the white teachers told them to.”

Painfully��aware��that it was only in 1978, with passage of the��, that Native American parents became legally entitled to deny their children’s placement in off-reservation schools, Susan adds that “I’m only one generation removed from my mother’s traumatic experience��of those schools, so I sew in honor of her and��my grandmother.”

If she owes an artistic debt to her��mother and grandmother, she also owes a debt to��Ben Nighthorse Campbell, and not only for introducing her to��the Indian markets.

“Ben wasn’t impressed by my early work,” she laughs. “He said my stuff was kind of boring and that I needed to break out of the box!”

So her quilts began telling stories, often inspired by her dreams. Yet it’s clear that dreams, which tend to be fragmentary, only form the beginnings of her��work.��Her conscious artistry is so rigorous that she will take a year and a half to finish a quilt.

Universal Themes

If Susan is too easily categorized as a Native American artist, it is important to see that her representations of��Native American experience invoke universal themes that can move��people from every background. This is why her work can be found as far away from her home in��Sheep Springs, New Mexico, as Germany, Switzerland, Hong Kong, and New Zealand. As the Jewish buyer of her quilt depicting��the����observed, “Change the uniforms on the soldiers and those people being driven from their homes could be us.”

Nevertheless, making the rounds of the Indian markets is a good way to display��her��universally significant work. This month she exhibits at the��, in Lincoln, Nebraska, where her��appearance is eagerly anticipated. That wasn’t the case back��in 2015��at the��, in Indianapolis. She recalls that she was a relatively new artist at the time, so she had modest expectations. Then she��won her first Best of Show at Eiteljorg’s Indian Market & Festival.

“People were coming after me with cameras and I kept trying to get away. I can move pretty fast when I want to!”

Susan��has reflected on her late emergence as an��artist.

“Everybody is good at something,” she says. “Each one of us is born with a seed that you have to nourish. But the seed can break into blossom at different ages.”

This spring, residents of the eastern United States witnessed the spectacular����after an absence of seventeen years. In 2038, after another��seventeen years, they’ll be back again.

Admirers of��Susan Hudson’s work will be pleased to learn that she has no plans to go��into hiding during the next��seventeen years. Her art is likely to remain in��bloom throughout all of that time.

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Cara Romero had managed to be on time for the Zoom meeting even though she needed to hunt for the best WiFi spot. When the��Chemehuevi photographer whose��“” came into focus, she was seated in an indoor space flooded with natural light.

“This house that we moved into last night is about twelve feet from the sand of Hermosa Beach, and we can see the water from the house,” she said. “That we get to stay here for three months is like a dream vacation. Even though I won’t be on vacation!”

Romero was speaking on Zoom a few weeks after her ����ֱ�� webinar on “.”��The youngest of her three children—they’re seventeen, fourteen, and eight—could be heard out of range of the Zoom camera. The next day would be his mother’s birthday, so the little boy wanted to know if there was a plan. Romero gently reassured him that there was indeed a plan.

The juxtaposition, in��Romero’s photography, of traditional iconography with a contemporary perspective may seem radical. But it’s less radical than the juxtaposition of her family’s life “like a dream vacation”��on Hermosa Beach with her reason to base her work there for three months.

“The erasure of Native American history in California has been particularly brutal,” she says. “Up and down the California coast, there are eighteen tribes whose treaties with the United States were never ratified by the Senate.”

As Hoover Institution��, failure to ratify the��treaties, together with subsequent executive orders and congressional legislation, left large numbers of California Indians with “virtually no legal rights, protections, or government support.”

It was a recipe for producing invisibility that Romero, with her gift for dramatic images, is determined to reverse.

“Most Californians do not know this history,”��, “so we’ve moved here from our house in the Santa Fe suburbs for three months so that I can remind them of it.”

Standing Rock Is Everywhere

While in��Hermosa Beach with her children and her husband, the��Cochiti Pueblo��artist��,��Cara Romero will illustrate the suppressed history��of Southern California’s Indians with the help of financing from a $50,000��.

“I’ll start with the Tongva/Chumash lands.”

The��biggest Tongva village, Yangna, sat right��.

“But eventually I’ll take in much more of inter-tribal California.”

Crucially, the story she wants to tell is about more than a vanished past. Romero’s statement that “Standing Rock is everywhere” declares solidarity with��resistance to the Dakota Access Pipeline in Standing Rock, North Dakota. Her��statement therefore��implies that the recovery of��Native American ways of life is forward-looking.

“The Native American way of life is about protecting all life,” she says. “The planet will require Indigenous leadership to come through the climate crisis. Surviving��it is going to require an appreciation of Indigenous science.”

Romero grew up mainly in Houston with her white mother and Chemehuevi father. She began to discover the possibility of telling her powerful stories—and making her important arguments—as a senior at the University of Houston. As a Cultural Anthropology��major, she took an elective in Photography.

“I fell in love with photography��immediately,” she recalls. “Partly because I had one of those wonderful, life-changing professors who recognized that even though I was far behind the other students in technique, I had a gift for content. Photography is a highly technical medium, but he saw that with the camera I was able to sing.”

