In this episode, Brooklyn-based painter Maia Cruz Palileo navigates Cherokee painter Kay WalkingStick's journey with family, art, and history. From grappling with heritage to creating art that transcends boundaries of all kinds, follow the evolution of WalkingStick's practice along the path she has painted all her own.
- Kay WalkingStick, With Love to Marsden, 1995, oil and acrylic paint, wax, glitter on canvas, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Museum purchase through the Luisita L. and Franz H. Denghausen Endowment, 2021.30.2, © Kay Walkingstick, 2017
Oral History Interviews Featured
- Maia Cruz Palileo, interdisciplinary artist
[Theme music plays]
Kay WalkingStick: I see the paintings in my head. But there’s a lot of wonderful, wonderful painters who have worked realistically, who have said so much through their paintings. The written word is not necessary. All of the energy is right there, and you can see it.
Reggie Reid: Hello and welcome to ARTiculated. My name is Reggie Reid, and I'm an oral history intern for the Archives of American Art.
Sabine Lipten: And I'm Sabine Lipten, I'm an archival processing intern here at the Archives. This podcast receives support from the Alice L. Walton Foundation.
Reggie Reid: Since 1958, the Archives of American Art has been building the largest collection of oral histories related to the visual arts in the world. These more than 2500 long-form interviews give witness to history as it unfolded through the voices of the figures who shaped and reimagined it.
Sabine Lipten: This episode is the second in a series of six, each curated by a contemporary artist in response to and in conversation with past speakers from the Archives' oral history program.
Our guest is Maia Cruz Palileo, a painter based in Brooklyn, and they chose to focus on the 2011 oral history of Kay WalkingStick, a Cherokee painter whose work attends to women's sexuality, Native heritage, landscape, and the relationship between humanity and nature.
[Music fades out]
Reggie Reid: Family storytelling is at the heart of oral history, and Palileo described the importance of orality in their family and for the early foundations of their artistic practice. Palileo connected with WalkingStick's oral history for their shared grappling with the influence of family as well as the expressive and exploratory powers of art.
Maia Cruz Palileo: I started to think about oral histories more when I started to make my own artwork. And it ended up that I was interested in my family's stories. And even as a young child, I would always ask my Lola, my grandmother about stories about my, About my father and my aunts and uncles and what their life was like in the Philippines, because, you know, I was born in Chicago and they came from, the Philippines in the early seventies.
So it was very natural, I guess, to ask these questions. but then when I started to make my own work, I started to think about the nature of oral histories. how they are passed down in a way that is up to the person who's telling the story.
And then I got curious about, you know, what was not being told or what, how they were choosing to, talk about their histories or their experiences, and what they chose to include and what they chose to edit out. and that became really interesting for me as an artist to think about, the things that weren't included.
And then when I started to do my own research intothe larger histories between the Philippines in the United States. a lot of the things that I started to learn about are not included in that story. So not to say that those stories aren't, I mean, they are still the experiences of my relatives.
And so once I started to do that research, the context became very apparent. Things like why they all speak English. You know, that has to do with the American education system in the Philippines and colonization.
And it was the oral histories that really brought me to that. And then also hearing more stories that continue to shape and shift the quote-unquote history. I guess, of my family that is an organic living thing that isn't fixed in a book And then I in turn will tell these stories and they're going to change and shift.
And I just love that malleable quality of spoken history, oral histories. and then of course who's telling the story, is so important as well.
The significance of passing down family stories and a long entanglement with painting drew Palileo to WalkingStick's oral history and work: I felt a lot of resonance in the way that she learned about where her family comes from and their family history. And, I think that definitely informs a lot of the work that she makes, but also just in, in terms of her, you know, reading about how she got interested in, or her earlier work, and going to grad school
and, you know, making, making work about her father and, you know, I just, I just really related to that, in terms of being an artist and sort of being in that place of discovery of what, what do I really care about and what am I making work about?
