The Thin Green Line

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about the trading post and its place in the larger scheme of things. At times, I feel it is simply a brokerage, nothing more than a buyer and seller of arts and crafts. On other occasions, however, I believe it may be helping the local craftspeople improve their lives and introduce their art to a larger market. It may be my place on the stage of mid-life, or just an ongoing search to find meaning in what I have been doing for the past several years, that has raised the concern. In either case, I have begun to look for relevance in this life among the coral cliffs.

I remember seeing a movie long ago called The Thin Blue Line. The film was about police officers and the separation they maintain between law-abiding citizens and those lawless individuals' intent on doing harm to the general population. The troopers create that narrow barrier, a thin blue line as it were, that facilitates order and helps keep us safe. I have begun to think of the trading post as The Thin Green Line, a financial buffer that helps Native artists rise above the subsistence level and stop worrying so much about how to pay the bills. In many ways, we are like the old-time traders; if we do our jobs properly, the local economy becomes more stable and the artists begin to create, rather than just recreate.

Since this area is chronically one of the poorest in the United States, it is always difficult for Navajo people, or anyone else for that matter, to find a job and become successful. The unemployment rate is staggering and job opportunities are rare. As a result of this difficult economic climate, many Navajo people rely on traditional crafts to sustain their families.

Under these circumstances, the craftspeople must be assured their work will sell; if it doesn't, the outgo exceeds the income. As a result, artists frequently become conservative and simply replicate what they have previously been successful making and selling. This conservatism stifles the artistry that may otherwise be found in the fingers of the weaver or the hands of the silversmith. In essence, the economic circumstances act as a barrier to innovation; the artists simply cannot accept the risk of making innovative items which may not sell. Even though the rewards can be higher for a new style or inventive pattern, the investment of time and materials simply cannot be justified. The question is always, "What if it doesn't sell?"

Many years ago we decided Twin Rocks Trading Post should be a catalyst for change. The process started simply---we just ask the people who brought their art into the store to make something different. To say we were naive would be a gross understatement. We had no idea what would be required to make the project work for us, our customers, and the artists, and no feel for the financial commitment we were making to these people and their art.

From the start, there were the mistakes and mis-firings that had to be purchased. Since we had asked for something extraordinary, we felt obligated to buy the piece, even if it was not really what we had in mind. Turning away the work left the artist with no outlet, and the creative force was immediately extinguished. That meant the project had failed, and the artist would be required to fall back on the old standards, or the repo man might begin circling the hogan. By purchasing the mistake, progress was maintained. If the process continued, the next piece might be interesting enough to merit the overall investment.

For almost 30 years, we have continued to ask for the unusual and have been rewarded with some of the most remarkable work produced in this part of the Navajo Reservation. As the artists have become more independent, they seem to feel greater freedom to experiment with new colors, shapes, and designs. By acting as that "thin green line" and shifting some of the financial risk to the trading post, we have actually set them free to be true artists, rather than simply subsistence craftspeople.

The excitement of seeing the latest creation unveiled can be extremely rewarding for the artist and for us. At this point, we cannot even begin to predict what will be brought into the trading post and that makes it an exciting place. From time to time, we still find ourselves groaning over something that didn't turn out exactly right, but the successes far outweigh the failures.

That, I guess, is what a trading post was meant to be: a line, a liberator, a catalyst for change, and a means of helping local artists grow and progress in their own unique ways.