Hello, I’m Sharon Bryant. I am an associate professor at the Decker College of health sciences at Binghamton University, and I’m delighted to introduce you to 19th-century artist Susan Waters.  

 Susan Waters’ Landscape with Cows presents an idyllic moment in the countryside. The herd, each uniquely and lovingly rendered, has just come over the crest of a hill to a watering hole for refreshment. Some animals, like the mother and calf, are already in the water while others are still making their way down the hill. One cow, who might have tried to stray from the destination, is engaged by a collie trying to keep the herd together. A cowherd with a staff follows the cows to their destination. The first rays of sun appear in the background. Waters presents the story of the cows’ journey along a winding path that passed a farmhouse and crossed a stone bridge before reaching the pond surrounded by boulders, tree stumps, and fallen branches.  

In 19th century America, activism meant something quite different than it does today. Without the internet and social media as a tool for grassroots organizing, people interested in creating change in society built local chapters of national or international organizations to connect, share information, and plan actions to advance their causes. Susan Waters was passionate about numerous causes and used her paintings and public position to contribute to those changes. As a Hicksite Quaker, Waters’ spiritual beliefs included the perspective that women had a significant and elevated role in decision-making in religious practice and the household. This intrinsic equity allowed her to pursue a career as a portraitist, photographer, and landscape painter. She became the principal financial support for her family in a time when most women did not have careers outside of the home or farm. This position led Waters to become an active member in the fight for women’s right to vote. She became the recording secretary of the New Jersey Women’s Suffrage Association and spoke publicly about the importance of women’s rights. In 1876, she was one of the few artists to have her paintings included in both the Art Gallery building and the Women’s Pavilion at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. This increased her success as an artist and promoted her position as a woman with an unusual and successful career. 

Another cause important to Waters was the treatment of animals. She participated in her local chapter of Bands of Mercy, an international organization that actively promoted kindness to all creatures. In the latter part of her career, Waters’ paintings focused on animals in a way most artists did not. Animals are central to her narrative rather than an accessory or compositional element. Rather than repeating the depiction of the same animal, Waters painted each of her cows with qualities and characteristics that convey their unique personalities. In doing so, she elevated their story and used her skill as an artist to encourage the viewer to see animals as deserving of our respect and kindness. Notice the stark contrast between the animals in Waters’ painting, and the other animals depicted in this gallery by her artistic peers. 

Hello, I’m Alex Dell, an author, engineer, and resident of Painted Post, NY. I’m happy to have the opportunity to tell you about artist Cyrus Dallin.  

On the Warpath is one of two bronze sculptures flanking the enormous painting Mt. Whitney by Albert Bierstadt. Although fairly large, it sits atop a pedestal so that the top of the sculpture aligns with an average adult’s eye level. Dallin’s bronze depicts a male figure on horseback. The horse is at rest, with all four feet on the ground, looking calmly ahead. The figure, in contrast, appears highly alert, turning at the waist so that his head faces in the opposite direction from his horse’s. His left arm rests on the horse’s back clutching a bow. His right arm balances his twist and his right hand rests calmly on the horse’s neck.  

We are meant to assume the individual to be a Native American man based on signifiers in his appearance such as his moccasins, two long braids, single feather attached to the top of his head, necklaces, loincloth and otherwise uncovered body. The artist, Cyrus Dallin, was born in Utah and grew up living in proximity with members of the Ute Tribe. He moved East to settle in Boston and study art, but throughout his life he continued to visit family in Utah and remained connected to the Ute friends he made as a boy. As an adult he would likely have spoken with these friends about their first-hand experience with the United States’ forced removal and inhumane assimilation policies, such as reservations and boarding schools.  

Although Dallin was extremely prolific and created sculptural representations of many historical figures in the Boston area and beyond, he returned to the subject of Indigenous people time and again throughout his long career. He used the equestrian convention, typically reserved to celebrate European men, to signify his figures’ importance. He spoke publicly about the injustice of the country’s continued policies of systemic violence, saying in 1921, “never in the history of nations…has there been so strong a race prejudice as subsists in the Anglo Saxons.” He spent the latter half of his career advocating for Indigenous rights, working with Native and non-Native people to eventually realize the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934, which increased Indigenous self-governance and protected sovereignty.  