Sabine Lipten: WalkingStick was born in Syracuse, and she spent most of her childhood in idyllic upstate New York, where her mother instilled a strong sense of self-assurance. Here's how she describes her mother's influence in her 2011 oral history
Kay WalkingStick: My mother always said, “If it’s an honest job, it’s a good job,” and that’s true.
Kay WalkingStick: My mother was—you know, you talk about big influences in your life. My mother was the big influence in my life. It wasn’t a teacher, wasn’t an artist; it was my mother.
She was a Victorian lady. She was a little Victorian lady. She had this kind of Victorian sensibility, in a way. But in another way she was really very modern. You have to think—she was born in 1898. She was—that’s a long time ago.
Mija Riedel: That is a long time ago.
Kay WalkingStick: And it was a different culture. And every day she said to me, “A smart little girl like you ought to make something of herself.” And then she’d say, “You know, it’s a man’s world, Kay. All you have to do is be better than the men.”
Mija Riedel: [Laughs.]
Kay WalkingStick: She said, “And you know you can be.”
Mija Riedel: [Laughs.] That was unusual for that time.
Kay WalkingStick: You bet. You bet. And it wasn’t that I heard it once. I heard it over and over and over again: “Stand up straight. Be proud you’re an Indian.” She was proud of the fact that she had Indian children.
Reggie Reid: After starting her own family, WalkingStick decided to take her artistic career to the next level, receiving her MFA from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn in 1975. She then began a long teaching career, which provided stability as she developed her work.
Kay WalkingStick: And I did some self-portraits in school. When I got out I tried all sorts of horrible things. Most of them were just terrible. Jaune Quick-to-See calls those paintings “the paintings I did for myself.” I think that’s a good way to look at it because, you know, you get out of school and you realize that you’re not quite good enough yet.
And actually taught in—my first teaching in painting was for the night school, adult night school, And that was probably 1962 or something like that, you know—really early. But I would go into New York and look at things, then go home and look at that canvas. But I wasn’t doing—money was always an issue when it came to the paints. And so I was—I wasn’t perhaps painting as much as I would have liked. I was painting all the time. I was also making all my own clothes because I can sew well. I don’t bother to anymore, and I enjoyed that. And I enjoyed cooking. I mean, I sound like a little “Suzy Homemaker,” which is fine. I mean, this was part of my life then. So I spent about 10 years trying to hone my craft and being a mother.
read in a—God bless Beaver—one of their newsletters that there was a scholarship—a fellowship available to older women—“older” meaning, you know, a few years out of college, to go to graduate school. And it was one of these things that paid for everything, offered by the Danforth Foundation/Purina Dog Chow, right? But the Danforth Foundation had this wonderful fellowship and—oh, I’m not sure how one was chosen but I got the particulars on it. I read about it and I thought, well, I want to go to graduate school, and it’s the only way I can get better fast. I wasn’t getting good enough fast enough on my own. I needed that impetus of graduate school. By that time I was 38. That's a lot of years to think about what it was you wanted from your art, what you wanted from the art world, and what you wanted to do. And I came to realize—and it sounds arrogant now but I wanted to be a major American artist, god damn it. And I had to make huge changes to do that, in my work, in myself, in my home, everything.
Mija Riedel: Had the women’s movement had an
impact on your thinking or had you had those thoughts long before?
Kay WalkingStick: I think I had them long before, but the women’s movement probably sharpened them.
Maia Cruz Palileo: I mean, I think she's rad because she keeps talking about, she was, this was, you know, growing up in the fifties and this is like the mentality. You marry someone, you have kids and you do that. But she, she was painting throughout all of that. And even before she went to get an MFA and, and go on to, you know, do all her amazing things.
It's very special to be able to hear from her. I think it's one thing to go to a gallery and see a show and read a catalog feels somewhat, okay, this person made it like it's a tip of the iceberg. You know, there's just so much, so much more.
