Over the break I found myself staring at my iPhone and marveling at how bland it was. I know that everyone’s always gushing about how sleek and beautiful their iPhones are, but I was kind of disgusted with it’s generic, corporate feel. Yuck. So I set off to fix the sucker.

You need a set of jewelers screwdrivers and tools, preferably ones that will take the screen apart without marring the finish. You take the case apart and set the screen aside and do a bunch of secret stuff to it. If it doesn’t take, you give it a sharp whack with a ball & peen hammer, just to knock a bit of sense into it. Show it who’s the boss around here, dang it.

Then you put it back together and voilà! You end up with a much cooler iPhone. Apple will void the warranty, but who cares? My warranty ran out decades ago.

Whoa! Look at all those cool new icons, man.

• My favorite new icon is the camera. Hey, I’m a photographer and don’t give a shit what anyone says, Hasselblad still rules all.
• The Stocks and Weather icons were made especially for 2012. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
• I’ll guarantee you that my maps are way more accurate than google’s dopey stuff. Made by none other than Scotty on the USS Enterprise.
• You can’t reach some of my contacts on a stinkin’ iPhone, you need way better Mojo than that.
• I’m not saying what happens when you push the “Larry McNeil” button. You’ll just have to find out for yourself.
• Some of my mail is delivered via the Raven Express and you definitely need good Mojo for that too. Reserve this one for important stuff.

I call this the Raven iPhone and now I feel like it’s mine and not some drone zone phone. Bottom’s up, man.

Story and Photos Copyright Larry McNeil, 2012. All Rights Reserved.

On this auspicious first day of 2012, I wish you an extraordinary new year and the hope that things improve for the people, and for our home planet. It seems that the global state of gloom and doom has gotten everyone’s attention by now.

I can’t help but be reminded that it is the struggle that defines humanity, and we are at our best when things get rugged. My advice is to remain flexible with whatever you encounter this year, especially if it’s challenging. Sharpen your wits to a razor’s edge and don’t forget the coffee.

Ice lens.

As for myself, I’m going to add a new camera to my bag of tricks, just in case. It has a built-in monopod that not only shoots cool photos, but can double as a zombie flail if need be. I call this my 2012 Digital Camera, because it takes five digits to grasp it properly.

My new custom-made camera setup for 2012.

Nothing freezes the zombie action like this 2012 Digital Camera. You realize I’m just kidding, right? It’s really not a flail at all; it’s just a camera for the upcoming year.

Have a great new year and remember, the magic words for 2012 are flexibility, preparedness and quick wits. Think like a raven.

Story & Photos Copyright Larry McNeil, 2012, All Rights Reserved

I don’t mean saving your digital photos in the biblical sense. If you have bad photos they’re going to hell regardless.

Gold DVD-R's are worth their weight in, well... gold.

Empty your digital camera’s memory card and burn the photos to a DVD-R disc. Same with the photos from your cell phone because I’m sure there are lots of cool ones there. Burning your photos onto gold DVD-R’s are the best way of saving them for the future. There is NO close second place here. Everyone always brags about how cool and fast digital photography is compared to film, and I’d agree for the most part. However, the one aspect that is more tedious is the archiving. It drives me kind of near the edge to have to do this all the time, but it’s the best method by a long shot. Take my word on this one.

I like to transform it into a kind of a Zen experience, where you put yourself in a quasi-meditative state and do a lot of them at once. Some of us even have our own choice composers to listen to as we merge into this higher plane. My own favorite is John Coltrane’s “Live in Japan” double album. His live version of “My Favorite Things” always sends me directly into the zone. As the raven flies.

Coltrane's Live Album has been known to open the portal to the universe next door, so be prepared to hold onto your chair or something.

Anyway, get some of the DVD pages so that you can put them all in a notebook. Organize them so you can find specific photos easily. Some people simply organize them by date. If you’re a pro, you use something like a photo database program like Lightroom or Aperture. In the big scheme of things, it doesn’t matter how you do it, the main thing is to just get them onto the gold discs.

Do this as one of your new year’s resolutions. Care for your photos. Ommm.

Story & Photos Copyright Larry McNeil 2011, All Rights Reserved

First Light, Winter Solstice (lithograph)

Back in the summer of 2007 I made a collaborative print with Brooke Steiger titled “First Light, Winter Solstice.” Brooke did a beautiful job and I really love this print, especially now at First Light, on Winter Solstice.

