Central Questions

What does it mean for a museum to be decolonial in practice? Decolonizing Museums by Amy Lonetree (Ho-Chunk) gets at the heart of this question. When coupling her ideas with a suite of work from other Indigenous authors, as we (Nora and Courtney) have done this semester in AMST-238 we gain a more comprehensive understanding of decolonial museum design principles. This critical thinking led to the following observations, inferences, arguments, and questions about the Fairchild Room in the Mead Art Museum’s Boundless exhibit at Amherst College. Centrally, we examine how it spotlights Indian futurity.

The present digital complement is intended to be conversational. Visitor responses to a survey are incorporated throughout (please see the end for details regarding the survey). Consequently, we prioritized closing the loop between curator and viewer, simultaneously accruing useful feedback for the museum. In short, our findings, presented in narrative form, are intended to be reciprocal and generative, mirroring the same hallmarks we observe in Boundless.

Introducing The Fairchild Room

Fairchild is the gallery’s first and biggest room off the foyer, and we were struck by the space’s free-flowing path of observance. Curated by Heid E. Erdrich (Ojibwe), the guiding value of self-reflection is established from the get-go in this free-form expanse. Emily A. Potter-Ndiaye — Head of Education and Curator of Academic Programs at the Mead — shared that they even considered adhering reflective material to the walls to underscore that point. This demonstrates the need to chart your own course through the space. Erdrich places navigational responsibility on the visitor to encourage self-reflection, and we offer our thoughts here, too, should you find an entry point helpful.

Flowing and Eddying

At large, the room’s atmosphere is reminiscent of flowing water. On a tour Erdrich gave on October 13, 2023, she said the exhibit is “flowing and eddying.” Survey respondents shared her summation. “The blue color brings me a sense of calmness and a ‘flowing’ feeling, as if everything is on the same journey down the river or connected,” wrote one respondent. Another concurred, recording that the wall color (a light, blue-gray) reminded them of “water and interconnectedness because of the ocean, river, forests, and different elements that are featured in the displays.”

In the Open Versus Under Glass

However, there are certainly some points of limitation in personal connection with the objects. Glass case coverings might be considered a barrier, for example. In the same survey, respondents shared that “objects under glass feel more removed, historic, [or] sacred, while those in the open feel more threatening, real, alive, [or] current.” Another mentioned items in the open seem “more sensory” as a means of “tactile connection.” Still, a third agreed that covered objects had a “need for protection,” while ones in open air seemed more “vulnerable.” 

Consider the self-commissioned portrait of Hepsibeth Bowman/Crosman Hemenway (Nipmuc). When displayed at the Worcester Historical Museum, this piece hung out of reach, many feet high. But here, lower down, Erdrich reports visitors taking photos with Bowman/Hemenway and even calling her “auntie.” What do we make of the sensations these viewers felt? Are physical closeness and emotional closeness connected?

Ethnographic Refusal: Knowledge is Power

Before we can get at the heart of that question, it is first worth exploring the idea of ownership, as something in need of protection is usually something that feels personal, like property. In Mohawk Interruptus: Political Life Across the Borders of Settler States, Audra Simpson (Kahnawà:ke Mohawk) argues that conception of property itself has eurocentric roots. She says John Locke conceived of property as “agrarian-based,” relying on products of labor “out of the commons” and “into the realm of the private” (Simpson 2014, 101). By contrast, “the wild Indian” didn’t use enclosure, “and thus, had no private property” (Simpson 2014, 101). On the other hand, Simpson points out that imperialism required “more than military might”; therefore, it took “ethnological comparison, linguistic translation, and ethnography,” too (Simpson 2014, 95). In this way, Indigenous ownership looked different from European ownership, and to resist ethnographic infiltration and extraction, it took an ingenious, Indigenous mode of rebellion: ethnographic refusal.

According to Braided Learning by Susan Dion (Potawatomi-Lenapé), ethnographic refusal is a response to destructive forms of salvage ethnography, which perpetuate the trope of the “disappearing Indian.” She writes, “[a]rtists are equally conscious of the appropriateness of withholding knowledge…Sometimes the art conceals more than it reveals in service of protecting knowledge from abuse and oversimplification, and to acknowledge that some knowledge is not translatable” (Dion 2022, 103). In fact, such acts of refusals are more than protective — they’re generative.