Kay WalkingStick: I used Echols, my husband’s name was Echols, for a couple of years. And I thought, “This is so awkward.” And when we married I said, “Wouldn’t you like to change your name to WalkingStick, Michael?” He said, “No, I’m really used to this name.” And I said, “Well, I’m really used to WalkingStick too.” So eventually I just dropped the Echols altogether. But when I went to—was it Pratt—I would get letters saying, “Well, this isn’t your name. You’re married.” I said, “It’s on my birth certificate. It’s my name.” But I did get a—usually from—secretaries would complain. And it was my name.
And I was experimenting a lot with different uses of material, but I also got very involved with my Cherokee heritage then, which I really hadn’t been. I mean the earliest paintings—these paintings—I guess they’re in here—some of the earliest paintings that I showed, like [painting names] and Fantasy for a January Day, ‘71. They were much more about sexual enlightenment, which was happening then.
And just accepting the fact that I’m a woman in a woman’s body, having a good time in a woman’s body is in these paintings. And the feminist kind of view of ourselves as being potent, strong individuals, sexually as well as everything the other way, was in these paintings. These were not about my heritage.
Maia Cruz Palileo: I think one of the things that in terms of expectations around meaning, and you know, for me as an artist and artist of color, reading about her experience. I mean, it's again, like kind of that duality of being part of a group, I guess, a perceived group and it's like a double-edged sword, you know?
I mean, I certainly feel that, for myself where it's like, okay, well, your work is figurative and you're, you're like, you're Filipina X and you're dealing with these histories. And, what if my work life changed one day and I just made something that was, didn't seem to be about that, you know, like, is that going to change?
The way that whether people are going to be interested in my work or not. And I think like, there's the other side of that, which is like, oh, well, you, you come from this heritage. So why don't you make work about that? You know, it's like, there's this expectation.
Sabine Lipten: Against the backdrop of the Women's movement, the American Indian movement, and her own personal and artistic evolution, WalkingStick's work pivoted in the 1970s as she interrogated history and the future she wanted to create:
Kay WalkingStick: The paintings from—at Pratt started to get involved in my thoughts about my own Indian heritage and dealing with that. And I think the truth is that I hated my father for not being around. And yet in a way it wasn’t his fault. I mean, he didn’t leave my mother; she left him. She had to leave him. But it was time to reconcile that. My father died in ’72,
so it was not long after my father passed that my mother died in ‘67.
She was young. Yes, she was 69, which I think is young. I was the last kid, of course. I was 33, I think when she passed. But I was trying to deal with the acceptance that I’m an Indian woman and that I look like him. I’m big and strong like he was. And I’m verbal like he was. You know, I have a lot of his traits, I think. Thank god I don’t have a problem with alcohol. It was time that I figured out that whole relationship, and I made a teepee called Messages to Papa. And I wrote a letter to him that I forgave him and I hoped he forgave me for hating him all these years. And—now, perhaps “hate” is a strong word but certainly, there was an anger there that I hadn’t had a dad, you know?
Mija Riedel: Yes. This was a painting, this piece, correct?
Kay WalkingStick: No.
Mija Riedel: It’s actual sculpture?
Kay WalkingStick: This was an actual little teepee. It was about 8 feet tall.
Mija Riedel: Oh, good.
Kay WalkingStick: And a true teepee is huge, huge, huge. And I painted it with—I just threw paint on it, really slung stain, paint. My neighbors—I made it at home and I remember the neighbors said, “Oh, isn’t that sweet? You’re making a teepee for the children.” And I said, “Yes.” Why tell them? And I put a black band around it because he was dead, but also because I didn’t want people going into it. And I, as I said, hung this letter inside. And it’s kind of a heartfelt rag, nothing more, just, you know, kind of a big rag. But it kind of—it was important for me to make that, to deal with these emotions, but also to stimulate ideas for paintings.
