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The eloquence of things : Indigeneity and the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exposition Bell, Gloria Jane 2018

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  T HE  E LO Q U E N CE O F T H IN G S :  IN D IG E N E IT Y  A N D  THE  19 25  P O NT IF IC A L M IS S IO N A R Y  E X H IB IT IO N   by  G LO R IA  J A NE  BELL  BA H ,  Q U EE N ’S  UN IV E RS IT Y ,  20 08  M . A. ,  C AR LE T O N  U N IV E R S IT Y ,  20 10    A  D IS S ERT A T IO N  SU BM IT T E D  IN  PA R T IA L FU LF IL L M E NT  O F TH E  R E QU IR E M E NTS  FO R  T HE  DE GR EE O F   D O CT OR  O F P H ILO S OPH Y    in T H E FAC U LT Y  O F GR A D U A T E AN D  P OS TD OC T ORA L  S TU D IE S  ( A RT  H IS T OR Y  AN D  TH E OR Y )  T H E U N IV E RS IT Y  O F  BR IT IS H  C O LU M BIA   ( V A NC O UV ER )  O C TO BER  2 01 8  © G LO R IA  J A NE  BE LL,  2 0 1 8  ii  COMMITTEE PAGE The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the dissertation entitled:  The Eloquence of Things: Indigeneity and the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exposition   submitted by Gloria Jane Bell  in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy In Art History and Theory  Examining Committee: Dr. Coll Thrush Supervisor  Dr. Catherine Soussloff Supervisory Committee Member  Associate Professor Dana Claxton  Supervisory Committee Member Dr. Margery Fee University Examiner Dr. Paige Raibmon University Examiner  Additional Supervisory Committee Members:  Supervisory Committee Member  Supervisory Committee Member iii  Abstract Assembled in the heart of the Vatican, the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exposition (PME) included specially designed pavilions showcasing art and artifacts taken by missions across the Americas, Asia, Oceania, and Africa. Sponsored by Pope Pius XI, and with the cooperation of the city of Rome and Italy’s fascist dictator Benito Mussolini, the exhibition featured over 100,000 objects and attracted over one million visitors during its 13-month run. Despite the exhibition’s success, drawing in pilgrims and tourists from across the globe, this potent and revealing example of the entanglement of Indigenous art and Catholic missionary history remains under-examined. The dissertation focuses on the Hall of Americas section of the exhibition, which held over 4,000 material things including photographs, textiles, diorama displays and statuary. The prehistory of the PME compares the vision of German artist Ferdinand Pettrich, and his statuary of Indigenous Americans that featured prominently in the Hall of Americas, in conversation with Edmonia Wildfire Lewis, an Anishinaabe artist working in Rome. The dissertation then examines the visitors’ experience of the PME and the prevalent fissures in the Rivista Illustrata, the illustrated journal of the exposition. Specifically focusing on misconstrued photographs of Indigenous peoples in the Rivista Illustrata, the dissertation offers a detailed analysis of the space of the Hall of Americas as an allochronic one that denied the contemporary reality of the diversity and modernity of Indigenous nations across Turtle Island, a process of colonial unknowing. Through the allochronic space of the Hall of Americas, and especially in encounters with dioramas and children’s games, visitors also participated indirectly in denying the realities for Indigenous children at Residential Schools in the 1920s. The final chapter then focuses on how First Nations cultural belongings sent in for the PME illuminate the diversity and complexity of Indigenous arts and Indigenous ontologies across Turtle Island. Presenting a new historiography that focuses on the intertwined nature of Indigenous Americans in Vatican City through visual culture—statuary, children’s games, Indigenous cultural belongings, and archival materials—this study showcases the mobility of First Nations art and artists in the Eternal City, an ongoing but under-studied relationship.   iv  Lay Summary On Sunday, December 21, 1924, Pope Pius XI descended the Vatican staircase solemnly and opened the holy door to the Pontifical Missionary Exposition. Standing in the central room, the Hall of the Americas, surrounded by art and cultural belongings of the Indigenous peoples of North America, he welcomed tourists and pilgrims alike into the folds of the Vatican. The unprecedented exhibition was held on the grounds of the Vatican, with specially designed pavilions showcasing materials from missions across the continents including the Americas, Asia, Oceania, and Africa. The exhibition attracted over one million viewers. Through an analysis of the artworks of Indigenous American artists, statuary of Indigenous American delegations, children’s games, and missionary accounts, the dissertation presents a new historiography of the mobility of Indigenous visual culture and the global circulation of First Nations artists and artworks in cosmopolitan spaces such as the Vatican.             v  Preface This dissertation is the original, unpublished, independent work of the author, Gloria Jane Bell.                  vi  Table of Contents  Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... iii Lay Summary ................................................................................................................................. iv Preface............................................................................................................................................. v Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................... vi List of Figures ................................................................................................................................ ix Acknowledgements ...................................................................................................................... xiv Dedication ..................................................................................................................................... xv Introduction: A Global Indigene in the Roman Archives: Writing from the Margins ................... 1 Journal: First Encounter with the Vatican Museum, March 2016 ...................................... 1 Introducing the PME ................................................................................................................ 2 Journal: Vatican Fototeca Archive, May 2016 ....................................................................... 3 Terminology: Indigenous, Indigeneity and the Global Indigene ........................................... 5 Literature Review: Indigeneity Out of Bounds ...................................................................... 6 Journal: The Vatican Apostolic Library, December 2016 .................................................. 13 On Secrecy, Whispers, and Missing Documents: Fragments of the Colonial Archives, Theorizing the Gaps ................................................................................................................ 14 Journal: Society of the Divine Word Verbite Archive, April 2016 ..................................... 17 Methodology: Situating Archival experiences, Felt Theory ................................................ 19 Notes from the Roman Archives: Forgotten, Unknown, and Missing Cultural Belongings ................................................................................................................................................... 24 Notes from the Roman Archives II: Indigenizing Art History ........................................... 30 Journal: The Propaganda Fide Library and Archive, Janiculum Hill, Rome, April 2016 ................................................................................................................................................... 32 Chapter Summary ................................................................................................................... 36 Journal: Roma, Non Basta Una Vita, February 2017 .......................................................... 39 Chapter One: Indigenizing the Story of Neoclassicism: Ferdinand Pettrich and Edmonia Wildfire Lewis ............................................................................................................................................. 41 Preface: The Roman Carte-de-visite (1876): An Anishinaabe Artist in Rome ................. 41 Indigenizing the Story of Neoclassicism: Ferdinand Pettrich and Edmonia Wildfire Lewis ......................................................................................................................................... 46 Decolonizing Neoclassical Art History .................................................................................. 49 Neoclassical Denial of Indigenous Presence .......................................................................... 