When Art and Economics Intersect

When an individual sells a piece of art out of commercial necessity, what effect does that have on ethnographic refusal? How do artists navigate the pressures and possibilities of the art market? To illustrate, consider Theresa Secord’s (Penobscot) basket pictured below.

Lonetree refers to anthropologist Ann Tweedie as noting, “overwhelming economic and social pressures…forced the alienation [of the maker from the item]” (Lonetree 2012, 69). Relatedly, in Becoming Mary Sully, Phillip J. Deloria deduces that “[t]he low-end souvenir prices demanded by tourists established an economic structure in which Indian artists could not charge the costs of time, labor, and materials necessary for fine arts production” (Deloria 2019, 175). Given this contextualization, what are we to make of items like the Penobscot basket? In our opinion, given the photo on the inside of the basket drawing attention to the sale of “Indian baskets,” one might first think about the sale of art as an adaptive survival mechanism. Then again, survivorship’s companion is kinship and cultural continuance, complicating things further.

Perhaps it is more likely Secord is celebrating her receipt of generational knowledge, so enclosing this item in glass, aside from being a standard museum practice, has the secondary impact of an Indigenous artist taking power back. Moreover, Theresa Secord is a perfect example of a current-day Indigenous person who has garnered wide acclaim for her weaving. She even founded the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance, leaning into all angles of this artform, both professional and commercial, while remaining fully at the helm (Hudson Museum n.d.).

For us, this line of questioning conjured ideas from a documentary we watched as a class in AMST-238 entitled Blood Memory: A Story of Removal and Return (Nicholas 2019). The film discusses what it means to be connected to a place and people and to return after being separated. Specifically, the film examined elevated Indian adoption rates to white families and how some adoptees find their way back to their nation. Considering lineage and blood memory, what does it mean to make art when your family has been doing so for millennia? What lays dormant, and how does practicing an artform connect you to ancestors? In reading about 20th-century Dakota artist Mary Sully in Deloria’s book, we saw time and again that connection to portraiture of her great-grandfather, Thomas Sully, informed her personality prints (Deloria 2019, 56).

November 15, 2023 Facilitated Dialogue

A ten-minute open conversation hosted on the topic of ethnographic refusal at the Mead Museum during an experiential learning forum on November 15, 2023 sheds more light on the topic. One individual wondered “if ethnographic refusal actually increases the value of objects in some way through ownership, agency, and protection.” Another asked, “are there certain works that are maybe perceived to be more authentic,” and if so, “what is authentic?” That query, in turn, raised questions about art’s intent and whether utility affects an object’s standing as art. One person asked what happens when a creator is “thinking about the market” versus “thinking about the basket” as a piece of art. Lastly, one participant pointed to the imbalance between an object’s assigned market price and the time and care that went into making it. “Let’s say you’re making a small, inlaid box. Anyone who has done anything like that knows it can take a phenomenal amount of time. But someone looks at a four-inch box and goes, ‘that’s worth $15,’ but you’re thinking, ‘I spent eight hours making that box.’” The hazy line between art and craft can be a starting point for understanding what items evoke feelings of closeness and kinship in the viewer, as opposed to distance and reserve. 

Final Thoughts From Courtney and Nora

In many ways, curatorial practice will benefit from a fuller understanding of ethnographic refusal, and museums might adopt or modify the strategy. For instance, restricting viewers from having unbridled access to certain Indigenous materials could exert a restorative balance. As discussed earlier, in Boundless, certain objects are enclosed, and others are more open. Understanding the impact of this begins by unraveling the role of markets in art, and in Indigenous art in particular. We invite you to evaluate how glass protects art in some ways and inhibits engagement in others, as well as how that distinction is connected to the concept of ethnographic refusal and assertions of Indigenous sovereignty and futurity.

To elaborate, certain books, like The Reservation by Ted Curtis Williams, are encased in Boundless, and according to the October 13, 2023 survey, “not supposed to move.” Meanwhile, items displayed in the open express a much more inviting attitude and proudly show their “Native-ness.” Take Courtney Leonard’s free-standing sculpture. It is too large to be contained by glass, directly aligning with the theme of Boundless. The Nativeness is enduring, lively, and has a sense of forward-motion that cannot be boxed in.

