Beyond the Art

Louie Gong’s story begins in Ruskin, British Columbia, in a house surrounded by cedar trees with no running water. Raised primarily by his Coast Salish grandmother and Chinese grandfather, Louie learned resourcefulness early, using sticks and his surrounding natural environment as his primary playground and tools. Living in a full, welcoming house where his grandfather cooked multi-course meals on a Coleman camp stove for anyone in need, Louie absorbed early lessons about community, resilience, and making "one plus one equal three". His father, a champion kickboxer, introduced him to martial arts at a young age, consistently pushing him past his comfort zone and instilling the discipline, courage, and tolerance for failure that later defined his career.

At age ten, his family moved eight miles across the border to the Nooksack tribal community in Washington State—navigating a political line drawn over their traditional homeland. Experiencing the complexities of being Canadian, Indigenous to the U.S., and mixed-race led Louie into community advocacy, coordinating bone marrow donor drives for mixed-heritage people and eventually leading the organization Maven. His path into art was entirely accidental: while working in education at Muckleshoot Tribal College, he was asked to paint hand drums for an inter-tribal canoe journey. Painting 30 drums unlocked a deep passion for Coast Salish design, leading him to try painting custom shoes and eventually founding Eighth Generation in 2008.

Through years of bootstrapping without business loans or formal gallery backing, Louie grew Eighth Generation from a shoe customization project into a thriving brand housed in a 35,000-square-foot Seattle warehouse and brick-and-mortar store. In 2019, Louie achieved a milestone for Indigenous business by selling Eighth Generation to the Snoqualmie Tribe, ensuring long-term tribal ownership and community stewardship. Today, Louie continues to evolve his creative voice—shifting to watercolor and ink for an upcoming illustrated novel—while embracing fatherhood and mentoring future generations of artists.

The collaboration behind the book In Light and Shadow stems from a decade-long friendship between Alaskan Inuit photographer Brian Adams and non-Indigenous archival researcher Sarah Stacke. The duo first met in 2017 at a National Geographic Seminar in Washington, D.C.. Recognizing a shared commitment to honoring overlooked histories, they launched the 400 Years Project in 2020 to mark the 400th anniversary of the Mayflower's arrival. This initial initiative—featuring commissioned photo stories, licensed works, and a digital archive—served as Sarah's long-term education in understanding that Indigenous visual history is fundamentally about reclamation rather than simple compilation.

Growing up as an Indigenous photographer in Alaska, Brian Adams experienced firsthand the lack of relatable resources or visible representation in the field. His early exposure to photography was dominated by external narratives and encyclopedia imagery that failed to reflect his community. Years later, when a publisher approached the pair to expand their digital database into a comprehensive photographic history, Brian and Sarah spent three years turning the initiative into a tangible print resource.

Throughout the project's evolution, Brian and Sarah navigated their cross-cultural collaboration with deep mutual trust, constant communication, and clear accountability. Every entry in the book underwent rigorous review alongside living photographers, descendants, and community-run archives to ensure ethical representation. Today, their journey stands as a model for collaborative storytelling, providing young Indigenous visual artists with the representation and career roadmap that Brian lacked in his youth.

In this episode, Petala Ironcloud outlines the rigorous, analytical methods he uses to dissect contemporary media frameworks and examine the systems that control indigenous representation. His professional philosophy is anchored by the definitive belief that "representation is never neutral." Petala details how his writing process involves looking past the surface aesthetic of a piece of art to interrogate the underlying power structures, analyzing who funded the project, who tells the story, and who ultimately benefits from the narrative.

Tactically, Petala approaches cultural criticism with a sharp focus on language, intent, and institutional accountability. He highlights his previous community organizing work, which included helping establish the very first American Indian cultural district in the United States. This structural process required navigating complex city bureaucracies, managing public policy pipelines, and building intentional alliances to ensure that physical geographic boundaries were legally designated to protect and celebrate indigenous presence.

For emerging writers and advocates seeking to build an audience and expose systemic biases, Petala emphasizes the tactical value of digital platforms and cloud accessibility. He discusses his upcoming literary collaborations, including a highly anticipated project with the prestigious art book publisher Taschen. By systematically organizing his critiques and prioritizing absolute clarity of intent, Petala demonstrates how marginalized creators can leverage low-overhead digital tools to counter paid corporate public relations campaigns and rewrite mainstream cultural history.

