Contemporary Artists as Shamans

In many traditional cultures, the shaman is not just a healer or spiritual guide, but a bridge. They move between worlds, translating what is unseen into something the community can understand. While modern society often treats art as entertainment or decoration, there is a growing sense that contemporary artists are stepping into a similar role. They are not shamans in a literal sense, but the parallels are hard to ignore.

At its core, shamanism is about perception. A shaman is someone who sees differently, who notices patterns, energies, and connections that others might overlook. Contemporary artists often work from that same place. They pay close attention to the undercurrents of culture, the quiet tensions, the things people feel but struggle to put into words. Then they give those feelings a form.

Art as a Mirror

Think about how many artworks today deal with anxiety, identity, climate, or technology. These are not abstract topics. They are lived experiences that shape how people move through the world. An artist takes that shared but often unspoken experience and turns it into something visible. A painting, a film, an installation. In doing so, they help others recognize what they are already carrying.

This is where the comparison to shamans becomes more than just metaphor. Shamans traditionally guide people through difficult or uncertain states, helping them make sense of fear, grief, or transformation. Contemporary artists often do something similar, though without the ceremonial structure. Their work can act as a kind of mirror or even a map.

Take immersive installations as an example. When you step into a space that surrounds you with sound, light, and imagery, you are not just observing. You are participating. The experience can feel disorienting, emotional, even cathartic. In a way, it mimics the altered states that shamans guide people through. The difference is that the gallery replaces the ritual space, and the audience enters by choice rather than tradition.

There is also a strong connection in the way both artists and shamans deal with symbols. Shamans rely on symbolic language to communicate complex ideas about life, death, and the unseen world. Contemporary artists do the same, though their symbols may come from pop culture, science, or personal history. A simple object placed in a certain context can carry layers of meaning. It invites interpretation rather than dictating it.

Creating Distance and Space for Reflection

Another parallel is the role of the artist as an outsider. Shamans often exist on the edge of their communities. They are part of the group, but they also stand apart because of their unique perspective. Many contemporary artists occupy a similar position. They observe, question, and sometimes challenge the norms of the societies they live in. This distance allows them to see things others might miss, but it can also create tension.

That tension is important. It is often where the most meaningful work comes from. When an artist confronts uncomfortable truths or highlights contradictions in culture, they are doing more than making a statement. They are creating space for reflection. In some cases, this can lead to real change, even if it starts on a small, personal level.

Of course, there are limits to the comparison. Shamans operate within specific cultural and spiritual frameworks that carry deep meaning and responsibility. Contemporary artists, especially in the global art market, are often influenced by different pressures, including commercial success and public visibility. Not every artist is trying to guide or heal. Some are simply exploring ideas or experimenting with form.

Reframing What Art Can Be

Still, the idea of the artist as a kind of modern shaman helps reframe what art can be. It moves the conversation away from questions like "Do I like this?" or "Is this beautiful?" and toward something more useful. What is this work trying to reveal? What does it help me see more clearly?

This shift matters because it changes how people engage with art. Instead of looking for immediate answers, viewers can approach artworks with curiosity. They can sit with confusion, discomfort, or ambiguity. These are not failures of understanding. They are part of the process.

In a world that often feels fragmented and fast-moving, this kind of engagement has value. It slows things down. It creates a moment where people can reflect on their own experiences and how they connect to larger systems. In that sense, the artist's role becomes less about producing objects and more about shaping awareness.

The Role of Contemporary Artists

There is also something worth noting about intention. Shamans typically undergo long periods of training and initiation. Their role is recognized and supported by their community. Contemporary artists, on the other hand, often carve out their path independently. They may not set out to "heal" or "guide," but their work can still have that effect.

This raises an interesting question. Does an artist need to see themselves as a shaman to function like one? Probably not. The impact of the work often matters more than the label. If an artwork helps someone process grief, rethink their identity, or feel less alone, it is already doing something powerful.

At the same time, the comparison invites artists to think more deeply about their role. It suggests that art is not just a product, but a form of communication with real consequences. It can influence how people think, feel, and relate to each other. That is a kind of responsibility, whether it is acknowledged or not.

The Potential of Art

In the end, calling contemporary artists "shamans" is less about definition and more about perspective. It highlights the potential of art to do more than decorate walls or fill time. It can act as a bridge between inner and outer worlds, between individual experience and collective understanding.

Not every artist will embrace that role, and not every piece of art needs to carry that weight. But recognizing the possibility opens up a richer way of seeing both art and the people who make it. It reminds us that creativity is not just about expression. It is also about connection, translation, and, at times, transformation.

Shamanic Extraction Healing

Shamanic extraction is a powerful healing practice rooted in ancient traditions, aimed at removing spiritual blockages or intrusions that cause illness and disharmony. This practice has been part of shamanic traditions across various cultures for thousands of years. Understanding shamanic extraction involves delving into its history, techniques, and the underlying philosophy that connects the physical, spiritual, and emotional realms.
 

The Origins of Shamanic Extraction
 

Shamanic extraction can be traced back to the earliest human societies. Shamans, as the intermediaries between the physical world and the spiritual realm, have been using this practice to heal individuals and communities. The core belief is that illness and negative emotions often result from spiritual intrusions or energies that do not belong in the body. By removing these intrusions, shamans restore balance and harmony.
 

The Role of the Shaman
 

Shamans are highly trained practitioners who undergo rigorous initiation processes, including vision quests, fasting, and learning from elder shamans. They develop the ability to enter altered states of consciousness to perceive and interact with the spiritual realm. In shamanic extraction, the shaman acts as a conduit, channeling healing energy and using their spiritual allies to identify and remove the intrusions.
 

The Process of Shamanic Extraction
 

1. Preparation and Diagnosis: The process begins with the shaman diagnosing the patient. This can involve traditional methods such as divination, consulting spiritual guides, or simply observing the patient's energy field. The shaman determines the nature and location of the intrusion.
 

2. Entering an Altered State: Shamans use various techniques to enter an altered state of consciousness. These can include drumming, chanting, dancing, or ingesting sacred plants. This state allows the shaman to perceive the spiritual world and engage with it.
 

3. Extraction of Intrusions: In this altered state, the shaman locates the spiritual intrusions within the patient's body. Using their spiritual tools and allies, the shaman extracts these intrusions. This can be a physically and emotionally intense experience for both the shaman and the patient.
 

4. Healing and Integration: After the extraction, the shaman channels healing energy into the patient to fill the void left by the removed intrusion. This step is crucial to prevent the re-entry of negative energies. The patient is then guided through a process of integration, helping them understand the experience and reinforcing the healing.
 

Techniques Used in Shamanic Extraction
 

1. Soul Retrieval: Often, shamanic extraction is combined with soul retrieval, a practice that involves reclaiming lost fragments of the patient's soul. These fragments might have been lost due to trauma or prolonged stress.
    
2. Energy Clearing: Shamans use various methods to clear stagnant or negative energy from the patient's body. This can include the use of feathers, crystals, or other sacred objects.
    
