Naughty, but nice

Gretchen Mol as "The Notorious Bettie Page," photo courtesy Picturehouse



For her time, Bettie Page was either a libidinous dream come true or the devil incarnate. Part of her allure was that she was able to project a kind of unattainable ideal for some heterosexual men, that of a wholesome beauty who could be unabashedly naughty in bed. For men, home from the war during the 1950s, she was the epitome of what many dreamed about. But, as such, she also was considered a threat to the moral fabric of a nation struggling to achieve a chaste symmetry under Eisenhower, Joe McCarthy, and Lucy and Ricky.

But who was the woman behind those familiar black bangs and, now fashionable, S&M black leather? And why, at the height of her popularity, did she drop out of public view in 1957?

Director Mary Harron doesn’t seem as interested in looking beneath the surface of the real Bettie Page as she does her own aesthetic interpretation of Bettie’s superficial appeal. We don’t get to know who the real Bettie was, but we certainly get to see a lot of her. Harron takes us from Bettie’s strict upbringing in Nashville, Tenn. to the evolution of an independent, free spirit who became increasingly noticed by photographers, amateur and professional, who imagined her in all sorts of provocative poses with that sweet and seemingly innocent smile. For her straight-forward life and photo sessions, we see her in black-and-white; for times when she is happiest and when the potential for greatness is just a breath away, we see her in grainy Kodacolor, a visual choice that Harron seems intent as a symbolic underscore, but which comes off as film-school ham-handedness.

As Bettie, actress Gretchen Mol seems perfectly cast. She easily captures the sense that God-fearing, healthy self-esteemed Bettie was perfectly aware of everything she did, even the “Bettie Page in Bondage” photos that eventually got her into hot water with Tennessee Senator Estes Kefauver (David Strathairn), Chairman of the Senate Subcommittee to Investigate Juvenile Delinquency. It was Kefauver who opened hearings in 1955 to investigate the impact of pornographic material on the nation’s youth. To Harron’s vision of Bettie, though, the photos were simply fun to do, a little silly dress-up with goofy costumes that “special customers,” some very respectible, paid good money to see.

Although we see that her work with Movie Star News, a storefront run by Irving Klaw (Chris Bauer) and his half-sister Paula (Lili Taylor), leads to more and more risqué imagery, Harron shows little of the exploitive marketplace for the kind of material that caught the attention of Kefauver’s smut hunters. Images do not magically go from model to photographer to magazine without the distraction of intent somewhere along the path — and, consequently, it bears noting that Harron falls into the same ilk, despite being tarted up with arty production values.

Bettie led an interesting, mulilayered life, which included Stanislavski-method acting lessons and a personal commitment to Christian values, in vivid contrast to the pin-up images with which her fans were most familiar. But Harron only depicts that life up to a point, preferring to take the commonly held notion that Page left celebrity to pursue a path to Jesus. In reality, Bettie’s world crumbled amid schitzophrenia, violent tendencies, jail, and mental institutions. Maybe that was just too nasty for Harron to show.

“The Notorious Bettie Page” is rated R for nudity, sexual content and some language.

This article was originally published June 8, 2006 in Rick Romancito's Cinemafile column in Tempo, the arts and entertainment magazine of The Taos News

David Carson and the Selling of Native American Spirituality

This story originally appeared as Rick Romancito's "La Historia" column in The Taos News, April 20, 2006


Most of the world’s orthodox religions have gone out of their ways to gain converts. A long time ago, some resorted to violence and warfare to achieve this goal. Today, the effort is more subtle, but still as insistent. Yet, among many American Indian tribes, it’s not conversion they seek, but a willingness they ask of outsiders to leave them alone to do what they must for the benefit of the world. More intriguing is the fact that, despite a still-prevailing notion, native spirituality is not all the same flavor.

What continues to stir strong emotions among many tribal people who have struggled to maintain their hard-won religious integrity — think Taos Pueblo’s 60-year struggle to regain title to the sacred Blue Lake — is a perceived encroachment upon their domain by those who claim to not only know what exactly tribal people would like to keep special, but are willing to share it with non-Indians for a price.

It must be said at the outset that most Taos Pueblo tribal members observe a native religion that is considered private and off-limits to outsiders.

David Carson is the author of the renowned “Medicine Cards” system of divination and of the recent book, “Crossing into Medicine Country: A Journey in Native American Healing” — which also is the title of a special event at the Fechin Inn in Taos, New Mexico. From Friday through Sunday, April 21-23, 2006, Carson will sign books, lecture on his experiences with spirit animals, show slides, and give Medicine Card readings.