This episode pulls back the curtain on the complex legal, historical, and procedural mechanics defining the ongoing crisis at Hickory Ground. The discussion centers heavily on how institutional frameworks like NAGPRA (the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act) can catastrophically fail the very communities they were codified to protect. Listeners will hear an analytical breakdown of how tribal sovereign immunity is currently being leveraged as a tactical shield by the Poarch Band to veil unlawful acts and evade accountability for site excavation from the courts.

From a procedural standpoint, the speakers expose the clinical and disrespectful methods utilized by institutions handling excavated history. Rather than receiving proper repatriation, the remains of fifty-seven ancestors are currently stored in un-climate-controlled Rubbermaid tote boxes at Auburn University, where mold continues to spread. Furthermore, the university and developing entities have tactically weaponized bureaucracy by actively denying direct descendancy claims made by tribal leaders like Miko Thompson, creating high administrative barriers to stop the return of these bodies.

The professional philosophy shared by the legal and cultural advocates in this episode demands a complete dismantling of double standards in historical preservation. They argue that if an institution excavated fifty-seven bodies from Arlington Cemetery and refused to return them, it would spark an immediate national outrage; thus, Native burial grounds must be afforded the exact same tactical protections and legal parameters as any mainstream white cemetery. True sovereignty, the advocates argue, cannot exist if a tribe destroys the baseline lifeways, languages, and ancestral respects that form the legal foundation of its political existence.

In this episode, Cara Romero details her meticulous and layered approach to building theatrical, high-production visual narratives. Formally trained in black-and-white composition, Cara adheres to the philosophy that if a visual concept does not function in monochrome, it will not succeed in color. However, she intentionally leans into an intense, highly produced use of color and controlled lighting. She explains that this polished aesthetic serves a specific tactical purpose: it acts as a universal language of the present, signaling to the viewer that Native people are thriving in the current moment, rather than existing only in the past.

When translating a concept from her mind's eye into a physical print, Cara structures her production process with immense flexibility. She likens a live photo shoot to jazz improvisation, arriving with a "set list" of ideas but allowing the collaborative energy of her team and subjects to shape the final frame. Her subjects are almost exclusively drawn from friends and family, which fosters a critical environment of trust and vulnerability. Once a shoot wraps, Cara transitions to a separate, painterly editing phase in the digital or chemical darkroom, where she painstakingly selects the singular composition that contains the exact psychological and emotional connections she aims to evoke.

Furthermore, Cara discusses her recent tactical pivot back to medium format black-and-white film and traditional cyanotype printing on silk. In a fast-paced digital era where artificial intelligence and technology are hurtling forward, she embraces the roundness of emulsion and chemical light reactions to capture a softer, slower dreamscape of her home community. For emerging Native photographers, Cara offers the practical advice to view investing in expensive gear and film not as a frivolous expense, but as a radical act of self-care and professional dedication.

Edgar Villanueva’s story begins within the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina, but his path was uniquely shaped by his experience as an "urban native" growing up in Raleigh. Being the only Native student in his school for most of his life, Edgar navigated a dual identity, spending summers in his tribal community while living a suburban life during the school year. It wasn't until college that he fully leaned into his heritage, joining Native student organizations and eventually leading his family through the process of formal tribal enrollment.

His professional entry into the world of philanthropy was almost accidental. After starting his career in public health, he was recruited by a foundation to manage health grants. Initially, he viewed philanthropy through a "savior" lens, excited by the prospect of having millions of dollars to "save the world." However, as he moved deeper into the ivory towers of the industry, he began to see the disconnect between the wealthy institutions and the actual needs of the communities they intended to serve.

The realization that philanthropy was often an extension of colonial dynamics led Edgar to write his groundbreaking book, Decolonizing Wealth. He recounts the internal struggle of being a Native man in a field built on stolen land and labor, and how that tension eventually fueled his mission to transform the industry. Today, his journey from a young man seeking his own cultural roots to a global leader in social finance serves as a powerful testament to the importance of indigenous perspectives in modern economics.

Native art isn’t a relic. It’s a dispatch from the present — and the Rockwell Museum’s new exhibition, Native Now, makes that impossible to ignore.

In this episode, host Joe Williams sits down with Amanda Lett, Curator of Collections and Exhibitions at the Rockwell, and Randee Spruce, Seneca Nation artist and independent curator, to unpack one of the most significant contemporary Native American art exhibitions in the museum’s 50-year history. Native Now brings together works spanning Indigenous landscapes, Native futurism, and the concept of “always becoming” — a phrase the curators chose specifically because it resists the idea that Native peoples and their stories are finished. The show features artists including Jeffrey Gibson, Virgil Ortiz, Wendy Red Star, and Theresa Baker, many of whose works appear publicly for the first time.