Although Dallin was an ally for Indigenous people in the early 1900s, his minimally dressed figures play into the stereotypes of Native Americans as Noble Savages. It is unlikely that his indigenous friends would have dressed in this way at that time. His depiction of them without markings of modernity freezes them in the past. How does Dallin’s sculpture compare to the other bronze in this gallery? Are there visual cues that reveal his advocacy? What has changed about activism and allyship since 1914?  

Hello, I’m Anjanette Lecher, a member of the Choctaw Nation and born and raised on the Tuscarora Indian Nation. I am the Director of Intellectual Asset Management in the Law department of Corning Inc., and I’m pleased to introduce you to Jaune Quick-to-See Smith

NDN (For Life) is a towering canvas consisting of a neutral palette of primarily beige and blue-gray colors. The composition is anchored by a life-size dress that evokes a traditional Northern Plains Native American style garment, with wide sleeves and an asymmetrical hem. The dress is presented as it would be on display in a museum, with the arms outstretched. Emblazoned on the chest of the dress are the letters “N-D-N” in foot-tall Times New Roman font. Below, smaller, are the words “for life.” The dress appears blue gray but is partially obscured by an added layer of off-white paint falling in vertical drips. Along with the dress, the drips cover up a collage of scientific illustrations of insects, fish, plants, and wolves along with writing samples, and scientific imagery.

As an enrolled member of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Nation, Quick-to-See Smith has been creating complex paintings and prints since the 1970s. Her artwork is characterized by strong socio-political commentary that calls attention to the experience of Native Americans in the United States. Quick-to-See Smith values honesty in history saying, “Because of popular myth-making, Native Americans are seen as vanished. It helps assuage the government’s guilt about an undocumented genocide, as well as stealing the whole country.”[1]

In this artwork, Quick-to-See Smith plays with representation, appearances and prejudices. The animals, insects and plants obscured by the dripping off-white paint are commonly mistaken for things that look similar but are different. For example, the fish represented is chum, a type of salmon often referred to as “dogfish salmon” because of its longer snout and teeth that grow during spawning and is considered a less tasty variety of fish.

The swirl shape represents optical illusions and alludes to how Native Americans identify themselves and are perceived by others. Quick-to-See Smith reinforces this concept by choosing a Plains-style dress to adorn with the letters “NDN” – meant to sound like the word “Indian.” Plains-style dress has become representative of all Native Americans through Hollywood depictions. In actuality, there are over 500 federally recognized Indigenous Nations throughout North America, and many more that do not have federal recognition. What does a “Native American” look like? The identity of Native American people is layered and complex and cannot be consolidated into a single narrative.

Despite what erroneous perceptions others might have of Indigenous people, Quick-to-See Smith brands the artwork with the label that feels like it can’t be taken off. What labels do you feel that other people apply to you? Are there labels you feel like you can’t take off?

Hello, this is Anjanette Lecher to tell you about Virgil Ortiz’s Ancient Elder/Pueblo Revolt 1680 – 2180  

Ancient Elder is a ceramic representation of a character in the 1680/2180 Pueblo Revolt series that tells the story of a science-fiction themed conflict. An oracle guide, embodying wisdom and knowledge of ancestors, it stands strong, head tilted upright, gazing straight ahead, with almond-shaped, pupil-less eyes. A larger third eye protrudes from the figure’s forehead, extending from beneath a broad-brimmed striped hat. Creamy off-white and black symmetrical designs line the skin and body armor. Radiating shoulder armor extends the visual composition of the body, painted with precise geometric circles, triangles and fine lines capped with swirls. A pattern of circles is depicted along the arms and hands which rest over the figure’s abdomen. A cloak, emblazoned with triangles, wraps around the body. Draping folds pool behind the character’s firmly planted feet. Black boots with streaked lines add to the strength and weight of Ancient Elder. There is a stylized “X” visible on the thigh, the artist’s unique signature.