Raven steals everything that isn’t nailed down. Heck, even some stuff that is nailed down, so it was perfectly natural that I in turn “borrowed” Edward Curtis’ flagship photograph that he dubiously titled “The Vanishing Race.” Sorry Curtis, it’s mine now. Only it is changed to reflect a scene more grounded in reality. Rez cars.

Curtis made a high art out of constructing inane stereotypical scenes about Indians, such as this one with them riding into the sunset as a poetic farewell. The photographic scenes were a mix between what appeared to be museum dioramas and staged photo sets, complete with actors, costumes, makeup, and of course fine photography and lighting. In the midst of his photographic project on Indians, Curtis did in fact work for Cecil B. Demille as a Hollywood cameraman.

At any rate, Curtis passed his Vanishing Race photographs off as truth and did it with a flourish, because after all, he was a highly trained photographer; certainly good enough to get J.P. Morgan to provide seed money, to have President Theodore Roosevelt to write the forward to his books and have Cecil B. Demille hire him as a part of his own Hollywood myth making team. See the pattern here with myth making? I would put forth the assertion that Curtis’ work is ultimately about White Man, not indigenous people. Curtis’ photographs are telling a story strictly from the standpoint of White Man, plain and simple. It’s a romanticized Western story that has little to do with reality.

The young Edward Curtis trying to look mysterious. He was using his mom's hat in the lighting test and forgot to put his own back on.

Curtis was indeed a very talented photographer who made beautiful work about real people too though; the photographs were just not very honest much of the time, that’s all. I would have liked his work a lot better if he photographed the indigenous people as he actually found them, like in front of their cars, talking on the telephone or studying with electric light bulbs. Or better yet, with them riding by an old Rez car that was fading back into the landscape.

This takes us to First Light Winter Solstice, where I wanted to make the characters more grounded in reality, like them going to a Winter Solstice ceremony at first light, passing an old beat up pickup truck along the way. It’s about continuing ancient ceremonies, not fading into the sunset. Raven transformed the scene with a bit of magic, digital tools and good old artistry with a master Tamarind lithography printer. We had to solve a lot of very challenging creative and technical tasks too, and even had to recruit master printer Bill Lagattuta to help solve some of the more extraordinary technical roadblocks we encountered.

This Rez car was remarkably difficult to make and was where we had to pull in another master printer to get the look I was looking for.

It is only here at the first light of the new winter solstice that I again fully appreciate the teamwork that allowed us to make the lithograph I had envisioned at the beginning of our collaboration at the Tamarind Art Institute. It also took an entire team of organizations to make this project a reality, starting with the State Department, where the Arts in Embassies program resides. It also took the National Museum of the American Indian, the Tamarind Art Institute and many other key people behind the scenes to make it a reality. I send my heartfelt thank you to them all, including the other artists who participated at the time: Jaune Quick-to See Smith, Norman Aikers, Marie Watt, and Mario Martinez.

I love the idea of making art that was designed to act so specifically as an ambassador for our people. I was thinking of who we really are as Americans, both Indigenous and the proverbial ‘melting pot’ that forms our collective identity. I was thinking of early Cowboy and Indian films that formed the world’s perception of who we are, especially as a mythical place.

Raven the transformer never stops shifting things around, we are in a constant state of change.

I wanted a heroic Raven pictograph for the background because he is from our own creation story and frequently amuses himself with the often-subliminal nature of a quasi-educator, a poetic rascal. By using a sepia toned photograph I played with the perception that Indians were and are only in the past, and brought them into the present and did it with a bit of a sly joke that we can chuckle about. If we can take outdated stereotypical ideas and laugh about them, we acknowledge that they were indeed a bit absurd and we can move on in a good way. Especially at the first light of the winter solstice, which is also about transformation and continual shifts everywhere.

Art in Embassies website at the State Department. McNeil's editions may be tracked as to which Embassy is exhibiting a lithograph.

Story Copyright Larry McNeil, All Rights Reserved, 2011

Things were way too stuffy for the young West Coast California photographers; they needed fresh air, wide-open spaces, cars, the Pacific Ocean, the desert, a dash of eroticism (except for Ansel), dramatic light, and most of all, freedom from the stifling East Coast crowd and their mind-numbing Pictorialist dregs. The date was November 15, 1932, exactly 79 years ago today. It marked the date that the f/64 photographers had their coming out exhibition at the de Young Museum in San Francisco.

