LA: Can we start by talking about your sculptures that use
steel and neon?
EW: These were part of a series that I worked on. I have
a background with steel, bronze, wood, and stone, and I had always
wanted to incorporate neon with my work. I've researched pictographs
and rock writing for a number of years, being raised out West
around them. I've always felt this closeness to the rocks, being
a sculptor myself, and as a child I would go into the mountains,
often to a site called Dinwiddy on my reservation. The only way
that I can explain that to people, particularly non-Native people,
is when I went into this canyon, it was like walking into a cathedral.
I could feel this presence and the power there that existed within
this canyon. Every time I went back there as I got older I would
feel that, and began to get more attracted to the rocks and the
writing and tried to understand the writing and, with no knowledge
at all as a young person, began to inquire. There was very, very
little information out there; it was mostly from the anthropologists'
perspective, dates, times, and all that; nothing that really talked
about the rocks.
So I took on this endeavor, which will probably be a lifelong
endeavor, trying to understand the rock writing. I try to understand
as much about the writing before I utilize it. In other words,
I'm not just emulating something or putting it out there for decoration
or aesthetic value. I try to understand the meaning of what is
being said there or grasping some of the meaning. I wanted to
present this ancient way of working with the rock in a new context
that would be more acceptable to contemporary culture. Steel and
neon are familiar materials to people, so that's what got me on
this project, to take the steel and the neon and create a marriage
between these two materials and to bring out some of the messages
in the rocks. I think the main thing that I'm trying to do is
to give recognition to the rock writing. It's so misunderstood
in this culture that it's often looked at as a form of abstract
expressionism, whatever that means. If you're conquering a culture,
you don't want to give credit to the fact that this culture had
a written language. Without that written language, you can, in
a European context, say that it's not a culture. But I'm finding
more and more out about the rock writing, that it was a form of
writing that everyone understood, regardless of their age. So
you have a culture that was literate, not illiterate. The pictographs
served a greater purpose than many of the most complex forms of
rock writing, for example, the Egyptian hieroglyphics, which didn't
serve a community purpose, only for the pharaoh and the scribe.
The scribe also died with the pharaoh because he could read in
the afterlife what he had scribed. The common people couldn't
read it, couldn't understand it, same as the Sumerian cuneiform,
another very complex form of rock writing which was only for the
I'm looking at the language now that has been thought of as probably
a very simple form, but serving a greater number of people, and
trying to give that recognition back to this forgotten language.
But it's not forgotten; it has to be reintroduced in a way that's
non-threatening. That's what I try to do through my work, so that
people can become inquisitive about it and want to know more about
LA: How many pieces did you do?
EW: I did a series of five. They're six feet tall. They're
all untitled. The symbols speak for themselves. As you see, I
have a little mark that represents a particular symbol. It would
be unfair for me to title something that has its own language,
that has its own voice, and to identify that with my label. They're
all untitled and I just put a symbol next to them.
LA: On this piece, it looks like you have neon coming right
through the center of the form.
EW: This is the only piece where the neon is visible.
This was the first piece I executed and it worked out very well.
It goes down to the heartline. In the rest of them, the neon is
not visible. It creates an aura around the piece, which is what
I was trying to achieve because, by themselves, being steel, they
needed that little extra color and light. I love light, so working
with neon, with different colors, I was able to achieve that.
LA: Did you also paint on them?
EW: Each piece has a different surface treatment. No two
are alike. The first piece, this piece, I have let rust and I
left all the markings on it so it has this very ancient look to
it of deterioration. And it will deteriorate with time, whereas
other pieces like this, I've combined different kinds of metal,
or making metal on metal, treating the surface as a canvas and
telling the story by utilizing rock writing on a rock writing
symbol. This one has a painted surface with metal attached, but
with underlying paint and different kinds of surface treatment.
Each piece is unique in that it has a different surface treatment
than the others.
LA: Did you use a torch to cut the forms?
EW: They were cut out with a plasma cutter, each one of
them, because a plasma cutter allows me more freedom than an arc
or acetylene. It's much more intense and it acts for me more like
a pencil or a tool. I can move it randomly, move it around and
play with it while I'm working. I'm not really concerned about
precise exactness because the symbols do not have that, so if
edges are rough, that's the way it has to be.
LA: Do you rough out the basic shape ahead of time?