While glass cases are an expected museum practice, the way Boundless contains some work but not others transforms the museum into a playing ground for exploring tensions that emerge when installing glass in a settler museum. The Fairchild Room parallels a river, allowing visitors to move freely through the space. The path of observance’s ambiguity extends to the multi-pronged effects of exhibit display tactics. It remains unclear how to strike a balance in the role of glass to mediate sensations of protection versus distance. However, would it not be anathema to the premise of Boundless itself for there to be a single answer on this front? On the October 13, 2023 tour, Erdrich explained that “where there is invitation, there is intervention.” The multiplicity of viewer reaction creates a kaleidoscope of possibility in display techniques benefitting exhibits like Boundless. What might then emerge is a chance to heal closeness stolen by historical power imbalances while paving the way for Indigenous futures.

Commentary by the Curator: Heid E. Erdrich

We had the honor of talking to Erdrich via Zoom on December 6, 2023, where she shared valuable insight into these themes and questions. While many of our observations and conclusions that were drawn in sections above came up in conversation, Erdrich offered more direct answers in regards to connection between visitors and objects. She started by saying, in her opinion, Native people should be able to touch anything belonging to their ancestors because there are “different ways to spiritually attend to artwork.” Erdrich has found that viewers will touch items on the walls when feeling closeness, and she tries to permit this as much as possible. Further, Erdrich believes art should be displayed in a “more proximal” way in order to “present things in abundance.” She praised Leonard’s sculpture as a statement on openness, while simultaneously supporting the decision to add black tape on the ground to limit potentially harmful physical contact with the piece. 

She also holds as true the necessity to protect objects for future generations. The casing is dictated by aesthetic factors like display lights, in tandem with accessibility concerns for people with low vision or who use a wheelchair. Erdrich went on to share some techniques for bridging the gap between viewer and art when that distance is necessary. First, Boundless held community hours in which Native folks could engage with the work before general admission. The exhibit also includes a reading area with digital versions and reproductions of the vast majority of books involved, so even if viewers cannot touch original copies, they can interact with the work more intimately. Additionally, Erdrich described how many of the living artists were able to directly influence how their art was displayed. If an artist wanted a specific form of presentation (e.g., alternate lighting or enclosure), Erdrich said the artist’s opinions were respected and preferences prioritized. Along these lines, three artists visited the Amherst College Archives and handled materials directly, which inspired the next iteration of Boundless arriving this spring, 2024.

October 13, 2023 Survey Method

We created and conducted a survey that Boundless visitors could voluntarily participate in to aid our research as well as their own understanding of the Fairchild Room. The purpose of the survey was to guide visitors in the direction of critically analyzing the exhibit and its components. When creating an exhibit, curators must design the space with guiding principles in mind in order to create a layout and flow that best match the exhibit’s intended messaging. In the case of Boundless, water is key to the Fairchild Room. One way this is conveyed is via the light, blue-gray color of the wall paint, which surrounds the pieces like a body of water. This idea was directly referenced through the survey with the question: “What does the color of the wall evoke for you?” Tellingly, most respondents were able to identify the blue color and its connection to water, as well as the implications it had on the room’s themes. 

Additionally, viewers were asked to analyze choices to place some items out in the open as compared to behind a glass barrier. Yes, it is typical museum practice to present items under glass. However, Boundless’ namesake is all about breaking down boundaries, which draws special attention to the glass boundaries that are at play and what effect these have on the viewer.

How You Can Support Indigenous Arts

If you are interested in supporting Indigenous arts, consider:

• Checking out The Native Arts and Cultures Foundation, which spotlights Indigenous marketplaces and pop-up shops.
• Exploring The Massachusetts Center for Native American Awareness, which offers a number of craft-making workshops and learning opportunities, including an annual video-taped Arts & Culture Summit.
• Donating to the First People’s Fund, an organization founded in 1995 “to support Native artist-entrepreneurs and culture bearers.”
• Purchasing art from Indigenous creators in New England featured in Boundless:
  • Hawk Henries (Nipmuck).
  • Elizabeth James-Perry (Aquinnah Wampanoag).
  • Jonathan James-Perry (Aquinnah Wampanoag).
  • Theresa Secord (Penobscot).
  • Justin Beatty (Ojibwe, Saponi).
• Supporting these online, Indigenous-owne
  • Triple Jeopardy Productions managed by Kayla Shaggy (Diné & Anishinaabe).
  • Joolie Fiveash’s (Diné) online store.
  • Demian Dineyazi’s (Diné) Etsy online store.