Come to think of it, these West Coast photographers didn’t really care for much of anything that remotely smacked of the East Coast (well, except for maybe killer bagels and lox), and even named their Oakland gallery the “683,” mocking the Alfred Stieglitz New York “291″ gallery. Mocking is good, I like that. Sometimes all you’ve got left is spunk and a nearly empty box of film. These new photographers couldn’t stand the pretentiousness of the cramped New York scene and were brazen about it. Danged if they were going to let a bunch of haughty East Coasters define them, and after naming themselves “Group F/64,” they even came up with a manifesto. How’s that for audaciousness?

Imogen Cunningham, Plant Pattern, 1920's

I absolutely love this photograph by Imogen; it reminds me of a ferocious great white shark being hunted down by Killer Whales from my ancient homeland in Alaska. The paper with the mottled light has echoes of mountainous waves and the black values at the top echoes the drama of a night sky, which is a perfect metaphor for trying to survive in the worst depression America has ever witnessed. It feels ominous and predatory without being didactic, and the coolest part is simply naming it something as innocuous as “Plant Pattern.” Brilliant, simply brilliant. Especially when you realize that it was the 1920’s and other artists were pretending to make work with relevance as Imogen was quietly making a portfolio of photograhic prints that had this visual aesthetic; she was a master of light in addition to the artistry of her compositions. I can only imagine her figuring out the light for this photograph, because like many of her other works, the negative spaces and shadows were just as pivotal as the highlights and mid-tones. Her carefully crafted rim of highlights served to add weight to the negative spaces. This is where blacks were so important, and I’m sure she spent many hours in the darkroom emphasizing this look, it wasn’t accidental by any means. Imogen knows blacks.

Not only that, but Imogen studied chemistry in Dresden Germany and her key research had to do with improving the platinum printing process. Printing with a platinum handmade emulsion is part chemistry, part alchemy and in my opinion, part mojo. There is something extremely challenging about working in that media because so many things can go unexpectedly wrong, but when you get it on target, you end up with the most beautiful photographs with a tonality and range of values that today’s digital photographers can only dream of attaining.

Edward Weston, Imogen Cunningham and Ansel Adams were the most well known of the original seven members. They were fierce about breaking out of the painterly, soft-focus romanticized Pictorialist style and presented their own visual aesthetic that was a reflection of the new modernist times.

Pepper Number 30, Edward Weston, 1930

Unfortunately, the modernist times also included the Great Depression, which was in full swing, with poverty and unemployment the norm for most of the country. This was an essential part of what informed the mindset for this f/64 group, that the average person would have to fight for social justice in the land. It’s part of what fueled the radical “Manifesto” part of their identity; it was both rebellious and assertive about hammering out a new paradigm for themselves.

Floating Nude, Edward Weston, 1939. Weston was starting to experiment with spacial values that were nearly surreal, but also wanted to hold onto the realism that Group f/64 developed.

They wanted a style that epitomized what big cameras and high quality lenses were capable of making; they wanted to stretch the capabilities of what photography could offer, including a look that had the entire photograph impeccably sharp from corner to corner with a tonal range that pulled as much out of their film as it could offer, which meant rich blacks, a full range of mid-tones and detail in the highlights.

Aspens, Northern New Mexico, Ansel Adams

In order to capture this new modernist look, they needed lenses that could stop down to f/64 in order to maximize sharpness, especially if camera movements were involved that minimized distortions, hence their name. They also needed to shoot with view cameras, generally either 4×5 or 8×10 if they could afford the larger more expensive film. Part of their photographic workflow included using the large camera that took a great deal of patience and meticulous handling in order to make the careful and studied compositions. They needed the large cameras because the larger film translated to less enlarger magnification, which in turn meant dramatically finer grained prints or almost eliminating film grain altogether.

Dunes, Oceano, Weston 1936

Agave, Imogen Cunningham, 1920's

Van Deren Coke, who used to be the Curator of Photography at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and then later a scholar at the University of New Mexico, described Cunningham’s photographs as “Her inherently sensuous subjects- large graceful flowers, elegant tapered leaves and rounded cacti- were transformed into formal compositions by her emphasis on close-up views, geometric detail and the tendency of shadows to appear as opaque silhouettes in photographs. Cunningham speaks to the beauty of pure geometry in nature… (From “Photography: A Facet of Modernism” P.36).

