Suicide

I want to scream at the cruelty of mental illness! I want to tear at something, kick and howl. I, or should I say we, have lost a very talented and amazing person to suicide. He struggled intensely the past three years to try to find emotional even ground—he went through drug testing and all the current medical/psychiatric treatments. He went to treatment…and yet, treatment-resistant depression and anxiety cursed him. Words are hard to find to express the loss of such a vibrant and essential person, who courageously shared his struggles and journey with his coworkers, family, and friends. It has been hard watching someone’s spirit die, while their body keeps going, to see the hope and joy fade from their eyes, and to see them struggle each day just to be present for family and friends. I want to howl. My heart is broken and the loss is immense. My friend is free of his tortured mind, he had no other choice, but... Aa-rr-oo-oo…

Immigration

This country has been peopled by immigrants—people who came for opportunity, for possibilities, to escape religious persecution, to escape family, war, destitution … came for hope.

Family mythology maintains that my maternal great-grandmother came from Sweden. The story has it that a friend of hers was going to come to America as a mail-order bride, but the young woman chickened out so my great-grandmother came in her stead. Supposedly, she didn’t marry the hapless fellow but paid him back and made her way from there—eventually marrying a widower with children. Their union produced two daughters to add to that family.

Oxbow on the way to Holter Lake, family journal

Later, my maternal great-grandparents lived at Holter Lake where my great-grandfather was foreman on the dam construction, while great-grandma ran the single men’s boarding house.

One of their daughters, my grandmother, married a man whose family immigrated from Germany to Canada, then found their way to Montana. 

Thus my lineage on my mom’s side is barely four generations in this country; on my dad’s side the connection goes back to founding—even so we are newcomers to a land that was peopled long before our ancestors ever dared sail the flat world, risking spilling over the edge, or into the maw of monsters. 

Corvid Company

Artwork by Roberta Jones Wallace, 2020

"Awk," "awk" . . . a familiar throaty refrain. A crow calling, or commenting, as I begin my Sunday ramble with my dogs. There is something reassuring for me when I hear the crows' calls, or their throaty mumbling. I read in a book of fiction long ago that members of the corvid family are keepers of history. They see all and keep a record, their gatherings an exchange of information. Somehow it fits, since many times when I have been hiking in the woods it seems as if crows or ravens are following and tracking my journey—sometimes giving encouragement, sometimes muttering what a noisy person I am.

Crows and ravens often have the mixed blessing of being seen as tricksters or bad guys. In certain mythologies, they represent the balance between wisdom and foolishness. I frankly like the idea of levity in one’s ignorance, and the opportunity to progress despite it.

For me, they are a comfort, somehow making lone rambling un-lonely.

Thunderstorm

Charles M. Russell, When Horses Talk War There's
Slim Chance for Truce, X1952.01.08

On the news last evening the weather guy talked about hail/thunderstorms on the horizon and gave the warning to head for shelter at the first rumble. This sent my mind down the rabbit hole remembering riding horses with my best friend on their ranch when we were kids. We were up on the sagebrush hills near what we called their upper pasture when the sky went black and the fury of thunder and lightening clashed, and with that hail started pummeling down on us. Big hail, dangerous hail. We headed the horses down the trail to the “upper” pasture (which actually was a great grassy pasture bordered by the Missouri and cottonwoods) and took shelter under the large cottonwoods. 

The horses were excited, even the usually calm one I rode, and would thrust up their heads and roll their eyes with each boom of thunder. We decided between us to unsaddle the horses and let them go, since the risk of them spooking was greater than the 5 mile walk back to the ranch house. So we did, and when we slipped off their bridles they both turned and raced off. We hunkered down, and shortly my friend’s dad came driving up to find us. He’d started out with the storm, worried about our safety—and indeed gave us a ration for being under trees in a thunderstorm!