51 vii  Ferdinand Pettrich: Sculpting Indigenous Nations ............................................................. 55 Pettrich’s Sketchbook: Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City (1837) ............ 59 Tecumseh (1857) ...................................................................................................................... 65 Pettrich’s Indian Museum 1857–1925: The Multiple Valences of Indigenous Statuary .. 71 Edmonia Lewis: Defying Colonial Expectations .................................................................. 78 The Studios of Edmonia Lewis as Indigenous Spaces .......................................................... 82 Minnehaha (1868) .................................................................................................................... 85 In Closing: Indigeneity in Unexpected Places, Rome .......................................................... 91 Chapter Two: Allochronic Representations in The Hall of Americas: The Visitors’ Experience at the PME ........................................................................................................................................ 96 Collecting Native Art across Turtle Island ......................................................................... 100 Approaching the Pontifical Missionary Exhibition ........................................................... 104 The Organization of the PME .............................................................................................. 107 Contemporary Fairs and Expositions ................................................................................. 114 1911 The World in Boston ..................................................................................................... 114 1924 Pageant of Empire at Wembley..................................................................................... 115 1927 Native and Modern Exhibition of Canadian West Coast Art ...................................... 117 1931 Exposition of Indian Tribal Arts, New York ................................................................ 118 1932 Venice Biennale ............................................................................................................. 119 Hall of Americas: Allochronic Space ................................................................................... 122 Fissures in the PME Logic: The Allochronic Southwest and the Unruliness of Things . 133 Chapter Three: “A Window on the World” of Blindness, Disavowal and “Colonial Unknowing”: Analysis of Dioramas, Children’s Games, and Missionary Perspectives on the PME ............... 143 Pop Culture to Pope Culture: Static Dioramas .................................................................. 147 Pop Culture to Pope Culture: Children’s Games .............................................................. 160 Residential Schools and Missionary Exhibitions ................................................................ 171 In Conclusion: Lux in Tenebris Certificate and Pope Pius XI’s Blindness ..................... 180 Chapter Four: The Eloquence of Things: Indigenous Materiality at the PME ........................... 185 Displacing Father Marquette in the Hall of Americas....................................................... 185 Willing and Unwilling Travellers from Turtle Island to the Eternal City: Indigenous Cultural Belongings as Visual Sovereigns ........................................................................... 187 A Lakota Sioux Sun Dance Drawing: Imaging the Great Mystery Wakan’tanka ......... 195 A Wooden Cross of the Passamaquoddy: Carving Indigenous Spiritualities ................. 203 viii  An “Ancient Archive” and a Visual Assertion of Sovereignty: The Haudenosaunee Wampum Belt ........................................................................................................................ 210 Cree Moccasins: Souvenir Arts for Self Sustaining Practices........................................... 216 Stolen Property: Kwakwaka’wakw Ancestral Sun Mask ................................................. 222 Indigenous Cultural Belongings: Visual Sovereigns in the Eternal City ......................... 227 Conclusion: An Indigenous Protestor at the PME ...................................................................... 230 Afterlife of the PME: Inspiration for Fascism?.................................................................. 233 Expanding the Red Atlantic: Indigenes in the Eternal City ............................................. 235 Figures......................................................................................................................................... 237 Bibliography ............................................................................................................................... 293 Appendix A ................................................................................................................................. 319                    ix  List of Figures Figure 1. 1, Installation of miniature canoes at the Vatican museum from the Americas, April 7, 2016. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016).................................................................................................. 237  Figure 1. 2, Ferdinand Pettrich’s statuary collection in the Vatican Ethnological Museum, April 7, 2016. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016).............................................................................................. 238  Figure 1. 3, Acoma and Zuni pottery, April 7, 2016. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016). ...................... 239  Figure 1. 4, View of the Secret Archive entrance and Vatican Apostolic Library, January 15, 2017. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017).................................................................................................. 240  Figure 1. 5, Photographer unknown, Ephemera of the 1925 Vatican Missionary Exposition, c. 1925, private collection. .............................................................................................................. 241  Figure 1. 6, “Norme circa gli oggetti destinati all’Esposizione,” Pope Pius XI request list for the PME. Courtesy of Archivium Generale O.M.I. Romae (Oblates), Rome. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016). ......................................................................................................................................... 242  Figure 1. 7, Photograph of Sioux children who likely sent in Indian Souvenirs for the PME. Source: Florentine Digman, The Indian Sentinel, Volume 5, No 3, Summer 1925, 115. .......... 243  Figure 1. 8, Current Vatican wall text for the Missionary Collection which describes materials as gifts and praises the "great Vatican exhibition." April 7, 2016. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016). ...... 244  Figure 1. 9, View of St. Peter’s from Janiculum Hill and Collegio di Propaganda Fide, May 15, 2016. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016).................................................................................................. 245  Figure 2. 1, Edmonia Lewis, Fratelli D’Alessandri, Rome. Carte-de-visite of Edmonia Lewis, ca. 1874-76. Albumen silver print mounted on card stock, 10.2 . 6.3 cm, Courtesy of Walters Art Museum Collection. .................................................................................................................... 246  Figure 2. 2, Photographer unknown, Ferdinand Pettrich busts overtop of Diné textiles. Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1925). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. ........................... 247  Figure 2. 3, Thomas Crawford, The Indian: The Dying Chief Contemplating the Progress of Civilization, 1856, marble. Courtesy of New York Historical Society and Museum. ................ 248  Figure 2. 4, Ferdinand Pettrich, Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City, c. 1837, ink and goache on paper, (Ferdinand Pettrich Sketchbook #35A, 35B). Courtesy of Newberry Library. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017).............................................................................................. 249  x  Figure 2. 5, Ferdinand Pettrich, Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City, c. 1857, low relief, plaster, 1857. Courtesy of Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History National Anthropological Archives. .......................................................................................................... 250  Figure 2. 6, Ferdinand Pettrich, Dying Tecumseh, c. 1857, marble. Courtesy of Smithsonian Museum of American Art. .......................................................................................................... 251  Figure 2. 