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by Aaminah Shakur

Muskegon Museum of Art’s Edward S. Curtis the North American Indian exhibition was, “years in the making” according to museum staff.  The MMA website describes the show as an important celebration of “the artistic genius and lasting cultural legacy” of Edward S. Curtis. I have my standing critiques regarding Curtis’s “genius” and legacy, but even I am surprised at how poorly constructed the show is considering the effort and time invested in its execution. Most distressing is the romanticizing of Curtis and the absence of any significant critique of his methods, goals, and the legacy the museum is so fond of touting. The labor of critique regarding the exhibit, has been placed on the Native American guests who were invited to speak at events over the course of the show. This effectively demands that the Native American guests defend our humanity and continued existence to the predominantly-white visitors. Even within the associated events, there is limited critique, both because of time allowance and the very nature of the event discussions. Rather than using their own resources to provide robust and critical opportunities for guests to contextualize the work, the museum essentially decided to make the panel discussions and events fulfill the task of educating guests .

Walking into the Muskegon Museum of Art, I was already anxious. Two of my closest friends were attending with me and prepared to offer me emotional support for the exhibit we were going to view. I am a Native American (I prefer the term Indigenous), stolen from my tribe and adopted out to a white family as a toddler in the mid 1970s. I grew up attending pow wows but not feeling directly linked to the community, and only as an adult discovered my birth parents were both from non-local tribes. I grew up being shown Curtis photographs in school, examples of my ancestors and their way of life, my history in black and white, with the implication that we no longer even existed. If not for the powwows I might have believed we were a “vanished race” as Curtis had named us.

Muskegon Museum of Art, Entryway to Curtis Exhibition, photo credit: Sarah Doherty

To the left of the gift shop is a small room which is the starting point to the exhibition, a celebration of the life and collecting of Lulu Miller, a librarian who in 1907, was able to convince the MMA to purchase one of Curtis’ 20-volume sets of photographic prints. Miller eventually became the second woman ever to be a director of an art museum in the United States. Her achievements were significant in a time when women could not vote, and both education and work opportunities were severely limited. The room in which her story is displayed alongside a lovely portrait of Miller, includes an assortment of books by and about Curtis and his collection, and a few of his images. In telling Miller’s story, the wall text describes both she and Curtis as “mavericks” and “visionary”. The room is small and was too crowded for my comfort, such that I had to step-out.  I could sense a panic attack, and just seeing the few Curtis images in that room was eliciting an emotional response in me.

Muskegon Museum of Art, photo credit:  Aaminah Shakur

We moved into the rest of the galleries, where I was first confronted with Curtis’ self-portrait, which immediately put me in mind of a cleaned-up General George Custer, noted “Indian Killer”. To say I was already on edge would be an understatement. Because it was a Thursday evening when entrance to the museum is free, and a panel talk was scheduled, the galleries were fairly crowded. I felt surrounded and enclosed, and even at times pressed, by white people. Along with the human crowds, there was the overwhelm of the objects on display. Walls were covered with grids of framed photographs, nearly to the ceiling. There were also display cases featuring more images, books, and objects that seemed a jumble of disconnected items. According to the MMA website, Edward S. Curtis: The North American Indian showcases “For what is believed to be the first time, the entire collection of all 723 portfolio photographs… all 20 bound volumes, the original field recordings of Native music, historic objects from Curtis’ life and work, and examples of cultural artifacts represented in the photographs.”

It is difficult to explain, as an Indigenous person, the mix of emotions walking through the galleries. On the one hand, seeing the large collection all in one place afforded me access to images with which I am familiar, and many I had never seen before. On more than one occasion I was startled to see prints that bore uncanny resemblances to my brother, my son’s father, and other loved ones. I found myself seeking-out images from my two tribes and peering into them for familiarity and connection. At the same time, it was too much, too painful, and my emotions were all over the place.

I am also an art historian, artist, and learning the art of curatorial practice and gallery management, so I had a lot of thoughts about the choices regarding display. It seems to me that no one would think to so overcrowd their galleries if this were a collection of Picasso’s work or Dutch Renaissance landscapes. It felt like a crammed attic because of the crowding of items with little apparent respect for their sentimental value over their monetary value. Furthermore, the lack of color and sterility of the exhibition reminded the viewer that he/she is looking at history, “the vanished race”, rather than living Indigenous culture. Proper labels were not deemed necessary and many of the titles handwritten in graphite on the prints were unreadable. There was no logic to the display, as they were not sorted by chronology, tribe, or even subject. The extensive accompanying text described Native Americans as part of the past, aggrandized Curtis, and didn’t offer much critique of the artist or his methods. I quickly realized the exhibition had an intended audience that was not me.