3. Rituals and Offerings: Rituals play a significant role in shamanic practices. Offerings to spiritual allies and deities are made to seek their assistance in the healing process.
 

Benefits of Shamanic Extraction
 

1. Physical Healing: By removing spiritual intrusions, shamanic extraction can lead to significant improvements in physical health. Many individuals report relief from chronic pain, fatigue, and other ailments.
 

2. Emotional and Mental Well-being: The practice helps in releasing negative emotions and thought patterns. Patients often experience a sense of liberation and emotional clarity.
 

3. Spiritual Growth: Shamanic extraction facilitates a deeper connection with the spiritual realm, promoting spiritual growth and a better understanding of one's life path.
 

4. Holistic Balance: This practice restores balance across the physical, emotional, and spiritual dimensions, leading to overall well-being.
 

Contemporary Shamanic Extraction
 

In modern times, shamanic extraction has found its place alongside conventional medicine and psychotherapy. Many practitioners integrate it into holistic healing practices, recognizing its value in treating conditions that conventional medicine may not fully address. Workshops and training programs are available for those interested in learning this ancient art, making it accessible to a broader audience.
 

Ethical Considerations
 

Practitioners of shamanic extraction must adhere to strict ethical guidelines. Consent from the patient is paramount, and the practice should always be conducted with respect, integrity, and a deep understanding of its spiritual implications. Shamans must also ensure that they are adequately trained and that their practices are in harmony with the cultural traditions they originate from.
 

Conclusion

Shamanic extraction is a profound healing practice that transcends the physical and touches the very essence of our being. Its roots in ancient traditions provide a rich tapestry of wisdom and knowledge, offering a holistic approach to healing that addresses the spiritual causes of illness. As interest in holistic and spiritual healing grows, shamanic extraction continues to be a valuable tool for those seeking deep and lasting healing. Through the dedicated work of shamans and the willingness of individuals to embrace this ancient practice, shamanic extraction remains a beacon of hope and transformation in the modern world.

The Mystical Journey of Shamanic Dance

Shamanic dance, a practice deeply rooted in ancient traditions, serves as a powerful means of connecting with the spirit world. This transformative art form encompasses rhythmic movements, chants, and rituals that transcend the ordinary and invite participants to explore the depths of their consciousness. This blog post delves into the origins, significance, and transformative power of shamanic dance, offering insights into how it can enrich our modern lives.
 

The Origins of Shamanic Dance
 

Shamanic dance traces its roots to prehistoric times, long before written history. It was practiced by indigenous cultures around the world, from the Siberian steppes to the Amazon rainforest. Shamans, the spiritual leaders of these communities, used dance as a medium to communicate with the spirit world, heal the sick, and guide their tribes. Each movement, rhythm, and chant was imbued with symbolic meaning, creating a language that transcended words.
 

The Role of the Shaman
 

The shaman, often regarded as a mediator between the physical and spiritual realms, played a crucial role in these rituals. Through dance, shamans entered altered states of consciousness, allowing them to journey to other worlds and communicate with spirits, ancestors, and deities. This connection provided guidance, wisdom, and healing for their communities.
 

Cultural Variations
 

While the core principles of shamanic dance are universal, the practices vary significantly across cultures. In Siberia, shamans used elaborate costumes and drumming to induce trance states. In Africa, rhythmic drumming and body movements played a central role in connecting with ancestral spirits. In the Americas, indigenous tribes incorporated elements of nature, such as feathers and animal skins, into their dances to symbolize their connection with the Earth.
 

The Significance of Shamanic Dance
 

Shamanic dance is more than just a series of movements; it is a holistic experience that engages the body, mind, and spirit. This practice holds profound significance in several key areas:
 

Healing and Transformation
 

One of the primary purposes of shamanic dance is healing. By entering a trance state, shamans and participants can access deeper layers of their psyche, uncovering and releasing emotional, mental, and spiritual blockages. This process promotes physical and emotional well-being, leading to profound transformation.
 

Connection with Nature
 

Shamanic dance fosters a deep connection with the natural world. Many dances mimic the movements of animals, plants, and natural elements, reminding participants of their intrinsic bond with the Earth. This connection nurtures a sense of respect and reverence for nature, encouraging sustainable living practices.
 

Spiritual Awakening
 

Engaging in shamanic dance can lead to spiritual awakening and enlightenment. The rhythmic movements and trance states open channels to higher consciousness, allowing participants to gain insights, receive guidance, and experience a profound sense of unity with the universe.
 

The Elements of Shamanic Dance
 

Shamanic dance incorporates several key elements that create a transformative experience. Understanding these elements can enhance your appreciation and practice of this ancient art form.
 

Rhythm and Music
 

Rhythm is the heartbeat of shamanic dance. Drumming, chanting, and music create a vibrational field that facilitates trance states. The repetitive patterns of sound and movement help to quiet the mind, allowing participants to enter altered states of consciousness.
 

Movement and Gesture
 

Every movement in shamanic dance has symbolic meaning. Gestures, postures, and dances often mimic the natural world, embodying the essence of animals, plants, and elemental forces. These movements are not just physical; they are energetic expressions that connect the dancer with the spiritual realm.
 

Intention and Focus
 

Intention is a vital component of shamanic dance. Participants set clear intentions for their journey, whether it is healing, guidance, or spiritual connection. This focus directs the energy of the dance, amplifying its transformative power.
 

Sacred Space
 

Creating a sacred space is essential for shamanic dance. This can be done through rituals, the use of sacred objects, and invoking protective spirits. The sacred space provides a safe and supportive environment for participants to explore their inner worlds.
 

Modern Applications of Shamanic Dance
 

In today's fast-paced world, shamanic dance offers a powerful antidote to stress and disconnection. Its timeless principles can be adapted to suit modern needs, providing a path to holistic well-being.
 

Therapeutic Practices
 

Many therapists and healers incorporate elements of shamanic dance into their practice. Movement therapy, for instance, uses dance to help clients process emotions and trauma. The rhythmic, repetitive nature of shamanic dance can be particularly effective in promoting relaxation and emotional release.
 

Personal Growth
 

Individuals seeking personal growth and self-discovery can benefit from shamanic dance. Regular practice can enhance self-awareness, foster a deeper connection with nature, and promote spiritual development. Workshops and retreats offer opportunities for immersive experiences, guided by experienced practitioners.
 

Community Building
 

Shamanic dance can also serve as a powerful tool for community building. Group dances foster a sense of unity and shared purpose, strengthening social bonds and creating a supportive network. Community rituals and celebrations that incorporate shamanic dance can promote collective healing and transformation.
 

Conclusion
 

Shamanic dance, with its rich history and profound significance, offers a unique pathway to healing, transformation, and spiritual awakening. By embracing this ancient practice, we can reconnect with our true selves, our communities, and the natural world. Whether you are seeking personal growth, therapeutic healing, or a deeper spiritual connection, shamanic dance provides a timeless and powerful tool for transformation. As we dance, we journey beyond the physical, opening ourselves to the mysteries of the spirit world and the wisdom it holds.

