It was the summer of Wonder Woman. I mean, I know she was in the theaters this last summer, and I certainly enjoyed the movie, but that’s not what I’m talking about. She was in our car. Wonder woman, I mean. She was in our car.
Yep!
We were wondering what that strange sound was coming from the back. We didn’t hear it often, at first anyway, but it was just an odd sound. Were the Jarritos bouncing up against the Mexi-cokes? Maybe something was falling out of the luggage? No, not that over and over like that, and it doesn’t sound like bottles. Neither Moni nor I could quite place it. And then an impression started to form, but it just couldn’t be right. I thought perhaps all those years of role-playing geeketry were playing havoc with my ears, because I couldn’t possibly be hearing it right. Still, the more I listened, the more convinced I became.
“Is that a sword?”
“It does sound like a sword, yes.”
Hearing Moni confirm my seemingly-impossible impression was a little reassuring. It was also a little disturbing. Why in the hell would the sounds of sword fighting be coming from the back of our vehicle? And then Moni remembered the costume. I had bought her a Wonder Woman costume for super-hero day at her gym. It came with a plastic sword and that sword made sounds whenever you moved it around. We meant to give it to one of of her nieces or nephews, but I guess we never got around to it. Instead, the noisy blade was buried somewhere in the back beneath a pile of luggage, snacketry, random shoes, and countless things we probably didn’t need. Evidently, the sword had room to juggle. So, Wonder Woman had room to fight in the back of our vehicle.
No matter! We would dig her out soon enough.
I think we first noticed the sound on a trip to Sequoia National Park. We could still hear Wonder Woman doing battle after a diversion to Monterey, another trip to Sacramento and San Francisco, several small trips around Los Angeles, a road trip to SantaFe by way of the Navajo Nation, at least three trips back to to Taos Pueblo through Espaniola, one to Bandelier, one to Kasha Katuwe, and one each to Santa Ana Pueblo and Cochiti. We never did find her, or if we did, we missed the chance to find her a new home. Hell, she was still fighting her foes when we made it finally back to California at the end of the summer.
We actually did make an effort to find Wonder, but we were thwarted by the piles of unnecessary baggage. So, Wonder Woman spent the summer with us. She protected us from evils all across the southwest, and even scolded us when we did wrong. She could be kinda bossy that way, but otherwise, I must admit the living weapon herself was actually pretty good company.
Presumably, her sword is in storage now.
It’s been a little over six months now, so I guess it’s time to share some pics from our road trip, the one Moni and I took with Wonder Woman.
I’ve already blogged about a few of these things, but I do plan to produce at least one more post about the street art in San Francisco. I’ve posted about the Institute of American Indian Arts before, and about Santa Fe. These are definitely favorite stops of mine. Here are a few pics (click to embiggen)!
Moni’s Nephews in the Kiva at Old Pecos
Little Sister isn’t impressed with the Quinceañera pics
Institute of American Indian Arts
Bandelier
We need one of these trucks here in Barrow before the next 30 days of night
Restaurant in Taos
Just south of Taos
Church at Taos Pueblo
Institute of American Indian Arts
Old Pecos Pueblo
Near Bandelier
Whaling Wall in San Francisco
Old Pecos Pueblo
Pecos
Tragedy at La Brea Tar Pits
Muckrock Mural at Taos
Somewhere in Northern California
Window Rock, AZ (I used to work a short stroll from here)
Bandelier
Santa Fe
Three Amigos?
Fat Man replica at Los Alamos
Horseshoe Bend
Taos Pueblo
San Dimas
Santa Fe
Kiva at Old Pecos Pueblo
San Francisco
The Institute of American Indian Arts
Somewhere in Los Angeles
Madrid, New Mexico
Getting some shade near Horseshoe Bend
This guy was bathing in a fountain at Window Rock, Navajo Nation
Note the building from another pic
Face off!
Women’s Building in the Mission District in San Francisco
Yeah…
San Francisco
Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado River
Moni and Annie at Harvey Milk’s old haunt
Seems to be a car show in town (San Dimas)
Coastline near Monterey
Stump in Sequoia
Big Stump
I think Moni wanted to drop me off here, not sure why
Pomona
San Juan, Fiesta
Thai Restaurant in San Francisco (I think this was our waiter)
I told Danielito, his name is ‘Bob’ for the balance of our visit. I was Daniel first.