7, Ferdinand Pettrich, Dying Tecumseh, c. 1857, plaster, Vatican Museums, Ethnological Museum, Rome. Source: Katherine Aigner, Nicola Mapelli, Giovanni Bertelllo, and Antonio Paolucci, The Americas: Collections from the Vatican Ethnological Museum, (2015). Photo copyright © Vatican Museums. ........................................................................................ 251  Figure 2. 8, Photographer unknown, Hall of Americas, c. 1925. Source: John Joseph Considine, The Vatican Mission Exposition: A Window on the World, (1925). ........................................... 252  Figure 2. 9, Cover of Americhe, The Americas Collection of the Vatican Ethnological Museum. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017)............................................................................................................ 253  Figure 2. 10, Edmonia Lewis, Minnehaha, 1868, marble, Courtesy of  Metropolitan Museum of Art. .............................................................................................................................................. 254  Figure 2. 11, Unknown Photographer, Photograph of Chief Iron Tail, Major John Burke and Jacob White Eyes at Café Greco in Rome, 1906. Courtesy of Buffalo Bill Center of the West, Cody, Wyoming, USA; P.6.365. ................................................................................................ 255  Figure 3. 1, Unknown Photographer, Il Lavoro di Sistemazione Della Mostra, 1924. Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1924). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ......................................................................................................................................... 256  Figure 3. 2, Maurizio Rava, PME poster, chromolithograph, 1925. Courtesy of Mill Hill Missionary Society Archive. ....................................................................................................... 257  Figure 3. 3, Photographer unknown, German pilgrims heading towards the holy door, 1925. Courtesy of United Archive. ....................................................................................................... 258  Figure 3. 4, Map of the PME exposition. Source: Anonymous, L’esposition missionnaire du Vatican et le Musée missionnaire ethnographique du Latran, 1925-1927, (1929). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ............................................. 259  Figure 3. 5, View across the Borneo mission stand, “The collection generated tremendous interest and gave a fair idea of the way of life of both of the indigenous peoples and of the missionaries working among them” 1925. Courtesy of Mill Hill Missionary Society Archive. 260 xi  Figure 3. 6, Mission stand from Uganda illustrating the Vicariate of the Upper Nile,  including carvings, basketwork and wax model, 1925. Courtesy of Mill Hill Missionary Society Archive...................................................................................................................................................... 261  Figure 3. 7, Carl Simon, Pope Pius XI opens Holy Door, 1925. Courtesy of United Archive... 262  Figure 3. 8, The Hall of North America. Source: Anonymous, L’esposition missionnaire du Vatican et le Musée missionnaire ethnographique du Latran, 1925-1927, (1929). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ............................................. 263  Figure 3. 9, Hall of America, Source: John Joseph Considine, The Vatican Mission Exposition: A Window on the World, (1925). .................................................................................................... 264  Figure 3. 10, Ferdinand Pettrich busts overtop of Diné textiles. Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1925). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections...................................................................... 265  Figure 3. 11, Ferdinand Pettrich, “Ha-Sa-Za: Chief of the Sioux” (Drawing with pastel on paper, c. 1837, (Ferdinand Pettrich Sketchbook #8). Courtesy of Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017)........................................................................... 266  Figure 3. 12, Ferdinand Pettrich, “Sauk-Fox Woman,” c. 1837, (Ferdinand Pettrich Sketchbook #33). Courtesy of Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ......................................................................................................................................... 267  Figure 3. 13, Ferdinand Pettrich, “Kee-o-kuck: The present cief of the confederated tribes of the Sacs and Foxes” (inscription on drawing), c. 1837, (Pettrich Sketchbook, Drawing 23). Courtesy of Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ............ 268  Figure 3. 14, Ferdinand Pettrich, Untitled, c. 1837, (Ferdinand Pettrich Sketchbook #25). Courtesy of Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017)...................................................................................................................................................... 269  Figure 3. 15, Ferdinand Pettrich, Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City, c. 1837, (Ferdinand Pettrich Sketchbook #35A, 35B). Courtesy of Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017)........................................................................... 270  Figure 3. 16, Robert Streit, “Missioni Presenti Tra Gli Infedeli,” Present Missions amongst the Infidels, 1925. Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016). . 271  Figure 3. 17, “Navajo women in gala costume.” Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1925). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016). ............................................. 272  xii  Figure 3. 18, “Navajo girls weaving indigenous rugs.” Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1925). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016)........................... 273  Figure 3. 19, Stylized “Indians” on cover page. Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1924). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016). ............................................. 274  Figure 4. 1, “The Lady visitors admire the texture of some eastern cloth” Visitors to the PME examining a textile, 1925. Courtesy of Mill Hill Missionary Society Archive. ......................... 275  Figure 4. 2, “A Missioner Teaching Araucanian Indians.” Source: John Considine, The Vatican Mission Exposition: A Window on the World, (1925). ............................................................... 276  Figure 4. 3, “Models of a Native Hut and Aborigines of Ecuador.” Source: John Joseph Considine, The Vatican Mission Exposition: A Window on the World, (1925). ......................... 277  Figure 4. 4, Hall of Americas. Source: P Giovanni, L’esposizione Missionaria Vaticana e L’Ordine dei Frati Minor Cappucini, (1925). Courtesy of Paul Bechtold Library Special Collections, Catholic Theological Union. ................................................................................... 278  Figure 4. 5, Hall of Americas. Source: P Giovanni, L’esposizione Missionaria Vaticana e L’Ordine dei Frati Minor Cappucini,(1925). Courtesy of Paul Bechtold Library Special Collections, Catholic Theological Union. ................................................................................... 278  Figure 4. 6, A Corner of the Hall of South America. John Joseph Considine, The Vatican Mission Exposition: A Window on the World, (1925). ............................................................................. 279  Figure 4. 7, Anonymous, Viaggi Missionari, Missionary Voyages, c. 1930, chromolithograph. Courtesy of Missionary Ephemera Collection, RG 221, Special Collections, Yale Divinity Library. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017).............................................................................................. 280  Figure 4. 8, Anonymous, Il Giuoco del Missionario /The Game of the Missionary, c. 1930, chromolithograph. Courtesy of Missionary Ephemera Collection, RG 221, Special Collections, Yale Divinity Library. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ...................................................................... 281  Figure 4. 9, Anonymous, Certificate of Participation in the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exposition, 1925. Courtesy of Oblate Archives, (Archivium Generale O.M.I. Romae) ............ 282  Figure 5. 1, Photographer unknown, Father Marquette, 1925. Source: Rivista Illustrata, (1925). Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017)........................... 283  Figure 5. 2, Lakota Sioux, Lakota Sun Dance Drawing, c. 1875, Pigments, muslin, 83x138 cm, inv: 107323, (Rome, Vatican Museums Ethnological Collection). Source: Katherine Aigner, xiii  Nicola Mapelli, Giovanni Bertelllo, and Antonio Paolucci, The Americas: Collections from the Vatican Ethnological Museum, (2015). Photo copyright © Vatican Museums. ........................ 