Her early photographs were black-and-whites of friends and family.

“As an��artist, you should probably start by making art about what you know.”

Though she began by photographing in��black and white,��she believes her greatest strength may lie in her facility with color. She started to make more use of color as the range of her subject matter grew.

How Identity Can Heal

Making art about what she knew took on a larger meaning with Romero’s move to the Institute of American Indian Arts, in Santa Fe.��Her understanding of what that move meant poses a challenge to anyone who might be tempted to pigeonhole her on the basis of her studies at IAIA.

“I consider my art bicultural despite its inevitable slotting. I’m mixed-race, and my work reflects my identity.��For me, it’s impossible��to imagine an absolute, unbridgeable separation between��Indigenous and non-Indigenous culture. To be who I am is healing.”

Her last statement may seem puzzling until one reflects on the horrific injuries that have resulted from the failure to find bridges between��Indigenous and non-Indigenous culture.��Those��injuries need��healing.��Imagining��an absolute��separation gave us the genocide of Native Americans.

But imagining��such a separation has also given us the climate crisis. The latter has been precipitated by a conviction that taking only so much from nature and respectfully husbanding natural resources were consistent merely with “primitive” ways of life. We recognize now—too late, the pessimists would say—that the Native American ways of life long dismissed as primitive have been mistakenly undervalued. Those ways held the knowledge that has given us the scientific catch words of today: sustainability, regeneration, green, biomimicry, etc.

The Native American experience of the world also gives��Romero’s art its distinctive style. She compares her photographic creations to those of the magical realists, in literature.

“My work is informed by the Indigenous worldview that the magical pervades everyday life. Yes, I think I have a natural talent for color. But I also use Photoshop—nothing natural about that!—to manipulate negatives. I try to present an alternate reality that can shock people.”

We surely live in a time that demands��alternate realities. The��reality of��the climate crisis and of the centrifugal forces exerting outward pressure on different peoples, driving them away from a common center and apart from one another, is unsustainable. To the extent that artists like Cara Romero can persuade us of the plausibility of alternatives, art will achieve the positive transformation of lives.

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In the days after the recent death, at eighty, of longtime ����ֱ�� ����ֱ�� Program faculty member Barbara Drake, memories flooded the mind of Heather Companiott.

Heather directs the ����ֱ�� Adult Arts Center and the Native American Arts Program. She knew Barbara as the teacher for twenty-five years of the ����ֱ�� Program’s Native Plants class.��Barbara brought��in additional culture bearers and plant/ethnobotany experts and designed and redesigned the class each year to keep it compelling. Heather also knew Barbara as a consultant for the project to restore the meadow facing Krone Library in��respectful acknowledgement of the Cahuilla people, who have stewarded the land occupied by ����ֱ�� for generations.

Heather admires this work of Barbara’s, as well as her work as a visiting educator in Southern California schools and as a consultant on many botanical gardens, notably at the Autry Museum of the American West, in Los Angeles, and at Pitzer College, in Claremont, California.

But Heather also knew Barbara as a friend. As she performed the bittersweet task of sorting the memories of her friend and tried to explain Barbara Drake to someone who had never met her, one memory seemed especially revealing.

“The board of a big donor to the Native American Arts Program was on campus and Barbara was preparing a meal for them,” Heather recalls. “I walked the campus with her while she gathered ingredients. To collect stinging nettle for nettle soup— nettle is loaded with all kinds of vitamins and minerals and fats, and might reduce inflammation, though Barbara knew way more about this than I do—she looked by the little bridge that leads onto campus.”

The memory makes Heather wince.

“She started picking nettle with her bare hands! I wanted to say something, but I could see from her body language that she was fine. No, better than fine: content. She was in a happy place. And when she showed me her hands full of nettles, they weren’t stinging, or red from inflammation.”

Heather’s expression has changed into a smile.

“She understood the nettles. She knew how to touch them. She had to have seen how amazed I was. Yet Barbara was always so unassuming and humble. All she said was something simple like, ‘The nettles are good to me.’”

Shaliyah Ben, Coordinator of the ����ֱ�� Native American Arts Program, is a party to the conversation.

“Barbara never tried to impress you with her wisdom,” Shaliyah adds. “She simply��was��wise.”

Sand

Though Barbara Drake was an Elder of the��,��of the Los Angeles Basin, she had profound respect and reverence for all Native American peoples. This appears with particular clarity in her friendship with��Shaliyah’s father,��Joe Ben,��Jr., the Diné (Navajo)��sandpainter who has exhibited in��the Smithsonian and in the Pompidou Center, in Paris.

“In 1993, ����ֱ�� ran a Travel Study Program to the Navajo Nation and Zuni Pueblo,” Heather says. “Joe Ben,��Jr.,��hosted us on the Navajo Nation, and organized our learning activities there. The beauty of the Navajo and Zuni tribes that we were able to experience, the things we learned. .��.”

She pauses. Heather mentions this trip often. A quarter of a century later, it’s fresh in her mind.

“Still, I don’t think anyone else on that trip was moved in the way Barbara was,” she continues. “She was already in her fifties, but it’s like her education was just getting started. She was a true lifelong learner, but more than that. She had a depth that gave her an extraordinary capacity to be moved.”