I recall (and forgive me if I’m in error), reading, I believe in Teddy Blue Abbott’s We Headed them North, about herding cattle during a thunderstorm, I think the story included a stampede…

Shooting Stars

Shooting Stars by Roberta Jones Wallace

A friend and I go hiking on Saturdays. She provides coffee and talk and graciously puts-up with my four-legged family. We usually ramble in the south hills of Helena, right outside her door. It has been fun to watch the wildflowers come up—starting with the pasque flowers. Two weeks ago, we came across several hillsides covered with shooting stars. I don’t think I’ve ever before seen so many in bloom at one time. They were in full glory, and we felt like kids seeing something new and special. We felt like magic was possible, so we wished upon those shooting stars! 

Too Scary

A selling point for getting our new building is that we can put more of our collections out in the public eye. There is always a balance with doing so, in that many of our collections are very fragile and light-sensitive, many are in need of conservation, and some are just too scary to exhibit!

Doll, 1977.26.01-03

Earl Heikka

Trophy Hunters by Earl Heikka, X1974.15.01

This is a bit of a darker ramble, I know I am struggling with depression and anxiety with the C-19 weirdness, as are some of my coworkers. I think of an amazing artist in our collection, Earl Heikka. We have several bronzes and a couple of models done by him. Heikka seems to have started as a shooting star in his career being collected by the likes of William Clark III, having a studio on Gary Cooper’s ranch. He apparently had a problem with alcohol and way too young committed suicide. 

None of us is immune to the dark night of soul, and the strictures around C-19, social distancing, self-isolating and so forth are causing underlying challenges to rear their ugly heads. I am thankful that I can get help, talk to friends, ramble with my dogs. There is still a stigma around mental health, and often one needs to get over one’s own resistances in order to get and receive that help.

Rambling

One of the fun things I’ve been allowed to do during this C-19 crisis is to ramble. As I’ve said before, I am just an exhibit designer, not a curator, and not a historian. My position gives me the pleasure of gleaning bits and pieces from our collections and the exhibits we create. The curators for said exhibits get to do the challenging part, researching and picking representative artifacts—and of course dealing with the exhibit crew, who always want more information, sooner so I can design and our carpenter can pre-construct mounts, cases, walls. I appreciate learning the history and thought processes involved, but then am always challenging curators to say less, and presenting them with the limits we have with time, space and budget. What a wet blanket.

Argyle Vest by Roberta Jones Wallace

That said, I also love that I get to draw for the rambles, as well as pull images from our collections. That too is some of the fun with exhibit fabrication, which is creating space and graphics which hopefully will augment the story and show off the collections!

Planning

Our Museum and Archives are still physically closed to the public, but we’re working behind the scenes. Many of us are working remotely, coming in occasionally to refresh material, print, or get help with cranky computers.

We are all, in some way or other, being affected by planning for the addition of new museum and public spaces. The planning is narrowing to building, grounds, exhibit and public spaces and collection storage. There is discussion for the remodel and movement of staff in our current building.

And of course early stage planning for packing and moving collections. This includes planning for compact storage, packing materials, refocusing staff duties and objectives—it also involves planning for which artifacts and artworks premier in the new exhibits, which will be included in our new Montana story exhibit.

Drawing by Roberta Jones-Wallace

There is a bit of the deer-in-the-headlights look about some of us as we try to change focus for this exciting and much needed addition. Our collections are agitating—some wanting to be left alone, other items anxious to be put on display. For these, much like the current phase in the state’s return to work protocol, items are assessed and ear marked for conservation, or matting and framing, or marked "at risk," too fragile to exhibit, and many other possibilities.

We may not be open physically, but we are working harder than ever to preserve, protect, and plan for the future.

Elk Head Horn Spoon

In an earlier post, I rambled about an amazing horn spoon in our collections, relaying only the basic of information about it, mainly what it was and its accession number. One of my friends who has been reading my rambles, and has very much an inquiring mind, wanted to know more. I forget sometimes to pass on more information, even though I ramble about the importance of the story associated with so many of our pieces. Of course, then I wouldn’t be rambling. (sort of)

The elk, as many other animals, feature in the mythology, songs and social organization, and art of the Lakota and other American Indians.