One of the few things my dad ever said to me was that—I asked him who he thought were really important, good Indians, you know, So, “Who’s a good Indian?” He said, “Oh, well, Chief Joseph, of course.” And so that kind of got me on this trail of looking at Chief Joseph and what he had done. And I’ve used that theme over and over again. And I started a series of small paintings of—and they’re really kind of an elegy. They’re masked. You know, there was originally I think 36 of them, and they’re all variations on a very formalist idea of two small arcs and two arcs on a rectangular form, painted with anything but brushes, and stained and then overlaid with encaustic. everything was there you know, of me, me, me, but it was about my heritage rather than my views of the sexual revolution and the feminist revolution. And so, the American Indian movement was taking place at the same time as the feminist movement. And there weren’t very many feminists who were Indian, as a matter of fact, which is interesting but I suppose worth a doctoral investigation, but not for me. and it kind of all came together in my head, that I had to come to terms with all this in my background, that in spite of the fact that my father certainly didn’t fulfill any of his potential, he was still my father, and still the Indian raised in Indian Territory, not born in the United States even. His father was very involved in the change to statehood. The Indians were numbered, you know, in the 1890s, 1900, and the Dawes Commission was commissioned to number all the Indians. It was a way to put the Indians all in camps—reservations or simply camps.
They’d get them all on reservations, take their land, and do it in a nice, official, bureaucratic way. It’s a nice, bureaucratic way to destroy the Indians, right? So that it was just one more step in the demise of the Indian nations in the United States. And so the Dawes Commission was active. And in 1906
I believe Oklahoma became a state, and all that Cherokee land was divided up into small parcels rather than just being the Cherokee nation. It was divided up into parcels and each Indian, registered Indian, was given a parcel of land, which of course was horrible for the Indians because they weren’t used to having private property.
So my grandfather, the lawyer, was hired to be the translator and explicator of this law for the Cherokee people so that they were all numbered. And it’s not the nicest thing he did, but I keep telling myself he was trying to get a fair deal for the Cherokees. I’m not sure whether he just wasn’t working for them, you know, just to make money, but who knows? I didn’t know him at all. So, anyway, he was involved with the Dawes Commission. I don’t know how I got on this story, but he—so, my father and all of us are registered as Cherokees, but a lot of the Cherokees who were very traditional didn’t want to have anything to do with the Dawes Commission and wouldn’t sign up because. Those white people have just destroyed us and it’s just another game to take advantage of us,” which of course it was.
Maia Cruz Palileo: I mean, she speaks also about being a biracial person but there is this–and I wouldn't say it's duality, cause it doesn't feel like they're two separate things. She talks about sensuality as well, a lot. And. I don't know. All I can say is like painting it's so sensual. It's embodiment; it's embodied through her, into the actual material of the paint.
And I think the way she continues to engage with painting is very innovative. If she gets tired of one way of working, she does something else. And I think that that is just a great example for an artist like me, to witness how she's continually engaged with painting and materials and concepts for a lifetime.
Mija Riedel: We were just starting to talk about the diptychs, which began in the mid-’80s. Is that right?
Kay WalkingStick: Yes.
Mija Riedel: And how did that come about?
Kay WalkingStick: I seem to change direction about every 10 years. And the directions are very often extreme, abrupt, big changes. I don’t do little changes, it seems to me. Big changes. I’ve always kind of admired people who stayed on this exact same path for 60 years, but that’s just not who I am. So, how did that all come about? I was making big abstractions, which we actually haven’t talked about—with my hands, layered encaustic, using those shapes that had derived out of the teepee form and combining it with this very diagrammatic, actually, kind of view of putting together these forms on a graph and then painting them so that they were very reduced.