Ancient Rock Art May Depict Shamanic Music

More than 2,000 years ago, the Tukano people of the Colombian Amazon may have documented the soundtracks to their hallucinogenic experiences in petroglyphs on volcanic boulders. Consisting of what appears to be dancing human figures surrounded by zigzagging lines and other geometric forms, the enigmatic art eludes concrete interpretation, although a new analysis suggests that these abstract shapes may depict the songs that transported participants to other dimensions during Ayahuasca ceremonies. The pre-Columbian designs can be found at Toro Muerto, which contains one of the richest collections of rock art in South America. A desert gorge, the site is strewn with thousands of boulders, some 2,600 of which feature ancient carvings.

 

Describing the drawings in a new study published in the Cambridge Archaeological Journal, researchers explain that the artworks contain "an almost overwhelming repetition of images of dancing human figures (known as danzantes), unique in the region, and an extraordinary accumulation of geometric patterns, most often in the form of vertical zigzag, straight and sinuous lines varying in width, sometimes with accompanying dots or circles." Previous attempts to interpret these zigzags have suggested that they may represent snakes, lightning, or water, although the study authors believe they may have an alternative meaning.
 

Examples of "danzantes" at Toro Muerto. Image credit: Tracings: Polish-Peruvian research team, 

compiled by J.Z. Wołoszyn/Cambridge Archaeological Journal/2024 (CC BY 4.0)

 

To build their hypothesis, the researchers point out the striking similarities between the drawings at Toro Muerto and the traditional artwork of the Tukano culture in the Colombian Amazon. In the case of the latter, geometric designs have been linked to the visions induced by the hallucinogenic brew Ayahuasca, which has been ritually ingested by Indigenous Amazonian communities for millennia. According to the Tukano these drawings were 'yajé images', meaning that they showed patterns they had seen while in an altered state of consciousness induced by consuming entheogens. Concentric circles, dots, wavy lines, zigzags and crenellation motifs dominated among them.

Anthropological analyses of these rituals have repeatedly highlighted the importance of music, with songs known as icaros being sung by shamans as a means of communicating with the gods and journeying through the spiritual cosmos. Ritual in many human cultures involves music; it is a key social technology for building and sustaining community. Ritual music is a universal way to address the spirit world and provide some kind of fundamental change in an individual's consciousness or in the ambience of a gathering. Experiences of ego loss and trance are important for integrating the individual into the group and maintaining community, and music is a significant element of such ritual activity.

Intriguingly, studies into the significance of zigzags in Tukano artwork have revealed that "the Tukano saw in them the representations of songs which were an integral part of the ritual, having also agentive power, and constituting a medium for transfer to the mythical time of the beginning." In other words, within a Tukano context, these shapes depict the shamanic music that mesmerizes ritual participants under the effects of Ayahuasca, delivering them to an alternate reality in which they are able to reconnect to their ancestral mythology.

Admitting that their theory is somewhat speculative, the researchers nonetheless conclude that these pre-Hispanic drawings "illustrated a graphically elusive sphere of culture: singing and songs. The interpretation we propose is of course hypothetical, but the conclusions it leads to constitute a logically coherent counter-proposal to previous interpretations of some of the Toro Muerto petroglyphs. We suggest that zigzag lines could be representations of songs, which seems particularly intriguing given the repeated juxtaposition of these patterns with the figures of dancers at Toro Muerto."

Archaeoacoustics and 'Songs of the Caves'

Archaeoacoustics is a sub-field of archaeology and acoustics which studies the relationship between people and sound throughout history. It is an interdisciplinary field with methodological contributions from acoustics, archaeology, and computer simulation, and is broadly related to topics within cultural anthropology such as experimental archaeology and ethnomusicology. Since many cultures have sonic components, applying acoustical methods to the study of archaeological sites and artifacts may reveal new information on the civilizations examined.

 

The importance of sound in ritual practice is well attested by historical and anthropological evidence. Voices and instruments (pipes, drums) will also have played a key role for prehistoric societies, and a number of studies have sought to demonstrate that by measuring the acoustical properties of archaeological spaces and open-air locations. One of the principal difficulties, however, is to establish a robust methodology. Every space or location will have an acoustic signature, but that does not imply that vocal or musical performance was an essential part of ritual practice; nor that those places were specially designed or selected for their acoustical properties.
 

Palaeolithic painted caves have occupied a special place in this debate since studies in the 1980s suggested that the placement of paintings and murals within the caves might have been guided by the acoustics; that they might be directly correlated with resonance. In 2013, Durham University (Durham, England) archaeologist Chris Scarre joined a team of acousticians, archaeologists and musicians led by Professor Rupert Till (Huddersfield University) in a systematic on-site analysis of acoustic properties and prehistoric motifs in five Upper Palaeolithic painted caves in northern Spain: La Garma, El Castillo, La Pasiega, Las Chimeneas and Tito Bustillo. The Arts and Humanities Research Council funded project was supported by Spanish colleagues Manuel Rojo-Guerra and Roberto Ontañon, with permission from the Gobierno de Cantabria and Gobierno Del Principado de Asturias.
 

Their methodology in recording the acoustics of these caves was to use a swept-sine (also called a chirp) source signal in conjunction with a set of microphones, adjusting the position of the set-up to provide an overview of the acoustics of specific sections of the caves. In each location that was measured, the position of imagery on the cave walls was also recorded. The fieldwork generated a large body of data that was used to generate acoustic maps of the five caves that could be compared with the distribution of the imagery (paintings or engravings, representational images of animals, or abstract symbols). A Principal Components Analysis (a mathematical method used to reduce a large data set into a smaller one while maintaining most of its variation information) provided an averaged set of acoustical characteristics. This showed that the variance of the acoustic data can be explained by two main components, associated with (a) temporal decay of energy (rate at which it fades to silence) in the cave space and (b) the existence or absence of resonance. Other factors, such as the distance of motifs from the original cave entrances (some of them now blocked) were also recorded.
 

Statistical analysis concluded that motifs in general, and lines and dots in particular, are statistically more likely to be found in places where reverberation is moderate and where the low frequency acoustic response has evidence of resonant behavior. The results suggest that the location of Palaeolithic motifs might indeed be associated with acoustic features, and that an appreciation of sound could have influenced behavior among Palaeolithic societies using these caves. The study also demonstrated the application of a systematic methodology of recording and analysis to the archaeoacoustics of prehistoric spaces.

The Mysterious Peterborough Petroglyphs

The Peterborough Petroglyphs are the largest collection of ancient rock carvings in all of North America, made up of over 900 images carved into crystalline limestone located near Peterborough in Ontario, Canada.

Designated a National Historic Site of Canada in 1976, local indigenous people believe that this is an entrance into the spirit world and that the Spirits actually speak to them from this location. They call it Kinoomaagewaapkong, which translates to "the rocks that teach."

