As I stood cleaning the glass showcases, I heard a car drive
up in the parking lot outside the trading post. It was still fairly early, 8:30
a.m., rain had fallen, and the sun was out. I was in a reflective mood. When
the wheels of the vehicle stopped turning and the gravel stopped crunching, I
heard the door creak open. The car was not that old for a reservation vehicle,
ten years or so, but the sound of the door opening told me it had spent time on
the dusty, washboard-y backroads of southern San Juan County, Utah. The sound
brought back a conversation I had with a Spanish gentleman last week.
The extremely pleasant man and his spouse came into the
trading post and began reviewing the items on display. Woodcarvings
by Dennis Ross and the pottery of Nancy Yazzie seemed to have
captured his attention. After considering their work for a while, he politely
asked, "Why are these things so expensive?" He went on to explain he
had seen how the Navajo people live, and noticed they generally do not have a
high standard of living. Therefore, he could not comprehend why their work was
not priced much lower. He undoubtedly noticed the pained look on my face, and
quickly elaborated further by saying he had traveled around the world and seen
what he considered work of similar quality at significantly lower prices. The
scrunching of my face was not because the comments startled me; I have heard
the question and his explanation on other occasions. No matter how many times
the issues is raised, I still cannot find a satisfactory answer to this
extremely complicated issue. "Supply and demand? They want a better life? This
is America, not Africa," are usually followed by a quick exit, and, of course,
is neither satisfactory nor congenial.
The car door squeaking flooded my mind with images of the Navajo and Hopi reservations, and people I have known over the last thirty years of running Twin Rocks Trading Post. In particular, it reminded me how economically challenging things can be "out here." I have spent time at a Hopi friend's home and seen his grandmother living in what, as an outsider, seemed abject poverty. The old pueblo home had no running water, the bathroom was outside, and the furnishings sparse. After several hours at the house, however, I noticed little things like watermelon and squash under the bed and the happiness of the grandmother and her doting family, eventually realizing real wealth was founded in love and caring, not material items.
Despite my knowledge that there are things more important than money, I painfully understand how difficult it is for many of the artists bringing work to Twin Rocks. Barry and I are constantly walking the line between giving the artists the best possible price for their work and meeting the customer's needs; not to mention making a living for our own families. Frequently we fail, but we keep trying to improve the local economy and the artists' individual circumstances. There is a general perception, as expressed by the Spanish gentleman, that the work taken to produce traditional arts and crafts should not be valued as highly as mainstream services. With my background, it is sometimes difficult for me to comprehend why a Chicago or New York lawyer is worth $500.00 an hour, when the Navajo weaver or Amish quilter commands only minimum wage. Why, I often ask, do people generally fail to recognize a higher value in Native art? The happiness art brings us every hour of every day is invaluable, much like those watermelons and squash peeking out from under grandmother Tewa's bed or the happiness reflected in the faces of her children and grandchildren. Nothing could make us happier.
The car door squeaking flooded my mind with images of the Navajo and Hopi reservations, and people I have known over the last thirty years of running Twin Rocks Trading Post. In particular, it reminded me how economically challenging things can be "out here." I have spent time at a Hopi friend's home and seen his grandmother living in what, as an outsider, seemed abject poverty. The old pueblo home had no running water, the bathroom was outside, and the furnishings sparse. After several hours at the house, however, I noticed little things like watermelon and squash under the bed and the happiness of the grandmother and her doting family, eventually realizing real wealth was founded in love and caring, not material items.
Despite my knowledge that there are things more important than money, I painfully understand how difficult it is for many of the artists bringing work to Twin Rocks. Barry and I are constantly walking the line between giving the artists the best possible price for their work and meeting the customer's needs; not to mention making a living for our own families. Frequently we fail, but we keep trying to improve the local economy and the artists' individual circumstances. There is a general perception, as expressed by the Spanish gentleman, that the work taken to produce traditional arts and crafts should not be valued as highly as mainstream services. With my background, it is sometimes difficult for me to comprehend why a Chicago or New York lawyer is worth $500.00 an hour, when the Navajo weaver or Amish quilter commands only minimum wage. Why, I often ask, do people generally fail to recognize a higher value in Native art? The happiness art brings us every hour of every day is invaluable, much like those watermelons and squash peeking out from under grandmother Tewa's bed or the happiness reflected in the faces of her children and grandchildren. Nothing could make us happier.
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