Prolific Cochiti Pueblo artist Virgil Ortiz transports viewers between realms of time and space through revolutionary characters that adapt, survive and ultimately thrive in a story of truth and hope for humanity. Ortiz lives in Cochiti Pueblo in New Mexico and learned traditional techniques of sculpting clay from his mother and grandmother. He honors the women in his family and the matrilineal heritage of his culture by creating powerful female characters, transforming the lens of history. As Ortiz says, “art saves lives.” Inspired by Star Wars and Star Trek, his innovative and fearless vision merges ceramics with fashion, design, film, video and storytelling, bringing attention to issues of oppression and erasure impacting Native American communities.

His apocalyptic and sci-fi inspired work, focusing on the theme of justice, feels familiar to audiences thanks to popular movies and television. Using these familiar settings and narrative arcs, he aims to educate people about the little-known historic 1680 Pueblo Revolt. The Pueblo Revolt defeated the Spanish colonizers for 12 years. Even after the Spanish reinstated their rule, the Revolt secured lasting concessions. Ortiz considers this event to be the 1^st American Revolution. The 1680/2180 series portrays Native Americans as superheroes, imagining a future revolt where Indigenous Pueblo people come together and form alliances to restore their sacred lands in New Mexico. Power dynamics between Indigenous people and the United States remain a constant negotiation today. Ortiz brilliantly unravels the dark history of upheaval and conquest while offering a reminder of victory and hope for the future.

Hello, Sharon Bryant here again, to introduce you to Elizabeth Catlett.  

 Elizabeth Catlett’s bronze Seated Mother & Child is a table-top sculpture presented on a pedestal. It depicts a seated black woman wearing a simple shift dress and holding a small baby. She calmly gazes straight ahead as her child sits upright on her lap. The child relaxes back into his mother and her hands encircle his waist protectively. The mother’s chest cradles the baby’s head. His head turns in a gesture that anticipates nursing. The figures’ shortly cropped hair is reminiscent of Edo sculptures from Africa. Their features are delicately abstracted. The mother sits on a stool with her feet planted firmly on a wooden base. The dark patina of the bronze creates a smooth, glossy surface that diffuses the light. Catlett’s work embodies dignity, calm, emotional sensitivity, and an elegance of proportion. 

Elizabeth Catlett used her sculpture and printmaking as social commentary and political criticism at a time when women and people of color were systemically marginalized. Born in 1915 and living until 2012, Catlett had a wealth of first-person knowledge of misogyny, racism, and exploitation to inform her work. Yet, her bronzes reflect a quiet dignity that contrast the violent oppression women and Black people faced. 

As one of the most celebrated American artists of the 20th century, Catlett earned degrees in fine art. Like many Black southern daughters, her family likely ensured that she take full advantage of available educational opportunities.  Education allowed Black women to pursue careers beyond domestic roles. Likewise, hearing her grandmothers talk about the years they spent enslaved, urged her to take advantage of the legal freedoms available to her. As a child, she dreamed of being an artist – despite American museums, especially in the South, being whites-only spaces throughout her formative years.  

After winning 1st Prize at the American Negro Exposition, Catlett accepted a teaching position in New Orleans in 1940. She served as the Chair of the Art Department at Dillard University, a historically black college. During her tenure, a Picasso exhibition came to the Delgado Museum (now the New Orleans Museum of Art). Catlett wanted to take her students to this exhibit, but there was a problem. The Delgado was located in New Orleans City Park. Both the park and museum were open only to white people. Catlett cleverly negotiated with the city to make special arrangements for her students to see the exhibit. They were bussed through the park and delivered straight to the steps of the Delgado Museum on a day it was closed to the public. For most of these art students, it was the first time they had ever been allowed to visit a museum.  

Catlett’s art and advocacy paved the way for future generations of Black artists and women artists of color. Her stylized figures reflect a pride in her Black culture and identity as a woman, mother, and artist who challenged the boundaries of her generation. 

Hi. My name is Dr. Amanda Lett, and I am the curator of collections and exhibitions here at The Rockwell Museum. I’m so excited to share with you all a new painting in our collection by Eliza B. Duffy.  