The petroglyphs are carved into a single slab of crystalline limestone which is 55 metres long and 30 metres wide. About 300 of the images are decipherable shapes, including animals, humans, shamans, solar symbols, geometric shapes and boats.

It is generally believed that the indigenous Algonkian people carved the petroglyphs between 900 and 1400 AD. But rock art is usually impossible to date accurately for lack of any carbon material and dating artefacts or relics found in proximity to the site only reveals information about the last people to be there. They could be thousands of years older than experts allow, if only because the extensive weathering of some of the glyphs implies more than 1,000 years of exposure.

There are some other mysteries surrounding these remarkable petroglyphs. The boat carvings bear little resemblance to the traditional boat of the Native Americans. One solar boat -- a stylized shaman vessel with a long mast surmounted by the sun -- is typical of petroglyphs found in northern Russia and Scandanavia. A Harvard professor believes the petroglyphs are inscriptions (and maybe even a form of written language) left by a Norse king named Woden-lithi, who was believed to have sailed from Norway down the St. Lawrence River in about 1700 B.C., long before the Greenland Viking explorations.

Another vessel depicted in the petroglyphs is a large ship with banks of oars and figure-heads at bow and stern. There is a large steering oar at the stern, a necessary feature only for vessels that are 100 feet or more in length. However, the Algonkian people who inhabited the region never built anything more seaworthy than a birch-bark canoe or a dugout. Even reluctant archaeologists admit that the ships "do not look like real Algonkian canoes" but steer away from any controversial conclusions about pre-Columbian visitors by speculating that the vessels are simply a shaman's idea of magical canoes that travel the universe.

Another peculiarity is the figure-heads at bow and stern which resemble birds. The same design can be seen in Etruscan repousse gold work of the 9th century BC. The bird-headed ships were portrayed 200 years earlier, when Egyptian artists carved their images into the walls of Pharaoh Ramses IIIs "Victory Temple" in the Valley of the Kings.

Yet another mystery is the presence in the petroglyphs of a tall figure or 'god' which stands with arms akimbo and with a halo radiating rays, presumably from the sun. Cowering before him are two minute humble humans in attitudes of supplication. Scientists think the figure may represent a sun god but there doesn't exist any known cases of sun worship among the indigenous people of the region.

Some historians and researchers believe there is more to the petroglyphs than meets the eye. Some maintain that they are in fact a sky map of the heavens based on European tradition from 3100 BC. Evidence includes four signs which are the same as those found for the identical astronomical position at Lewes, England, leading to a possible speculative connection between the Peterborough petroglyphs and the megalithic people of Ancient Britain.

So the petroglyphs of Peterborough remain an intriguing riddle, a sort of code to which the key is still missing.

168 New Nazca Geoglyphs Discovered

More than 100 new designs discovered in and around Peru's Nazca plain and surrounding areas could bring new information to light about the ancient artworks that have intrigued scientists and visitors for decades. Following two years of field surveys with aerial photos and drones, Peruvian and Japanese researches from Yamagata University reported the discovery of 168 new designs at the Unesco World Heritage site on Peru's southern Pacific coast.
 

The geoglyphs, huge figures carved into the South American desert, date back more than 2,000 years and depict living creatures, stylized plants and imaginary beings, as well as geometric figures several kilometres long. Jorge Olano, head archaeologist for the Nazca Lines research program, said the newly discovered figures averaged between 2 and 6 meters (6.56 to 19.7ft) in length.
 

The purpose of the Nazca Lines, which could only be seen from the air, remains a mystery. These new findings, however, are smaller and can be seen from the ground. The figures, iconic vestiges of Peru's rich history, are about a three-hour drive from the capital, Lima. Researchers had already discovered 190 figures in the area since 2004. But the vastness of the terrain they cover has complicated efforts to study and conserve the heritage site.
 

Yamagata University said the research will be used in artificial intelligence-based surveys to help inform the lines' preservation. Studies from the university in collaboration with Peru's government have helped delineate and protect the area, which is facing threats from urban and economic developments. Some geoglyphs are in danger of being destroyed due to the recent expansion of mining-related workshops in the archaeological park. 

 

Anthropologists, ethnologists, and archaeologists have studied the ancient Nazca culture to try to determine the purpose of the lines and figures. One hypothesis is that the Nazca people created them to be seen by deities in the sky. Another theory is related to astronomy and cosmology, as has been common in monuments of other ancient cultures: the lines were intended to act as a kind of observatory, to point to the places on the distant horizon where the sun and other celestial bodies rose or set at the solstices.

Other theories were that the geometric lines could indicate water flow or irrigation schemes, or be a part of rituals to "summon" water. The spiders, birds, and plants may be fertility symbols. It also has been theorized that the lines could act as an astronomical calendar, as proved by the presence of radial centers aligned along the directions of winter solstice and equinox sunset. Researchers believe that the geoglyphs were the venues of events linked to the agriculture calendar. These also served to strengthen social cohesion among various groups of pilgrims, sharing common ancestors and religious beliefs.

The Pueblo Jewelers of the Southwest

In the world of Pueblo artisans, the jewelry makers are second in number to the pottery makers. Over the generations, this ancient craft has taken on numerous forms. On the meticulous end of the spectrum, there are those who make tiny beads, called heishi, first produced at today's Santo Domingo (Kewa) Pueblo in prehistoric times, with hand-pump drills and stone drill bits, and then strung as necklaces. From there, Pueblo jewelry runs from semi-precious stones set in silver to contemporary works, made with gold and precious gemstones. In between are tufa-castings (a process using a carved volcanic stone as a mold for molten silver or gold); hammered metal; handmade silver beads; choruses of tiny bird effigies carved from stone and strung; classic concho belts; large seashells covered in mosaic stonework; and some of the most prized lapidary work in the world, famously done by Zuni Pueblo artists. There are works in stainless steel cut to a fine edge, "shadow boxes" (where a design is cut out of a sheet of burnished silver, which is then affixed to an underlying piece of blackened silver, thereby creating an image in negative space), as well as bracelets, rings, bolo ties, and belt buckles, all worn today by design-savvy buyers from around the world.
 

Steve LaRance, of Hopi and Assiniboine heritage, gets his tufa on the Hopi Reservation from deposits created by the San Francisco Peaks. To gather what he needs, he has to drive a four-wheel drive pickup, find an isolated spot, and spend a day digging with shovels and picks. The tufa comes out in chunks, in sizes that range from bowling ball to suitcase. This will generally provide enough raw material for a year's work.
 

Steve and his wife and jewelry-making partner, Marian Denipah, moved from Arizona some years back to Marian's homelands, just a stone's throw from the lazy Rio Grande on Ohkay Owingeh land in northern New Mexico. In addition to their various lines of jewelry, they have also produced a batch of children and grandchildren that have made marks of their own. One daughter is a physician; another, along with her brother, spent a decade as principal dancers for Cirque du Soleil. Today, Steve and Marian oversee a Native youth dance troupe called the Lightning Boy Foundation, which travels the world in an effort to spread Pueblo values and skills.