I could easily wish the crowds away, but that would be foolish. They are a big part of the experience here at Meow Wolf. Mere moments after entering the fun house, our party is already separated into at least 3 separate groups. Moni is nearby, but I’m not sure where. Her sister and I are together. She is nervous and worried the place will be scary. I’m not entirely re-assuring. We catch a glimpse of her two kids. They rush on by as their mother tries to call them back.
It’s no use going after them. Did they go up into the tree house, or over to the musical mastodon? Perhaps into the fish-tank? We’ll find them eventually, but not by looking. No matter. One is old enough. The other has been here before. They will take care of each other. So, we let them have their fun.
I’m recovering from a bad flu, so I tire easily. Luckily, there are places to sit and watch the people. This is my second time at Meow Wolf, so I am happy to take my time; happier still to rest when I can. A woman walks by urging her child to stay nearby. A few minutes later she walks by again, alone.
“Baby, where are you?”
I get up to help her look for the child and instead find myself helping a couple women trying to connect a completely different child with his parents. They are on it; I’m just trying to see if I can help, but it’s difficult. You’re never more than one room away from getting completely lost in this place. Give yourself time and you’ll find your way back to the main entrance. But how to search more than one room without losing these two and their momentary ward?
A solution takes the form of a stumbling old man in mad scientist garb. I’ve seen him before. He gets lost in corners and regularly stands motionless for odd periods of time. Soon after meeting the women, our shambling scientist becomes a competent staff member with an intercom and a clear set of procedures. Unfortunately, the first step (getting the kid’s name and that of his parents) doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. The kid is just too disoriented to answer even these questions. Another child is screaming in my ear. It’s disconcerting, but this child is already in her own mother’s arms, so that’s probably a good sign. Still those are blood-curdling screams for such a little girl. What has her so scared?
“I don’t want to leave!”
Ah, …got it!
The girl keeps screaming that she doesn’t want to leave. She screams this as though her life depended on it. Nearby, the once-shambling scientist calls three names into his head set. He is well on his way to solving the problem. I wander off to find something new. I’m told there have been some changes to a few rooms, and the people scrambling about me add a whole other layer of new things to see.
A young woman opens up a closet, then stands in awe as people behind wait for the moment to pass. Others charge into rooms and devour them. An elderly woman has trouble navigating a narrow staircase. The crowds wait patiently. There is plenty to see. Just about every where you look, there is something odd to see, something weird to wonder about. Kids open the drawers and study their contents. A middle aged man yanks out a drawer a little too far and spends the next few minutes putting its spilled contents back. Some tap on shiny mushrooms, hoping to know what sound they will make. You can play a piano, an odd piano, or even a lazer-lyre.
I found myself in the entrance to the place, a large area resembling a classic suburban home. It is two stories tall, filled with all the usual features of a middle-class home; a kitchen, a living room, a study, several bedrooms, a nice bathroom, and so on. There are also a few things you don’t find in most middle class homes. A few inter-dimensional portholes, lots of odd scenes. You can find the beginnings of a narrative here in this home. Notes and booklets scattered throughout the rooms allude to scientific experiments gone wrong, perhaps a bit of a cult gone wronger.
I sit here and watch the crowd. Within minutes a little girl asks if she can sit on my lap. She is adorable, but her mother isn’t having any of it. That’s understandable, of course, but I have to wonder. I’m no Santa Clause. Is there something about this place that softens my resting-bastard-face? The next little girl seems to want my attention to. Her parents shuffle the family by without any event.
Perhaps they just want to sit down?
I free up the chair.
Standing on a narrow bridge a woman turns towards me saying; “that’s just the weirdest thing I…” It’s at that point, she realizes I’m not the person she thought she was talking to. It’s understandable. At one point, I mistake a woman for a manikin. In my defense, she wasn’t moving. I find another mad scientist repairing a refrigerator door. That may seem an odd job for a scientist, but in his defense, not every fridge serves as a porthole into another dimension. The condiment rack on the door of this porthole is loose, and there is no telling what that could mean!
