I am not Navajo. The Navajos call me an Anglo or Blue Eyes. I don’t have blue eyes, but that is the Navajo way of saying I am not Native American-- neither Navajo nor of any other tribe of Native Americans. For years my father told me that I had a female Cherokee relative. I did not know her nor do I know her name. I have always felt one with the American Indian spirit. Even as a young child growing up in a rural area outside Columbus, Ohio, it’s one of those things I knew without really knowing.
After learning Navajo weaving from a woman from Windowrock, I spent many years weaving my own designs but using Navajo tapestry weaving techniques. It was as if I went into a psychic space where time became irrelevant. it was only the feel of the wool through my fingers, the piling up of the yarns as they began to take their form full of beauty and spirit.
It’s almost as if the history, the tears, anguish of the Long Walk and the Navajos’ endurance at Bosque Redondo are woven into each piece the the Navajos create. After three years the Navajos returned home thanks to the efforts of Barboncito. The great tragedy was over.
As part of an entry for the Diaspora show at the New Century Gallery in the Chelsea Art District of New York City, I painted this scene. Women and children were not exempt from the long walk. What had been pictured as a kind of Utopia where the Navajos could live their lives was nothing but a wasteland.
The Long Walk of the Navajos to Bosque Redondo, Oil on Canvas, 30 X 30,” $1950
Copyright Charlotte Shroyer 2013
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