Cost for the main event on Saturday is $100 at the door.

Popular among New Age enthusiasts and seekers of metaphysical knowledge, Carson is highly regarded for what is considered by some to be an insight into how Native spirituality and its principles can benefit anyone’s life. His critics say, how dare he.

Taos Pueblo tourism director Richard Archuleta speaking strictly as an individual, launched into an angry tirade when told of Carson’s lecture. “It just pisses me off when you get (non-tribal people) talking about Indian spirituality and making money like that ... The tribal people have been raped for a long time. And, where’s the respect that is necessary for these things? When you encounter a real (spiritual) person, they’re not going to boast about their knowledge. That’s because that’s the nature of their ways. Beware of those people that say they know the way.”

Carson, reached by phone Saturday (April 15), said he considers himself a writer foremost, along with being “a white person, who is part Indian,” Choctaw from Oklahoma, to be exact. “A lot of people put a lot of different labels on me,” he said. “But my main concern, in this world, is as a writer. I’ve never told anybody anything different.” More about that later.

At first, when asked if he knew that some Native people take issue with his Native spirituality seminars and workshops, he said, “That’s news to me.” Later, though, he said “I’ve had people telling me on the e-mail now and then, ‘Well, we don’t like what you do.’ I say, well fine. And they always say, they’ll pray for me. That’s very nice. And I’ll pray for them.”

As for his charging $100 at the door for one of his evenings, Carson said “Well, they certainly don’t have to spend it. I’m just trying to make a living. I have a big family. I’m not going to apologize to these people. They don’t know me. I don’t know them. Who are they?”

Archuleta said “it goes against the tribal grain,” which, at least among the Taos Indians, upholds the virtues of humility in the face of greater things. In many tribal communities, medicine men and women will sometimes accept gifts of cash or trade for goods or services, but few are willing to risk ostracization by going commercial with their beliefs. “It’s just not right for people to be doing that kind of stuff,” Archuleta said. “It’s a way of life. That’s my personal feeling about it.”

Carson is no stranger to controversy. In the late 1980s there was a very public lawsuit, which he became embroiled with former live-in companion Lynn Andrews, author of “Medicine Woman” and other New Age-style books incorporating Native spirituality.
In a 1989 article titled “Selling Native American Soul” by University of Washington pastor Jon Magnuson (online at religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=905), the suit brought by Carson contended that “as a result of our personal relationship, she and I composed a series of literary works that includes ‘Medicine Woman,’ ‘Flight of the Seventh Moon,’ ‘Jaguar Woman’ and ‘Star Woman.’ ”

A subsequent article titled “Beverly Hills Shaman,” published in the New Age Journal (March-April 1989), reported that “David Hall, a longtime acquaintance of Carson who said he watched the two work together, claims that Andrews supplied rough sketches from her experiences in Beverly Hills, and Carson wove them into a fictional narrative describing her exotic adventures with various shamans based on his own knowledge of Native American culture ... court papers (show) that even before Carson filed his suit he had been offered $15,000 by Andrews’s New York agent.”

The two have gone their separate ways since then. “I never talk about her,” Carson said. “I’m just a ghost in her past. You know how the law goes. You have to sign stuff.”

This weekend’s event is named after Carson’s latest book, “Crossing into Medicine Country,” which is described on the author’s own Web site as his “initiation as a conjure man—a ceremonial healer—with the Choctaw medicine woman Mary Gardener. For three years, he studied the arts of power plants and medicine animals, how to manipulate the layers of energy surrounding human beings, and how to use sacred tobacco in ritual, curing, and divination.”

Apparently, whoever wrote the text never got the memo about his being just a writer. “I’m not a shaman,” Carson said. “A lot of people put that on me, and I’ve worked with a lot of shamans, Siberian shamans, Mongolian shamans, some Azteca guys. I’ve worked with a lot of people that say they’re shamans, but I would never do that.”

And just who is Mary Gardener? Here’s our exchange:

Rick Romancito: In your book, you say that you worked with a Choctaw medicine woman, named Mary Gardener. Is she a real person or a pseudonym?

David Carson: Well, Mary Gardener was certainly a real person in Oklahoma. Are you asking me if that’s her true name?

Romancito: Yes.

Carson: Well, not exactly, but close.

Romancito: So, it’s not her real name?

