A Team of Curators Designs a System for Indigenous Artists to Thrive In

A TEAM OF CURATORS
DESIGNS A SYSTEM FOR
INDIGENOUS ARTISTS TO
THRIVE IN

SEATTLE — The word ‘decolonization’ has been bandied about
all over national and regional arts outlets lately, but it is often
misused or misunderstood. In Seattle, the term was used
frequently to describe yəhaw̓ , the first exhibition in the newly
retrofitted, 7,500-square-foot Seattle Office of Arts & Culture
ARTS Gallery, on the second floor of historic and still-operating
King Street Station. The exhibition, which ran throughout the
summer, was named for a Lushootsheed word that means “to
proceed, go forward, and to do it,” and reflected “a nuanced,
inclusive narrative that firmly establishes the vital
contributions generated by Native thinkers and makers, here
and now.” Its three curators — Tracy Rector
(Choctaw/Seminole), Asia Tail (Cherokee), and Satpreet Kahlon
— have been lauded for decolonizing the exhibition by
accepting artworks by all self-identified Indigenous artists
submitted through an open call, and for featuring the work of
over 200 Indigenous artists residing in Washington, Oregon,
Alaska, Montana, and British Columbia, with many more artists
represented in two zine publications and multiple satellite
exhibitions and public programs throughout King County. But
you won’t hear its curators call yəhaw̓ a decolonial exhibition.
So what is it, if not that?

Let’s try taking the curators’ basic premise — that this is a show
curated by and for Indigenous artists and communities living and
working in the Pacific Northwest — as a simple fact, not as an
exception. By doing so, it is far more interesting to
consider yəhaw̓ as an example of Indigenous creatives having
sovereignty over their visual representation and resources, or what
artist-scholar Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (Michi Saagiig
Nishnaabeg) would call “Indigenous resurgence and co-resistance.”
As Simpson writes, in projects of Indigenous resurgence, the wellbeing
of individuals is directly linked to the well-being of collectives;
resurgent movements try “to center Indigenous practices and
thoughts in our lives as everyday acts of resistance, and grow those
actions and processes into a mass mobilization.” By creatively
gaining and maintaining resources and access, being transparent
about budgets and curatorial processes, and working towards
creating temporary and permanent spaces to feature Indigenous
makers, yəhaw̓ ’s curatorial team has created new systems that
should inspire all art workers.
FaceTiming with yəhaw̓ ’s three curators in late August, I was
reminded of the first step in any world-shifting practice: proactively
taking space and shaping the terms of discourse. “Growth comes
from recognizing gaps in the existing infrastructure,” said Satpreet
Kahlon, and this was most clear when I learned of the exhibition’s
genesis. Asia Tail had already assembled a curatorial team with a
mission statement, and had identified dream artists for the
exhibition longlist, when early rumblings of the King Street Station
redevelopment project began to make the rounds. Rather than wait
for an open call, the curators made their case directly to Seattle’s
Office of Arts and Culture, ensuring that yəhaw̓ would be King
Street’s inaugural show. With this, curators set into motion a
curatorial model centered on Native-to-Native transmissions of
knowledge and skills through a mentorship program and artists
residencies at locations including Port Townsend’s Centrum. For
months, curators, mentors, and mentees actively brought into
being the artistic communities that they once longed for. This
invisible curatorial labor of supporting emerging artists is the
backbone of yəhaw̓ , and reflects the trio’s belief that “opportunity
breeds opportunity” far beyond the duration of one art exhibition.

Together the curators aimed to challenge notions
about who creates Indigenous art, what that art can or should look
like, and how Indigenous art is presented to the world. The
exhibiting artists’ affiliations included but also exceeded the
Duwamish, Snoqualmie, Skokomish, and other Coast Salish tribes
indigenous to the region, as Pacific Islander, First Nations,
Indigenous Latinx, Native American, and Aboriginal artists were
also supported. Artists worked across media and platforms,
producing pieces that ranged from experimental and conceptual to
more customary. In the King Street exhibition, Tail placed artworks
in groupings she found “visually resonant and conversational,” in
defiance of dominant art historical, anthropological, and
archaeological curatorial practices, and differently even from
identity-centric exhibition strategies undertaken by progressive
curators.
Walking into yəhaw̓ , viewers were offered multiple ways to enter
the space after passing through the glass-partitioned lobby, where
Richard Heikkilä-Sawan (Driftpile Cree)’s rainbow-dyed buffalo pelt
served as a welcome flag. The huge open-floor plan was broken up
by structural beams and movable walls hung at staggered intervals
to encourage meandering, but “Songs for the Standing Still People,”
a mixed media installation by Timothy White Eagle (White Mountain
Apache), was a natural centerpiece. A heavy, circular wooden
platform rose majestically from the gallery’s concrete floors,
encircled by a ball-chain curtain that jingled as you entered a space
“designed to sing to the rocks at its very center.”

ARTICLE SOURCE:
https://hyperallergic.com
IMAGE SOURCE:
Coo-ee Art Website