Mija Riedel: These were things like Catching Device with Sweepings or Solstice or—
Kay WalkingStick: Yes. Yes. They were very reduced in their number of formal elements, very reduced in the way they came about in their design, very complex in their construction because it was multi-layered paint—double-layered canvas glued together with raised shapes. And then I would paint on it with a saponified wax mixed with an acrylic to get this very heavy-bodied, very beautiful, I thought, material that I painted with my hands and layered and gouged, right, sometimes. So they were—the goal was to be very simplified in their formal aspect
and very complex in their emotional impact. That was the goal. And I had been doing these for years and I was very involved in this very dense paint. And I love paint; I mean, what painter doesn’t? But, you know, I just loved all that glop.
I see the paintings in my head, but there’s a lot of wonderful, wonderful painters who have worked realistically, who have said so much through their paintings. The written word is not necessary. All of the energy is right there, and you can see it.
Reggie Reid: During the 1980s, WalkingStick began to work with diptychs, pairing two canvases together whose contents generate their own dialogue. She also began to explore American landscapes and to incorporate more extensive Native American motifs throughout her paintings.
Maia Cruz Palileo: the diptych kept coming up and, when I was trying to choose somebody, you know, out of all the histories that we were kind of looking at, she happened to have a show up at Hales gallery as well. And, and I thought, well, this is, this is the person I need to dive into because she was just in the air, you know?
And I think some of the things that really stood out to me, what she spoke about, was a diptych, which is, she talks about the inside and the outside. and I don't know if these are her words, but for me, like the visible and the invisible in terms of painting, I was so interested to hear her oral history because I wanted to hear from a person who has dedicated her life to the craft of painting. this idea of visual, that division, two pieces coming together to form one.
It's for very practical reasons. I also happen to like the idea of the diptych and this dialogue between two sides. Obviously, it’s important that one side is slightly different in some way from the other. You can’t have it exactly the same. Why make it a diptych then?
Kay WalkingStick: So it needs those patterns, but the patterns don’t have to fill the thing.
Mija Riedel: Right.
Kay WalkingStick: Anyway, for me. And I suppose I could stop doing diptychs now. I mean, I don’t have a car to put them in anyway, but I really—maybe I like the speed bump. You know, it stops your eye a little bit, that line. Why is that there? And I kind of like that. It maybe slows you down a little bit, slows your eye down looking at things. Maybe it’s just because it’s mine. And a lot of other people do diptychs, obviously, but—
Mija Riedel: It’s interesting too that you’ve talked about diptychs as being the interior and the exterior. Maybe they’re also more similar now.
Kay WalkingStick: Oh, I think so. I think so. Absolutely. More of a unified whole. And I feel that the diptych is, I mean, I also use it a lot in my work and I don't know if I thought about it the same way, but there is this gap in between these two things, even though they're butted up against each other, it that the like it's like a hyphen or, like a gutter in comics where there's something there's a, there's a little gap in between.
Maia Cruz Palileo: And I'm just curious about that question of like what do those two things have to do with each other? Like if we, if we look at a painting, should just be able to look at a painting and not read like a paragraph explaining what the painting is. Because it is a little uncomfortable to look at something and not have an answer.
You know it's so funny with painting it always ends up getting really general. It is all our experiences of life. But honestly like she was towards the end there , I really believe that everything we are, everything we've ever been, everything we think, everything we feel is eventually in the paintings. I think it all comes out. So thinking about painting as a container, a record of experiences.
Kay WalkingStick: I really want to make art that touches people’s gut
and heart with ideas. I want people to go home and think about, “What the hell was that woman talking about with that stuff?” And the paintings that are diptychs with an abstraction on one side and a realism of sorts on the other I think were really confusing to people. And when I first started to do them I didn’t get a lot of huzzahs and there was not a lot of encouragement from people. It took a long time for people to come to them and—because they wanted it to be, oh, well this is a white world and this is an Indian world, which is not what it was
It was not about that. It was about the inside and the outside of the soul, to wax a little heavy. It was, you know, about our experience of these mythic questions of life, and probably missed by a whole lot of people because a whole lot of people aren’t bringing that religious education that I have, or that desire to see it in any kind of philosophical light. My work has never sold like hotcakes, you know. It’s never sold big. And it’s actually—recently I have been doing quite well. But I really think it was because the work was—demanded so much of the viewer. It demanded a kind of education, but it also demanded a seriousness, a gravitas if you will, on the part of the viewer. people— I’ve been doing this stuff for a long time. I think that those who look at art accept and understand and get it. But those first few paintings in ’85, people would just shake their heads and say, “What on earth is going on?”