Animals are often represented in totems for personal sources of strength and power. The specific traits of an animal or insect could be utilized exemplifying behavior. (i.e.—the elk might represent beauty, gallantry and protection (Dinsmore, 1918). A person with elk medicine may strive to exemplify those characteristics. I hesitate to presume too much in this context, although as an artist and woodcarver, I find that I often need to understand the animals I depict (their behavior, environment, mythology) in order to try and represent their “spirit” or essence. So I extrapolate my experience and what I have read and interpreted about American Indian art.

Spoon, Lakota, cow horn, ca. 1900, MHS x1982.44.2

Charlie Russell

Yesterday I was mocking up a couple of options for an ad meant to run in a summer magazine insert. Of course, the state is still under quarantine restrictions, but the ads are anticipating a return to more normal (whatever that will be). In one ad I played with the idea that the exhibits are lonely. I used a drawing by “Friend Charlie.”

That version was nixed, but I thought that Russell’s drawing, As I Was, depicts life before he married Nancy was very much how I feel sequestered at home. And, we had a Zoom meeting for staff Monday last, and many of my male co-workers looked fairly scruffy. I think many of us are feeling a little claustrophobic, and disheveled.

As I Was by Charles M. Russell, pen and ink, 1986.06.04

Gold Fever

Gold Fever seems to have spread like wildfire with early discoveries. That shiny bit of gold fevered the minds and souls of many. Dreams of instant riches and all the amenities that go with such. Families abandoned on that promise, sweat and toil, obsession.

Yes, there were stories of mother lodes, and wealth, success for some—but countless other untold tales of struggle, loss, claim- jumping, murder.

The boom and bust of mining towns, the reinvention of communities struggling to remain after dust settles.

Miners, by Robert Swaim, oil on canvas, MHS 2004.64.01

Travel

There is a wonderful blog called The Kitchen Sisters Present. I first became aware of it from one of their blogs on archiving the “horseback librarians,” a Depression-era New Deal project. Reminded me of one of my paternal grandmother’s sisters who used to teach music on horseback—that is to say, she would visit her students on horseback.

We are so spoiled with autos and whatnot, but our predecessors used many resources to navigate—we have in our collections a bicycle ridden by a traveling minister, and photos in the archive collections of an all-Black military group riding bicycles as one of the Army’s attempts at alternative/practical means of transportation. There is even a brief history of the Army importing camels as possible conveyances!

Columbia chainless bicycle, with tubeless tires. MHS 2002.45.01 a-d
Although it is in rough shape, Reverend Ellis's family was enamored
enough with his story to save his bike and then donate it to the historical
society. So much of our collections are snippets of history that flesh
out stories of resiliency and innovation.

Art as Documentation

Before the internet, before cameras, artists were often the documenters of new lands. One of our past curators called Karl Bodmer, “Prince Maximilian’s point-and-shoot artist.” Bodmer was included in Maximilian’s explorations in North American to record images of people, cities, and rivers along the way.

Art is often used to document experience. MHS holds folios of Catlin and Audubon; lithographs by Bodmer; a small journal sketchbook of Granville Stuart’s; and many others—drawings illustrating journals, diaries, and letters; even Native American pictographs, petroglyphs, tipi liners, ledger art, winter counts and so on. We as humans document—big events, mundane things, strange and unusual things, plants, wild animals, family, pets, historic figures—the list goes on including whatever captures the artist’s eye or commissions tapping his or her skill. Even I fall into the habit in fits and starts.

Pachtüwa-chtä. An Arrikkara Warrior, by Karl Bodmer,
aquatint with engraving, ca. 1850, MHS X1970.27.48

Meadowlark

Montana’s state bird is the Western Meadowlark, a lovely robin-size bird with yellow underbelly, and striking fashion-statement black “v” on its chest.

My first bird-hunting venture with my father presented me with a rescue of a meadowlark that had been previously wounded by shotgun fire. The bird had lost use of its right leg and wing. I tucked it in my jacket and we brought it home. Hamlet (my young girl’s name for the bird) survived and gifted us with his melodic song for a number of years.

