News & Blog
How Native American artists counter cultural appropriation with artistic appropriation
Published Dec 12 2017
Google “Native American appropriation art” and the first five pages of results or so are all about negative cases of cultural appropriation. On these pages we can read about how outsiders misuse Native American images and cultural heritage, such as the infamous feathered headdress on a lingerie clad model in a Victoria’s Secret show five years ago. Cultural appropriation, of course, continues to be a problem and something that should be addressed and discussed. However, when typing in that search term I wasn’t looking for Native Americans as victims. I wanted to read about how Native American artists themselves use appropriation as an artistic strategy. I was looking for Native American artists as agents of empowerment. To find such results buried under droves of articles about how Native American iconography has been mistreated must feel like a double slap in the face. First whites steal Native cultural practices and use it in a distorted way, then this act of appropriation steals the attention away from Native artists who use appropriation as a way to symbolically fight back.
This makes it very difficult to place the aesthetic tactics of many Native American artists into proper art historical perspective, which is a shame, especially considering how significant appropriation is for many Native artists. Appropriation is, after all, a genre of contemporary art that has perhaps been the most important hub for questions concerning artistic authorship and originality and the contextual relativity of the meaning of images. It is perhaps within the Native art community that the legacy of appropriation art today finds it’s firmest stronghold. At first sight it may come as a surprise to learn how popular Andy Warhol is in this community. I can tell you that it is not because of his “Cowboy and Indian series”, but rather because of how Warhol demonstrated that the specialness of a sign – for instance a Campbell’s soup can – can be emptied by the act of repetition and how the meaning of a pre-existing image or object can be altered by placing it within a new context.
Warhol himself was not a particularly political figure, but the strategy of appropriation, of “copying” images and making them your own, has a history of political uses.
Dara Birnbaum and Sherrie Levine used appropriation to feminist ends. By repeating and recontextualizing imagery by male originators they questioned the authenticity of representations of gender. Appropriation has also been employed to question the commodity value of art and its underlying economic structures.
Even before it was a genre of art, Raphael Montanez Ortiz performed a case of appropriation aimed at exposing the misrepresentation of Native Americans. In 1957 he used a Tomahawk to chop up Anthony Mann’s western Winchester ’73. He then put the pieces back together at random, resulting in a complete scrambling and disruption of the original narrative. “Ortiz considered his shaman-like process resonant with his indigenous heritage. His destructive act also criticized media depictions of Native Americans.”
For Native American artists the appropriationist ethos comes natural. Artists such as Douglas Miles, Jaque Fragua, Steven Paul Judd, Ryan Singer, among many others, consider appropriation a way to take control over images that were once stolen from them. In short, one might say that appropriation art is a means to combat cultural appropriation.
We’ve written about the importance of graffiti for contemporary Native artists many times here on the blog. In the hands of Native artists, painting with spray cans in public spaces is no petty act of vandalism but a profoundly political gesture. This is clearly demonstrated by Jaques Fragua who wrote “This Is Indian Land” in giant letters on a construction site in Downtown Los Angeles. The act of appropriation is performed in a spirit kindred to graffiti. For Native American artists it is about re-claiming what is rightfully theirs by symbolically taking back their land by illegally writing on it, or redefining images that have been made from an external point of view.
We haven’t written about Jaque Fragua on the blog before, so let’s continue on him. Besides graffiti, Fragua considers appropriation one of his artistic go-to’s. “The Big Chief” is for instance a commercial symbol that has become a recurring character throughout Fragua’s work. Fragua explains: “He’s a chief from a sign that’s near my reservation, at Big Chief Gas Station. If you’ve ever watched Breaking Bad, you’ve see that gas station. I lifted him and I’ve been putting him everywhere—he’s the Big Chief, right? When you put a mirror against another mirror, you start seeing the core of the truths.”
In another interview, Fragua explains the appeal of appropriation more in depth: ”Simply, it’s about imagery that continues to colonize us. By creating fine art out of these visuals and emphasizing the images ad nauseum, it creates the opposite effect. Sort of like Warhol’s soup cans.” Fragua thus reappropriates his culture’s iconography in a way that conceptually subverts our overconsumption of misappropriated Native American images that has turned into stereotypes.