Carson: It’s not her exact name, no. But, there is a Mary Gardener, who is the person that I’m writing about.

Romancito: May I ask what the reason was for changing the name?

Carson: Well, you’re from Indian Country, so you know how families are. I don’t know if you know the history back in that period in time. A lot of that stuff was not in the open. It just wasn’t. You know, I do have family, extended family, you might say, in Oklahoma, so I don’t want to offend anybody or get in any arguments. You understand?

Crop Circles Remain an Enigma

Filmmaker Robert L. Nichol. Photo courtesy stardreams-cropcircles.com



They are best seen from the air — which is probably one of the most disconcerting features about the worldwide phenomenon known as “crop circles.” But, since a wave of them began growing in the late 1970s, there have been conflicting and rather intense opinions about who or what may be creating them.

A new 77 minute documentary produced, written and directed by Robert L. Nichol titled, “Star Dreams: Exploring the Mystery of The Crop Circles,” attempts to address the questions surrounding this enigma.

In a Friday (March 24, 2006) telephone interview, Nichol said he believes “We are being communicated to by a higher intelligence and we’re basically ignoring it.”

Crop circles are a phenomenon in which elaborate geometrical designs have mysteriously appeared in fields of various crops (they have also apparently shown up in rice paddies, trees, snow fields and even iced-over ponds, according to the documentary). From the air, many of these designs appear mathematically precise, often cover a large area, and may contain references to religious, historical and cultural symbolism. Inside the pattern, plants typically have been bent reportedly at precise angles so the growth is minimally harmed, and often arranged in swirled patterns that appear shaped for effect.

The majority of crop circles tend to show up in fields near paleolithic-ceremonial sites in England (80 percent of which show up near Stonehenge, according to Nichol), but they also have been reported all over the world. It is not known if any have ever appeared in New Mexico, or Taos County, despite our own tentative connection via “cattle mutilations,” “the Taos Hum,” and many reported and unreported UFO sightings. Go figure.

The 2002 M. Night Shyamalan science fiction film, “Signs” used them as markers for hostile extraterrestrials. “They were for navigation,” Joaquin Phoenix’s character says in the film. “They made a map.”

And, obviously, a great deal of lore has developed around them, attributed to spirits, interdimensional beings, Gaia’s magnetic fields, alien orbs — and, of course, hoaxers.

The documentary’s “exploration” addresses several topics such as “What is going on?,” why there appears to be so much resistance to the idea that we are not alone in the universe, their meaning, the effect they have on humans, the appearance of unexplained lights nearby, and a possible Mars connection.

However, Nichol has taken an approach that is markedly one-sided — despite the token mention of the effect hoaxers Doug Bower and Dave Chorley have had on the true believer’s credibility in “the mainstream media.” Bower and Chorley came forward in 1991 announcing that they were responsible for making all the crop circles in southern England. A published photograph of the pair shown in the documentary is captioned with a quote, “We done ’em all.”

Chad Deetken of Pacific Research, a Canadian crop circle investigation group, was quick to jump on the immediate public reaction, stating in the documentary, “I find it quite incredible that the media picked up on Doug and Dave’s story, and without any evidence of any kind from Doug and Dave, trumpeted their story around the world.”

Obviously, a swirl of speculation surrounds the subject. On one side are the skeptics, many of whom believe the phenomena is completely human-generated. According to several Web sites which provide instructions on how to make them, the process is not difficult. It does take a certain amount of artistry, a knowledge of geometry and some skill at knowing how to easily reproduce the “classic” characteristics of so-called genuine articles, but a crop circle can be made in your own back yard.

On the other are the true believers, upon whom Nichol’s documentary primarily focuses. Croppies or cerealologists (after the type of crop usually used) have spent a great deal of time conducting research, documenting all sorts of designs, and developing theories for their origin and intent. Along the way, they have generally become rather single-minded in their pursuit. Most also tend to discount skeptics as people with closed minds who are unwilling to see magical possibilities. Plus, there is an alarming tendency among them to mistake journalistic balance for negative bias.

Some make a habit of attempting to debunk the debunkers, posting diatribes against National Geographic, the Discovery Channel and the Arts and Entertainment Channel for documentaries that don’t present “the facts” exclusively from their viewpoint. Nichol acknowledges that about “three percent are hoaxes.”