Van Deren Coke is one of my heroes because he helped establish the Photography Area at the University of New Mexico where I earned my Master of Fine Arts degree and also earned a Van Deren Coke Fellowship as a graduate student.

So how does this Group f/64 body of work stand the test of time 79 years later? Especially as we slip and slide around in the Postmodern zone, where anything goes? I’d say that Group f/64 set a nice standard for photographers and artists who want to break out of outdated conventions, aesthetics and ideas about the creative process. They made it just fine for photographers to let go of the old ways of thinking, especially in troubling times as we are in again with a large scale socio-economic depression of our own. I’m reminded that perhaps it is time for another manifesto that signifies a shift in the social strata of the land, and have it reflected in a new paradigm of art making.

All I really know is that as a photographer, I have an appreciation and gratitude for the beauty of the f/64 work. There came a time back in the late 1990’s where I needed to use a 4×5 camera in a studio with lights and everything. I couldn’t get the look I was looking for with scanned negatives, so I shot on 4×5 Polaroid film and made platinum prints from them because it had a wider tonal range, so I could squeeze out a few additional tones of black. It did the trick, so it was cool that I was able to pull this modernist stuff out of the hat like it was a magic rabbit or something.

Raven asks Pontiac, McNeil, 1998. Made with Polaroid type 55 negative film and a handmade platinum emulsion. I'll have to confess that I was looking for a modernist look with the hood ornament, because I really love that Group f/64 feel, especially when combined with the 19th century platinum printing process. It was a total hybrid.

Ordinarily, the story would end here, but since I’m an artist and photographer first, I thought I’d share what I’m doing with some of these f/64 modernist tools in 2011. I take that back, my Schneider lens only goes to f/45, but that’s plenty good enough for my plan. I just purchased a heck of a camera on eBay, a very cool Wista 4×5 rangefinder field camera. What’s cool about it is that it uses the large format film, but you can use a rangefinder for focusing, which makes it way faster for photographing people. I guess that means I’m not really an f/64 purist, but that’s okay I guess. I’m not the least bit worried about it,but am very excited at the idea of using a 4×5 camera again, because it has that beautiful f/64 look that digital cameras can’t quite squeeze out yet.

Wista RF 4x5 field camera for my next project.

But wait, you haven’t heard it all yet– I have ten boxes of Polaroid Type 55 negative film to use with this. Wow. For you photographic peasants who don’t know what this means, too dang bad, I’ll show the photos in a future entry. But for now, happy 79th year of having the f/64 photographers splash on the scene. Here’s to all of you, bottom’s up, man.

Story by Larry McNeil, Copyright 2011, All Rights Reserved.

The Apple Computer website, October 6, 2011

An artist or a poet would recognize the Steve Jobs story in a heartbeat. He was a general at the top of his powers whom was humiliatingly ousted from his army and sent into the wilderness to live via his wits alone. It’s an origin story that has it’s roots in ancient times. After years in the scorching desert, he returns to his nearly defeated army and by force of pure will, transforms them into a blistering fighting machine that lays waste to the enemy, leaving them all in smoking ruins.

I’d say that a critical part of this story had to do with the life-changing transformation that came from his fall from grace and the toil and humility of fighting for his survival in a paradigm turned upside down and inside out. It’s a story of knowing deep in your soul that you are mortal and vulnerable. It’s a story of how someone responds to extreme adversity, which is why he had a nearly demented love/hate relationship with the underdogs of the universe, and fought relentlessly to institute the new paradigm he envisioned while in the depths of the desert wastelands.

Jobs had more than a vision, it was more like a burning insatiable hunger of transformation that had to do with leaving his rivals in a humbling and miserable ocean of mediocrity. In this sense, he had way more than an executive’s desire for manufacturing products. This was intensely personal, and is what drove him like a madman, because he knew intuitively that time was indeed short and one could be ejected at any time and he sure as hell didn’t want to find himself in the scorching wilderness again. That was a powerful lesson that he only needed to learn once, and he ran with it like a general leading an army whose days were numbered if they failed. There was nothing abstract or philosophical about any of it; this was about gut-wrenching survival, about overcoming the odds to win and win big.

Here’s to you Steve Jobs, nicely done.