Some critics fear that appropriation as a artistic gesture has lost some of its meaning in a time when borrowing, quoting, stealing and copying is everyday practice to the point of being ubiquitous. However, for Native American artists, appropriation simply follows the rules of the game set by a white hegemony. It is the answer to a signifying practice already put in place. As such, appropriation is important now perhaps more than ever. With a president that casually refers to people of Native American heritage as “Pocahontas”, and a culture at large that hold it’s racial stereotypes dearly, appropriation as artistic weapon offers a way to strike back. Contemporary Native American artists turn to appropriation not to be trendy or edgy but out of urgency. It opens a line of dialogue that lets Native Americans have the last word on images that they were not in charge of in the first place and thus to let the public know what they think about them.
“Okay, I think I can do that”: How to look at art and get inspired to do, well, just about anything.
Published Nov 30 2017
There are days when you don’t have anything in particular to report – no news and no opinions. Some days you just want to write about something that makes you feel good. Something to inspire you to get off your ass and do stuff. Something in the “hell yeah!”-vein, in other words. This is one of those days. There are many things I love about Native American Art, but there is one thing in particular that keeps hold on me and it’s something that runs deeper than surface aesthetics. It is a certain attitude that shows you how powerful art can be. Art can give you a voice when other means of expression are suppressed. It is hard to find that attitude elsewhere, at least so collectively concentrated. The realization that art can show reality but also create another reality is what makes so many Native communities bubble with creativity.
The rapper Drake said in the song “Fireworks”: “from the concrete who knew that a flower would grow”, meaning that it is surprising that beauty could come from harsh circumstances. He clearly has no concept of Native Art. Or, to take an example closer to Drake’s own rap identity – New York’s graffiti culture in the late 1970s and early 80s. There is a lot about that era that reminds me of the contemporary Native art scene. That period is all about the creative ways of the disenfranchised to grow out of the concrete. Spraycan graffiti was a completely invented art form so there were no art schools to teach you how to do it. Ghetto kids were the professors and their education was on the streets where the tricks of the trade were passed from peer to peer. At the beginning there were no commercial ambitions- the practitioners had yet to find a way to monetize their art. It was just about rising above the everyday struggle by creating something beautiful and spreading it throughout the streets.
Art is empowering. It let’s you create and define your own world. When the realization of this occurs on a collective level, like with graffiti in 1970s New York, art is injected with an energy and enthusiasm that is highly intoxicating and convincing. Similarly, a lot of Native Americans today latch on to art as a source of optimism and tool for change.
I’m writing these words with one particular artist in mind: Steven Paul Judd. Few people embodies the DIY – attitude like Judd. He embarked on his artistic trajectory when trying to find some nice Native art to hang in his house. He failed to find anything that corresponded to his taste for pop art, so he simply set to work making some himself.
It is no accident that Judd has close ties to graffiti culture. But labelling Judd just a graffiti artist would be reductive. Creativity just pours out of him and into every facet and category of art. This guy is just pure inspiration, in the truest sense of the word. He has no proper education in the arts so he doesn’t always know the ”hows”, he just knows that he has to do it. And a lot of the times, Youtube tutorials will get you where you need to go. The quote in the title to this piece, of course, comes from Steven Paul Judd. And the mentality of going for it runs through his entire practice of art.
Not least it applies to his approach to historical iconography. Judd quite often uses familiar imagery but in a way as to make it more Native-centric. He uses art to create his own alternate version of pop-culture, for instance by fusing historical Native American iconography with the world of Star Wars, or by recasting superheroes such as The Hulk as Native American. Claiming your space in this way, despite what history and the powers that be say, is a deeply graffiti-like attitude.
In an interview Judd talks about his creative process in a way that seems to be representative of his energy and eagerness to get things done. Recently, Judd has been creating portraits of Sitting Bull, composed entirely out of Rubik’s Cubes. Which is like building a complicated puzzle, with smaller puzzles for pieces. The initial plan was to mount it on the wall but he finished the puzzle before he had figured out a way to fasten the cubes on the wall. So he just let the cubes lay on the floor, the art work now an installation rather than a wall piece.
If there’s a will there’s a way, I believe is the accurate motivational phrase here.
To continue in this vein of self-improvement, let us sum up by making it a rule that whenever you feel that things are just too damn hard, ask yourself: what would Steven Paul Judd do? If the conclusion you come up with is not “Okay, I think I can do that”, you’re doing it wrong.
Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked the World
Published Nov 8 2017
The 28th edition of Stockholm International Film Festival starts tomorrow and there is one film in particular I would really like to see. It is a documentary called “Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked the World”. The film explores the contribution of Native Americans to the evolution and history of rock and roll. As is evidenced by the many accounts from Rock and Roll superstars in the film, such as Steve van Zandt, Steven Tyler and Iggy Pop, Native American rock has had a significant influence on many popular musicians. Rarely has this influence been spelled out as specifically Indian, however, or contextualized in a coherent story about Native Americanness. The idea for the film came from Native American Stevie Salas who has himself been a professional musician for decades and played for many for big names. He knew the industry was full of Indians who were really influential but that not many people knew about outside the industry. For four years the filmmakers collected accounts from Native American musicians and other artists who had one way or another been influenced by rock by Native Americans.
Many of the rockers interviewed for the film talk about one track in particular: Link Wray’s Rumble from 1958. The track has a riff that Stevie Van Zandt calls “The Sexiest, toughest chord change in all of Rock and Roll”. In that chord change lay the foundation to the history of Rock and Roll and one can easily trace it through the sound of The Who, Black Sabbath, Stooges among countless others.
To get an idea of the monumental impact of the track you only need to watch as Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page puts it on and gets so overcome by its power that he cannot refrain from busting out some air riffs along to it.
Rumble has had a pop-cultural impact that stretches beyond the world of music. Film buffs may remember Wray’s tune as an indispensable addition to the mood of Pulp Fiction. The song appears during the famous (well, aren’t pretty much all scenes from Pulp Fiction famous) diner scene during which John Travolta and Uma Thurman have their “uncomfortable silence”. Since the dialogue is here put on hold for a large part the music is what primarily carries the scene.
“Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked The World” is directed by Catherine Bainbridge and Alfonso Maiorana and has earned numerous awards from other film festivals. Tomorrow November 8, it can be seen at Stockholm Film Festival at 7 pm. There are additional screenings on November 12 and 16.
Published Okt 28 2017
“It’s strange to me how people always want me to be an “authentic Indian.” When I say I’m Haudenosaunee, they want me to look a certain way. Act a certain way. They’re disappointed when what they get is . . . just me. White-faced, red-haired. They spent hundreds of years trying to assimilate my ancestors, trying to create Indians who could blend in like me. But now they don’t want me either. I’m not Indian enough.”
“The Invisible Indians,” Shelby Lisk
The above is a quote from a new anthology titled #NotYourPrincess: Voices of Native American Women, by Charleyboy and Leatherdale, eds. I’ve only sampled sections from the book so far but it looks like a good and perhaps important read.
The book addresses the prejudices and expectations faced by native women, especially young women. Purposefully eclectic and sprawling, it tries to show the diversity and complexity of native female identity. It does so through form as well as content. Poetry here sits next to scholarly writing, illustrations and graphic design. The whole experience of the book seems to be perfectly in tune with digital identity. The anthology quotes from Twitter and one chapter adopts the layout of Instagram which should please a younger readership who is as much, perhaps more, at ease with social media than conventional books.
I’m definitely putting the book on my “to-read” list and you will probably see more about it here on the blog in the future.
We the People
Published Sep 17 2017
A lot of the issues, artists and news that have been covered on the blog this past spring and summer have now been collected in an exhibition at the Minnesota Museum of American Art. Called “We The People”, the exhibition investigates just what constitutes the American nation, and who are being excluded, at this point in history. It’s not just about the Native American experience but it is a big part of it. Among the Native American subjects that are tackled are Standing Rock, cultural appropriation and social consciousness in general.
Any believable approach to contemporary identity has to include the digital realm. Some of the work included in the exhibition seem to directly concern art’s relation to social media. For those thirsting for information, there is a lot to be found on the internet. But the tempo on social media is dizzying fast and one thing, or hashtag, is quickly replaced by another. Can art interface with this rapidity or is it doomed to always be one step behind? The exhibition offers two answers from two different art works. Marlena Myles’ “Dakota 38 + 2 Prayer Horse” is technically and aesthetically a very pleasing piece of work. But thematically it seems to arrive too late. Myles has taken the controversy of Sam Durant’s planned sculpture “Scaffold” at Minneapolis Sculpture Park as her subject. But as the conflict has already been elegantly resolved the painting has turned sadly obsolete and irrelevant.