 

Santo Domingo is one of the Rio Grande Pueblos in Northern New Mexico. For centuries the Pueblo people have been mining turquoise at Cerrillos, south of what is now Santa Fe, and have been acquiring other turquoise from as far away as Nevada, California and Colorado.

The Pueblo jewelers traveled south to the Gulf and west to the Pacific for shell when they couldn't trade for it. Jet and red colored rock was found nearby and used in mosaics and other jewelry. Eventually coral was introduced by the Spanish and replaced the red rock. These colorful stones were made into beads and mosaics for decoration and ceremonies.

The people of Santo Domingo became known for making the best disc beads and, along with the Zuni people, for producing the best inlay in turquoise, jet, shell and coral on shell and wood bases. The jewelers of Santo Domingo still produce the finest handmade beads and mosaics. Many of their children acquire drills and learn to make beads at a very young age. You can shop online for authentic Pueblo jewelry at PuebloDirect.com.

The Pueblo Potters of the Southwest

Pottery, the most sought after Pueblo art today, is being made by thousands of Native clay artists, many of whom still dig, clean, and age their own clay, as well as hand-shape and coil-build pottery without the use of a potter's wheel. Potters then decorate their works with mineral and clay slips they prepare themselves, or by carving into the clay. Finally, they fire their clay outdoors in the open air, rather than in a kiln.
 

This is the age-old process used by Jody Naranjo, one of the most well-known contemporary Pueblo potters. Naranjo grew up at Santa Clara Pueblo, but moved to Albuquerque years ago to pursue a career in professional art. She still returns to the Pueblo for ceremonies and to fire her distinctive pottery. Naranjo's work is distinguished by intricately etched surfaces, portraying everything from fine geometric patterns to quaint scenes of people and Pueblo life, as well as a variety of animals, birds, and fish.
 

Naranjo consciously carries on ancient traditional techniques. In her pottery, which is always unglazed, Naranjo aims for a natural color that she describes as "rich chocolate brown." To get that tone, she encloses the pots in thin sheets of metal before firing the pottery on a brick. "Some people even use old metal cafeteria trays, or put the work inside metal milk crates," she says. Then she surrounds her pots with chunks of cedar, and sets the whole thing afire. "It burns hot and fast," she notes.
 

Most modern pottery is made from very different clay that requires overnight firings in intensely hot gas or electric kilns, but Naranjo's firings take no more than 30 to 45 minutes. "I have no idea of the temperature, because we don't use thermometers, but I've learned to judge the heat by observation," she says. About 5 to 10 minutes before the pots are done, she covers them with cow manure, which has been dried until it's fluffy.
 

"Some people use shredded newspaper," she says, "some horsehair." The manure blanket blocks the fire's source of oxygen, a step that darkens the pots. If she lets this stage go too far, the pots turn black, a distinct style in itself that some buyers prefer. If the goal is to retain the natural reds in the clay that Pueblo potters traditionally use, this step is skipped entirely, but if you're aiming for some combination -- for example, swirls of black on a red pot -- Naranjo says, "you put a whole cow pie against the pot."
 

The process, however, is not foolproof. Because these firings are done outdoors over a wood fire, without the controlled conditions inside a kiln, wind and humidity levels can create havoc, causing the pottery to crack or explode. To avoid such catastrophes, Naranjo tries to fire in either the mornings or evenings, which are the calmest times of day in her area. But even that's not always enough. "I've often waited a week or more to fire," she says. "It's so tricky. All your work can be gone in a minute!" While studying her craft, Naranjo says, she had her grandmother "giving me advice at every step. Still, I've made mistakes and heard the pots exploding in the fire. Then I just cry."

The Drum Makers of Cochiti Pueblo

Brothers Carlos and Tomas Herrera, along with their father, Theodore "Arnold" Herrera, of Cochiti Pueblo, produce some of the most sought-after drums in the Native American craft world today. Drummers from all 19 of New Mexico's Pueblo communities come to Cochiti to purchase these drums, which are still made according to ancient practices. Over the years, the Herreras' craft has taken them from Guadalajara, Mexico, to Washington, D.C., for the Smithsonian Institution's Folklife Festival.
 

While Carlos, an environmental scientist, does drum-making in his free time, Tomas recently left the home construction business to focus full-time on making drums. To find the materials for the perfect drum, the brothers wander riverbanks looking for cottonwood boughs and trek into the mountains to collect recently dead aspen logs. Being a relatively soft wood, aspen is not only easier to hollow out, compared with other woods, it also emits a soft reverberation. Cottonwood, having similarly desirous properties, is often used for the large drums that the Herreras make for Plains Indian powwow groups.
 

While a drum has only a few parts, the process of making one is not simple. The multiple steps include aging the logs, cutting them to length, and removing the interior wood, a process for which the Herreras use homemade chisels culled from heavy metal scraps. Then, after preparing rawhide for the drum's head, a lengthy process in itself, the Herreras stretch the rawhide, secure it to the drum with sinew, and do whatever trimming is needed. These steps alone can take up to 16 hours, and that's before they've gotten to painting the drum, or making the drumsticks.
 

While plenty of other Native Americans make drums, Carlos says that their use of ancient, traditional methods for turning an animal hide into a drum head "is something that sets us apart." Today, he says, most drum makers use harsh chemicals, which dry out the hides and make them brittle. The method the Herreras' practice allows their hides to retain some of their original fat and oils, which Carlos says keeps them supple for decades.
 

To accomplish this feat, the Herreras bury their hides, which are sometimes made from elk skins but usually from cowhide, in damp earth for a week or two. They then remove the hair, using old metal files, and degrease the inside, which will still be covered with a lot of fat. To finish the hide, they never use salts, preservatives, or any other special treatment; by the time the hide is fully dry, it has been transformed into odor-free, resonant rawhide.
 

This whole process was passed onto the Herreras from their father, and their grandfather before him. "Even with the knowledge base we have, we struggle at times in getting the hides just right," Carlos says. "There's a lot we don't have control over. Every hide is different, and this is one of the biggest challenges we face. The drying process of the rawhide is out of our control. We can do everything right -- log selection, the carving, the hide preparation, and stretching it with the proper tension. Then maybe the humidity changes or the air pressure, and it loses its tone. At that point, the only option is to remove the leather and begin again with a new hide. We always have to wait until a drum is perfectly dry to find out if it works."
 

"To try to ensure success, we always reach out to my grandpa's spirit and ask him for his help," Carlos says. "We say a little prayer to the spirits to help guide us."
 

To learn more about Cochiti artisans, read "Storytellers and Drums," an excerpt from my memoir Riding Spirit Horse.

The Pueblo Moccasin Makers

Aaron Cajero began making traditional, Pueblo style moccasins while growing up at Jemez Pueblo, which lies in the foothills of the Jemez Mountains northwest of Albuquerque. He was in the seventh grade at the time. Today, his moccasins are worn by hundreds of ceremonial dancers on Pueblo plazas throughout New Mexico, and he usually has a backlog of orders which can take up to six months to fill.
 