EW: In my mind they were all sketched out. I had a preconceived
idea of what the symbol was, but as I moved along -- they are
very powerful and many things have happened during the time that
I've had them out, people have experienced different things --
I like to think that they have evolved in their own way. The rocks
have called me. I haven't introduced myself to them. I was attracted
to them as a young child and it's been a way that I've always
worked. I've always incorporated the symbols in my work.
LA: You mentioned that the rocks spoke to you. Is that how
your inspiration generally comes?
EW: In the early stages I planned things out more because
that came from a lot of the professors and the people that influenced
me at the time. I had a professor who influenced me a lot, now
that I look back at it, and that was his way of working. He was
very precise. He taught me sculpture. He taught me jewelry. I
had a master plan for everything. I knew what the piece was going
to look like even before I executed it. Well, I ran into another
professor and I showed him my slides when I was getting in graduate
school. He looked at them and said, "Oh, slick work, fine
craftsmanship, but you're too damned tight." I said, "What
do you mean?" He said, "Let me show you and I'll give
you some techniques for loosening up." So I started making
masks at this point out of found objects. I think the first mask
I executed was made out of sandpaper, dealing with texture and
stuff like that. I started to loosen up a little bit, to be more
spontaneous about my work, not to intellectualize it too much,
but just to let that creative energy and creative spirit flow.
If you make a mistake sometimes, let it go, it'll work. So I did
that and he said, "I can never take away what you have already
learned, but I'm going to introduce you to a new way to create."
And that's exactly what he did. I think it has helped me a lot
more in my work. I'm more relaxed about it and I can let it be
more spontaneous. But I still do have that other background that
sometimes steps in and you have to be cautious of that.
LA: What are some of the found-object pieces like?
EW: They were made mostly out of objects that we use in
contemporary culture. For example, I did a series of masks that
were made out of household objects, cooking utensils, anything
I'd find in the street and transformed them, because we live in
a throw-away society. We dispose of everything and I wanted to
give beauty back to the things that we dispose of and to give
them life again. A lot of these objects were objects that people
no longer used, people didn't want, or things I stole, or whatever.
I always told people if you invite me to your house for supper,
search me, because I may have cooking utensils in my back pocket
for a new mask.
LA: Did you ever see Larry Beck's work?
EW: Larry Beck was probably very influential when I saw
his early pieces. He got me thinking a lot. I didn't see his work
until I had started the masks, but then I started looking at his
work and felt a connection.
LA: Do you consider yourself more a sculptor or a painter?
EW: I was originally trained as a painter. I started out
as painter. After a while I became not really tired of it, but
I became challenged, let's say, in a way that I couldn't really
express myself with painting. I wanted to add more dimension.
I wanted to be able to look at something in more than the dimension
that we see in painting. So I got interested in sculpture and
started studying sculpture. I think my first pieces were in wood.
Then I gradually moved into stone, into bronze casting, and then
metal fabrication. Now I do found objects in a variety of things
that involve sculpture. Sculpture, right now, is one of the primary
things that I have been doing, although I'm going back to painting
and creating a new body of work. So we'll have to see what happens
LA: Spirits of the People Remember from '93 is a mixed
media piece which includes text. Part of it looked like a ledger
drawing, and you include a piece of bone in a case below the painting.
EW: Originally, when they called for works for The
Spirit of Native America show, they had to be flat. So I initiated
a couple of these pieces. This was a work-in-progress at the time
and referred to the Ghost Dance movement that was bringing Native
people together again. It was more a spiritual gathering than
a military gathering, but the government, not understanding this,
began to execute people, and I make reference to that. The government
started campaigns against Indians, so the text includes "Washita
River, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek," which were some of the
massacres that occurred during that time. You'll notice the Ghost
Dance symbol with the blood on it, and the ledger style of work
with a realistic background, but I've also included photographs
of people from my tribe, meaning that we are the spirits who remember.
We remember these things and what happened in the past. A lot
of the conflict was over land and gold. But to take it into the
'90's, this is where this piece comes in. I don't know if a lot
of people are aware of this, but many of the massacre sites were
places where the government would decapitate Indians, would disembowel
the human bodies, the Native bodies, and take them back to study,
to look at, to put into museums.
With the repatriation law, we're getting these bones returned.
This piece also relates to that. This is what happened in the
past, but this is also what we're dealing with today. We can't,
even if we wanted to, forget what happened to our people during
these massacres because we're being reminded today. I think it's
very important that we remember the history of what happened to
LA: Have you used text in other paintings or other work?