“I just love it,” photographer Peter Sorensen says in one of the documentary’s interviews. “I absolutely love this. I even still love the crazy people that are involved with it.” However, Nichol makes no mention in the documentary of the fact that Sorensen — who shot some of the most classic images and was one of the subject’s most avid proponents — has radically changed his opinions about crop circles, according to comments on his own Web site (cropcircleconnector.com/Sorensen/PeterSorensen99.html).

“At first certain that many formations were too large and complex to be made by people in the middle of the night, he gradually figured out how they could in fact be created by a team of dedicated artists with surprisingly simple tools,” the site states.

Nichol said that when he interviewed him, Sorensen appeared “very nervous when I was talking to him about it, so, I think somebody got to him.”

Sorensen now says crop circles are human-made and is actively engaged in creating them himself. “Standing up for my truth has cost me dear,” he writes. “I lost many friends, and the sale of my annual videos has nose-dived. The circle fundamentalists even accuse me in popular magazines and on the radio of being a CIA agent! It’s really funny in a strange way — and even flattering, in a left handed way!”

Nichol said conventional wisdom would suggest that if 11,000 crop circles have been made since 1980, a lot of “highly trained people” have been extremely busy all over the world. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Although common sense flies out the window when emotional prejudice comes into play. I think that the whole they’re-all-hoaxes-they’re-all-man-made theory is just something perpetuated by mainstream media to obfuscate and to squelch any enthusiasm about this remarkable event.”

Why? “You might say there are those whose interests might not be served to let the public know we’re not alone in the universe,” he said. Nichol also attributes all the skepticism to a rampant case of denial.

Near the beginning of the documentary, a narrator mentions the one item that glaringly could have made Nichol’s point better than any vigorous debate — then, amazingly, fails to deliver. The female voice says: “Eyewitnesses to circles being made say they happen in a matter of seconds.” However, no eyewitnesses are interviewed and no images are shown depicting a crop circle being created.

“There is footage of one being made, called the ‘Oliver’s Castle Video,’ ” Nichol said. It was made by crop circle enthusiast Colin Andrews, who reportedly shot images depicting two balls of light dancing over a field in which a crop circle suddenly appears. “Now, that has been widely criticized and disputed,” Nichol said. “That’s why I didn’t put it into the film.” He said he believes, though, “it was a real event.”

As for eyewitnesses, Nichol said, “No, unfortunately, I didn’t meet them.”

Nichol said he started out conducting “E.T. research” in high school. “In 1952, there were five discs over the White House, and that hit the papers and I really got interested in that,” he said. Later on, he said he met one of the pilots who were scrambled during that incident. From there he continued looking into other incidents of an unusual nature, but didn’t get into crop circles until about 1995.

“They just spoke to me,” he said. “Here is this remarkable communication all over the world. We’ve had about 11,000 now since 1980, and they figure less than half of them are really reported. So, it’s no small thing.”

Nichol said he isn’t out to convince people who refuse to be convinced. “I put the film out there. I did a good job as a journalist, I think. I dealt with a dozen or so questions. I let the experts speak. I showed the images of crop circles, and people can pick up on it or not.”

Like any good mystery, there’s one little thread that goes unnoticed which may actually turn out to have greater significance farther down the line. Almost offhandedly, the narrator mentions that after all the measurements have been taken, photos shot and tour buses leave from a given crop circle site, the farmer who owns the field will typically go about his or her business and continue with the harvest.
The crop circle then becomes part of our human food chain as ale, cereals, breads and animal feed.

As Mel Gibson’s character in “Signs” asks, “Is it possible that there are no coincidences?”

A Free Spirited Man: Doroteo Samora turns 100

Doroteo "Frank" Samora, 100, sits with his 2 year old great-great-grandson Preston on his knee Saturday, Feb. 4, 2006. Photograph by Rick Romancito



“Age is not a particularly interesting subject,” comic genius Groucho Marx once said. “Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough.”

Yes, Groucho, but how long is enough?

If it’s 100 years old, that’s certainly enough time to look out upon the vast plain of existence with a better fix on what everything is supposed to mean, but it’s also a time when your body filters that knowledge through aches, pains, bad hearing, failing eyesight and fog rolling through your reason. If you make it that far with humor, wit and intelligence, there must be a key.

At Taos Pueblo last Saturday (Feb. 4), elder Doroteo “Frank” Samora was surrounded by friends, family and leaders to celebrate a life that began in 1906. Still blessed with those attributes, Samora radiantly expressed how a life lived simply and with great purpose has its rewards.