In Eliza B. Duffey’s Still Life with Books, Peach, and Butterfly, a brown background allows the yellows, pinks, purples, and greens of the flowers to seemingly glow as they rest atop the warm wood of a table. The center of the composition is anchored by two yellow objects: a tall, yellow vase and the delicate blue, yellow and black butterfly that gently hovers over a stack of books on the viewer’s right. The vase, lightly decorated with vines around the neck and a geometric design along the base, overflows with dark green and red leaves that pour from the top, while pink and purple wildflower blooms emerge from the center. Layered in meaning, this painting erupts in an abundance of flowers and suggests the passage of time. Small phlox, barebell, and primrose blossoms, in the language of flowers, suggest grief but unity—perhaps reflecting the end of the Civil War. Notably, Duffey paints a living butterfly into this scene, breaking the illusion of stillness to capture a moment of spontaneity. 

In the 1800s, still life was very popular with collectors, but seen by serious art critics as unsophisticated art for an unsophisticated viewer. Yet for Americans in the mid-1800s, still life works of flowers, fruits, and vases symbolized abundance and prosperity. These images were appropriate for a well-appointed parlor and a signal of the refined taste of the woman of the house. Indeed, still life subjects were highly gendered: scenes of game, fish, and even tromp l’oeil, or “fool the eye” images of playing cards or money decorated men’s offices and studies, while women’s magazines suggested that images of flowers and fruit should decorate more feminine social spaces. 

Artist, advocate, and author, Eliza B. Duffey is remembered by historians today for her work advocating for women’s education and rights within marriage. For several years after the Civil War, Duffey also had a successful career as a painter of still life scenes, showing her work repeatedly at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art, and eventually earning status as an Associate Academician with that organization. While little is known of her early life, her career as both an artist and an activist reveal a remarkable 19th-century woman. 

Described by neighbors as being “of a quiet disposition with little time for social duties,” Duffey wrote several books that strenuously argued for women’s rights at this time. In What Women Should Know, published in 1873, Duffey argued that married women should not be the property of their husbands, and should have the right of bodily autonomy within their relationships. More famously, Duffey also wrote No Sex in Education: An Equal Chance for Girls and Boys, in which she argued against the popular theory that women who undertook higher education would “suffer nervous collapse and sterility.” Duffey opposed these ideas in both her writing — arguing that good educations for all genders were the key to a healthy lifestyle and a strong, national foundation—and in the example of her life. 

Hello again, it’s Salem Estrada, and I’m excited to talk to you about Felix Gonzalez-Torres. 

Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s Untitled  (L.A.) installation is made entirely of orange candies in a pyramid-shaped pile directly on the gallery floor below the window. Yes candy! The mango flavored candies are individually wrapped in crinkly clear cellophane material. You are invited to participate in this conceptual work of art. Please take a candy, unwrap it, place it in your mouth and taste the sweetness. Does the mango flavor jolt your senses? As you continue to listen, be mindful of this sensory experience as you eat this piece of candy. Traditional museum rules include no touching the art, and certainly no eating the artwork, but in this case, your participation is part of the art. Now, look back at the candy pile that originally weighed 50 lbs., and consider how it will dwindle, morph, and change over time with visitor participation.  

The weight of each work in the “Candy Spill” series reflects a milestone in Gonzalez-Torres’s relationship with life-partner, Ross Laycock, who sadly died of AIDS in 1991. The dwindling pile is a metaphor for the deterioration of the human body. This personal piece brings attention to love, loss, remembrance, and grief, but also joy, experienced through the candy’s sweet tanginess and zest. Through confronting Ross’s death, Gonzalez-Torres was also dealing with his own illness. He died of AIDS in 1996 at the age of 38. The idea of longevity, human connectivity, and the human spirit are important elements in his work, considering what exists beyond life, after the body decays. How are people remembered? How are important issues, like the AIDS pandemic, continually addressed?  