EW: Not as much. I have a couple of other pieces that
I've used text and normally I don't make a lot of statements about
things. I don't even call them political because if you're from
a culture that is born in a political atmosphere, you have no
choice. For example, Native people have to be enrolled when they're
born, not just a birth certificate, but a piece of paper that
says how much Indian blood you have. This governmental monitoring
of ethnicity has never existed except for two other places in
the world: one was under Hitler and the other is in South America;
the third is here in this country. You're born into a political
situation, not by choice, so your experiences in life are going
to be dealing with political issues. As a Native person I'm just
voicing my experiences, I'm voicing history, I'm voicing knowledge.
I don't look at that as being political and I don't look at that
as being an activist work of art or a militant work of art. It's
only historical. It's factual. If people perceive it politically,
then that's not my problem.
LA: Would you say that you don't consciously make political
works of art?
EW: Well, in a way I do, if I feel strongly enough about
something that it needs to be done, but I don't deliberately say,
"OK, I'm going to make this political piece and I want everybody
to look at it." I don't think of it that way. I like to look
at it, as I say, historically. I like to look at it from a tribal
perspective because that's where a lot of our art comes from,
from the community, from the people. It's not just me speaking
so I have to be fairly accurate in what I'm trying to say, because
if I'm not, somebody will find out and correct me.
LA: Grandfathers May I Make Art? (1992) addresses a
specific issue. It's a large piece, 46 1/2 by 112 inches, with
neon in the center. You've also used some photographs and some
EW: This piece was created in response to Public Law 101-644,
which affected many Indian artists throughout the country and
created a lot of controversy. This law was instituted as a response
to foreign artists passing off pottery and jewelry as Indian art,
and required artists to be enrolled in a tribe. But the law affected
many Indian people who could not prove through a piece of paper
that they were Native. Because different tribes have different
enrollment procedures, someone could be fully Native but not be
enrolled. In the piece I originally configured both sides of the
neon in the shape of tepees falling down, but it occurred to me
that this law was not going to achieve that, so I deliberately
cut the sharp angles off the design because I don't think the
tepees are falling down yet. I attached a copy of the arts and
crafts law and letters that were written by the superintendents
and agents in the 20's, and utilized family portraits of grandfathers,
great-grandfathers, two chiefs and my own photograph with my tribal
I.D. I realized that the only permission I needed to do my art
came from my grandfathers. That's how the title came about. I
didn't need the Federal government to tell me if I am Native or
if I can do my art. I used some circles that say "Indian
Police." These refer to Indian people who were forced to
be the police of their own people, and who often killed their
own people, because they were working for the Federal government
at that time. That still exists today in a new form. We have people
going around policing the arts to make sure that only enrolled
Native people are represented in the exhibitions that claim to
display Native art. That reminded me of what happened in the 19th
century, and how history repeats itself in a different way. I
found a label once on a souvenir that said "Made by Real
Indians," and I attached that next to my signature. I also
have a gauge, like a gas gauge, which indicates the range of "empty"
to "full" to show blood degree. Are you half, three-quarters,
one-quarter full? I had a map of the Wind River Reservation in
Wyoming with barbed wire around it to show the control the government
has had. But again, this was not meant to be a political statement;
instead it makes the point that I was born in a political situation
by having to be enrolled and prove my blood degree. I'm merely
showing the historical background of what happened and how that
LA: You've said that, "Although I work with contemporary
materials and tools, I continue to perpetuate the teachings of
my people." 1
EW: One of the things that I try to remember, and one
of the things that I try to teach younger artists, is the fact
that we have to give as artists because someone gave to us. I
didn't just become an artist. I was taught. People took the time,
the energy, to encourage me, or discourage me, whatever. Nevertheless,
that someone did give to me and in return, I must give that back.
And it's the same way with the culture and the traditions. Somebody
was willing to share that with me, so in turn, I return that through
the work. I pass that on. But sometimes there's that fine line
because you can only go so far. You can't lay everything out because
sometimes it may be religious or ceremonial. So you do have certain
things that you can't share with people. That's where a lot of
my work comes from, because I was raised by a lot people from
my reservation. I think that's where a lot of my early art training
came from, from my people. I like to think of art as a way of
giving back and sharing.
LA: Deer Medicine (1989) combines contemporary and
traditional materials. There's a deer jawbone embedded in the
bronze, along with the figure of a lizard and some beads.