Birds, symbolically, are often seen as messengers between the earth and heaven.

Our friend the meadowlark is a musician of the grassland, its song an amazing series of flutelike notes, which brighten my heart.

Judgments

Cabin fever and my isolation is getting to me, even with my dogs and work (some remotely and some at MHS). Last week I was exceedingly vulnerable to criticism, or even presumed criticism. I found it impossible not to take pretty much everything personally. Reminded me of a family trait of sharp- tongued speaking—my great aunt one time commented: “You are smarter than you look…” I hadn’t seen my great aunt for a number of years and was in fact going out of my way specifically to see her. Her comment has stayed with me ever since.

In our Poindexter Collection, de Kooning’s Woman has that same judgmental expression. Could my great aunt have posed for Mr. de Kooning?!

Woman, by Willem de Kooning, oil on artist board, ca 1948, MHS X1960.05.01

Art as Solace

Flathead, ca. 1900, 1986..01.89, sketch by Roberta Jones-Wallace

I think of a past time, when I had made a move across the country to “follow my dream,” and of feeling lost, without a job, without a community. The local art museum there, had a free day on Thursdays, which is when I would go. I would find solace in two pieces of art there, both sculptural—both by unknown artisans—both centuries old. They helped me transcend my loneliness and pain, gave me space outside of myself.

Today I still find solace and joy in the creations of others. There is so much story and life, the human connection that transcends time and place.

Haniwa Horse, Japan, Tumulus period (between 500 and 599, not MHS, sketch by Roberta Jones-Wallace

The Arts

We are in the midst of a weird crisis—which hits home on all levels—but one of the beauties that is coming out of this is the flourishing of creativity—art, music, writing, photography—people are expressing themselves! Without the humanities life would be pretty flat. Without the reflection of where we have been, and the stories our predecessors told, we might be rootless. For me and many of the people I know, the humanities transcend the struggle to be alive—music soothes the anguished soul, art projects light and beauty into a gray vision, or just gives a sense of delight. A book or poetry is company, writing is a way to share thoughts, ideas, musings. As human creatures, we need connection, we need the stories of journey and struggle in order to make sense of where we live now and where we might be heading as a society.

Ulm Ranch, Josh Elliott, MHS 2006.57.01

Creation

Elk head horn spoon, Lakota, cow horn,
ca. 1900, MHS 1982.44.24

Why do people create? For some of us, it is a necessity—much like breathing. It helps to answer something in the soul, helps to buffer the current of daily life. I find it interesting that we find beautiful utilitarian objects throughout our collections, and life. Europeans considered American Indians uncivilized because they didn’t have “art”—and yet everyday objects were often embellished and decorated. Corn husk baskets woven with pattern, spoons carved, quill work dyed and patterned—natural pigments used to add pattern to clothing or items, shells, animal teeth, and feathers used to ornament and embellish clothing and other items. Metal and glass beads, buttons and fabrics were readily assimilated and incorporated on clothing, bags, moccasins, saddles, and what have you. This horn spoon has always captivated me.

Feeling Restless

The collections are getting restless…I am certain I hear whispering in storage when I wander back, sometimes I see movement out of the corner of my eye—yet no one is there… I think the collections have an “in” to the planning for new building and exhibit space. Both can mean chances to “show their stuff,” and elbow room in storage areas.

Co-workers are busily adding items to our on-line collections, both for the museum and archival collections. One can virtually explore so many artifacts, objects, newspapers, archival materials, and artwork, sort of like digging through the trunks in grandma’s storage space. Of course they are better in person, and better still when they are not restless.

Pioneer Doctor

Reading Pioneer Doctor by Mari Grana, a fictionalized account of a real person, Dr. Mary Moore Atwater. Dr. Atwater began her Montana medical career in Bannock, Montana Territory, working for the mining industry. She was an important player in the establishment of the State Tuberculosis Hospital at Galen and worked hard to educate people about health hazards in the camps and early town. She fought hard for women’s rights. She was in Helena during the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918, when doctors were in high demand and sequestering, masks, social distancing were in place.