Mija Riedel: So, in summary, a couple of final questions: What about painting originally appealed to you and continues to appeal to you? What is the essence of it that has held your attention over time? What does it do that no other art form can that’s held your attention and your curiosity for four or five decades now?
Kay WalkingStick: For one thing, painting is hard. And if it weren’t really challenging to me all the time, I maybe would have gone to other things. I’m always impressed when people think that—or say, oh, painting is easy. Well, it’s never been easy for me. In fact, it’s gotten harder as I’ve aged because I’ve set up bigger hurdles to leap over. To find a way to make abstraction was, at least for me, relatively easy. It got harder when I expected the painting to express more complex, more profound thoughts than I thought were in the abstraction. You know, when you complicate the issue—I complicated the process, I complicated the content—everything became more and more complicated, partly to make it more challenging for myself. It might make it more exciting. I mean, but the wonderful thing about painting is that you can make it more complex and more challenging as you grow in it.
I think that actually, I’m a better painter than I was 50 years ago. I think I’ve learned something about painting. I think my paintings actually say more. They may not speak to more people—I don’t know about that, but they certainly express more. And part of the appeal of painting altogether is the extreme challenge of it. It’s not a simple art form. It’s not click click. It just isn’t. There’s a whole lot of it to it. And I love the feel of paint. I love the look of paint. I love the look of great paintings.
What I like in painting, what I like in art, is this sense that you can speak through it,
and I expect others to do the same. I want to look at paintings that talk to me, that tell me something, that move me in some way, that give me an idea about being a human on the planet. And, as a matter of fact, I think that is my goal in that I want people to come to the work and have a notion of what it’s about being a human on the planet. You know, what does this mean to us? And I would like to think that my work goes beyond simply a statement about heritage, my personal heritage. I would like to think of it as it’s about the human race, not just Native people.
And that’s been important to me for years, this notion of we are all in this together. And I’d like the paintings to somehow express that, that this is a shared experience that we have, which was part of the reason for doing the dancers, by the way. It seemed like a universal image, the dancing figures. People dance all over the world, for all different sorts of reasons, mourning as well as joy. And I like the universality of that image, but I expect that of all painting. That kind of—it’s talking to me from a specific era, very often a specific place, and yet it speaks of something bigger. What I’m doing today I don’t think has that sense of newness, although it certainly has an individual stamp of, this is Kay WalkingStick’s work. Does my work fit into the “critical discourse,” as they so love to say? I don’t think so. Does that matter to me? Not a lot.
And yet, the truth is I think my work is stronger than it’s ever been, or certainly as strong as it’s ever been.
Mija Riedel: Thank you.
Kay WalkingStick: You’re welcome. I wonder what I’ll be doing at 90. [They laugh.]
Sabine Lipten: Although she's not quite 90, Palileo was curious about what WalkingStick is up to at 87—she's still painting, having just opened a new show in New York, so Palileo called WalkingStick to follow up on a few lingering questions:
[ Phone rings]
Maia Cruz Palileo: Good morning.
Automated Voice: This call is being recorded.
Kay WalkingStick: Good morning.
Maia Cruz Palileo: Okay So we are being recorded now.
My first question is, what is the role or responsibility of an artist?
Kay WalkingStick: Oh, well, they're the same as all of us on the planet, to love and take care of one another. I think that's our primary responsibility. And, I think that artists, as artists, rather than just humans on the planet, I think we are.