Cannupa Hanska has another approach. He was a notable presence at the protests at Standing Rock and his “The Weapon Is Sharing (This Machine Kills Fascists)” (2017) follows up on those protests. Like Myles’ painting this is thus a highly topical work but it manages to transcend the specific to make a comment on the nature of digital documentation in general. Hanska has recreated cellphones out of clay and printed photographs from the protests at Standing Rock onto them. He thereby gives them permanence beyond the momentary and ephemeral. At the same time, the mimicking of historical artefacts will infiltrate the archives with a narrative of resistance and protest. Cannupa Hanska’s eloquent explanation is worth quoting:
These objects mirror the decayed aesthetic of the artifact to inspire institutions who collect our sacred objects to embed this narrative into their basements and cabinets, letting these pieces join our relatives, so that our ancestors may know what we as Indigenous peoples are currently experiencing. Much as we update our statuses on social media for the current world know our stories, these objects utilize a visual language from our contemporary communication, translating into a literal form of talking to our ancestors. Confined in museums and private collections, the ancestors of all nations are close to each other, communicating and creating alliance in dark caverns, as a pooling of medicines which is reflected in our contemporary gatherings such as at Standing Rock. This work aims to let them know how we are hearing them, and we are connecting.
The exhibition is curated by four people with different backgrounds, and besides a strong Native presence the curators weigh heavily on LGBTQ themes, and issues of African American identities.
It seems like an important exhibition and I wish I could visit but it’s a little off the beaten path for me.
The exhibition runs August 17 – October 29, 2017.
Published Sep 14 2017
Buffy Sainte Marie said of her experience working on Sesame Street that it was ”Wonderful all around. I was on for over five years (until Reagan cut the budget for the arts). We took Big Bird to Taos Pueblo, did multicultural programming in my backyard in Hawaii, and lots in New York. They never stereotyped me, always listened to my script ideas, and stayed truly child-centered. I was breastfeeding my baby in 1976 and suggested we do a segment on it, and we did and it was perfect. (We) also did sibling rivalry, and I taught the Count to count in Cree. As a songwriter who really believes in the power of the three-minute song to change the world for short-attention-span audiences, ”Sesame Street” was right up my alley, and I’m grateful for every minute of it.”
Santa Fe Indian Market
Published Aug 19 2017
Today marks the beginning of Santa Fe’s Indian market. Known as the world’s largest exhibition event for Native American arts, the market hosts art from over 900 artists. During two days, it attracts over 100,000 visitors from all over the world.
The market is an amazing opportunity for artists to reach customers they would otherwise miss out on, and many artists count on profits from sales at the market to support them throughout the year.
However, at a market this size it is perhaps inevitable that some artistic nuances get lost, and perhaps some artists play into the hands of what they think the public might want a little too much.
Such is the opinion of Erin Joyce, who in 2015 wrote that :
The downside is that, although the event is well-intentioned and supports a myriad of artists and artisans, it’s not the best platform for new voices in Native American art. The market fosters stereotypes of “Nativeness” that don’t also take into account the American Indian artist as a contemporary individual who engages with mediums and concepts from both inside and outside their culture.
Perhaps such critique is the reason for a controversial decision taken by the management for this year’s market.
Since the early 1990s, the market has operated under a tenure policy that allowed some longtime established artists an automatic space at the market, without being approved by the selection committee.
Dallin Maybee, SWAIA’s (Southwestern Association of Indian Arts) chief operating officer, defends his decision to end tenure by claiming that it was never applied fairly and hopes its’ discontinuation will make room for new artistic talent.
Another sore spot of this year’s market has been the changes in it’s application system. Artist’s from the older generation have had trouble with the application process itself which is now exclusively digital. Other artist’s have found themselves rejected on vague criteria or without any explanation at all.
Whether these changes have had any bearing on the quality of the market remains to be seen and I will update you on my opinion as soon as I have processed the impressions of my visit.
Sometimes good intentions are not enough: the case of the well-meaning white artist
Published Jul 31 2017
It’s been a turbulent spring and summer in the art world. As art does, it has stirred up some strong feelings in places. Add questions of race to the mix and you get something close to an uproar. There have been protest directly in galleries. There have been questions as to who has the right to represent what (which translates into: does a white person have the right to represent the experiences of other races?) Personally, I think this kind of ruckus is ultimately for the good. People and cultures that do not normally enter into dialogue have met. Maybe I’m wrong, but in some cases it seems that the parties have actually listened to each other and tried to reach some kind of agreement.
