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Tag: Tara Anne Dalbow
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An Indigenous Gaze Towards The Future
Wendy Red Star Recontextualizes Native Culture in Outer SpaceGrowing up on the Apsáalooke (Crow) reservation in Montana, Wendy Red Star witnessed the ways her cultural heritage was practiced, performed and integrated into the daily lives of her tribe. These customs seemed deeply disconnected from the displays in history museums that rendered her people as ancient artifacts. Spanning self-portraiture, archival imagery, large-scale installations, mixed-media collage and performance, Red Star’s practice interrogates and undermines representations of Native Americans as primitive peoples and foregrounds the dynamism of contemporary Indigenous experience. In her series Thunder Up Above, included in Future Imaginaries: Indigenous Art, Fashion, Technology, at the Autry Museum, Red Star reimagines traditional powwow regalia for a future in outer space. Red Star and I met to discuss Indigenous Futurism, sewing, Crow Fair, and the moment she realized she could paint.
Tara Anne Dalbow: Can you tell me a little about the impetus behind this series?
Wendy Red Star: These works came about from thinking about final frontiers, the West and old Western films. That led me to think about outer space, which is really the final frontier for us, and how we’ll definitely encounter other beings up there and try to colonize them as well. You know
everything has to be a little funny with me. Then I let myself run with the concept and started imagining these other beings living in outer space, and making outfits for them that were based on abstractions of powwow regalia.TAD: Amazing.
WRS: One dress is based on a traditional men’s fancy dance bustles; another is made of sheepskin that’s an exaggerated version of what men wear on their ankles, then some very cool metallic jingle dresses, and another that’s based on women’s traditional, so a blue gown with billowing sleeves that, in Southern women’s traditional, would be this elaborate fringe that sways from their arms when they dance.
TAD: The regalia are astounding in their complexity and detail. Can you tell me a little more about your interest in wearable art?
WRS: I became obsessed with sewing when my daughter was born. It came naturally to me because I grew up watching the women in my community make traditional outfits. Sewing allows me to retain my sculpture background and think in 3-D. It’s also awesome that you can make something so large but still have it be containable. I’m also drawn to this potential for activation. I like to see them not as stagnant displays at a
history museum but as something very much still alive today.TAD: The series you recently showed at Roberts Projects, Bíikkua (The Hide Scraper), was also focused on wearable art, or maybe utilitarian is the right word?
WRS: Yes, that is an incredible project involving research, sourcing and making painted studies of traditional rawhide cases. I didn’t think I could paint or draw until I found these cases and realized there is a whole art history of ancestral women of my community who have been painting for so long. I hadn’t seen anything like it in all my Western art classes. It’s a lost art now, so I’m trying to make an archive as a resource for my community.
Their patterns give the illusion of being symmetrical and perfect, but they’re not at all, so it’s an opportunity for me to paint the hand of the original maker and spend one-on-one time with her, seeing her decisions and choices. It’s also about giving her credit and bringing her work into the future—so many of the native exhibitions you see are focused on chiefs and warriors, not on native women.
TAD: Were you thinking about the emerging Indigenous Futurism movement when you were conceptualizing either of these series?
WRS: I wasn’t thinking about it, not explicitly, at least. As I understand it, Indigenous Futurism is about resisting the kinds of writing that try to capture us in amber. Or, like Edward Curtis, acting like he was photographing the last authentic native—and after that, we were all going extinct. There’s also maybe a desire to skip the present and move forward into the future. What I’m doing certainly fits with that.
TAD: What would a Crow Future look like to you?
WRS: For me, it’s just the traditional being carried forward. Crow Fair is over 100 years old, and it’s this miraculous event where people from all over the country meet in a town on the Crow Agency reservation. They bring their families, teepees and horses, and we camp, dance and parade in regalia for about a week. That’s what is vital to our future. That’s futurism for me.
Future Imaginaries: “Indigenous Art, Fashion, Technology” will be on view at the Autry Museum of the American West through June 2026.
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Lotus L. Kang
at Commonwealth and CouncilTo experience lack is to be reminded of the boundaries of the self, of others. Lacking realizes the unassailable distance between you and everything you don’t and won’t ever have. Therein to lack enlivens desire, or does desire require a lack of something? Kang’s latest installation stages spatial, material, and sensual transformations that enforce and dissolve boundaries, collapsing and expanding distances. The whirling, six-by-eight-foot mechanical drum casts kaleidoscopic patterns of light and shade across the space, visualizing the dynamic process occurring imperceptibly across the bolts of large-format film hung like ribbons from the ceiling. It’s true, I don’t fully understand what I’m seeing or hearing—ethereal chimes and sounds that mimic someone reciting poetry accompany the rhythmic rotations—but I want to all the more for that. Perhaps it’s this yearning that the artist aims to bear out for herself, for others.
*A previous version of this review misidentified the sound of a woman’s voice reciting English and Korean poetry and has been updated.
Lotus L. Kang: Azaleas
Commonwealth and Council
3006 W, 7th St., STE 220
Los Angeles, CA 90005 -
Eugenia P. Butler
at The BoxButler’s threadbare saffron works-on-silk line the perimeter of the back gallery, floating forward and back, filling and falling as if breathing. Suspended by invisible supports and backlit, the delicate veils with their enigmatic marks and hand-drawn symbols precipitate a feeling of reverence, a sense of encounter with that which is unknown, other. Here, the difference between presence and absence, material and mystical, is difficult to delineate, recalling Ralph Waldo Emerson’s observation that spirit is merely matter “reduced to an extreme thinness. O so thin.” Sitting on the bench against the only unadorned wall during the opening reception, I watched lively clusters of people stream in from the main room and fall suddenly silent, arrested by what was and was not there.
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Shirazeh Houshiary
at Lisson GalleryHoushiary’s mesmeric abstract canvases depose our human perception of scope and scale, engaging the macro and microscopic; they connect a single breath to the breadth of the sea, carbon’s molecular structure to the structural integrity of a star. The intricate pencil markings imagine waves, auroras, and fields that undulate, spiral, expand, and contract across pigment-washed aluminum surfaces. Far from static, the nebulous aquamarine and azure forms appear amid metamorphosis; ongoing, they’re uncircumscribable, infinite, like the energetic systems they intend to invoke. This illusory effect is intensified by the inert low-lying sculpture: cerulean and teal bricks arranged in spirals that recall churning waters一if also oversized legos.