PS: In my opinion, Jobs seems way more comfortable navigating as a Taoist than a Buddhist, what with his shrewd strategies more closely resembling Sun Tzu than that of a Buddhist monk.

Story by Larry McNeil, Copyright 2011, All rights reserved.

Back in mid-June I had to change meds, which radically changed my life. I couldn’t drive a car or ride my bike for three months. Holy crap. You don’t realize how important this is until it’s gone. I asked my doctor, “What about hopping, can I hop? Can I use a pogo stick to work? What about dogsled? Canoe?” Nope, nope, and nope. Hopping was ok, but none of the others. Dang.

I could relate to Curious George and his health issues.

But the Gods of Wheels were smiling down on me. My son, who was about to turn 16, just finished Driver’s Ed and he became my chauffeur for the summer. He did a fabulous job by the way, taking me wherever I needed to go all summer long. Thank you T’naa, you did a most excellent job! Well done, my boy, you are a true McNeil team member.

Teenager Rite of Passage: Today was our son's first day of driving a car... I really liked the facebook feedback from friends by the way.

At any rate, we both did exceptionally well, and yesterday marked the three month freedom date, and I’m now free to bicycle commute again! I thought a good way to celebrate was to have my favorite cycle shop “George’s Cycles” do a pro tune-up on my wheels. I named my bike “My Private Jet,” by the way. When people ask whether I can make it to their art openings, I tell them, “I’ll just have to see whether My Private Jet is up to it.”

Man, there's nothing like a professional tune-up; it means the universe is spinning with attitude.

This is a true thing of beauty, almost like a new lens or laptop right out of the box. The gears are beautiful. I'm so easy to please.

My first bike ride in 3 months was awesome. Ok, so it was a bit slow & I got winded, but it felt good. I have a feeling it'll take a few weeks to get back into bike shape. This is the front of our house. Let's ride, man.

This bike is cool because it’s an all-weather machine. I pack my laptop in the canvas saddlebags along with a change of clothes for when I get to school. In my opinion, it’s worth investing in a cool commuter bike because of all the money you save on gas. I noticed that it costed $63.00 to fill up my gas tank in my little Forester this summer. Dang!

Want to know the coolest part of being a bicycle commuter? I get to spend the money I save on gas on fun stuff! Yeah man.

Today I’m a bit sore from my first ride in three months, but am ready to hit the road again, it feels good. Get a bicycle and spin. For the good of the land, for the good of the air and for the just plain good. This is part of my Boise State University Arts and Humanities Fellowship by the way, because it has to do with helping to minimize the carbon dioxide emissions belched into the atmosphere from our automobiles.

Sometimes you've just got to stop and ask about the meaning of life.

Have fun and be safe.

Story Copyright Larry McNeil, 2011, All Rights Reserved.

X’áant xwaanúk Tléil yee ushk’é, I’m angry you are bad is from my body of work about the global climate crisis.

Artists try and make sense of the world. It doesn’t always work because sometimes the world simply doesn’t make sense. So we end up capturing the lunacy.

I assembled this collage around two core images. Raven was first. I was looking for an authoritative, stately posture that would be an iconic black silhouette with a rich, pure charcoal feel. This raven went through the heat and was slightly carbonized, so he was perfect for a cheerful black day at the power plant. Our creation story involves raven and carbon emissions.

I'm Angry you are bad.

I’m Tlingit and we take shit from nobody. If it weren’t for us, Siberia would extend into North America. Either that or Canada would extend west into what is now Alaska. We drove both groups of colonists out of our homeland at the loss of many lives and I mention this only because it is this warrior philosophy that drives nearly everything I do, especially as an artist. The triangles on the right are stylized Killer Whale teeth and there is a faded Chilkat robe pattern in the decayed wall.

Stylized killer whale teeth. I am from the Tlingit Killer Whale Fin House, and the teeth have their origins in some of our ancient spruce root basket designs.

Chilkat robe pattern chipped into an eroded wall with a white raven peering into the empty head of a human.

I felt filthy from photographing coal-fired power plants around the country and actually got a nasty nasal infection from being around them. I feel bad for the people who have to live on the same planet as these thousands of massive coal-fired power plants scattered all over Earth. I also feel bad for the home planet and how badly humans have brutalized her. It makes me rethink the definition of humans and whether it is natural for us to ruin our environment because we do it so well. In that sense, it also has me rethinking the definition of the term “nature,” especially when describing humans and what we make, how we treat our environment and each other. It may mean that a Styrofoam cup is as natural as a buffalo, which kind of scares me.