Part of the delay in filling moccasin orders is due to his multifaceted life: Cajero is also a hunting guide, a potter, a traditional bow maker, and a teacher at the Jemez elementary school, where he teaches physical education along with history, language, and traditional Pueblo culture. His cultural studies range from the Pueblos' historical forms of government to moccasin-making and spiritual practices. Cajero knows much of this curriculum personally, having served as his tribe's lieutenant governor three times, and as its overseer of traditional religious practices.
 

Before starting a new pair of moccasins, Cajero first traces the dancer's feet on heavy paper, measures foot height, and notes any unusual physical features. He then cuts into a thick piece of cowhide, creating a shape that's slightly larger than his paper outline. After soaking the new sole in water to soften it, he turns up the outer edge -- a extremely difficult task that has left Cajero with very strong hands.
 

For the moccasins' upper wraps, which must be soft and pliable, Cajero prefers to use fine-grade deer or elk hide. Getting quality supplies can be tough, so Cajero sometimes makes his own leather from the hides of deer or elk he hunts himself, or buys from other Pueblo hunters. He prefers a thick hide so that the moccasins hold up over time. Even for the moccasin tops, if the leather is too thin it sags, creating bulges where the wraps overlap. It needs to look nice and smooth.
 

To stitch the uppers to the sole, Cajero typically uses clear fishing line, because it's lightweight, transparent, and relatively easy to work with. For a moccasin that is entirely authentic, however, he uses elk sinew, which must be kept wet during the stitching. Sinew is more difficult than a nylon line to thread through the leather's holes, which he punches with a tool he made himself by embedding a heavy needle into a wooden handle. Cajero has found that sinew makes a tighter stitch, because it tightens itself as it dries, but it takes more time.
 

This means that a pair of moccasins -- when made with sinew, and leather that Cajero has tanned himself -- runs about $1,000, more than twice the price of a standard pair. It costs more to do it all the old way, but it is well worth it for many traditional dancers.

Imaginary Shamans

The shaman in the accompanying image does not exist in real life. He was brought to life by architect and travel photographer Dimitar Karanikolov using artificial intelligence (AI) and Midjourney, a chat-powered text-to-image generator for his portrait series "Imaginary Shamans." All the portraits he created are generated based only on descriptions and words.
 

In a recent interview for Designbloom, a digital magazine for architecture and design, Karanikolov says, "In order to have a more controlled result, I was very specific and described a lot of the details I wished to see in the final image -- the age, the clothes, the ethnicity, to name a few. I have also specified the camera settings -- or the virtual lens I wish to use -- the light scenario, and the framing. The more words I put in, the better."
 

From the creases that line the shamans' faces to the traditional tattoos that ink their skin, the details in every image appear crystal clear, making viewers question whether they were generated by artificial intelligence or snapped by a professional photographer. Karanikolov thinks that artificial intelligence in photography is both fascinating and scary at the same time.
 

"I understand why a lot of people feared this technology," he says. "Still, I think it is an amazing tool that gives lots of people the opportunity to express themselves and visualize their ideas. Surely, it will have a major impact on the photographic industry in the future, and we'll soon have to specify when we post a photo whether it's real or AI, as there will be no difference in the quality."
 

Karanikolov might be an architect, but travel photography has been a passion of his for the last eight years. "I did numerous trips in order to explore and photograph authentic communities around the world such as Mongolia, Ethiopia, Bolivia, and Indonesia. I have always been fascinated by indigenous people and their culture, their rituals and aesthetics. These are our ancestors, our roots," he says.
 

"When AI softwares became wildly popular and open to access several months ago, I naturally tried generating spaces and architectural details, but creating human faces and characters brings much more emotion and connection, along with much more powerful visions. So, I have decided to do some AI travel photography," he tells Designbloom. Bringing his photographic zest with him on every trip has culminated in the creation of "Imaginary Shamans," underlining both the beauty artificial intelligence can generate and the underlying concern it might bring.

"Sacred Art - A Hollow Bone for Spirit"

Sacred Art - A Hollow Bone for Spirit: Where Art Meets Shamanism by Imelda Almqvist is a truly inspiring book that takes readers on a journey through art history from stone age rock art to modern day fine art. It is a journey that shows how art, religion, science, alchemy and cosmology were all once interwoven and how they became disconnected in our need to analyze and break things down into constituent parts. As the title suggests, this is a book about sacred art, however, it doesn't have any images in it. Instead, the book invites its readers to use their imagination to visualize what sacred art is. Imagination is our portal to the spirit world. Internal imagery enables us to perceive and connect with the inner realms. Making sacred art means stepping outside the realm of the ego to become a hollow bone for spirit so that the artist becomes a channel for higher consciousness.
 

The shaman has sometimes been described as being a hollow bone, one who can enter an altered state of consciousness without their personal ego. This non-ego hollowness makes a way for spirit to use them as a healing instrument. In this way, the shaman is a channel for higher consciousness. Like the shaman, by "hollowing out" or emptying ourselves of limiting beliefs, we remove all obstructions to the flow of source energy. The magic of the hollow bone lies in allowing the divine source to work through us, rather than resisting it with our learned limitations. When we can move our ego and rational mind out of the way to channel the divine power of the universe through us, our creative potential is unlimited.
 

While shamanism is the focus of the book, you don't need to be on that path to benefit from reading it. As you weave your way through the book and suggested activities, you will begin to look at art and the world around you in a whole new way. As someone who trained as a fine artist and has worked with art in various capacities for many years, the author knows a great deal about art. She's also been practicing shamanism for a long time, and is well qualified to speak about the role of art in a shamanic context. I urge you to fully immerse yourself in this book, to become a hollow bone unleashing your inner artist to create your own masterpiece.

Joseph Rael's Sound Peace Chambers

Joseph Rael, whose Tiwa name, Tsluu teh koy ay, given to him as a child at Picuris Pueblo, means "Beautiful Painted Arrow," is widely regarded as one of the great Native American holy men of our time. He was born in 1935 on the Southern Ute reservation to a chief's granddaughter and a Tiwa-speaking Picuris native. At about age 7, shortly before his mother's death, he went to live in Picuris near Taos, NM, where his visionary powers were developed until, at about age 12, he began to assist the village holy man in curing practices.
 

He was educated both at Santa Fe Indian school and public high school before getting a BA in political science from the University of New Mexico and an MA from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. For a number of years he worked in various capacities in Indian health and social services in both New Mexico and Colorado.
 

At age 45 he quit his social services job to devote full time to teaching and following his visions wherever they might lead. In 1983 Joseph had the vision to build a Sound Peace chamber, a kiva-like structure where people of all races might gather to chant and sing for world peace and to purify the earth and oceans. He built the first such chamber at his then-home, a trailer park in Bernalillo, NM, and shortly like-minded people began to build Sound Peace chambers in other locations.
 