Gonzalez-Torres was born in Cuba, lived in Spain, Puerto Rico, NYC, and LA, and was an openly gay contemporary artist in the 1980s and 1990s. He was a founder of Group Material, a New York-based artist-activist group dedicated to using art as an expressive, communicative platform to disrupt boundaries and impact social and political change. By the end of the 1990s, over 14 million people had died due to complications from AIDS, and it became the fourth leading cause of death worldwide. Artists, such as Gonzalez-Torres, played an instrumental role in HIV and AIDS advocacy by spreading awareness of the illness and correcting misconceptions.  

Gonzalez-Torres also viewed teaching as activism, stating “teaching for me is a form of cultural activism, a form of creative change at a very basic level.” To him, it was an opportunity to instill expansive ways of thinking and learn from the next generation. He taught at NYU and transformed the course curriculum to focus on the importance of developing artistic processes and intentionality of choices through artmaking and active art engagement. How do you provoke people to engage? How can artists challenge perspectives, both intellectually and emotionally?  

To ensure his works continue to exist and to be made accessible to new audiences, Gonzalez-Torres created a system of “certificates of ownership”. Through written directions to the owner of the artwork that specify ground rules, such as the type of candy to use, how to replenish the pile, and parameters for display, his art installations continue to be shared, from generation to generation. His ideas are given a physical form, in this case candies, but it is the core message of love, loss, remembrance, and joy that lives on in this conceptual work of art that provokes us to think more deeply.  

Hello, I’m Salem Estrada. I am a High School Learning Center graduate and have been involved with many Alley Art Project murals in the Corning community. I am currently in college for a degree in funeral directing and embalming and am employed by two funeral homes in Corning. I am now going to share about artist Stephen Towns with you.   

In brilliant turquoise, yellow, green, and red, artist Stephen Towns recreates a scene that happens every day—a woman getting her hair done. Seated under a white draped cloth, a woman has her hair straightened by her beautician, here dressed to work in a crisp, white uniform. While she is working, two other women stand by to offer suggestions and instruction—the “Hair Lessons” of the title—as the seated woman has her hair styled.  

If we look more closely at the scene, we realize that this hair salon is not in the space we expect. In the background behind the women is a chalkboard and right above the door is a cross. This beauty school is mostly likely in a church classroom and the artist is celebrating the ways a community comes together to meet the needs of its people. Towns use of vibrant colors and realistic setting makes the scene come alive—we can almost hear the conversation and smell the straighteners and hair products.  

Stephen Towns is known for reimagining American history by centering the Black experience in his paintings and quilts. Here, he is inspired by photographs by Charles “Teenie” Harris, a Pittsburgh-based photographer who focused his lens on the African American community during the mid-20th century. Towns visits archives across the United States to uncover images of Black life in America. By paring these black and white photos with images from popular magazines from the 1950s and 1960s, such as Jet or Ebony, he brings a sense of real life, color, and joy to his work.  

Towns’s explores the part of life that is only remembered in old photographs and snippets of stories told at home. He focuses his work on everyday people because, he says, “There is a narrative that we come from kings and queens, but I probably didn’t come from a king or a queen. I probably came from a laborer who was captured and sold into slavery, and there is just as much importance in the people in the background as there is in the people on top.” 

This work is even more poignant because for many Black women, hair can be a cultural, political, and personal statement. While the standards of beauty are slowly changing, African American women are often stereotyped based on their hairstyles. Towns celebrates these women as they care for each other, create a community, and pass down knowledge from one generation to the next.  

Hello, it’s Anjanette Lecher, now I’m going to introduce you to Gail Tremblay. 

 The bright, opaque red, green, white, and blue woven strips curl outward from the surface of this series of baskets in twisted loops. Some strips are transparent, revealing snippets of film imagery. The heights of the baskets vary from approximately 6 to 10 inches tall, with similar widths of 5 – 7 ½ inches. There is a uniform rhythm to the weaving of each basket with consistent looped angles. The evenly twisted loops draw your eye around the forms’ positive and negative space. Tiny holes are visible where some of the film edges connect. Golden cords are woven along the lidded rims and base of each basket, adding another layered detail reflecting the shimmer of light. One or more of these baskets may be on view as you listen to this.  