Maia Cruz Palileo: We have a role to point up the beauty and the joy, of life as well as the difficulties. I think we are the visual historians of our era. And I think that that's an important point, you know, that sometimes is overlooked. the second question I have for you it had to do with asking you um who about your mentors and what is something that a mentor taught you that, that you've never forgotten.
Kay WalkingStick: I can't honestly say that I had an artistic mentor. I mean, I didn't have someone. And it's unfortunate, but it's, it's just the way things, you know, happen.
So the strongest advice that I ever had in my life, the most important help I had with dealing with who I was, and as a painter was from my mother who. Told me every day to stand up straight and be proud that I was a Cherokee. And I think that that has affected my whole life.
The other thing that she said when I was a little girl was, “A smart little girl like you should make something of herself,” and I've been trying to make something of myself ever since.
You probably don't realize that n no women were mentored in the fifties and sixties, because for one thing, nobody took us seriously because we were pretty young things that were gonna go off and have babies.
So there were very few women artists working seriously. You know, there were very few. There were some. But they're pretty much on their own and men didn't give you mentoring. at least I suppose they could. But the thing was if a guy was offering to mentor you, you had to be suspicious that he just wanted to get in your pants. So, I mean, those were days of that's what happened, you know?
I have one more thing. I just thought of that I'd like to tell you that my mother said. My mother was just full of aphorisms. She said, you know, okay, “It's a man's world, so you have to be better than the men. And that won't be hard for you.” Isn't that wonderful?
Maia Cruz Palileo: Your mom sounds amazing.
Kay WalkingStick: She was amazing. And she was, she gave me so much confidence
Maia Cruz Palileo: What is your legacy?
Kay WalkingStick: I don't know. I don't know what my legacy is really. I think I'm hoping that people see my present work as a statement about the beauty and the importance of our planet, our green planet, and that all of the land here in this continent is Indian land. It's all Indian land, it's all Indian territory.
And that's an important thing for people to recognize. and the other important thing is that it's the only planet we've got. And we really have to take care of it or we're gonna lose it and ourselves as well.
Is that what you mean by legacy? I don't know. yeah, I think that throughout my work, there's a lot of my work I should say, has dealt with, history. A lot of it has dealt with life and death, which of course history is all about. And I think that I've been trying to deal with things that are not superficial nor momentary.
They are things that we've dealt with for eons. And I may be a visual historian for this era, but I hope that my work transcends this era.
[Outro music plays]
Reggie Reid: This podcast is produced by Ben Gillespie and Michelle Herman at the Archives of American Art. It was edited by the team at Better Lemon Creative Audio
Our music comes from Sound and Smoke composed by Viet Cuong and performed by the Peabody Wind Ensemble with Harlan Parker conducting.
For show notes, work cited, and additional resources, visit aaa.si.edu/articulated.
The Archives is grateful to Maia Cruz Palileo for their time, insight, and inspiration.
This guest-curated episode received support from the Smithsonian American Women’s History Initiative.
Sabine Lipten: Special thanks to Gabriela Senno for her contributions to this episode.
An extra special thanks to Kay WalkingStick.
If you enjoy ARTiculated, please consider rating and sharing it.
The Archives of American Art at the Smithsonian Institution is a nonprofit organization that relies on donations from individuals like you to sustain our ongoing operations and special programs like ARTiculated. To support our work, please visit aaa.si.edu/support. Thank you.
Support for this podcast comes from the Alice L. Walton Foundation.
The special six-episode series, Between Artists: In Conversation with History, is supported in part by the Smithsonian American Women’s History Initiative.
The Archives of American Art collects primary source materials—original letters, writings, preliminary sketches, scrapbooks, photographs, financial records and the like—that have significant research value for the study of art in America.
Find out how to give your papers, records, recordings, or other primary source material to the Archives of American Art.