“I feel good,” Samora said in Tiwa (interpreted by his grandson, Pat Lujan). “It is an honor to see all my grandchildren here and I am happy that all my friends came by to see me, as well as people from the community. I am happy to see my grandkids, from the oldest to the youngest. It was a day for everyone to celebrate my life. I’m very happy.”

It is stunning to think about the events that have occurred to this community over that time: The unjust assignment of Blue Lake to the United States Forest Service, two world wars, the first electrical lines to the Pueblo, paved roads, a school, health clinic, and all amid a people who continue an ancient cycle of rituals and ceremonials that help maintain harmony in the universe. “Everyone remembers Blue Lake,” he said. “A lot of people went out of their ways to help the tribe. I am very grateful that we were able to win that legal battle.”

Samora was witness to all that, and along the way became noted as the inspiration for Martiniano, the protagonist of Taos author Frank Waters’ timeless novel of Pueblo Indian life, “The Man Who Killed the Deer.” This recognition, by the way, remains in dispute among the family of fellow tribal member and contemporary, Jim Suazo, who swear it was he who “killed the deer.” The story is about a Pueblo man whose life is changed personally and spiritually after being arrested for killing a deer out of season. It is considered one of Waters’ greatest books, even though its publishing sparked the ire of some tribal members who objected to the amount of detail he included about doings inside the kiva.

It might be surprising to learn that much of that paled in comparison to other momentous events that no one outside the Pueblo realm will ever know. These are events only tribal members, Tiwa speakers, will understand because they were there too. It is strange how the outside world seems to place Indians in their own context, which often has no relation, nor respect to the reality of their existence. But then, if they did, life amid the adobe walls and mountain trails might look entirely different.

Samora has seen many changes in his lifetime, some of which he sees as a threat to the Indian way.

“There have been many changes from the time I was very young,” he said, again through his interpreter. “There was a lot of respect, when I was growing up. Today, this is one of the things I wish the parents of today would teach.”

As one would expect, there is a degree of loneliness for having come this far and finding himself alone, his friends, tribal brothers and sisters, gone. But he feels the greatest loss is “our native language (Tiwa). A lot of our elders are gone. My goal for all the tribal members, as a spiritual leader of the tribe, I wish that we continue on with our traditions. It’s very hard to live nowadays. Not too many believe in the things that we do. A lot of influences from the outside world. This is our land and I hope all tribal members, as well as local people, take care of the land because if we do not take care of it, the land that we used a long time ago, we’re not going to see the same things that we see today.”

He said that when he was a little boy, “everybody lived by grandpa’s and uncle’s rules, religious leader’s rules. Now, we’re all governed by law and there’s not too much of a difference from the time that I was a little boy. I just wish everybody would honor their elders and our traditions.”

Part of the strength the Pueblo people will need to face their future may lie in their ability to act as a unified group, with strong leadership. “Today, we should strengthen our tribal government,” Samora said. “That’s the foremost authority here at the Pueblo. Without the governorship, the tribal council, we cannot survive. There always has to be some kind of leadership, and everyone needs to respect them and the land, and the outside people to recognize our sovereign nation. We do things differently than the outside world.”

Samora has served as lieutenant governor, head councilman and as a spiritual leader for the tribe. His influence has also been felt way beyond Pueblo boundaries as well. There are many non-Indians in the community who continue to regard him as “good friend, a father figure as well as an advisor.” He calls himself a “free spirited man,” who has gotten to the century mark by “enjoying the mountains and nature. What keeps me going are my tribal brothers and sisters, my relatives, the younger generation.”

During this birthday party, Samora was given a proclamation by Taos Mayor Bobby Durán, along with special recognition from the White House. On the wall there was a family tree that relatives put together for the occasion, below was a small humble display with a copy of his birth certificate and important family photos.

“Continue with our native language, our traditions, respect our elders, respect our tribal government and our kiva leaders,” he said might be the advice he’d give to young people. “I would like for our younger people to participate more in our doings, so things won’t die out.”

His eyes took on a far way gaze as he looked out to his friends and family who were putting away all the food and tables and chairs for the celebration. “I pray that everybody also has a long life without sickness, not just for my people but everyone in the community and the world. I pray every day for that.”

Tony Magar: Energized

Tony Magar in his Taos studio. Photograph by Rick Romancito





No, your kid can’t do better.

Not unless they’ve become immersed in the world and creation of serious art and worked for years understanding its complexities. In short, making art is not an easy process. It is work, just as hard and torturous as digging a ditch, peeling latillas or sitting through legislative budget committees.