Artist Gail Tremblay was an American artist, poet, and educator influenced by Haudenosaunee culture who created works of art that comment on American history, pop culture, and environmentalism. She spent her life collaborating with Native American and Feminist art creators and activists. 

Here, Tremblay uses 16-millimeter film to weave basket forms that recall Indigenous styles, adding layers of meaning to her work. These film strips are 1970s documentaries about Native Americans filmed by non-Native people. History was not accurately portrayed in these movies. They perpetuated many toxic and hurtful stereotypes that viewers still believe. Tremblay is recycling and reusing the film from these movies so that we do not forget how people shared these harmful stories decades ago, while also taking the film strips out of circulation.  

She pursues themes in her work that address the difficult history of aggression and violence that is woven through Indigenous and Anglo-European relations. Her long titles reference war, the persecution of Native cultures, and the numerous treaties that were promised but never kept. The treaties were and continue to be disregarded and violated by the United States government. 

Tremblay’s combination of multi-media materials with traditional methods is both innovative and purposeful. The ash tree, traditionally used to create basketry, is endangered. In 2002, the emerald ash borer, an invasive beetle, arrived in the United States. This insect species is sadly killing millions of Ash trees every year. Because the ash tree is endangered, Tremblay’s idea of using film strips to weave baskets cleverly points out the ways art forms must adapt in the face of changing resources due to climate change. 

Hello, it’s Molly Bierman, and I’m excited to talk to you about Martine Gutierrez.  

A brown-skinned, black-haired woman gazes boldly out at the viewer in this arresting portrait. The sitter is the artist, Martine Gutierrez, who radiates confidence and pride. The bright pink backdrop illuminates her strong pose, enhanced by her theatrically braced arms and hands, her weight slightly shifted to one side. Her eyes are framed with pink makeup. She is adorned with layers of silver and turquoise jewelry, along with rainbow patterned clothing that evokes Indigenous Mexican culture. False strands and braids of hair adorned with stylized quetzal (khut-saal) flowers made from colorful tinfoil or metallic paper, reach above her head, almost mimicking the growth of branches from a tree. This photographic self-portrait is framed with hand-carved and brightly painted wood that extends the details from within to the edges of the artwork – it demands your attention!  

Gutierrez is an artist, performer, writer, and musician who explores the complexity, fluidity, and nuances of both personal and collective identity in her art. She was born in Berkeley, CA, lives and works in New York City, and has been featured in media productions and exhibitions worldwide. Growing up, she did not feel represented in the media, magazines, or the fashion industry. She questioned gender stereotypes. Who is the accepted feminine ideal? What happens when you don’t see yourself represented in society? She took an active response to the mainstream, singular perspective of media’s portrayal of beauty and created her own publication, acting as subject, artist and muse. In 2018, she printed Indigenous Woman, a 124-page magazine-like project with the intention of addressing conventional ideals of beauty, race, class, sexuality, and gender biases embedded in our culture. This artwork is part of that series. 

Gutierrez says, quote “I believe it is possible to create an empathetic and supportive society, but it requires that we all educate ourselves, that we learn to be allies and activists who understand our own privilege. Mutual understanding has the power to change the world.” End quote. Her artwork examines and questions societal norms. As someone who never felt represented in the mainstream, Gutierrez takes control of her own image. Instead of hiding, she puts herself and her cultural background on full display. She courageously celebrates her complex gender identity and Mesoamerican heritage and is proud of her “ever-evolving self-image.” 

Hello, Anjanette Lecher here again. I’m going to introduce you to Michael Naranjo. 

Michael Naranjo’s The Last Dance is a dark patina bronze sculpture presented on a pedestal. It depicts a Native American man performing a ceremonial dance. You are invited to touch this sculpture – go ahead and run your fingers across the surface for a multisensory experience. What textures do you feel? The sculpture evokes a strong sense of motion. The figure is crouching down, low to the ground with his bare torso almost parallel to his thighs. His arms are outstretched to either side of his body with a cape of eagle wings spread across his arms and back. He is wearing an eagle headdress, with the beak extending out over his forehead as he turns his head to the left. The sculpture captures the powerful agile movement of a skilled dancer and is made accessible to people through touch.  