Speaking as an art lover, I consider myself an unfailing patron of the arts and its right to express whatever it wishes. If someone wants to paint swastikas on cats I say fine. My excuse is that art is complex and I can look at those swastikas and even like them without suspecting that I’ve become a Nazi. Thing is, those who protest certain art are probably also art lovers. And if some group of people takes offence, suddenly art is not so complex. Real hurt has been caused, and it can’t be theorized away.
The controversy that went the furthest this summer was the one that surrounded a sculpture by Sam Durant that was set to become a permanent part of Walker Art Center’s sculpture garden. Titled “Scaffold,” it was a representation of seven gallows used in historic U.S. government executions, including those of abolitionist John Brown in 1859, four anarchists in Chicago’s 1886 Haymarket affair, and, in 1862, 38 Dakota men in Mankato, Minn. — the largest mass execution in U.S. history.
When I first heard about Native Americans protesting the erection of “Scaffold” at the Walker Centre I was a little puzzled. Surely, I thought, they must understand that this is not a monument to genocide but a statement about historical oppression by a socially and politically minded artist. I carried this sentiment around with me for about a month or so before finally having time to sit down and get some knowledge on the matter. It was an interview with Sam Durant that made me change my mind. He explains how “Scaffold” was born out of an experienced need for the USA to own up to its past; to not sweep it under the rug but to live with it and learn from it. As an artistic gesture, that’s about as politically responsible as they come. So, how could it be that it was received so wrong? The problem, of course, was that Durant trusted that intentions would be enough. Intention, especially when good and politically commendable, is a trap of ego-centricity that makes it hard to anticipate the reactions of surrounding society. This made Durant unable to foresee what eventually happened:
“So the Dakota people basically saw something that looked like a monument to their massacre. Mankato is burned into their consciousness. It’s not abstract. As one person said to me, “That’s a killing machine.” Then it turns out that the garden is located on [historic] Dakota land. So you couldn’t have a better test case of white ignorance in one place.”
Often artist will cling to their intentions like lifejackets through the stormy waters of protests. “I actually meant well so it must be right”. My granddaughter offers the same excuse when accidentally harming her little sister. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to”, she repeats like a mantra of exculpation. Fair enough, but the offended party is still hurt. I think Sam Durant’s behaviour and code of conduct has been exemplary throughout his whole ordeal and can serve as guideline for artists in similar situations. He realised that good intentions are not enough. Instead of using his good intentions as a fortress to shield him from reprisals, which I suspect many in his position would have done, and he sat down with the parties that had objections against his artwork to see what could be done.
After listening to them he decided that their real hurt overshadowed theoretical artistic importance. Giacometti famously said that given the choice on whether to save a Rembrandt or a cat from a fire, he would save the cat. Durant has also proven to be an artist that self-denyingly chooses life above his art. And as the ultimate sacrifice, Durant signed over all the rights to the work to the Dakota tribe which then had a ceremonial burning of it.
Post-structuralist art theory teaches that intention means nothing. Meaning ultimately lies with the receiving party. Caught in a racial jam, most artists will choose to ignore that lesson. Not Durant. He was willing to right his wrongs when he found that intentions could not be eternalized into general consensus.
I write this not as a deterrence for artist to step out of the boundaries of their racially defined experience. On the contrary, I think artists should not be afraid to speak on experiences that are not theirs. At least part of the artist’s task is to imagine other realities, so why not those of other races.
I think we need more well-intentioned failures. As evidenced by the Durant case, that’s when dialogue can happen. But if you are going to fail, please acknowledge it. Otherwise you might end up defending something others consider racist and suddenly your good intentions have turned unintentionally detrimental.
How Star Wars has inspired Native American art.
Published Maj 26 2017
Yesterday marked the 40th anniversary of the Star Wars franchise. What better way to celebrate than to show some examples of how Star Wars has appealed to Native artists.
Besides a notable similarity between traditional Hopi hairstyles and how Princess Leia wears her hair, as illustrated by Nicholas Galanin, Star Wars has little direct relevance to Native culture. But of course Native peoples watch movies too. And the classic tale of good triumphing over evil seem to hold something different for everyone to identify with.