Early doctors traveled on horseback, foot, carriage or wagon—racing out to treat patients in towns and hinterlands. Always, always the prayer of let me be in time…

Earl Heikka captures the drama of the country doctor racing to an emergency in this bronze. MHS 1992.13.01

Snowshoes

Trekking with my dogs on Sunday, breaking trail in fresh snow—not enough snow to pull out snowshoes, enough snow to get a workout. I got to thinking about how much our ancestors needed to rely on observation to survive. From observing animals, tracking their movements, finding food or water by watching—a cache hidden by squirrels or mice—game killed by another predator (pay attention, lest you become dinner too)—even to creating tools that benefit movement. Were the first snowshoes created by watching the snowshoe rabbit, whose pear-shaped back feet are mimicked by the shape of some style snowshoes?

by Roberta Jones-Wallace

Joe Scheuerle

Eagle Chief, front, MHS 2003.85.05

We have lots of art at the Histo—Charlie of course is our star, but currently we have an exhibit of Joseph Scheuerle’s work in our lobby gallery. 

Scheuerle was a contemporary of Russell and would meet up with Russell and others to travel to the reservations to paint from life. Scheuerle kept a sort of journal on the backs of many of his paintings—short synopses of his encounter with subjects—sometimes a weather report, sometimes a character report. 

Eagle Chief, back, MHS 2003.85.05

Much of our Scheuerle collection has been gifted to the society, as is much of our collections. The vision of the state’s founders, donors, lenders, staff and public make rich and varied treasures to our collections. We regularly exhibit fits and starts of our collections, usually with thematic exhibits in our Northeast Gallery, and 2-dimensional shows in our Lobby Gallery. We shine objects or highlights of history on our Montana Moments wall in our Homeland Gallery—and have augmented, or updated sections in that same gallery. We augment many of our exhibits with items lent by individuals, other museums and institutions, as we also loan our work to other museums.

We are working toward the transition/addition to our current building and new and exciting exhibits and experiences—which will mean working behind the scenes to make it all happen. The talented staff here are reaching out through social media and other media to keep information and excitement going. Our home page is a great resource during this time of isolation. 

Mask

In this strange time, as so many do, I went to Costco to purchase some items. It is strange now to go to any public vendor and be one of many masked and gloved people. Sometimes we smile at each other for the irony—but unless our eyes crinkle it is hard to tell. It adds to the sense of unreality. At any rate trundling down the aisles behind a gentleman in cowboy hat and vest with a bandana mask—another gentleman coming the opposite way put up his hands as if being robbed (which is how it feels). A chuckle and we all go on our way—but the brief levity lightened my mood.

In the museum, we have a robber’s mask on display, a simple square of brown cloth with eye holes cut out. It doesn’t seem like it would be very good as a mask, a modest breeze could remove your cover—which may be how it ended up in our collection!

MHS X1908.06.01, rendered by Roberta Jones-Wallace

Stories

Stories, here I go again…we all carry stories with us, family, friends, our own, his-(and her)story—cultures—there is that messy place (that I reside in) where so much comes together. In my own family, we have the mythic story of my paternal grandfather, who ran away from home at age 12, made it to Texas and came to Montana on a cattle drive. Was he enamored with the cowboy and western stories, as was Charlie Russell, such that he was bent to follow that route?

My understanding is that many of the early cowboys, were indeed boys, and young men. Rough living and riding would be more a young person’s game—broken bones, bowlegs and creaky joints often the tell-tell mark of an aging wrangler.

Teddy Blue Abbott writes a tale of cowboy life, adventures on the open range, and the changes that came as homesteaders and others tied up the range, We Pointed Them North. He eventually settled down to a small ranch and married life, maybe partially because those early “wild west” days had passed, and age puts a certain sensibility to our heads, if only because our bodies protest the exuberance of our past youth.

Chalie Russell titled this Cowboy on Horse Talking to White Woman. MHS 1980.19.01