And being a serious artist doesn’t necessarily mean making beaucoup bucks through online marketing or corporate sponsorship. The yardstick for success isn’t straight line level in the art biz. It’s more like a tumbleweed, branching out sharp all which-way, only to get stuck under a Lexus zooming like a bat out of Vegas, with the driver wondering aloud “What’s burning?”

Which is one of the reasons an artist like Tony Magar might still be considered slightly eccentric. He is serious about art. And that’s why he lives in Taos.

Magar is back from New York City, where he was feted with an exhibition titled “The Absentee Universe” (Oct. 20-Nov. 26, 2005) at the Mike Weiss Gallery. It was a blast, he said, being back in that tilt-a-whirl madness and high end thrill-a-minute cool.

“It was right in Chelsea,” he said in his studio off Gusdorf Road in Taos, “and it was a good time to show there. It was a very active time to go there. I lucked out. In terms of the time and the kind of reaction from the people. I was happy to see a lot of old art comrades.”

He said all his peers from back in the day came to the opening, “which was nice.” Through the door there were folks like sculptor Mark Di Suvero who came, “and (painter) Ed Moses came and (sculptor) John Chamberlain was around the block having his show at the same time. So, I got to see him. A lot of artists I know came to the show. It was wonderful. I couldn’t have wished for anything better. To get that input, you know, from what they were doing and what I was doing, so there was a wonderful kind of exchange going on there. So, I really liked that a lot and it was worth going just for that.”

Part of the reason for going was to kind of feel out the possibility of moving back, he said, “but a week there was enough to convince me that I didn’t want to be there. Just so much action all the time, constantly, in terms of living, just surviving, getting through the day. There’s so much stuff. I mean, we crammed a lot of stuff in ... All these events are constantly happening every day, it seems like. A lot of interesting theater stuff, and, of course, you’ve got your restaurants. People to meet. It goes on and on. I would imagine that if I lived there it would settle down a bit. You know, one toys with the idea of moving back, but then after a week I was so happy to get back here, so I could reach some level of sanity.”

The show was a success and Magar got some high profile notice in The Village Voice and a possible upcoming piece in Art in America. But it was back in Taos, where you can hear yourself think, that some of that energy was transformed into creativity. “In terms of the work,” he said, “it took a leap forward. So, I was relating to that more than anything else. It got seen, and that was the jackpot. It got seen by people there and they all were very favorable towards it ... So, I came back full of energy and got to work again. The whole thing got energized.”

In an exhibit catalog put together for the Mike Weiss show, critic Michaël Amy wrote: “One drifts effortlessly into Tony Magar’s new abstract paintings, for these works suggest fluid, open spaces — ethers where things are in a state of perpetual flux. The nature of these fictive spaces is not instantly apparent however, for cursive looking discloses surfaces that at first seem opaque. Prolonged contemplation is infinitely more rewarding, for only then do the top glazes of oil reveal themselves to be translucent, disclosing layer after layer of paint — often of a different tone or color — buried underneath them. What results, is immeasurable pictorial depth.”

And there is a tactile sense of the work, that physical evidence of a constant series of decisions, ideas pushing and pulling across the surface that is only glimpsed when seen from afar. Up close, it becomes more dense and layered. You wonder: What was he thinking?

“I think one needs a certain amount of peace to create,” Magar said, “to have one’s own thoughts about your relationship to nature is totally changed immediately. You’re not wandering along looking at the beautiful blue sky and the mountains anymore. You’re trying to avoid people all day long.”

But somebody like Magar needs that fix every once in a while. “It opens you up to where your work could go, could develop and move on a little bit from where I was. But, that’s a process you have to work through.”

In a sense, he also needs that input here in Taos, where the comrades are fast disappearing over the horizon. London-born Magar used to rely on major dudes like the late great Bill Gersh and that whole posse of artists who made the 70s and 80s here a fury of activity to just talk and put the pedal to the metal.

Magar put down his thoughts on the subject to paper, calling it “Search and Destroy”:

“My friend Bill Gersh was having problems with his painting. So, I went to visit him. I could tell he was having conflicting thoughts about the paintings he was working on. We were sitting there in the studio, both eyeing what was left in the jug of wine, then, Bam!, he jumps up and grabs a coffee can of paint and hurls it at the canvas. At that moment, the destruction of the old had broken the stalemate. So, I left him with the rest of the wine. Now, he could move on and work with it.