Earthscape #31 is from the Rocketship Chronicles series. When the Apollo astronauts viewed Earth from the moon, they had a profound revelation. Earth was magical. It also had no borders. They knew from a glance that humanity, all the life there, and the planet were one. This is precisely what every Native tribe has been saying since long before they first met White Man. We are all one; you cannot separate just one element and treat it differently. If you pollute the land and the air, you pollute yourself and all other life, we are all connected. It almost seems gratuitous to say this until you look around and realize that most people don’t get it, especially political leaders and industrialists who only care about their most recent earnings statements.

My Earhscapes are about strengthening the notion that our home planet is indeed all we’ve got to live on and we’ve got to start treating it like it’s a home planet and not a colossal waste heap. It’s a little playful in that there is a quasi- yearning for finding another planet where we can find refuge. Then we come to our senses and think, “Wait a minute. This is OUR home planet. It’s the polluters whose damn asses should be on rocket ships out of here, not ours…

Earthscape #31. I made this photo last year from my rocketship, over the coast of southern California after assisting MFA Photography students at Brooks Institute.

Hasselblad Moon film back from a NASA camera. For real. This is so perfect for my Rocketship Chronicles photos.

I have a portfolio of photos regarding my Rocketship Chronicles on facebook. What’s really cool about it is the feedback I get from friends.

My Rocketship Chronicles portfolio on facebook.

Kimowan’s Journey

One of the most profoundly beautiful, sad and mysterious experiences I’ve had this year was when our sister Hulleah and I went to say farewell to our brother in art Kimowan Metchewais up in Alberta late this summer. I’m reminded that we meet many gentle spirits on this journey of life and the journey is so short, painfully beautiful, and so damn hard sometimes. We ease the journey with each other, at least this much is clear.

After Kimowan started his journey into the spirit world that morning, a series of peculiar events started to unfold. Hulleah and I tried to be unobtrusive as Kimowan’s family went about taking care of Kimowan’s passing in the hospital that morning. Antje was beside herself with grief, as was everyone else. Kimowan’s mom was so gracious and offered to ride with Hulleah and I up to Cold Lake later that morning.

In a moment of silence, Kimowan’s hospital room was vacant, even as people gathered in the guest suite next door sipping coffee and talking quietly, giving each other hugs and tender assurances. There was a feeling of peace and calm amongst the sorrow. Someone laughed gently and gave us the Cree translation for “strong coffee.” I wish I could remember those Cree words. I stood at the window looking out at the view as his family went about taking care of business. I noticed a few young ravens playing right outside his window. One in particular was hopping on the roof, doing what was obviously a shadow dance. He was very taken with his shadow and was clearly enjoying it’s presence. It’s shadow looked like a rocketship. Without even thinking about it I pulled out my camera phone and shot off a bunch of photos, smiling at raven’s oblivious playfulness. It made me wonder if perhaps Kimowan was having a bit of fun on his way, and nature couldn’t help but play along. Kimowan would’ve smiled at the camera phone too, I’m sure. We don’t need no stinkin’ fancy pants cameras, we wing it quite well, thank you.

"Raven Rocket from Kimowan's Window." It's stylized a bit, but is essentially what the scene looked like outside Kimowan's window. Raven loves rocketships even more than me I think.

I have a portfolio of photos that I made on that journey, including many other instances of nature living it up that day. Way more than usual. Here’s to you Kimowan, we miss you.

These are the three prints that I have in our 2011 Biennial Art Department Faculty Exhibition today at the Visual Arts Center. Come and check it out, I’m in some most excellent company.

Story Copyright Larry McNeil 2011, All Rights Reserved

Yesterday morning (July 16th, the day after the Indian Market Photography Category entries were due) I was helping to fulfill a family obligation in addition to my regular tasks. The garage. My wife has been doing most of it and I’ve been helping provide the muscle and getting the cars loaded up to cart as much stuff away as we can. I found a pair of “Bunny Boots” from when I lived in Alaska shooting waaaayyyy up north. Where usual cameras froze solid. The Bunny Boots are a real Alaskan phenomenon, designed in the 1950’s so that people can work in extreme cold and still have warm feet. They look like comical big white Mickey Mouse shoes, but really do work.