I bump into Moni and her family a couple times. All are happy. The kids are positively glowing.
Just like some of the exhibits.
Other things, you may hear in this place?
“This is the most ridiculous thing.”
“Don’t go in there!”
“Oh, oh, oh!”
“that’s how we came in”
“we came in through the fireplace?”
“How do you suppose that kid got stuck in the toilet?”
“What’s the big deal about this place? …Oh, I see.”
***
Meow Wolf is the brain-child of George R.R. Martin. Yes that George R.R. Martin! It’s an artist collective and a non-profit located on the south-side of Santa Fe, New Mexico. What they’ve created here could be described as a fun house, but that doesn’t even begin to do the place justice. Suffice to say that a lot of very creative people have invested a lot of brilliant thought into this project, and the results are spectacular. I reckon it can be a little stressful for the parents, but they will live through the experience, and so will their kids (who will no doubt keep the memories well into their own grey years). For the rest of us, I expect the key to this experience is opening ourselves to its disorienting qualities. You may think for a moment that you are beginning to figure something out, or that you know what’s around the corner to the left, but don’t be surprised if you are wrong. No matter! If you can make sense of this place, you are probably doing it wrong.
Thanks to Moni and her family who have contributed pics and suggestions. As usual, you may click to embiggen.
Hm…
Moni and her Mom, at home in any kitchen
A surplus of doorknops
A performance artist and her pet dragon
Belongs with the musical mastadon
Fish Tank (mirrors a normal-sized tank in the front room)
Lots to read
Wonder what kind of sermon you could hear in this place?
Life in the fish tank
An oddly normal corner
Southwestern weirdness
…among other things
A cool family
Do not climb on the spider!
When aspen have eyes
Motivational Weirdness
Creepy
The head of the musical mastodon
Hm…
Most kids just take a bath
Teenagers room, …a teenager with a bit more angst than usual
It must have been a couple decades back. I was at a small party in Forth Defiance. Those attending included a number of officials in the Navajo tribal government. Fort Defiance serves as kind of a bedroom community for the capital of the Navajo Nation, so this was hardly unexpected. What none of us expected that evening was a quick lesson that began when our host asked if anyone knew the name of the main street going through the town? No-one did. As it happens, the name was Kit Carson Drive.
Apparently, it still is.
To say that most of the party-goers found this shocking is putting it mildly. It may not be obvious to some of my readers why a room full of Navajos would object to a street named after Kit Carson, but even the most cursory knowledge of their history would make this pretty well obvious. The man is popularly known as an old western Indian fighter, and as it happens, a good number of the Indians he fought were Navajo. When General James H. Carleton, the Army Commander for the Territory of New Mexico decided to go to war with the Navajo people, it was Colonel Kit Carson that he sent off to do it. Carson marched through Canyon de Chelly, the heart of Navajo territory, destroying resources (just as Sherman might have) and letting winter bring his enemies in to surrender. This campaign, and the four years of internment at Hwéeldi (Fort Sumner) still constitute the darkest chapter of most historical narratives about the Navajo people. So, you can just imagine what it must have meant for people who can still tell you about relatives lost on the long walk to Fort Sumner to learn that a road right through their community bears the name of the man responsible for their deaths.
Kinda put a damper on the party.
You might think it odd that folks didn’t know the name of the road to begin with, but it’s hardly unusual. Folks don’t pay that much attention to street names out that way. Many of the roads don’t have signs at all, and I don’t recall seeing that particular name on a street sign when I lived out there (though one can certainly be found in Fort Defiance today). This party was the only time anyone ever mentioned it to me.
The old south isn’t the only place in this country with a questionable sense of public history from the Civil War era. Those in the Southwest have less to do with the war between the states than the early stages of the Indian wars which would dominate the interior west for a couple decades. Kit Carson Drive is one of many such examples. The Obelisk in the town square of Santa Fe provides another. It’s had its own share of controversies over the years, not the least of them being this dedication:
“To the heroes who have fallen in various battles with savage Indians in the Territory of New Mexico.”