“On the way back to town, I realized there’s a thin line between the ego and what the painting demands — to become a painting again demands passion to move on. This thought stayed with me a long time. What stops us from getting to the next layer? Fear. Or maybe the ego. The ego craves gratification. The ego demands satisfaction. The ego wants a safety net. The ego usually will settle for less. Like a bubble we’re stuck in. It stops us from moving on. I think it’s important for us as artists to watch and observe for breakthroughs in art and ourselves.

“The most exciting part of making art, for me, now, is the process of making and re-making. By that I mean not settling for the first draft.”

It may be somewhat dangerous to say so, even at this point in time (he’ll be 70 this year), but Magar said he doesn’t possess as much fear anymore. “It takes fearlessness to create — the see the new,” Magar continues in his statement, “for Gersh, for Pollack, for Basquiat. That’s the nature of the beast.”

The universe is constantly in a process of creation and destruction, integrated, he said, toward “becoming.” And, at the end of the day, “ we are all just stardust.”

Magar is still moving on and is not about to settle for anything less.

Abramoff Scandal Highlights Tribal Vulnerability

The Jack Abramoff scandal in Washington, D.C. is just the tip of a very large iceberg. The lobbyist who stole millions from six Indian tribes by skimming funds from public relations services as kickbacks for himself and former partner Michael Scanlon has essentially been given a slap on the wrist in exchange for ratting on a client list that profited from his influence-peddling schemes. Between 2001 and 2004, he and Scanlon reportedly took more than $82 million of which Abramoff will be required to pay $26 million in restitution and $1.7 million in back taxes.

Already the condemnation is casting a wide circle, making a lot of high profile lawmakers very nervous about being connected in some way with the once popular Abramoff — possibly including already disgraced former House Majority leader Tom De Lay (R-Texas), for whom he once worked as press secretary, and maybe others in the Bush administration. Who knows? In Washington it’s not about who’s connected to whom, but how far you can distance yourself when cornered like a fox in the hen house.

The Indian tribes caught up in this mess are rightfully being cast as unwitting victims in a scam concocted by a racist and unscrupulous crook — who in e-mails called them “monkeys” and “idiots,” according to published reports. But, more than ever they must be more vigilant to such scam artists. There are thieves under every rock who’d love to get their hands on some of that Indian gaming cash.

All that is bad enough, but the scandal also brings up some issues that have been simmering for a long time.

This is an increasingly complicated era in which Indian tribes can no longer expect special treatment from the government or commerce. When Indian gaming became part of the landscape it was hoped that its special status would enable tribes to help create a better life for their members, one free of stereotypical alcoholic, unemployment and poverty stricken obstacles to their advancement and cultural integrity. But Indian gaming itself is not special. It’s still gambling, which is rooted in the ideal of something for nothing. As the old proverb goes: Gambling is the son of avarice and the father of despair.

I’m actually not against gambling and I certainly am in favor of using whatever means are necessary to improve life on the rez. But gaming is an industry that always favors the house, no matter who’s dealing the cards. And, if you’re into the notion of conspiracies, allowing the development of Indian gaming in the first place may have been a quietly deliberate way of further eroding tribal sovereignty, the grand prize jackpot of the government’s plan to finally rid itself of the Indian problem altogether. It already is trying to figure out a way to sweep under the rug millions ripped off in allotment payments, so if sovereignty is eventually traded in for private enterprise on reservations, the whole special trust status might disappear faster than Custer’s hopes for victory.

Sovereignty is the number one issue confronting tribes right now. All else pales in comparison. The environment, crime, health care, poverty, all of it. If tribes cannot do everything in their power to maintain tribal sovereignty, everything, all their land, resources and dignity will be open to exploitation and destruction. Indians, as a people, will cease to exist.

The late New Mexico Indian leaders, Pojoaque Pueblo Gov. Jacob Villareal and Mescalero Apache Tribal Chairman Wendell Chino, worked hard against the state grabbing what it thought was a piece of the gaming pie, thereby exerting their tribe’s sovereign rights to conduct business separate from state or federal interference. It was a laudable precedence, but few tribes in New Mexico were willing to back this notion, even though privately they supported it.

In order to solidify this stance, all tribes, even those in New Mexico, need to develop unassailable democratic governments with elected officials and legislative bodies. They need to educate tribal members in business and sound management policies. They need to fight fire with fire. Abramoff may have gotten away with a lot of gaming cash, but I hope the lesson won’t be lost in the resulting blame game.