Indian Market Call for Entries in Photography, 1994. Larry's garage: Bunny boots, art crates (hey, are those rocketship icons on the crate?) and synchronous brochures.

At any rate, I was going to send these Bunny Boots to my nephew Da-ka about ten years ago, but they got lost in the garage. He lives in Fairbanks, where they have serious winters and thought  that maybe he’d know someone who could use them, even though they’re pretty beat up. If you showed up with new ones in Alaska, you’d likely get immediately mugged anyway. Let’s just say that these ones are properly seasoned. Neatly tucked inside them was a small stack of “Call For Entry” brochures for this Photography Category at Indian Market from 1994! Wow.

What makes this really cool is that the Indian Market category for photography is in the process of being revived, and the deadline for entries was none other than yesterday. Imagine that. I was looking for this brochure for years to no avail, and when I really, really needed it, voilà! There it was. I’m sure that stuff like this is no accident, especially since it’s 17 years old and has been lost all this time, and I needed it today.

The synchronicity was finding this call for entries as I was jurying photographs and clarifying for myself what this endeavor was all about. Photography, indigenousness and the cool photographs that emerge as they intersect. It’s days like this where I feel that the creator is tossing stuff my way saying “Way to go, man. Keep it up.”

The exhibition is going to be here at the New Mexico Museum of Art, opening on August 12, 2011 during the 90th Indian Market in Santa Fe. Ninetieth? Cool, good excuse to jam on over there to check out the photographs and all the other great art!

Back in 1994 this was called “Through the Native Lens.” For the second year, I spearheaded the effort as a collaboration between SWAIA and the Institute of American Indian Arts. The brochure states “Last year’s beginning for this now yearly Museum exhibition and Indian Market event revealed a strong contingent of Indian people who are remarkable photographers. Works were entered from as far away as California, New York and Minnesota. We are confident this exhibition will continue to get bigger with each passing year.”

Come to Indian Market and see the new work. I’m sure you’ll be happy to see all the new work from whom are indeed remarkable photographers.
Story © Copyright Larry McNeil, 2011, All rights reserved.

Munster Boy.

Kimowan, I find myself thinking about you a lot lately.

While in grad school at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque, I had my studio right next to his for a couple years. Wow. Can you even imagine how amazing that was? It would be so cool to just go out my door and shoot the breeze about what’s going on, see what he was up to or ask him what he thought about some new stuff while it was still being made. The creator was generous with this setup, it was clearly no accident. Kimowan nicknamed us the UNM McIndians. Ha (it was when he still had the McLain handle).

I can clearly remember working on certain prints and would dash out the door to show him.”What would Kimowan think about this?” He’d nearly always give me a short, poetic answer that made me think “Oh!” a couple hours later.

Here’s the deal. Kimowan has the uncanny gift of  speaking to the part of your brain that understands obvious intellectual information, but part of it also sneaks into the more intuitive part of who you are. I think this may explain the delayed burst of clarity. I’m still not sure though. How’d he do that? It reminds me of how our elders used to talk to us kids back home; not condescending, but full of respect for us, yet explaining something important without pretense.

Right now we have a family of dogs, mother, father and son. The dad “Munster,” is very unique, I’ve never met anyone like him from the dog clan. He loves contemplating views while taking him on hikes in the Idaho mountains. He’ll stop and just admire the view, then run nearly as fast as a deer up the hill like it was nothing. A year ago he lost his vision, but he still runs faster than the rest of his family and is way more curious about life and explores more too. He has another kind of vision now, one that I don’t pretend to understand.

This is why Munster reminds me of you Kimowan. You’ve always had not only a very rarefied vision, but also a poetic way of talking about what you experience. I love that, and value the memory of it.

Here’s to the journey and the unexpected. I always thought that life is not so much about what happens to you, but how you respond to it and the sense of grace you offer along the way. And you’ve taught us so much about grace and humility with not only your everyday presence, but the beautiful legacy of your art. Gunalsheésh, Thank you.

Like I mentioned earlier, I think of you nearly every day. Especially on those long hikes with Munster when I stand in silent awe at the grandeur he sees with his gentle spirit, like what you’ve done all these years. Your gift to the rest of us.

Story by Larry McNeil, All Rights Reserved, © 2011