Eventually I found the single gallery out of five (plus the hallway and the smaller entry room already described) – the smallest of them all – that included a few works from three living Indigenous artists, including Jim Denomie. This gallery was also the only space that included anything like criticism of Curtis. It was also the only gallery that had color, and in comparison the contemporary art seemed garish and loud. It isn’t actually garish or loud art – it was remarkable and the first truly meaningful thing I had seen in my tour. It was also the least crowded gallery, so that I was able to spend time with the work without being jostled or feeling “in the way”.  It struck me as odd that the curator would ghettoize the living artists and marginalize the limited critique of Curtis. It was also concerning to me that the other visitors were clearly least interested in that gallery and its offerings.

Muskegon Museum of Art, Shamoon Zamir critique, photo credit: Aaminah Shakur

Muskegon Museum of Art, Baumont Newhall critique, photo credit: Aaminah Shakur

 

The glorification of a romanticized and fictionalized past while ignoring or disrespecting the living people and cultures, was also exemplified in the panel discussion. Curator, Ben Mitchell, made inappropriate jokes about his difficulty pronouncing tribe names as simple as “Chumash” while introducing the three panelists. He noted that he had decided, “rather than an academic art historian, we wanted living Natives,” as if we are not able to inhabit both of those identities simultaneously. In fact, one of the panelists, Dr. Deana Dartt-Newton (Coastal Chumash), does so. Dartt-Newton is the former curator of the Portland Art Museum where she curated a show in which contemporary Native photographers Zig Jackson, Wendy Red Star, and Will Wilson reacted to the legacy of Curtis. In Dartt’s exhibition, the contemporary artists were the stars, and their work was shown throughout the galleries and the artists installed in such a way that allowed them to control the narrative of their critique of Curtis, while including examples of his work they were drawing from.

Shannon Martin (Potawatomi/Ojibwe) is the director of the Ziibiwing Center of Anishinabe Culture & Lifeways in Mt. Pleasant. She spoke at length about Curtis’s legacy in which models were “frozen in time, romanticized, stereotyped”. She spoke about contemporary Native photographers such as Matika Wilbur’s 562 Project, and how Native people have been “trying to spin ourselves out of this static time” ever since Curtis released these staged images. Like the photos, burial mounds were looted and the action of collecting Native remains, traditional arts, and other artifacts was done under the assumption that Natives were going extinct.

Ojibwe painter Jim Denomie presented a slide show of his own work and evolution as an artist. He talked about being discouraged from art while in school despite his skill, and that it wasn’t until as an adult that he returned to school and began taking art classes. He noted that discouragement he received was likely tied to the idea that contemporary Natives couldn’t have anything of value to express of their own lives and cultures, and how this is the legacy of people believing Curtis’s narrative and seeing him as the authority on Native life.

Critiques of the exhibition and of Curtis, were apparent in the short talks by all three panelists. When they accepted questions, the white-majority audience seemed completely uninterested in them as people or in asking anything about their presentations. Instead they wanted to know “what they thought” of the exhibition and asked argumentative questions demanding the panelists acknowledge the importance of Curtis’ work. While it was unsurprising, it was nonetheless disappointing to realize that no one had really listened to the panelists. It seemed the audience, and the museum itself, were invested in the myth that Natives are a conquered people who should be grateful to Curtis for “documenting” our dying history. Fortunately, we continue to exist and resist, and Curtis does not control our story – if you really want to know who we are.

Edward S. Curtis: The North American Indian can be seen at the Muskegon Museum of Art though September 10, 2017.

Address:  296 W Webster Ave., Muskegon MI 49440
Hours: M, T, W, F, Sa:  10:00AM to 5PM, Th: 10AM-8PM, Su: 12-5PM
Admission: $10, Students 17 & older: $7 (with school I.D), Children 16 & under, and Museum members: Free
Free Admission Thursdays 4-8PM, compliments of Meijer