It should come as no surprise that this line acquired its share of critics over the years. It has had some defenders as well, to be sure, but plenty of critics. The sentiments might have seemed appropriate enough to those who erected it in 1868, but in the 1970s, sentiments had changed a bit, as had the political status of some of those ‘savage Indians’ referenced in the piece. So it really should have come as no surprise when calls went out for removal or modification of the monument. Today, at least, it may seem a little surprising to find the monument had Native American defenders, which apparently it did. Attempts were made to put the original wording into it’s proper context, so to speak, preserving it without appearing to endorse it, but some clearly weren’t satisfied with this way of thinking about the issue. Resolution apparently came in the form of a chisel, and the result is a monument with its own fill-in-the-blank question.
It seems, the American public is hashing out a new round of debates over public monuments, particularly those in the South. Some no doubt find the entire debate quite trivial. Who reads the placards on a monument anyway? Of course when people fight over seemingly trivial things, you can bet your ass they aren’t really fighting over the trivial things. It isn’t actually history (much less historical monuments) that has people up in arms over Confederate Statues, just as it wasn’t really history that caused a word to fall off the monument in Santa Fe. Such battles are always about the present. They are about the way that people think and use history to shape the present, and there are usually some very specific present implications in these battles.
People typically see the present interests loud and clear when they confront advocates of social justice. If anyone ever forgets this, the term ‘political correctness’ is right there to remind us that someone (or at least someone on the left) has an agenda. What folks are slower to get, it seems, is the fact that these sorts of gestures are hardly neutral to begin with. There is a reason James W. Loewen devoted a fair portion of his book, Lies Across America, to Confederate monuments, and it wasn’t because these monuments contain sober and thoughtful commentary on the actual history of the region. A statue to a confederate hero isn’t just a reference to history as such; it says something to those who those whose ancestors those heroes fought to keep in bondage. And a monument to heroes who died fighting ‘savage Indians’ may say something noble to those descended from colonists (Spanish or Anglo) in the American southwest; it says something else to those descended from those very ‘savage Indians’.
To be sure, complications abound. Some folks may have ancestors on either end or neither of his memorial demographics, and some people may have no dog in the fight at all. Also ironic usage happens. Not every Native American takes umbrage at the word ‘savage’ just as not every Native American objects to the term ‘Redskins’. But we should be wary of efforts to make these exceptions into the rule. The Washington football team has, for, example paid good money trying to find, cultivate, and promote just about any Native American willing to help foster the notion that the team name reflects anything but a racist stereotype. Were the team name really so bland, one might almost wonder what use it would have for people interested in such a martial sport! And of course we now have the Cheetoh-in-Chief (who has his own bullshit civil war monument) mourning the loss of beautiful artwork and a desecration of history with every Confederate statue that goes down. His language is so flowery and positive. You’d almost think these monuments held no serious political significance in the present age.
Of course the folks delivering the Nazi salute in defense of Robert E. Lee might seem to argue otherwise.
There are people, times, and places who don’t find it necessary to remove or modify monuments to their sordid past. Some of these might not even be terrible people, places, or times. But if the monuments to an abusive past aren’t so toxic, this isn’t simply because potential critics choose to let it slide; it’s because the community as a whole has somehow managed to handle the issues in question. When the dominant voices prove tone-deaf or outright hostile to the interests of those on the wrong-side of monumental history, then we are all a lot less likely to get along. Then statues get pulled down.
…or someone just shows up with a chisel.
***
Just a few pics of Canyon de Chelly (click to embiggen):
Meet Kateri Tekakwitha (1656-1680). She is Mohawk and Algonquin. She is also the first North American Indian be canonized by the Catholic Church. She is the fourth Native American to become a saint, having been preceded by three central American natives. You might think that is what makes her uncommon, or might have thought it unusual that I am taking time to plug a Catholic saint (which is certainly an uncommon thing for me to do), and fair enough on both points.
What really interests me here is Kateri’s attire. Standing as she is here in front of the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi in Santa Fe, I can’t tell if her attire is fitting or not. You see, she appears to be dressed as Pueblo, which is a little bit unusual (perhaps not fitting) for a Mohawk woman. How did she get so dressed? It might have something to do with the fact that Kateri’s sculptor in this instance was Estella Loretto of Jemez, which would make her attire fitting after all.