EW: I spent a lot of time in the mountains, and was associated
for many years with a wilderness youth camp, Rediscovery Four
Corners. These experiences led me to a deeper appreciation of
animals. I tried to pay tribute to some animals, showing them
respect in my art. The deer, as well as the lizard, is also a
powerful being in its own right in many Native cultures, a powerful
entity which carries the medicine. They go together. The beads
I embedded in the bronze are cast from clay and show an ancient
way of being strung. Incorporating materials from Native and non-Native
traditions is something I've always done.
LA: You've also used petroglyph imagery in Turtle Clan
Women Stole My Heart (1993). Is that a self-portrait?
EW: No, no. There's always a little humor. I like to interject
humor. I like to sometimes throw in little bits and pieces. My
wife was the main reason I moved out here to the mid-West and
I became more aware of her people, the Oneida people, and the
clanships that they have. She is Turtle Clan, so in a way this
piece is saying how I ended up here, a Turtle Clan woman stole
my heart. So there's a little bit of everything. Knowing I was
going to South America for the exhibition, I included a brightly-colored
parrot, which is indigenous to those people. This gentleman here
kind of represents anybody. It could be me, but it all deals with
kind of who I am, too. So that's why I titled it Turtle Clan
Women Stole My Heart.
LA: In the clay and mixed media piece Turtle Island
(1993), you again use some petroglyph images.
EW: These two pieces almost didn't make it out of the
country, Spirits of the People Remember because of the
bone, and this one because I had a parrot feather on it. The feather
was only going back home. That was part of this work. The feather
was indigenous to that part of the world; it's not indigenous
to Minnesota, even though I got the parrot feather in Minnesota.
So, in a way, I'm sending this feather back home to where it really
belongs, but they didn't see it that way. U.S. Customs said it
might be carrying mites, so what did they do? They put a pigeon
feather on it. A pigeon does not carry mites? I never could get
On the other one they wanted to know exactly what kind of bone
that was. I said it was a rib bone of a buffalo. I said if I had
stuck a human bone on there, there would have been a little problem.
Turtle Island also has text around the edge if you look
closely. These are probably some of the messages that might have
been too strong. It says, in the red, you can barely see it, "Indians
are tough." My wife [Roberta Hill Whiteman] is a writer,
and I have parts of her poetry that pertain to remembering. The
blood remembers. We may forget, but it's always in the blood.
So Turtle Island, to me, encompasses more that just the
name "Turtle Island." It speaks of the people; it speaks
of why we're still here; we're tough. We've had to be tough; we've
had to be survivors. The blood remembers; the blood knows. The
red represents the people, the blood of the people leading right
to the island. This piece speaks of that.
LA: Do you ever work collaborate with your wife?
EW: I think this marriage of 16 years has been an art collaboration,
you know. We have collaborated somewhat in the past and are doing
small things now. I think the first piece we collaborated on we
were very cautious about influencing each other. We did it very
professionally, I thought. We came together. We sat down and discussed
ideas and went our own ways. She did her writing. I did the visuals,
but we had an agenda that we had discussed. When we brought the
piece together, it had some consistency and it came together.
I didn't influence her writing; she didn't influence my painting.
I've illustrated a book of hers Star Quilt, her first book,
and she has a book coming out called Philadelphia Flowers.
I did the cover on that and a couple of small illustrations. That's
been pretty much the collaborative things that we've done. We've
always been pretty cautious about collaborating too much and I
think you can run a risk sometimes, particularly if it is a family
member. These collaborative pieces can sometimes work or sometimes
they can not work. So there's that fine line.
LA: About collaborations, you worked with Spiderwoman Theater
on a theater production, Daughters from the Stars.
EW: I was able to do the backdrop for them. They wanted
something very simple that could be taken with them because they
travel all over. I did the masks and did some other set props
for them. That was my first endeavor in collaboration with artists
of that nature. They are very energetic people, very professional
about what they do at all times, so to me that was a real honor
and a real challenge.
LA: How did you go about designing the backdrop?
EW: Well, amazingly, they left a lot of that up to me
after discussions, after hours and hours of bringing material
to me about the story and their experiences. I had to extract
a design from all this information and come up with something
that would represent what the play is about. What I came up with
involves what I like to think of as layers of history. The back
part is a design of their people, but within that design are four
figures that represent four women and in between there are elements
of the history of their family. That is almost a ghostlike image,
but these four women are very powerful. They stand out, and concern
the creation story of their people. They come with a very interesting
background, being from North and South American Indian descent.