Amanda and Randee speak candidly about what it meant to build a real curatorial partnership — one where the exhibition labels were written entirely from artists’ own words, where themes were reshaped until they felt true rather than academic, and where the Seneca Nation’s voice had a genuine seat at the table. This is a conversation about art, land, resilience, and what it looks like when a museum actually listens.

On this episode of Beyond the Art, we sit down with filmmakers Ben West, alike mteuzi, and Yancey Burns from Rena Flying Coyote Collective, a Native-led nonprofit using film as a tool for social change. They share how their personal paths—from rural Appalachia and small Oklahoma communities to art school and public interest law—eventually converged through the acclaimed documentary Imagining the Indian: The Fight Against Native American Mascotting. Together, they unpack why mascots are not a matter of opinion but of public health, drawing on decades of research that links these images to depression, low self-esteem, and suicidal ideation among Native youth.

The conversation then traces the birth of Rena Flying Coyote Collective and its four pillars: filmmaking, coalition building, education, and hands-on community workshops. Ben and Yancey describe touring Imagining the Indian across Turtle Island, building partnerships, and realizing the film needed to live on as classroom curriculum, not just as a one-time screening. They talk about their commitment to making sure Native communities are not just subjects in front of the camera but leaders behind it, and why the collective was founded specifically to help other Indigenous storytellers access tools, funding, and mentorship.

From there, the group turns to the projects currently on their plates, including a powerful new documentary being filmed in Picher, Oklahoma, where Quapaw Nation is leading the cleanup of a massive Superfund site created by historic lead and zinc mining. They explore how environmental justice, land sovereignty, and Missing and Murdered Indigenous People intersect on this landscape, and share a preview of Loyal to the Soil, their film on Native military service and the disconnect between Native veterans and the systems meant to serve them. If you care about representation that moves beyond symbols into real-world impact, this episode offers both hard truths and active pathways to change.

In this episode of Beyond the Arts, Joe sits down with Jamie Gentry, a Danakhtak and Mamaleila Kla artist from the Kwakwaka'wakw Nation, whose moccasins are as much about relationship and story as they are about footwear. Jamie shares how being raised deeply rooted in culture, potlatches, and family travel shaped her sense of belonging and her path toward making moccasins as a way of life.

Jamie reflects on the moment she first learned to make moccasins and how the practice quickly became a magnetic pull she could not ignore. She describes her intentional process of never cutting into hide until she knows who a pair is for, treating each piece as a living co-creation that carries both her energy and the wearer's, and how color, conversation, and intuition guide her designs.

The conversation stretches into sustainability, slow making, and the healing power of connection—to our hands, our communities, and the land. Jamie talks about food sovereignty, her studies in holistic nutrition and herbal medicine, and her dream of creating a retreat space where Indigenous people can come to rest, be held by the land, and refill their spirits for the work they carry back home.

In this heartfelt episode of Beyond the Arts, we sit down with Cary Morin, a master of American Roots music and Crow tribal member, to explore his four-decade journey from playing piano as a child in Great Falls, Montana, to becoming an internationally recognized guitarist and songwriter. Cary shares how picking up his brother's guitar in sixth grade sparked a lifelong passion, and how his sound evolved from bar band productions in Colorado to the sophisticated finger-style acoustic work that defines his music today. His journey includes navigating industry changes—from the drinking age shift that emptied clubs to the internet revolution that transformed how artists connect with audiences.

Cary discusses the transformative moment when a friend gave him a guitar tuned to an open tuning, urging him to stick with it despite the initial confusion. That single gift unlocked a completely new approach to finger-style playing and chord voicings that has defined his sound for the past 20 years. He opens up about stage anxiety—surprisingly more intense in intimate venues with silent crowds than in large halls—and how mastering his material became the cure. The conversation includes memorable moments from the road, including the surreal experience of Jackson Browne handing him a guitar during an encore, and playing NPR's eTown after listening to the show for decades.

The episode explores Cary's perspective on indigenous identity and artistry, addressing the question his management posed: "Are you a native person who is a songwriter, or a songwriter who happens to be native?" Cary chose to be known first as a songwriter, believing that the quality of the songs and the stories they tell should take precedence while still honoring his Crow heritage through gospel tunes for his Christian family, historical narratives about his people, and the story his great-grandmother told at his naming ceremony. He discusses the pride he feels seeing indigenous artists excel across all art forms, the ambitious Turtle Island play that brought 50 performers together (including his mother and all his children), and his latest album Innocent Allies—13 songs inspired by Charles Russell paintings that he describes as a "Western album" rather than country or rock.