284  Figure 5. 3, Installation of miniature canoes at the Vatican museum from the Americas. April 7, 2016. Photo: Gloria Bell (2016).................................................................................................. 285  Figure 5. 4, Passamaquoddy artist, Christ from Passamaquoddy, c. 1830, wood carving with pigment. (Rome, Vatican Museums Ethnological Collection) In Annali Lateranensi 1937, volume 1, 19. Courtesy of Propaganda Fide Library Collections, Rome. .................................. 286  Figure 5. 5, Deskaheh in Geneva wearing wampum. Source: Joelle Rostkowski, “Deskaheh’s Shadow: Indians on the International Scene,” European Review of Native American Studies, 9, no 2 (1995): 1. Courtesy of Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections. Photo: Gloria Bell (2017). ...................................................................................................................... 287  Figure 5. 6, Haudenosaunee, Wampum Belt and detail, c. 1830, Deer hide, shell, cotton, 231 x 11.5 cm, inv: 197525, (Rome, Vatican Museums Ethnological Collection). Source: Katherine Aigner, Nicola Mapelli, Giovanni Bertelllo, and Antonio Paolucci, The Americas: Collections from the Vatican Ethnological Museum, (2015). Photo copyright © Vatican Museums. .......... 288  Figure 5. 7, Cree, Moccasins, c. 1900, Moose hide, beads, 21 x 27.5 x 12 cm, inv: 106048_2.1-2_2, (Rome, Vatican Museums Ethnological Collection). Source: Katherine Aigner, Nicola Mapelli, Giovanni Bertelllo, and Antonio Paolucci, The Americas: Collections from the Vatican Ethnological Museum, (2015). Photo copyright © Vatican Museums. ...................................... 289  Figure 5. 8, Kwakwaka’wakw, Sun Dance Mask, c. 1900, cedar, pigments, 53 x 37 x 19 cm, inv: 101600, (Rome, Vatican Museums Ethnological Collection). Source: Katherine Aigner, Nicola Mapelli, Giovanni Bertelllo, and Antonio Paolucci, The Americas: Collections from the Vatican Ethnological Museum, (2015). Photo copyright © Vatican Museums. ...................................... 290  Figure 6. 1, Unknown photographer, Sacred Heart Missionary with cultural belongings from Oceania at the PME, 1925. Courtesy of Damien Collection Leuven, Belgium.......................... 291  Figure 6. 2, Antonio Fernando’s leaflet that he distributed at the entryway to the PME. Source:  Fiona Paisley, The Lone Protester: A M Fernando in Australia and Europe, (2012). ............... 292      xiv   Acknowledgements I am thankful to the faculty, staff and my fellow students at UBC for their support and encouragement. I owe particular thanks to my supervisor Dr. Coll Thrush and my committee members Dr. Catherine M. Soussloff and Professor Dana Claxton for their insights, encouragement and support.   Vanier Canada Graduate Scholarship program, the Joseph-Armand Bombardier Canada Graduate Scholarship (CGS), the Cordula and Gunter Paetzold Fellowship, and the Aboriginal Fellowship, University of British Columbia supported the dissertation research. My research was also supported by the Frances C. Allen and Newberry Consortium in American Indian Studies Graduate Student Fellow program at the Newberry Library and a fellowship at the Terra Foundation for American Art, Giverny.   There is a multitude of archivists and librarians I owe thanks to across Canada, the U.S. and Italy. I would also like to thank my colleagues in the field of art history and Native studies for reading drafts of this work: in particular: Elisabetta Frasca for her encouragement, friendship, and support in Rome, Anna Stewart for our hearty conversations and delicious meals in Tuscany and Rome, Emily Burns for her careful readings of earlier drafts, Rajarshi Sengupta, Kelsey Wrightson, and my cohort of art historians at UBC. I am also especially thankful to my family, who have supported me throughout my years of education.           xv   Dedication For my family, in the now and the hereafter.  1  Introduction: A Global Indigene in the Roman Archives: Writing from the Margins   Journal: First Encounter with the Vatican Museum, March 2016  The sky was a bright robin’s egg blue, and I felt excited, nervous, and jet-lagged as I headed toward the Vatican Museum. I had finally arrived in Rome for my dissertation work. The city was full of colour and drama, and walking by Bernini’s colonnade and the opulence of St. Peter’s on my way to the Vatican created an overwhelming sense of drama within me. The Vatican Museum, with its heavy brown rustication, did not hide the fact that it was a fortress. It was an imposing, austere space for me to enter, and I waited in a long line to be admitted to the museum collections. When I first entered the museum, I walked up a ramp that curled around like a snake, while most visitors took the elevators. Halfway up the ramp, I found myself on the cortile delle corazze, standing in front of a small display that seemed to be a vestige from previous museum history (Figure 1.1). Canoes—miniature models from the Americas (both North and South)—were on display. Uncannily, they appeared to be the very models that had been sent in for the Pontifical Missionary Exposition (PME) of 1925. Beside the vitrines were blown-up photographs of unnamed Native peoples, placed there without any contextual information. The display reminded me of displays of “primitive” art in other museums, such as the Quai Branly in Paris, with curatorial emphasis placed on the “pre-modern” nature of Indigenous peoples rather than any acknowledgment of their modernity.1 This had been the same display strategy the curators at the PME used in the Hall of Americas almost a century earlier.                                                           1 The Quai Branly museum has a vast array of photographs and cultural belongings from Indigenous America. “Quai Branly,” accessed April 18, 2018, http://www.quaibranly.fr/en/explore-collections/. 2  However, for me the canoes were also reminders of the multiple technologies Indigenous peoples use for transport and the many ways that Indigenous peoples move across time and space.  After walking by the collection of miniature canoes, I went to the Missionary Ethnology Collection, which the museum has situated in the basement beneath the Pinacoteca. The Pinacoteca houses “masterpieces of Italian art,” and its “modern art wing” was, not coincidentally, situated above the Indigenous cultural belongings in the Missionary Ethnology Collection. I walked down the stairs into the basement. A rush of visitors walked by as I peered through the glass. Although I had been denied curatorial access to the Missionary Ethnology Collections, I went to see what I could see regardless. Through the clear glass I could make out Ferdinand Pettrich’s busts and full-length figures in the centre of the room (Figure 1.2). I thought to myself how little had changed; in photographs from 1925, Pettrich’s statuary also took front and centre in the Hall of the Americas, while the reviewers ignored the Indigenous cultural belongings around them. The curatorial texts in the exhibition described the materials as “gifts” given to the Pope, the same language of possession and ownership that denied the materials the status of important cultural belongings and signifiers of Indigenous peoples’ cultural and intellectual sovereignty.  I kept looking, and I saw a series of pottery items from the US Southwest. They appeared to be from the Acoma Pueblo, an Indigenous community of the Southwest (Figure 1.3). Feelings of annoyance and anger rushed through me at the patronizing tone presented by the museum texts and display methods, and I took note of my feelings and continued walking. Introducing the PME   This dissertation, “The Eloquence of Things: Indigeneity and the Pontifical Missionary Exposition 1925,” investigates representations of Indigenous peoples in art and visual culture 3  and cultural belongings made by Indigenous artists at the exposition. Concentrating on the Hall of Americas and focusing on Indigenous experiences and histories in Canada and the United States, this project is the first to take up the history of Indigeneity as presented at the Vatican and in Rome.2 Combining art history and Indigenous studies to create the research methodology sheds new insights into understanding international exhibitions, transnational networks of Indigenous arts, and archival theories. The Hall of Americas section of the exhibition held over 4,000 objects, including photographs, sculpture, textiles, and wax mannequin displays. Drawing on archival evidence, Indigenous methodologies, and art historical analysis, I trace the persuasive power of these material things and articulate the relationships between Indigenous peoples and their cultural belongings. The dissertation critically analyzes representations of Indigenous peoples in sculpture, drawing, and photography from the nineteenth through the early twentieth century, focusing on Indigenous peoples of Canada and the United States. The historical sweep of the dissertation ranges from 1835 to 2018, beginning with the careers of the artists Ferdinand Pettrich and Edmonia Lewis in Rome in the mid nineteenth century, which I think of as a prehistory of the exhibition, through to an analysis of the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exhibition (PME), and ending with my recent archival encounters in the Vatican.  