At present, Sound Peace chambers have been built around the globe. Writes Joseph, "My vision is that through sound we will bring about peace and other important vibrations. Sound can teach us a way to create without destruction." Meanwhile, Joseph began leading ceremonial dances, based on his visions, with participants from all races and nationalities. "When you dance you are expanding the vibrations of insight and manifestation," he writes. "I created three dances -- the long dance, the sun-moon dances and the drum dance -- for these spiritual gifts."
 

Joseph teaches that "Every dance, every ceremony, is both for you and for the cosmos." In 1999, Joseph retired from active leadership of the dances he had begun, turning them over to a new generation of his students. Joseph Rael is the author of a number of books, including Being and Vibration, Sound: Native Teachings and Visionary Art and his autobiography, House of Shattering Light. He is also an artist. His paintings, like his ceremonies and teachings, are based on his visions. They have been called "portal" art, because they open a doorway into alternate dimensions of reality. As a Native American elder, Joseph Rael has spoken before the United Nations and addressed a conference of military officers at the Pentagon on the role of the warrior in the modern world.

"Things are Looking Native"

Nicholas Galanin is a multi-disciplinary artist and musician of mixed Tlingit/Aleut and non-Native ancestry. His work often explores a dialogue of change and identity between Native and non-Native communities. Born in Sitka, Alaska, Galanin first learned to work with jewelry and light metals, apprenticing with his father. He received a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Design and Silversmithing at London Guildhall University in England, and a Masters of Fine Arts in indigenous visual arts at Massey University in New Zealand. Being trained in both traditional and contemporary approaches in art, he pursues and merges both, exploring the questions of identity, misinterpretation and cultural appropriation.
 

Things are Looking Native, Native's Looking Whiter was the centerpiece of "Unsettled," a 2012 exhibit hosted by the Nevada Museum of Art. It is a digital print that bisects and combines two photographs. On the left is a 1906 Edward S. Curtis image entitled "Tewa Girl," a photograph of an unnamed Hopi-Tewa girl with a traditional "squash blossom" or "butterfly whorl" hairstyle. The right half of the photo-montage depicts Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia from the 1977 film Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope with her classic "cinnamon roll" hair style. Galanin's piece is intended as a commentary on cultural appropriation in popular media, which is largely dominated by white actors and directors.
 

Edward S. Curtis's great body of work, while beautifully executed artistically and doubtlessly valuable, has often been criticized. Curtis presented himself as a scientist as well as the artist, documenting the real Indians of North America in their environment. However, by the time Curtis took his first photograph in the 1890s, the noble savage he presented to the public no longer existed. He has also been known to stage his images to look more Native at the time, for example removing or retouching contemporary items in his photos. Each of the images used for Galanin's art piece represent different aspects of cultural appropriation. One--the desire to depict it in an unchanging, romanticized way as a vanishing race; the other--blatantly reusing a piece of cultural heritage while disposing of all Native elements of it.

The Navajo Storm Pattern Rug

An excerpt from my soon-to-be released memoir, Riding Spirit Horse: A Journey into Shamanism. 

Years ago, one of my shamanic mentors gifted me an old Navajo "storm pattern rug," recognizable by its large central rectangle connected by zigzag lightning lines to smaller rectangles in each corner, which represent the four directions, winds and sacred mountains of the Navajo. The central rectangle symbolizes the Lake of Emergence, the portal through which their ancient ancestors first emerged to enter the present world. The lightning bolts carry blessings back and forth between the mountaintops, bestowing good spirits on the weaver and her household.

Navajo rugs and blankets are textiles produced by Navajo people of the Four Corners area of the United States. Weaving plays a role in the creation myth of Navajo cosmology. According to Navajo mythology, a spirit being called Spider Woman instructed the women of the Navajo how to build the first loom from exotic materials including sky, earth, sunrays, rock crystal and sheet lightning. Then Spider Woman taught the Navajo how to weave on it. Because of this belief, traditionally there will be an intentional mistake somewhere within the pattern. It is said to prevent the weaver from becoming lost in Spider Woman's web or pattern.

My mentor suggested that I sit on the rug whenever I journey into the spirit world. I took his advice and journeyed at home while sitting on the rug. When I entered a trance, the rug became a mandala-like portal before me. I went through a doorway at the center of the undulating geometric pattern. I came out beneath a numinous web of light that surrounded the planet. The web emanated a blue glow against the black night-time sky above it. Spider Woman descended from the web on a strand of light and stood before me. She looked menacing and I feared being trapped in her web. She told me that I had nothing to fear. She conveyed that she was the weaver of the web of life. She said the Navajo rug would serve as a portal for me to journey into the spirit world.  

I thanked Spider Woman and returned through the portal to my body. When I opened my eyes, I saw a large spider on the rug beside me. I thanked the spider for being there to support my shamanic journey. It was a good omen

Beau Dick: The Legendary Indigenous Woodcarver

Beau Dick was a Canadian art legend and enigmatic carver from Alert Bay, a small remote village on the Northwest Coast of British Columbia. The Kwakwaka'wakw artist was a heredity chief and cultural activist whose generous and prolific nature exemplified the spirit of potlatch (a gift-giving feast). His remarkable masks have been celebrated across the global art scene as vibrant expressions of West Coast Indigenous culture and a sophisticated crossover into the contemporary art world. Dick had an unprecedented ability to tap into the collective memory of his people and breathe new life into age-old traditions.

Born Benjamin Kerry Dick in Kingcome Inlet, British Columbia in 1955, he first learned the art of traditional woodcarving from his father and grandfather at the age of six. While his carving career began as an assistant to his family in creating totem poles, one of which remains among the world's tallest, Dick's calling lay in making masks. His talent for combining traditional Indigenous techniques with contemporary influences, such as Japanese anime and Mexican art, makes him a standout in the art world, with critics citing him as "one of the most important artists since contact."

The late carver is the subject of the acclaimed 2017 documentary film "Maker of Monsters: The Extraordinary Life of Beau Dick," which follows his life, career and activism. Written, directed, and produced by curator, author, and filmmaker LaTiesha Fazakas and Natalie Boll, the film gives an intimate look into the life of one of Canada's greatest artists. Beau Dick worked within an ancient tradition and rose to the ranks of international success within the world of contemporary art while never forgetting his roots. This moving film captures the essence of Beau Dick and his mysterious enigma as an artist who symbolized Canada's history with the First Nations and the ethical dilemmas faced in reconciling with that colonialist history. Beau was able to use his celebrity to call attention to the injustices done to his people and the environment. 

Even in his activism, Beau relied on his culture to inform him on how to be political. He didn't simply stage protests; he enacted ancient ceremonies, creating a public display infused with spirituality. He challenged the Canadian government on his own terms by using traditional Kwakwaka'wakw political protocol, with slight adjustments for the contemporary situation. He performed a traditional copper-breaking ceremony to shame the Canadian government on two occasions. First, on the steps of the Parliament Building in Victoria, BC, and then one year later on the steps of Parliament Hill in Ottawa. Striking stone against metal, Dick and his entourage broke large copper shields into pieces. They placed the copper fragments in a folded piece of canvas artwork and left it on the steps.

