A. Teasyatwho Gallery
The "Original" Endless End-of-the-Trail Roadside Souvenir Stand, Featuring Genuine Handcrafted Items
By Michael Darmody
March 24 – April 29, 2006
EXHIBIT STATEMENT
MONUMENT TO THE ENDLESS END-OF-THE-TRAIL. You know how you can drive out to Monument Valley in your Cadillac or RV and step outside long enough to get your picture taken in front of all those breathtaking red mesas? And you know how you can stand next to those little Navajo girls who are wearing traditional costumes and get your picture taken with them for only five bucks? And you know how you can completely ignore the fact that you’re walking around in someone else’s front yard, since the actual people who live there are invisible to you, because what you’re looking for is some embodiment of the White European-based fantasy of Innocence and Authenticity? And you know how you can come away with a token of the Noble Savage Experience by going over to Goulding’s Trading Post Gift Shop and purchasing a Generic Indian Chief Postcard or End-of-the-Trail Belt Buckle? Yeah? Well, I hate all that stuff. The art I make is anti-all-that-stuff.
ANOTHER KIND OF COMPLEXITY. But it’s not that simple, is it? After all, I am a White, European-American male artist and not some American Indian Movement activist. My job as an artist is to hold up a mirror to our society, not issue a call to arms on behalf of other people. (Or, as I think Jack Reed said: Art’s job is not to hold up a mirror but to take a hammer to it.) I was trained at a Postmodernism-based art school where they taught you to use sharp instruments such as Semiotics and Deconstruction to perform dissections of the Frankenstein Monster of Power and Oppression that dominates everything from language to sex to economics to politics to culture in order to recombine the body parts so the Monster can no longer threaten us or haunt our dreams. As a Postmodernist type of artist, I identify with the little dog Toto from the movie The Wizard of Oz. Toto becomes the hero near the end when he pulls back the curtain and reveals that the great and scary Oz is in reality nothing but a little old man operating a special effects machine. Without Toto’s help, Dorothy would never have had a chance to see things as they really are and escape dreamland. After I moved out to the Four Corners, I saw the Great Oz at work in everything from the way the Bureau of Indian Affairs corrupts and undermines Native autonomy to the embarrassing cliché Indian souvenir postcards for sale in every trading post, gas station and supermarket.
SELF-IRONY, ANYONE? What really complicates things for me is the fact that I purchase all these souvenir postcards, figurines and collectibles for use as ingredients in making art that’s supposed to expose and mock the very ideology they stand for. In other words, I’m one of their best customers! I get implicated in my own work! If this sounds perverse, it is. I am reminded of the fact that, even though from my perspective Kevin Costner’s movie Dances with Wolves is pure drivel, I can’t watch it without crying at the end just like everybody else (Whites and Indians cry for different reasons). In the face of these contradictions my only recourse is to mix grief with sarcasm into my work. I hope everyone gets a big laugh out of my artwork. Humor is a powerful weapon. Because, even if you can’t escape it, if you can laugh at the Great Oz, it means you are no longer under its power.
CONSTRUCTING THE “OTHER”. Indian souvenir postcards represent a false identification with a manufactured image of mythical authenticity and innocence, as personified by Native Americans, that White culture feels it has lost and seeks to recover. But it is only because Indians have been defeated and are therefore considered harmless that Whites indulge in this fantasy. As long as Indigenous tribes were resisting the European tide, they were regarded as powerful enemies, by turns Savage, Bloodthirsty, Cruel and Sly. Now that they have been “domesticated”, Indians have been transformed into helpless children, at once Authentic, Innocent, Natural and Timeless. The White conceit of Tragedy associated with Native American history helps alleviate a guilty conscience at the same time it reinforces White superiority. Therefore, this fantasy guarantees, not respect for, but alienation from, the subject. As is typical in all forms of racism, characteristics considered too threatening to accept within a group are projected onto other groups as if part of their essential nature. This tactic also deprives Native Americans of any credit for intelligence, inventiveness, organization and struggle in the face of overwhelming odds.
DON’T BELIEVE WHAT YOU SEE. Lewis Hine once said: “Photographs don’t lie, but photographers do.” Photographs are powerful. They overrule intellect in favor of emotion. Because they are produced mechanically, not by hand, and the camera usually records something in the real world, we grant photographs an automatic authority unknown to any other art form. But what appears to be real is not always the truth. Any photo by itself is polysemic – that is, open to many potential significations or interpretations. Captions tend to fix the meaning of the image. But you can make a thousand prints of just about any photo, attach a different caption to each image, and by doing so create a thousand different experiences. Language is used to control perception and therefore reception.
In the specific case of Indian souvenir postcard photos, we have images that, by themselves, are completely ambiguous. Okay, so we know someone posed for the camera. But outside of that, everything is up for grabs. Viewers must ask themselves: Who took the photo? Why did he/she take the photo? Just to sell, or to advance an agenda? Why did the subject pose for the picture – for pay, through ignorance or coercion? Did the subject realize what the photo was going to be used for? Is this really a Native American person? Is he/she really the person the title claims he/she is – that is, is the role assigned in the picture really what it is in real life? Or are they actors? What other elements were manipulated by the photographer (lighting, setting, etc.) to achieve the desired effect? Finally, why do none of the subjects have any personal names? By the very anonymity of the individuals portrayed, a type and a myth are guaranteed.
Michael Darmody
© MD.ART 2006