Journal: Vatican Fototeca Archive, May 2016    I had an interesting day yesterday. It was intense. I was snuck into the Fototeca Archive at the Vatican Museum, a photo repository, and saw some photos from the closing of the PME of 1925 and from the 1927 opening of the Lateran Missionary Museum. It was interesting because I                                                           2 In Renaissance studies of the early modern period, recent scholarship, such as art historian Lia Markey’s Imagining the Americas in Medici Florence, focuses on Indigenous art collections of the Americas in Florence, Italy, material things in the “New World” collections that include feather paintings. Markey focuses primarily on South America. Lia Markey, Imagining the Americas in Medici Florence (University Park: Penn State University Press, 2017).  4  could see evidence of the transitions of the museum after the closing of the PME in the photos; some of the vitrines were open, and there were also newspaper scraps lying around on the floor, and materials, including cultural belongings, were also scattered there. It reminded me of anthropologist Ann Stoler’s admonition to write about the unbalanced archival moments, the unpolished spaces.3 This was evidence of the disorientation of the PME, an unofficial record that would never make its way into the official catalogues. I saw a plethora of materials from North America, including Dene Alaskan masks, suits of seal fur, woven baskets, pottery, miniature models of dogsled teams, and Sioux regalia. I also saw weapons, including arrows, an axe, a club, beaded octopus bags from the Great Lakes, a nice collection of parfleche, two masks from the Northwest Coast, Haida argillite miniature totem poles, hide drums, birchbark baskets, and Dene textiles. The photographs provided clear material evidence of the contents of the collections. Front and centre in these photographs were Pettrich’s statuary and, on the walls, his low reliefs. I made a drawing of the Indigenous cultural belongings and asked if I could take photographs, but the curator said this was not allowed. Toward the end of the day, after the other curators in the small office had left, the curator whispered that my visit would be a one-time occurrence.  At the Fototeca, the person who let me in was nervous about me being there. It was helpful, though, to see the photographs. I also wonder if some of the material no longer exists due to infestation or neglect. As a former curator said in the privacy of her own home, the Plains buffalo hides that were included in the PME in 1925 were destroyed by an insect infestation.4 The question of access to the Ethnographic Collections remains open. I also saw the former                                                           3 Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 256.   4 Conversation with former curator, April 20, 2016.  5  curator yesterday at her house and saw some more photos of the Americas collection, but it seemed an exercise largely in frustration; I could see some of the material, but the curator cannot legally let me use the images. Terminology: Indigenous, Indigeneity and the Global Indigene  What do I mean by Indigenous? There are current debates around the term, but there is no single answer or reply I can give. Just as there are debates around terminology in many other specialized fields, so too in Indigenous Studies. The current definition supplied by the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) is not uniformly accepted. For the purposes of this project, I am interested in artworks depicting the people autonomous to Turtle Island (Canada and the United States) as well as artworks made by people autonomous to Turtle Island, who have experienced colonization under European rule but are still thriving and continuing to produce art. Within Canada, I mean the First Nations, Métis, and Inuit, and within the United States, I am referring to Indigenous Americans and Native Americans, which in the nineteenth century was also used interchangeably with Indian. By using the term Indigenous as an Indigenous Studies scholar, I also hope to connect my project with the broader political project of affirming rights for Indigenous peoples and recognition for Indigenous Studies worldwide. My perspective on this project has been shaped by my training in art history and Indigenous Studies and my personal experience as an Indigenous thinker with heritage ties to the Métis and Cree peoples of Canada. There is a growing body of scholarship on the complexity of the terms Indigenous and Indigeneity as well as movements toward decolonizing the “United States” and “Canada” as settler colonial nations.5                                                           5 See the work of Carl Benn, Mohawks on the Nile: Natives Among the Canadian Voyageurs in Egypt, 1884-1885 (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 2009); John Brown Childs and Guillermo Delgado, Indigeneity: Collected Essays (Santa Cruz, CA: New Pacific Press, 2012); Karsten Fitz, Visual Representations of Native Americans: Transnational Contexts and Perspectives (Heidelberg: 6  My project builds on transnational Indigenous historical studies and Indigenous Studies. By using the term “Global Indigene,” I align my thinking with a new wave of Native scholars and activists. Haida/Tsimshian art historian Marcia Crosby reminds us of the “Imaginary Indian,” the way that settler colonial identities have used Native representations as a foil and projection for settler colonial myths.6 However, I am more interested in how Indigenous people have played active roles in shaping their own lives and not merely as the constructed foils and projections of others. Critical analysis of the visual record remains crucial in this new wave of thinking. Indigenous scholars Crystal Fraser and Zoe Todd note, “[i]f Indigenous people are present in historical records, they are often depicted as passive bystanders, rarely [as] free agents in their own right and far removed from narratives that highlight agency or sophistication.”7 In contrast to Fraser and Todd’s observation,  my dissertation then emphasizes the entangled nature of Indigenous American artists such as Lewis, Indigenous cultural belongings, and archival records. Through a specific engagement with the Pontifical Missionary Exposition in Rome, my work engages with questions of the agency of Indigenous cultural belongings, of the artist Edmonia Lewis, and my own embodied experiences in Roman archives as well as archives and collections in Canada and the US.8  Literature Review: Indigeneity Out of Bounds                                                              Universitatsverlag Winter, 2012); Kate Flint, The Transatlantic Indian, 1776-1930 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009); Shari M Huhndorf, Going Native: Indians in the American Cultural Imagination (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001); Shari M. Huhndorf, Mapping the Americas: the Transnational Politics of Contemporary Native Culture (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009); Terry Goldie, Fear and Temptation: The Image of the Indigene in Canadian, Australian, and New Zealand Literatures (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s, 2014); Jace Weaver, The Red Atlantic: American Indigenes and the Making of the Modern World, 1000-1927 (Chapel Hill: UNC Press, 2014). 6 Marcia Crosby, “Construction of the Imaginary Indian,” in Vancouver Anthology: The Institutional Politics of Art, ed. Stan Douglas (Vancouver: Talon Books, 1991), 267-291. 7 Crystal Fraser and Zoe Todd, “Decolonial Sensibilities: Indigenous Research and Engaging with Archives in Contemporary Colonial Canada,” L’Internationale (2016), accessed April 18, 2018, no page numbers, http://www.internationaleonline.org/research/decolonising_practices/54_decolonial_sensibilities_indigenous_research_and_engaging_with_archives_in_contemporary_colonial_canada. 8 See the bibliography for the list of archives and collections consulted.  