This work, like many of Naranjo’s sculptures, represents the people and customs of his birthplace–Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1944. He was one of 10 children, all of whom spent their childhood exploring the Santa Clara reservation. Rose Naranjo, his mother and well-known potter, encouraged her son’s interests in art; as a child, Naranjo would often sit with his mother sculpting small animals from clay.  

In 1967, Naranjo was drafted into the United States Army and sent to fight in the Vietnam War. Only one year into his service, Naranjo was caught in an ambush; he heroically picked up a grenade that landed near his troop and threw it away from the group just before it exploded, saving his fellow servicemen. However, he suffered near-fatal injuries, losing sight in both eyes and the use of his right hand. While recuperating in the hospital in Japan, the wounded 23-year-old asked a volunteer for some modeling clay and sculpted a small figure, rekindling his memories and desire to have a career in art.  

Naranjo’s inspiration comes mostly from his memories. He works with wax, sculpting by feel with his left hand before casting the forms in bronze. The nuances of shape and texture in each piece are intended to be experienced through touch. He states, “Over the years, my blindness has made me realize that, for me, the feeling of the piece becomes more important than intricate detail. My work is representational. The patina I choose for my bronzes is matte black, which has become my trademark, as this is the color I see…Having been denied access to art in many places over the years has led me to the decision to have my work displayed in public places to be seen and touched, when possible, and to be enjoyed by others.” 

Over his 40-plus years of sculpting, Naranjo has received many awards, including the Distinguished Achievement Award from the National Press Club in Washington, D.C., and the LIFE Foundation’s Presidential Unsung Hero Award. Naranjo’s art and advocacy not only helps to strengthen inclusiveness in the arts for individuals with disabilities but offers the opportunity for full engagement for everyone.  

Hello again, Alex Dell here to tell you about Luis Tapia.  

 This tall sculpture of carved and painted wood stands on a pedestal and appears playful and cartoonish at first glance. It depicts three clergy members standing in an altar-like space. Tapia makes full use of his three-dimensional medium. As your vantage point changes, you see different elements of the sculpture, which is loaded with iconography of the Catholic Church. The three clergy, or religious figures, stand on top of a stepped platform, which is repeated above their heads. The platforms are joined by three columns, each of which is topped by a gargoyle’s face and footed by a painted cube. Each of the cube’s four sides show a different painted crying child’s face. Three smaller columns above encircle three roosters, facing outward. The similarity in the composition of the clergy and roosters implies a relationship between the human and bird figures. A gold dome featuring a small, but ornate, cross tops the sculpture. The central figures, each in a different garment symbolic of positions in the Catholic church, are the artwork’s namesake: holding their hands over either their eyes, ears or mouth, they represent the proverb that titles the piece.  

Luis Tapia identifies as Chicano, a term used by individuals of Mexican descent born in the United States. Raised just outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico, he taps into the cultural heritage of his ancestry and home state. Folk artists in Santa Fe have a long history of creating polychrome santos, or multi-color religious figures, out of carved wood. The tone and subject matter of Tapia’s work ranges from playful and celebratory to critical and biting. His artwork brings the santo tradition up to date. It reflects and comments on the religious, political, and social issues that are important in today’s world. 

Santos were intended for use in religious worship and are typically associated with the Catholic faith. Northern New Mexico is heavily influenced by the Catholic Church, but much of that influence was by force, and is not positive. The Franciscans were sent to the territories of New Spain by King Charles III to set up missions and convert the indigenous people to Christianity. This established a system of forced conversions, oppression and violence towards Native populations at the hands of European colonizers.  

The artwork takes its name from a Chinese proverb about avoiding evil. In the Western world, the proverb has evolved to mean turning a blind eye to wrongdoing. By the date of the artwork’s creation in 2011, the allegations of sexual assault against the Catholic Church were widespread and well-known. The tearful faces of children placed at the bottom of the columns, combined with the clergy covering their eyes, ears, and mouth, and the long history of violence in Tapia’s home region at the hands of the Church, seem to indict Catholicism for a record of wrongdoings.