In the play they evolve from two of the figures represented on
the backdrop. They emerge through the backdrop. That was probably
the most challenging part, to create an illusion effect where
they do come out of the piece itself and appear as part of the
LA: I've seen the play. The backdrop is quite large. Did you
approach it as you would a painting?
EW: I did approach it as doing a painting but I didn't
approach it in the sense that it was a fine-art painting because
it was executed in a different way. It had to be highlighted;
many things had to be taken into consideration as to how its presence
was going to appear on the stage. When I'm doing a painting, I'm
only concerned about people who are going to see it. If you're
working with something that's going to be seen at a distance,
you have to exaggerate certain elements and keep in mind how that's
going to look under lights. So I didn't approach it as just a
regular painting; you have to take into consideration that illusion.
LA: What were the masks like?
EW: I created one mask for Lisa [Mayo] which deals with
part of the story that relates to mythical creatures, mythical
beings. She transforms as she puts the mask on and becomes this
mythical figure, incorporating other cultures and other histories.
She transforms into a mythical person. In order for her to do
that, she changes her appearance and utilizes the mask. The masks
were made out of plastic, artificial hair, paint, a combination
of materials. Like I say, I've never made a set design before
so I had to do research and find out the hard way. But I came
up with these creations and they worked.
LA: Do you remember when you first did artwork?
EW: I was always into the arts. Even within my own family
amongst my brothers, I was often looked at as the weird one. I
didn't dress like them. I didn't do a lot of things that they
did. One of my older brothers, God rest his soul, said, "You're
going to be 50 years old and still going to be wearing sneakers
and T-shirts." I'm getting close to that and I'm wearing
sneakers and T-shirts yet. I've always been involved in the arts
in one way or another. Art has been always a part of my life,
but I didn't really get serious about it until probably the last
ten years. I've always been in touch with it, but I've worked
at numerous things. The last ten years, it seems like that's when
I needed to start doing it and getting serious. Had I started
earlier maybe I would have been burned out.
LA: You currently work at the Walker Art Center in the Education
Department. What are some of the things that you do?
EW: If you look on the wall here, you'll see some of the
things that I'm involved in. I work particularly with the Native
community, but I go out and work with all communities. We work
here programming, educating and doing numerous programs, so I
spend a lot of my time outside, and a lot of the time it pulls
me right into the arts of other cultures. It's something I enjoy.
I don't know if I'm going to do it forever, but I like doing it
right now. I'm involved in other arts organizations in the city.
I serve on a number of boards, like the Native Arts Circle, Intermedia
Arts, and Compass. I like to find out what the pulse is out there,
not only with the Native community but in the whole arts community.
I'm very involved with the arts here in the Twin Cities. As you
noticed, on my museum badge one of the guards has crossed out
Whiteman and written in "Artman." One of the guards
was looking at me and I said, "I'm Artman, not Whiteman any
more." They call me "Artman" here.
LA: He does have a big "A" on his chest, I can see
that. I don't see a phone booth around anywhere, but . . .
EW: . . . don't forget my red cape. I wear my leotards
under my underwear.
LA: Earlier you mentioned Larry Beck. Are there other artists
that you looked at, or any family members?
EW: My Uncle Ernest was a very strong influence in that
he appreciated the arts, and he involved himself in the traditional
arts. I observed the discipline that he had, and now that I look
back on it, he was a role model for me. From him I understood
that one could have the imagination to create things of beauty.
My mother and my uncle were the two most encouraging members of
my family. In terms of artists, it's hard to say because one of
the things that I was often criticized for when I was in school
was that I didn't have a style, that I would do a body of work,
the next body of work would be totally different. It looked like
two different artists. I would be influenced by people around
me. I would look at a lot of art but I was always cautious not
to get too much influence because I knew that I would start to
emulate their work and it would be visible. So I jumped around.
I had different people that I looked at. At the time I was very
young there weren't very many Native artists so I looked at a
lot of artists who were around the area, Western artists with
a Western style of art. I can probably paint a Russell and a Remington
sunset just as good as they can after all the calendars I looked
at growing up in that environment. So I've had different influences
depending on where I'm at. In Minneapolis I have the influences
of all the art at the Walker and the Minneapolis Institute of
Art. If I travel I'm influenced by that. I don't really have any
specific artists that I can truly say that I'm influenced by because
I'm influenced by all artists, particularly a lot of the Native
artists today. They all influence me and so it would be unfair
to pinpoint one.