7  In his book, Indians in Unexpected Places, the Sioux historian Phillip Deloria aims to re-centre American Indigenous histories. He argues for the continuing presence of Indigenous lives, taking people who have been consistently thought of as living in a static past and as anomalies and looking at their intersections with modernity. His work builds a counternarrative of Indigenous mobility against the fact that, from the late nineteenth into the early twentieth century, governments attempted to control all aspects of Native American lives, including restricting Indigenous people to isolated reserves.9 Throughout the book, Deloria deconstructs the “Imaginary Indian” while noting the importance of this fantasy to the construction of American settler identity. The Indian consistently served as the settler’s foil, primitive, violent, and anti-technology, but safely confined on the reserve, controlled within boundaries defined by the state. Deloria’s perspective on Indigenous mobility is important for considering how Native peoples and others challenged settler-colonial expectations of linear, progressive history, and how Indians used modern technology despite the repressive and controlling reservation system. In The Red Atlantic, Jace Weaver also picks up on this theme of mobility in his tracing of the lives of “willing and unwilling travellers through the region,” which he loosely defines as the areas touched by the Atlantic Ocean, inspired by Paul Gilroy’s The Black Atlantic.10  Part of the current wave of transoceanic studies, The Red Atlantic introduces a concept that enables an appreciation of the central importance of Indigenous Americans in the transoceanic exchanges of ideas. To date, histories of the Atlantic have been primarily white histories. Weaver’s work aims to open up new “intellectual trade routes,” a term coined by Robert Warrior and inspired by Edward Said.11 Weaver notes that, throughout the literature on                                                           9 Philip Deloria, Indians in Unexpected Places (Lawrence, KA: University Press of Kansas, 2004), 52. 10 Jace Weaver, The Red Atlantic: American Indigenes and the Making of the Modern World, 1000-1927 (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2014).  11 Ibid., 6. 8  experiences of Natives abroad, there is a paternalism that sees these events as merely one-time occurrences or even freak examples. He argues that Indigenous Americans have always been adaptive and that Indigenous culture has constantly shifted to make use of new ideas. With this in mind, Weaver argues for a recognition of the central role of Indigenous people in shaping modern history from North America, noting the multiple travellers from Native North America who went abroad as missionaries or as part of tribal delegations to bring awareness of their rights as First Peoples.12  Historian Coll Thrush’s work on the Inuit, like his book Indigenous London, is also a reconsideration of the global movement of Indigenous peoples through space and the meaning of cultural encounters. Thrush examines the entanglement of urban and Indian spaces through an analysis of the encounters of Indigenous nations with the British empire in London from the sixteenth through the twenty-first century. Thrush’s work questions the notions of imperial centre and colonial periphery and adds to an underwritten history of urban and Indigenous histories, previously described as mutually exclusive.13   Kate Flint’s discussion of the “Transatlantic Indian” builds on Philip Deloria’s Indians in Unexpected Places and has provided inspiration for studies such as Weaver’s Red Atlantic.14 Her work is especially important in relation to how scholars are framing Native peoples’ experiences in the nineteenth century in tandem with events not only occurring in North America but also in England and Europe.  Her work thus expands the field of transnational studies and amplifies the crucial role that representations of Native people and actual Native people played, and continue                                                           12 Ibid., 136. 13 Coll Thrush, “The Iceberg and the Cathedral: Encounter, Entanglement, and Isuma in Inuit London,” Journal of British Studies 53, no.1 (2014): 59-79. See also Coll Thrush, Indigenous London: Native Travelers at the Heart of Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016). 14 Deloria, 3.  9  to play, in the understanding and imagining of cultural difference and the construction of national and transnational identities. She provides an in-depth analysis of an array of sources, including literature, travel narratives, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Shows, and missionary accounts, which together construct the “Imaginary Indian,” to use Crosby’s term.  Drawing on several case studies of well-known Indigenous missionaries, including Ojibwa George Copway, she notes how Indigenous missionaries negotiated Christianity.15  In her article “Transnational Indigenous Exchange,” Turtle Mountain Chippewa scholar Danika Medak-Saltzman analyzes a photograph of two Indigenous women, one Ainu from Japan, the other from Patagonia, Argentina, and their encounter at the 1904 St. Louis Exposition. She argues that their experiences can help complicate narratives of colonial erasure and can position Indigenous people at the centre rather than the peripheries of history.16 While the 1904 St. Louis Exposition was a colonial moment of celebration, it also contained moments of anticolonial possibility. Although there is a dearth of scholarship on transnational Indigenous exchange, her work aligns with speculative possibilities, echoes previous work in Native studies, and counters the silence of colonialism. Like Medak-Saltzman, in this dissertation I also draw on photography to a significant degree to reframe missionary interpretations and biases in order to emphasize Indigenous agency.  Overall, the scholarly work discussed above forms part of the shifting movement of scholars who are interested in uncovering Indigenous histories, making them central to discussions of modern life, and moving Indigenous histories from the margins to the centre.17                                                           15 Kate Flint, The Transatlantic Indian, 1776-1930 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009).  16 Danika Medak-Saltzman, “Transnational Indigenous Exchange: Rethinking Global Interactions of Indigenous Peoples at the 1904 St. Louis Exposition,” American Quarterly 62, no. 3 (2010): 591-615. See also Nancy E. Van Deusen, Global Indios: The Indigenous Struggle for Justice in Sixteenth-century Spain (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015). 17 Emily Burns, Transnational Frontiers: The American West in France (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2018). 10  Throughout this scholarship, the authors’ maintain that Indigenous peoples had agency, a mode of interpretation that finds its complement in scholarship on subaltern studies by recognizing the struggles of Indigenous peoples for survival.18  The new wave of studies on Indigenous Americans abroad by Indigenous scholars provides a contrasting methodology to established works such as Christian Feest’s edited collection Indians and Europe: An Interdisciplinary Collection of Essays.19 Feest’s important collection of essays, based on research workshops in Paris in 1982 and Rome in 1984, presents the scholarship of Europeans on Native American experiences in Europe over the past five centuries but does not include Native American perspectives. Thus, his contribution is sorely lacking in many ways. Feest could have included the contemporary perspectives of Indigenous artists or the many ways that Indigenous scholars and artists have critiqued romanticized images of Indigenous Americans. In the 1980s, when Feest’s publication came out, he could have included perspectives from the “Indian Group of Seven,” including the established and renowned perspectives of Potawatomi artist Daphne Odjig, Denesuline/Saulteaux artist Alex Janvier, and Anishnaabe artist Norval Morrisseau, as well as the work of Indigenous curators such as Gerald McMaster and Lee-Ann Martin.20 His lack of inclusion of Indigenous perspectives facilitates a Eurocentric model of scholarship that places Indigenous people in a romanticized and “primitive” past, instead of as people capable of doing research and with valuable opinions of their own. Complementary to Feest’s work are the contributions of European scholars in the popular audience publication The European Review of American Indian Studies, which largely                                                           18 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the subaltern speak?” in Can the Subaltern Speak? Reflections on the History of an Idea, ed. Rosalind Morris (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 21-78. 19 Christian Feest, ed., Indians and Europe: An Interdisciplinary Collection of Essays (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987), 2.  20 Lee Ann Martin, “Contemporary First Nations Art since 1970: Individual Practices and Collective Activism,” in The Visual Arts in Canada: The Twentieth Century, eds. Anne Whitelaw, Brian Foss, and Sandra Paikowsky (London: Oxford University Press, 2011), 386. 