“Not just by��nettles, or plants,” Shaliyah laughs. “There was a magic between my dad and her.”

“Barbara��was one of the kindest, most generous people,” Heather says. “When she came to teach, she always arrived on campus with gifts for the people she would be seeing. It’s true, though: the connection to��Joe Ben,��Jr.,��around the knowledge they were preserving and the beauty that their different arts expressed, was��magical.”

“She was everybody’s mother,” Shaliyah says. “I was a child—eight years old—when she first met me on that��Travel Study trip. But she still wanted to take care of me when I left the Heard Museum, in Phoenix, to work here at Idyllwild a couple years ago. She was one of the people who��really made me feel at home.”

“And��one of the people who��made your father feel at home last December,” Heather says, “when he��came here to do his sandpainting on campus. They hadn’t seen each other in twenty-six years. But when there’s a connection like that between people, time dissolves.”

Sandpaintings��are��ephemeral expressions in sand, used in the healing ceremonies of the Diné people. Recalling that sandpainting by Joe Ben, Jr., invites reflection on the impermanence of human life, since Barbara’s visit to her friend marked her last time on campus.

That was only weeks before the pandemic struck. Barbara Drake may be missed now even more than at other times.�� ����

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“That, and the fact that my dad was an oboist!” he recalls.

Jeff was “serious about music from a very young age” as he grew up in Thousand Oaks, in Ventura County, California. On the first oboe he played in public school in Thousand Oaks, “some of the keys were falling off, so I would just take off��all��the keys and then put the instrument back together.”

That may have been a prelude to taking apart and putting together musical notes, which he does as a composer.

His serious love of music brought him to the ����ֱ�� ����ֱ�� Program thirty summers ago. Jeff progressed to the renowned Eastman School of Music, in Rochester, New York, where he majored in Oboe Performance, and then to the University of Southern California, for a Master’s degree in Oboe Performance, completed in 2003. Not long after earning his Master’s he joined the����(SDSO), where he’s been ever since.

Still performing on oboe, yet now doing so much more with music, he returned to ����ֱ�� for the February 21��. The friends and colleagues who accompanied him gave evidence of Jeff’s devotion to being what the Art in Society program calls a

That’s because Jeff and the other musicians came from South Dakota as representatives of SDSO’s commitment to its��, meant to address “a history of racial tension. . . between whites and American Indians” by creating “an environment of openness through the sharing of music.”

SDSO’s home is Sioux Falls, the largest city in South Dakota. There as everywhere, attendance of symphony performances tends to be dominated by people who belong to very particular social and economic classes.

“So the Symphony members think it’s important to share what we do with even the most remote corners of this very rural state”—South Dakota’s population is less than nine hundred thousand—”and that certainly includes the reservations.”

South Dakota has nine reservations and designated tribal land areas, the most of any U.S. state. The Symphony members involved in the Lakota Music Project “have visited at least seven of the nine, although strong community support has meant that we’ve focused on Pine Ridge, which is a Lakota reservation, and on the Lake Traverse Reservation,” homeland of the Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate.

The Beauty of Desert Wind

For these Symphony members, sharing what they do includes more than performing and thereby designating other people as passive listeners.

“One of our summer projects, the Lakota Composition Academy for high school students, has three instructors, including myself. Every student composes a piece to be performed by either our string quartet or our wind quintet, who make up SDSO’s nine full-time members.”

Another of the Composition Academy’s instructors is the Navajo (Diné)��composer, Michael Begay, who lives in Arizona. Michael met up with the Lakota Music Project’s��South Dakota contingent for the February 21 Sustainability Symposium at ����ֱ��, and played cedar flute. He and the visitors from South Dakota played with other visitors, from the��, of Los Angeles, as well as with ����ֱ�� music students.

The six performed pieces did not include Michael’s work. Sounding as if they’d rehearsed together for years rather than for hours, the musicians performed Dvořák’s “American Quartet,” Lakota Composition Academy student works by Trinity Burning Breast, Alexander Trujillo, and Jar Cottier, and two pieces by Jeff Paul.

One of Jeff’s compositions, in particular, “Desert Wind,” was an astonishing embodiment of the Lakota Music Project’s ambition of building��cross-cultural collaborations among new friends: SDSO’s wind quintet was accompanied both by an electric guitar and by the traditional Lakota vocalist, Emmanuel Black Bear.

Jeff explains that “Desert Wind” is “based on a melody originally written for electric guitar, when I was taking road trips alone through the desert of Southern California almost twenty years ago.”

As for the parts sung so movingly by Black Bear, they came from “a song by Melvin Young Bear, about how he feels when his granddaughter isn’t around.”

Black Bear, in his sixties, is well suited to express the felt absence of a grandchild. Yet, during the performance of Jeff’s work, he also succeeded, paradoxically, in voicing the elation he must have experienced in the presence of so many other young people, from the Neighborhood Music School and ����ֱ��.

This is a joy that Jeff himself experiences. It will surely continue to drive his involvement with the South Dakota Symphony Orchestra and its Lakota Music Project.�� ����

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