LA: George Morrison has had a strong impact on many Native
artists. You exchanged some art with him?
EW: George has been very influential for a lot of artists
throughout the country, particularly Native artists. He was schooled
in the '50's in New York with some of the great people like Jackson
Pollock and used to hang out with them. A lot of people don't
realize that history. George has always been here in the mid-West
and was never given a lot of exposure like a lot of the artists
that went to New York at the time. A lot of the people here, particularly
the Native people, realize what we have, but I don't think the
rest of the country really realizes who George Morrison really
is. He's a living treasure. We invited him one time to an opening
downtown here that involved a group of sculptors, Native sculptors,
and everyone said, "George Morrison's here." Everybody
went to the front of the gallery and there was George, smiling
as he usually is, and all the sculptors made a circle around him
and started talking to him. From that point on he took on this
aura of being like a godfather to sculptors, an Indian godfather.
I said, "You're kind of like the godfather," and he
said, "Well, I've been called grandfather a lot, but not
godfather." A lot of us refer to him as the godfather, the
godfather of contemporary art. To us that's who he is. I think
that George deserves more recognition than he's been given, but
he's a very humble man, a very pleasant and beautiful man. I have
pictures with George that I'll treasure for the rest of my life.
We've shown together a few times. He still maintains an excitement
about his work. I very much respect George.
Artists can rarely afford each others work; at least, very few
of us can. George was over visiting the studio and became quite
connected to one of the pieces. He said, "I'd really enjoy
having one of your pieces, but I don't know if I can afford a
piece like that." And I said, "Well, I really would
enjoy one of your pieces, but I don't think I can afford a piece
like yours either." And he said, "Well, maybe we can
work out a plan here." So two years later the pieces finally
made it to George Morrison's studio in Grand Portage and this
afternoon I'm going to the studio to get the crate back. Hopefully,
I'll have a little surprise in it. I don't know yet. Knowing George,
he may want me to come up and get the piece, but I said, "Whatever
you want to exchange for this is fine."
LA: One reason he might have liked this piece was that you
have a horizon line in it.
EW: Yes. George has been doing his Horizon series
for quite some time. I looked closely at this and saw that there
was something in there, an element of the strip of metal that
runs across the piece looked very much to me like some of George's
work. That seemed to attract his eye, and it seemed to be something
that he could relate to. Maybe George influenced me and I didn't
know it. I could be wrong, but I think that myself. It does look
a lot like his work.
LA: You've been exhibiting since '83 or so. As you look back
over your work, how has it changed, how has it developed over
EW: Well, you know, we talk about evolution of one's art
and sometimes I think that we often keep stepping backwards to
get where we're going. In a way, I'm going back, looking at rock
writing, so historically I'm taking a step backwards. But my earlier
works, I think, related to what I was dealing with, what was going
on in my life. It was pretty realistic work almost to the point
where it was like the stereotypical Native art that was out there
. . . and still is out there. As I went further in my work, I
was discouraged by a lot of professors because they said, "You're
doing that Indian stuff again." Now I look back at those
things and I think well, it wasn't because I was doing Indian
things. There was a lack of knowledge by those professors about
Indian art, which still exists today. So I moved off in different
directions. I also make jewelry. A lot of the work I was doing
was trying to find how I fit into the big picture, bringing some
of my culture in. I was using a lot of stereotypical images, but
trying to change them a little bit. And there was an evolvement
of my work in that context where it's moved out of that. I consider
it moving out of that even though some people might say it still
has a lot of Native influence. I think the message is much stronger
now. I think there's much more substance and sustenance to the
work than there ever has been before. So it has evolved in a way
but it may go back. I don't know. Who am I to say?
1 Ernie Whiteman, "Artist's Statement." The Spirit
of Native America, p. 38.
We, the Human Beings, group exhibition, College of Wooster
Art Museum, Wooster, OH, 1993
Enduring Strength, group exhibition, Minneapolis Foundation,
Minneapolis, MN, 1993
Urban Visionaries, group exhibition, Two Rivers Gallery,
Minneapolis, MN, 1992
Ernest Whiteman, George Morrison and Jeffrey Chapman, group
exhibition, First Peoples Gallery, Minneapolis, MN, 1992 Journey
in the Circle, solo exhibition, Katherine Nash Gallery, University
of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN, 1990