Indian Music Defies Stereotype

Ralph Zotigh and his drum group at the Taos Pueblo Powwow, July 2005.


It is a cool moonlit night. Four men stand silhouetted against a cloudless sky on the middle bridge over the Río Pueblo, right in the middle of the plaza of a nearly 900 year-old adobe village. They wear blankets, traditional style, and their hair is in long ribbon-wrapped braids. Between them they hold a drum. In their hands are wooden drum sticks that are being used in rhythmic accompaniment to a Taos Pueblo round dance song. The notes sung by the men are full and rich and convey complex images without words. It is pure singing.

This could be a scene from many years ago ... or from last night.

Music among the indigenous tribes of North America is not a static art form, culled from the ancients in a closed loop endangered on all sides by the pressures of modern life. It is alive and real and is constantly evolving and adapting.

A common impression, perhaps ingrained from old movies, is that American Indian music is pounded out on a “tom-tom” using an indistinguishable rhythm, accompanied by nothing more than something resembling “hey-ya, hey-ya, hey-ya.” If there was ever a musical version of a racial slur, this is it.

The truth is more complex and infinitely more intriguing. As vast as there are individual Indian tribes with their own customs, traditions, languages and histories, so too are the styles found in Indian music.

Within each tribe there are songs to accompany every significant event in its social and religious life, although it may be argued that native religion and society among these groups is synonymous. At Taos Pueblo, for instance, are many songs which are probably never heard by anyone outside tribal membership, songs which are an integral part of the cyclical rites and ceremonies conducted since time began for these people.

Perhaps one of the most common are songs to honor veterans, warriors of the past and present who selflessly work to protect their people. During the late 19th century, it was the Ghost Dance and its songs — which were Plains Indian prayers to bring back the strength and spiritual commitment of tribal forebears — which led to an attack by the U.S. Cavalry resulting in the Wounded Knee Massacre.

The power of music and dance was considered so immense, that the government sought to exterminate a people. It didn’t work.

Branching out from the reservation borders are ways Indian music has also borrowed from outside influences. Perhaps the most well known symphonic interpretations of Indian life have come from composer Louis Ballard, whose ironic “Incident at Wounded Knee” was given its New York premiere in 1999.

“This composer draws on his Quapaw-Cherokee roots to commemorate the notorious massacre and evoke the traditions and moods of Native American people,” a statement from American Composers Orchestra explains. “The four-movement work is not only inspired by the ‘incident,’ but by the systematic massacre of Native Americans throughout the 19th century. The orchestral work was commissioned by Dennis Russell Davies for the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra, where it received a premiere in May of 1974.”

Most popular, however, is the music found at powwows throughout the nation. This pan-Indian art form of social music and dance draws primarily from tribes of the Great Plains, whose historically nomadic cultures made contact with a network of many tribal peoples far beyond. Today, the colorful regalia of dancers and drum groups as popular as rock musicians within the genre makes this a breeding ground for new and innovative compositions.

“There are hundreds of powwows and celebrations held throughout the United States and Canada every summer,” according to information from www.taospueblopowwow.com. “Rosebud Fair in South Dakota, Black Hills Expo in Rapid City, South Dakota, Denver March Pow Wow in Colorado, Red Earth Celebration in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Fort Kipp Celebration in Fort Kipp, Montana, the Winnebago Powwow in western Nebraska, and the annual Taos Pueblo Powwow in Taos, New Mexico are a few stops along the powwow trail.”

In the powwow realm, most music is divided into Northern and Southern Plains styles. From there, it is broken down into songs relating to certain dances such as war dance, round dance and gourd dance, to name just a few. In addition, there are flag songs and various honoring songs. Some of the most popular produce recordings that are part of a growing and lucrative industry for some drum groups.

Perhaps as a testiment to how enduring and creative Indian music and musicians have become, the Native American Music Awards were established seven years ago. Previous honorees have included Crystal Gayle, Bill Miller, Joanne Shenandoah, R. Carlos Nakai, Taos Pueblo’s Robert Mirabal, Indigenous, Litefoot, Robbie Robertson, Rita Coolidge, Tom Bee, John Trudell, the Navajo Codetalkers (Living Legend), the late Jimi Hendrix and Hank Williams, and Notah Begaye III (Thorpe Sports Award).

So, the next time you hear a round dance song at Taos Pueblo, listen closely. You won’t hear words exactly, but maybe the voices of generations stretching from the past and far into the future.