The copper-breaking ceremony is a spiritual and political act that had not been performed in over 100 years. The ritual was a call to action in dialogue with the Indigenous grassroots movement, Idle No More, and a revival of a shaming rite prohibited for over 60 years under the Indian Act. Copper-breaking was once practiced by First Nations across the Pacific Northwest. Endowed with supernatural power, copper occupies a central position within potlatch ceremonies. Since copper was highly valuable and expensive, breaking it represented an act of shaming someone after a breach of law or protocol. 

"Maker of Monsters" illuminates a man whose art and life continue to transcend expectations and boundaries. Beau was more than an artist. He was a leader, an activist, a teacher, a humanitarian and a virtuoso who was larger than life. When he was asked what gets him excited in the world, he thought for a moment, then answered, "Creating an opportunity for somebody else to do something." Watch "Maker of Monsters" on Tubi TV.

Helping Indigenous Artists Protect Their Work

Copyright infringement of Indigenous designs is rampant. Their artwork is one of the last things that Indigenous Peoples have left. A new Canadian Indigenous art registry aims to help artists who have struggled with questions of ownership over their designs. The registry is a joint effort between Tony Belcourt, former president of the Métis Nation of Ontario, and Mark Holmes, director of G52 Municipal Services, the service provider for the register’s technology, in consultation with Indigenous artists.

Still in the early stages of creation, the registry is designed to give artists a place to document designs, control ownership and track works as they are sold and resold. Artists would be given a registry number for each piece of work, so when designs are stolen, they can take action and have a legal document to prove registration. The responsibility to ensure authenticity in part rests with consumers to buy products that identify Indigenous artists on the label.

One such artist collective has existed in Cape Dorset since it was established in 1959. The community-owned West Baffin Eskimo Co-operative Ltd. manages copyright for Indigenous artists in Nunavut, many of whom are without access to phones, bank accounts or Internet access and speak only Inuktitut. The co-operative has returned profit of more than $1-million a year for the past three years as equity back to its membership of 1,698, who each pay a one-time fee of $5 for a share. 

Creative Commons Photo by Indigenous artist David Neel, from the Kwakiutl first nation. Seen wearing a Ka'sala headress with a Grizzly Bear frontlet and canoe paddle with an Orca design, which are the crests of his family.

Five Native American Artists You Should Know

Just as music plays a vital role in Native American culture, art has a very special place as well. Native American art has developed over centuries, tracing back to cave paintings, stonework and earthenware. Art has been used as a form of expression in the Native American way of life for thousands of years. Most art was created as a symbol, such as a bird, animal or people. Many art objects are basically intended to perform a service -- for example, to act as a container or to provide a means of worship. The materials to make this artwork varied from clay, stone, feathers and fabric. Typically linked to a deep connection with spirituality and Mother Earth, Native American art comes in many different styles and forms to reflect the unique cultures of diverse tribes -- including beadwork, jewelry, weaving, basketry, pottery, carvings, drums, flutes, pipes, dolls and more. Here are five contemporary Native American artists you should know:

1. Wendy Red Star: Of Apsáalooke (Crow) affiliation, Portland-based artist Red Star (born 1981) works in a variety of media. Her art often includes clichéd representations of Native Americans, colonialism, the environment, and her own family. Her humorous approach and use of Native American images from traditional media draw the viewer into her work, while also confronting romanticized representations. She juxtaposes popular depictions of Native Americans with authentic cultural and gender identities. Her work has been described as "funny, brash, and surreal." Red Star produced artwork for the 2019 Art+Feminism Call to Action Art Commission (shown above). "Ashkaamne (matrilineal inheritance)" depicts in black and white the artist and her daughter, Beatrice Red Star Fletcher, reclining in matching striped shirts and blankets, with the words, "Apsáalooke feminist," repeated in the background. Apsáalooke inheritance is based on matrilineal descent, tracing affiliation along the mother-to-daughter line. This image represents a lineage, female empowerment, and the next generation.

2. Frank Buffalo Hyde: Born in Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1974, Hyde was raised on his mother's Onondaga reservation and studied at the Santa Fe Art Institute and Institute of American Indian Arts. He belongs to the Onondaga Nation, Beaver Clan, and Nez Perce tribe. Before becoming a visual artist, he played in a rock band and dabbled in writing. Hyde juxtaposes 21st century pop culture images with symbols and themes from his Native American heritage. His vibrant, satirical, graphic paintings seek to dismantle stereotypes of Native American culture and replicate what he refers to as "the collective unconsciousness of the 21st century."

3. Makita Wilbur: Wilbur (born 1984), a visual storyteller from the Swinomish and Tulalip peoples of coastal Washington, for the past five years has been traveling and photographing Indian Country in pursuit of one goal: To Change the Way We See Native America. Wilbur began her career in fashion and commercial work in Los Angeles after completing the prestigious Brooks Institute of Photography. Though in high demand professionally, Wilbur realized that she wanted a different path as a photographer: to create portrait art that deeply communicated people's lives and experiences.

4. Teri Greeves: Greeves (born 1970), who grew up on the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming, is known primarily for her use of traditional Kiowa beading, which she learned from her Kiowa grandmother. Greeves merges her cultural history with both traditional and contemporary clothing items as a commentary on being a Native woman in the modern world. She blends traditional geometric traditional Kiowa styles with figurative elements of the Shoshone, while also commenting on the derivation of American modernist abstraction from traditional Native American designs.

5. Harvey Pratt: Considered one of the leading forensic artists in the United States, Pratt (born 1941) has spent over 50 years in law enforcement, completing thousands of witness description drawings and hundreds of soft tissue reconstructions. Pratt is a Cheyenne and Arapaho tribal member and is recognized as an accomplished master Native American Indian artist. He is a self taught, multi-talented artist involved in many media; oil, acrylic, watercolor, metal, clay and wood. He has won numerous awards and was named the Red Earth 2005 Honored One. Just recently, the Smithsonian's National Museum of the American Indian announced that Pratt's Warriors' Circle of Honor was the winning design for the National Native American Veterans Memorial.

Traditional Halibut Hook Revival

Indigenous peoples of the northwest coast of North America have been catching halibut on what are known as "wood hooks" for centuries, but very few fishermen use them today. Over time, wood hooks were replaced with off-the-shelf fishing tackle. As the hooks came out of the water, they found new homes on land as art pieces and collectors' items. In fact, many carvers started crafting hooks specifically to hang on the wall rather than above the seafloor. But now, Native carvers are trying to revive the ancient tradition by teaching people how to make and use the hooks for what they were intended, and helping them reconnect with their culture in the process. The wood hook is a rare example of an object that ties together the different domains that collectively form Alaska Native identity: mythology, art, carving, and the subsistence lifestyle. The carved imagery frequently features the shaman and animals associated with power and mythology, such as the raven, octopus, and even halibut. The shaman, who seamlessly traverses the natural and supernatural worlds, is believed to help fishermen make similarly smooth transitions from land to sea. Read more.