11  privileges European scholars but provides some useful articles and places to start. What makes transatlantic Indigenous Studies scholarship different from previous research is that this new wave of scholarship emphasizes Indigenous peoples as agents of history rather than as marginal figures in a colonial narrative. Thus, my project is one that follows Walter Mignolo’s advice to write from the margins, altering the push and pull of a seemingly centrifugal archive.21 I also engage with the growing number of historians of Indigenous ancestry working to tell meaningful narratives, as in the Red Atlantic, that articulate the stakes for Indigenous people historically but also create intellectual space for future work.  While there are studies of early modern representations of the allegory of “America” in Italy, studies on the collections of Indigenous American cultural belongings, focusing on the experience of Indigenous Americans in Italy, and within Rome in particular, remain nonexistent or inadequate.22 Art historian Lia Markey’s recent Imagining the Americas in Medici Florence is one of the first works to engage with the Americas collection of the Medicis in Florence.23 Although her focus is on South America, Markey does not discuss the importance of Indigenous cultural belongings for Indigenous Americans or the transatlantic relationships between Indigenous Americans and Italy. The Apache scholar Nancy Mithlo works on issues of Indigeneity in Italy. Since 1999, she has focused on curating contemporary Native American art                                                           21 “An ‘other’ logic (or border thinking from the perspective of subalternity) goes with a geopolitics of knowledge that regionalizes the fundamental European legacy, locating thinking in the colonial difference and creating the conditions for diversality as a universal project.” Walter Mignolo,“The Geopolitics of Knowledge and the Colonial Difference,” The South Atlantic Quarterly 101, no. 1 (2002): 91. 22 Cesare Marino, “A Preview of the Beltrami Collection with a Note on North American Ethnographic Material in Italian Museums, Council for Museum Anthropology newsletter 10 (1986): 2–14 accessed [May 1, 2018], doi:10.1525/mua.1986.10.2.2 There are some histories of Italian scholarship on “Indians.” See Fedora Giordano, “The Anxiety of Discovery: The Italian Interest in Native American Studies,” RSA Journal 5 (1994): 81–109.  23 For studies focusing on the allegory of America, see Jonathan Hart, Columbus, Shakespeare, and the Interpretation of the New World (London: Palgrave MacMillan Publishers, 2003), 98-102; Lynn Glaser, America on Paper (Philadelphia: Associated Antiquaries, 1989); John Higham, “Indian Princess and Roman Goddess: The First Female Symbols of America,” American Antiquarian Society (1990): 50; Jenny Sharpe, Allegories of Empire: The Figure of Woman in the Colonial Text (Minneapolis: Minnesota Press, 1993). 12  at the Venice Biennale. In her published work, she discusses the politics of inclusion and exclusion within the framework of Indigenous nationalism.24 She asks if the mainstream inclusion of Native art institutions, and of Native curators within those institutions, is a form of internal colonization and a neutralizing of Indigenous identity and difference. Mithlo is working on a book called Bleeding Venice: Curating Indigenous Art at the Venice Biennale, tracing the history of Indigenous art exhibitions at the Venice Biennale since 1992.25 Art historian Jessica Horton also focuses on Venice as a site of Native American Indigenous artistic expression and the history of the 1932 Venice Biennale, namely, the forgotten history of Hopi painter Fred Kabotie and the display of Native American art on a global stage.26 Anthropologist Alison Kahn wrote one of her dissertation chapters focusing on the PME, and it is the only study available on the subject.27 Kahn focuses on the life of Father Wilhelm Schmidt (Austrian linguist, anthropologist and theorist) in relation to Vatican policy and collecting and curating at the Vatican (1923-1939) and Father Kirschbaum and his missionary collecting in New Guinea. Kahn does not examine the Hall of Americas or considerations of Indigeneity. My work builds on the few studies of Indigenous American art in Italy but is unique in that it is the first historiography focusing on the Vatican and the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exposition and the Hall of Americas.                                                              24 Nancy Mithlo, “Silly Little Things: Framing Global Self-Appropriations in Native Arts,” in No Deal! Indigenous Arts and the Politics of Possession, ed. Tressa Berman (Santa Fe: School for Advanced Research Press, 2012), 188-205.  25 Mithlo is currently working on “A/Part of This World: Indigenous Curation at the Venice Biennale 1999-2017,” Nancy Mithlo, email to author, February 10, 2018.  26 Jessica Horton, “A Cloudburst in Venice: Fred Kabotie and the US Pavilion of 1932,” American Art 29, no. 1 (2015): 54-81; Jessica Horton, Art For an Undivided Earth (Durham: Duke University Press, 2017).  27 Alison Kahn, “Mind over Matter: A Catholic Ethnology for the Vatican's Ethnographic Collections (1911-1939)” PhD diss, Oxford University, 2006, OCLC Worldcat (500335678).  13  Journal: The Vatican Apostolic Library, December 2016  Sixtus IV della Rovere founded the Vatican Apostolic Library in 1475. He initially donated Nicolas V’s collection of 824 Latin manuscripts.28 Since then, the Papal collections have grown substantially. Yesterday, with a bit of trepidation in my chest, I walked toward the Vatican and Saint Peter’s down the large avenue cleared by Mussolini during the rebuilding of Rome in the 1930s. The Maltese crèche was up, and the sun was a burnt but lazy red, looming over Saint Peter’s and the Castel Sant’Angelo. As I was walking out the door, I said a prayer to help me with my research and to stay calm. I had an anxious feeling in my chest, not overwhelming but there, and one that I had come to associate with the entire Vatican City, but perhaps it was more appropriately suited to just my experience dealing with the Vatican Museum. It was warm out despite it being December. I walked through the main square at Saint Peter’s. There were a few armed police officers in black but mostly tourists taking photos with selfie-sticks. I continued to Porta Sant’Anna, and, at that moment, Beyoncé’s “Halo” came on in my headphones tuned to Italian radio, and I wondered about the appropriate irony of the song, a song about haloes in Vatican City. I had a foreboding in the back of my mind because, in talking with several archivists at the central Jesuit archives just across the square of St. Peter’s, I had been warned that the people at the Vatican can be quite nasty and not to expect much. It was very quiet and calm as I passed by the young Swiss guard. He smiled and directed me to the Vatican passport office, where I dropped off my Canadian passport and proceeded about one hundred metres straight ahead, then under a curved arch and past another guard. I flashed my Vatican Secret Archive library card and took a right, then entered the first door, where the Vatican Library                                                           28 Francesco Papafava, Vatican: Monumenti, Musei e Gallerie Pontificie (Vatican City, Gestione Vendita Pubblicazioni, 1989), 44.  14  secretary worked. After waiting for fifteen minutes, I was summoned into the secretary’s private office. A little crèche with an angel holding the word “Gloria” watched me as I filled out my information in block letters on a green paper to allow access into the archives. I wondered about the appropriateness as well as the fatalistic aspect of my research. The secretary welcomed me with a microchip card and told me the card was for life, all in quick Italian. She explained that I needed to sign in electronically every time I entered and exited the library, and that the microchip card was also needed to open and close the cloakroom. She then handed me a stack of papers about library expectations to read through. I saw a young-looking monk in a white robe with a twirled mustache. “Arrivederci,” the porter said as I exited back into the courtyard. The courtyard was massive and imposing. I looked ahead of me and noticed far above on the opposite wall a window of the Vatican museum. Five floors up, the Vatican Ethnological Collection waited for me (Figure 1.4).  