…but it’s still just a little odd.
Of course, for some of us ‘odd’ is good proxy for ‘interesting’.
Tekakwitha is portrayed in Iroquois dress inside the Cathedral itself. I would hardly have noticed that this was the same woman, and I have to thank my friend John for pointing this out to me. Just what to make of the changes in dress, I’m not entirely sure. A visit to a Catholic Church is certainly an uncommon experience for me.
I was sitting down for lunch at a conference in Santa Fe as a snow storm settled on the town when someone asked me how the cold here compared to the cold back home. I told her it wasn’t cold enough here.
After the laughter, I explained that I had stepped in a puddle of melted snow that morning, the result being that my foot was cold and wet. This was not the sort of thing I had to worry about in Barrow, at least not for much of the year.
Santa Fe just isn’t cold enough.
Oh but it’s a beautiful city for a walk, even with the wet snow that melts around your feet and makes them wet.
***
Quite a few of these murals are from a sort of youth center, called Warehouse 21.
So, I just got back to Vegas after spending a few days in Santa Fe. I was there to visit the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) along with some folks from my own institution and about 5 other tribal colleges. IAIA is a 4-year tribal college, and they have an awful lot going for them. The trip also included a visit to Taos Pueblo, several excursions into downtown, and a trip out to some interesting rock formations. For the present, I thought I would just put up a gallery of the lovely IAIA campus.
Students were gone for the summer, and a number of displays had been pulled down, but the campus still has an amazing variety of art projects. They also have a digital dome, the worlds only fully articulating dome. It hangs from four chains which can be raised or lowered to change the angle of the display. …and yes, students get to use it.
Seriously, there are few institutions in this world about which I can’t think of anything critical to say. In fact, right now I think the list may have one entry.
The Institute for American Indian Arts
Dance Circle, They hold various outdoor functions here (including a Powwow in May)
The IAIA Dance Circle from above.
IAIA Sculpture 1, Bison
IAIA Sculpture 2.
IAIA Windchimes
IAIA, Sculpture 4
IAIA, Sculpture 5
IAIA, Sculpture 6
I don’t know the story behind this one. Something tells me it’s a good one.
IAIA, Exterior Mural 1
IAIA, Exterior Mural 2
IAIA. The couches in the student Learning center beckon students to places where the can get help. …it’s a devious kindness that lies in wait here.
IAIA, Interior Mural 1
IAIA, Sundry art 1
IAIA, Sundry Art 2
IAIA, Sundry Art 3
IAIA, Interior Sculpture 1
IAIA, Display 1
IAIA, Interior Sculpture 2
(This appears to be a play on an old cliche, the image of a dying Indian)
IAIA, Decoration in an Office Window
IAIA, Interior Mural 2
IAIA, Interior Sculpture 2
(It’s a Headdress)
IAIA, Interior Mural 3
IAIA, Ethnobotany Display
IAIA, Museum Collections 1
(Storage)
IAIA, Museum Collections 2
(Storage)
IAIA, Museum Collections 3
(Storage)
IAIA, Museum Collections 4
(Storage)
IAIA, Museum Collections 5
(Storage)
IAIA, Museum Collections 6
(Storage)
IAIA, Museum Display 1
IAIA, Museum Display 2
IAIA, Digital Dome
IAIA, We all have our battles
IAIA, Metalsmithing Teacher’s Office
IAIA, Sundry Art 4
IAIA, Sundry Art 5
IAIA Display 2
Corner Murals
IAIA, Interior Mural 4
IAIA, Exterior Sculpture 8
IAIA, Sidewalk Art
IAIA, Sidewalk Art 2
IAIA, Landscaping
IAIA, Just Cool!
IAIA, Conference Room and Student Art 1
IAIA, Conference Room and Student Art 2
IAIA, Conference Room and Student Art 3
Conference Room and Student Art 4
Lobby
IAIA, The Garden.
They use some of this in the cafeteria, which is by the way the most awesome food I have had in a college cafeteria.