Navajo artist Ryan Singer, represented by Kiva Gallery, relies heavily on pop culture in his painting so it’s a small surprise that he has devoted a series of recent paintings to Star Wars. Singer explained the attraction in a radio interview:
“as I got older I started to, kind of like fusing pop-culture imagery with the Navajo culture. Somehow that Star Wars just, kind of like, manifested in there. And, I always thought of Tatooine as the desert that was close to Tuba City where I grew up, and the Sand People nomadic people real similar to how the Navajos were. So, there were all these similarities I saw in the movies. There really is, like sort of, two different worlds, you know, as far as culture. I try to bring them together and mix them up.”
The imaginary movie posters of Jeffrey Veregge has been featured on the blog before. Veregge depicts familiar Star Wars motifs and characters in the artistic style inherited from his Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe.
A few years back, Andy Everson did a series of Star Wars – themed paintings that had a political twist. In Everson’s hands, Star Wars battle of light and dark was referenced in order to address political concerns amongst his own tribe.
Steven Paul Judd specializes in “impossible” encounters of pop-cultural icons with Native American history. His photoshopped juxtapositions are often strikingly
funny but also remarkable for demonstrating a missed encounter and the exclusion of Native culture from mainstream pop culture.
Excluded or not, the above artists have all taken something they like and made it their own, even though the original content has no explicit relation to their culture whatsoever. I don’t want to read to much into this, but in a way I find the interest in Star Wars encouraging. It demonstrates a DIY approach to inclusion. Looking at these images I feel – If I may allow myself to partake in Star Wars geekiness and reference the revised subtitle of the very first Star Wars movie – A New Hope that Native culture may take a bigger slice of pop culture one day.
Why it’s not necessarily a good thing to be inspired by Native American art.
Published Maj 6 2017
Ok, let’s get the title explained right off the bat. I don’t mean to be provocative. It might sound like I’m faulting Native American art here, but the accusatory weight is meant to fall on the inspired part. What I mean is that there is something reductive in the way non-natives claim that they are inspired by Native American art. It’s something that’s heard quite a lot. From Jackson Pollock to Ralph Lauren, artists and designers often cite Native American art as an influence. For fashion designers it seems particularly commonplace to go Native for a least one collection. Of course, when asked, the inspired will always assure their utmost respect and admiration. But a lot of the times one wonders if it doesn’t do more harm than good. One might argue that when someone like Ralph Lauren incorporates Navajo motifs into his designs, it raises interest about Native culture. This may very well be the case, but it also reinforces the view of Natives as a faceless group of “others”. Because it’s rarely the unique style of an individual Native artist that is cited as inspiration, it is always “Native art” en masse. Outsiders all too often seem to regard Native designs as interchangeable and all alike. This may also explain why there is a baffling lack of collaboration between the inspired and the ones who they are inspired by. Because if one fails to distinguish between different styles, I can see that it would be easy to believe that anyone can do it.
Yet, according to Lindsey M. Montgomery, collaboration is what’s required if inspiration is to generate respectful results: ”Navigating the waters between respectful reference and insensitive borrowing comes down to one thing: collaboration. Collaboration requires companies and designers to do more than simply appreciate and borrow the aesthetics of another culture. It demands they engage in an active dialogue with the particular community or artist who is inspiring the work.”
It really shouldn’t be so hard to realize the benefits of collaboration. After all, designers want competent seamstresses, right? So of course they will hire the best in the game. And if you want some cracking Navajo designs, you should probably get in touch with someone who knows what they’re doing. But this very rarely happens. The much publicized court case Navajo Nation vs. Urban Outfitters offers some insight into why those inspired seldom think it necessary to go to the source for help. The story goes that the clothing company Urban Outfitters had used Navajo designs and motifs for years. In 2012, the Navajo Nation finally took legal action against the company for violating the Indian Arts and Crafts act, which prohibits trying to pass off artefacts as authentically Native when they are not. According to Urban Outfitters’ defense Navajo patterns are a generic style of design that anyone can use.
Lindsey M. Montgomery comments again: “Urban Outfitters’ claim that there is something generic about Navajo designs is baseless. These designs may share a similar set of aesthetically pleasing characteristics, but they are also the weaver’s personal expressions. Some refer to tribal or familial histories.”
Recognition of the individual behind the artwork rather than the group should really be the source of inspiration. Otherwise one gets inspired at the cost of preconceptions and generalizations. Maybe it is time to stop talking about Native Art all together. The contemporary art done by Native Americans is so diverse in style and content that it becomes difficult to speak of in terms of a particular grouping of art. It is, in short, art done by Native Americans rather than Native American art.