On Secrecy, Whispers, and Missing Documents: Fragments of the Colonial Archives, Theorizing the Gaps   Surrounding my research experience at the Vatican archives and the Vatican Museum, there has been a quality of secrecy. For example, to enter the Vatican Secret Archive, I had to present my passport at the Vatican City entrance along with a letter of presentation. Upon seeing these credentials, the Swiss guards allowed me entry to Vatican City. I then left my passport at the entryway and proceeded to get my archival card. Each Vatican site requires a separate application. I then walked about three hundred metres straight ahead through Vatican City. There was another Swiss guard at the next large curved gateway, and from there I turned right to face four large entrances. Not one of them states that it is the entrance to the Secret Archive. The Vatican Apostolic Library, like the Vatican Secret Archive, does not permit photographs; only 15  hand-written notes are allowed. Thus, it takes a lot of time and patience to work through the archives. I often sifted through many files without finding anything directly relevant to my project.  When I first set out to do this project, I was not sure what I would find in the archives of Rome, although I imagined I might find missionary bulletins. I have looked through archives across Rome, including the Propaganda Fide Library and Archive, the Society of the Divine Word Verbite Archive, the Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (ARSI), the Vatican Apostolic Library, the Vatican Secret Archive and the Vatican Fototeca Archive. I have also consulted the Oblate archives and Jesuit archives in Canada, made email enquiries to archives in the United States, England, Ireland, and even to one in Mexico. I have perused the Newberry Library Edward E. Ayer Special Collections and the Yale Divinity Library Special Collections.  The archives and collections I have consulted and the materials I have found are representative of Catholic missionary history and more broadly of the western colonial archive. I have been researching over the past nine months in Italy, and the process of research is like a time warp, in that it can go on without end if one lets it. In the archives are photographs of the exhibition, a plethora of missionary bulletins from various religious orders, official Papal decrees on the material to be sent in, and the Rivista Illustrata, the official illustrated journal of the PME. These materials constitute the archive surrounding the PME, but they represent only one side of the story. They do not tell the narrative I am interested in thinking about and telling, which is an Indigenous-focused narrative. The fragmented nature of the documents in the archive and of the stories I am telling are part of a creation of Indigenous art histories, of using fragmented documents and others to create new ways of understanding Indigenous American arts and lives through the lens of the exhibition in Vatican City. 16  The official forgetting of this exhibition—the fact that it is not mentioned in the most recent Ethnos catalogue, a purposeful exclusion, I would argue—and the existence of a few Vatican Missionary Collection pieces for sale as Getty images online form a strange and secretive history surrounding the Vatican’s Ethnological Missionary Collection. When I set out, I also thought I might be able to find the names of some of the Indigenous artists from the Americas who had sent in material. Certainly, in the official Papal circulation that was sent out to Catholic missions across the world, there were instructions that missionaries send in as much information regarding the objects as possible.29 However, many details were lost in the process of transatlantic travel and in the organization of the exhibition itself.30 Combing through missionary bulletins such as the Indian Sentinel, I have found a few names of individuals, but the trail ends there. For instance, there are no records that identify individual makers; this is symptomatic not only of this exposition but of displays and collections of Indigenous American cultural belongings generally before the 1930s. Anthropologists, curators, and others saw Indigenous cultural belongings as “primitive” materials, so there was no reason to note artist’s names; they considered the materials as specimens of an anonymous, primitive collective.31 The lack of identification in historical collections is a research challenge for Indigenous Studies scholars which continues to this day.   One should also consider that art historians—people working professionally with the visual and textual documents—cannot take for granted the material they are working with and their access to collections. In working with the colonial archives, I have learned not to take things for granted, especially the visual record. Writing an Indigenous art history, however,                                                           29 See discussion in Chapter Four and Figure 1.6 in the Appendix.  30 Discussion with former curator, November 2016.  31 Sally Price, Paris Primitive: Jacques Chirac's Museum on the Quai Branly (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 21.   17  requires a much more fragmented and speculative approach and refracts against the monolithic nature of institutions such as the Vatican. It also requires a great amount of self-reflexivity.  The existing archival and visual fragments that I have found do, however, contribute to an Indigenous reading of the PME. Understanding the visual and written material in the archives requires contemplation both of what is there and what is not there. The details of what I have found are significant, but the details of what I have not found are also telling. The structural exclusion that I have faced, being physically excluded from and forbidden access to the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Collection, for example, may be theorized as part of the broader systemic exclusion of Indigenous art histories from the western canons of art, history, and civilization. The lack of access is symptomatic of the exclusion of Indigenous art historians, artists, and authors from the writing of history and from inclusion at cultural institutions such as museums, universities, and other places.32 However, this research may also be considered a small intervention into (and out of) the biography of the Vatican archives.33  Journal: Society of the Divine Word Verbite Archive, April 2016  A giant, creamy-white pyramid greeted me as I got out of the bus and walked over to the Verbite Order Archive, The Society of the Divine Word (SVD), the order which Father Wilhelm Schmidt, the curator of the PME, had trained in and that still held some of his papers. I had been calling the archivist for a few days, and finally he had agreed I could come to the archive. The archivist buzzed me into the locked structure. I wandered around the outside of a giant building;                                                           32 Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States, vol. 3 (Boston: Beacon Press, 2014). 33 Historian Nicolas Dirks traces the silencing of British government worker Colin Mackenzie’s early nineteenth century collection relating to Southern India, the marginalization of Native Scholars, and the silencing of Indian histories. He writes: “Natives could only be informants; native knowledge only the stuff of anthropological curiosity.” Nicolas Dirks, “Colonial Histories and Native Informants: Biography of a Colonial Archive,” in Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament: Perspectives on South Asia, eds. Carol A. Breckenridge and Peter van der Veer (University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia: 1993), 310.  18  it was not clear where the entrance was. Finally, after about 10 minutes of walking around the building, a massive door opened and a tall man in a black robe stood in the entryway. I walked up the stairs. This place, the College of the Divine Word, the location of the Verbite Order Archive, was a beautiful place with lush vegetation. I was brought down two flights of stairs into the archive by Herbert Scholz, an elderly priest. Located in the basement, the archive was essentially a desk with files behind it. It was dark and quiet, and I worked in silence. The correspondence was on wrinkled, translucent papers, some hand-written in black or blue ink and some typewritten. There were three separations in the file, including one for the Museo Laterano and another for the business of the museum up until the 1960s. The third section, labelled “Ausstellung,” was for the PME exhibition. There was a variety of correspondence in German, French, and Italian.34  I had come to the SVD archive to see their folder on the Missionary Pontifical Exhibition, and I found some interesting correspondence, including lists of materials sent in from China and from Paraguay. I felt a little disappointed that there were not any lists of Indigenous cultural belongings from North America, but I guess that would have been a researcher’s dream. Moreover, things are rarely what you hope or think they will be in an archive. The correspondence regarding the exhibition, written on thin paper, in German mostly, was interesting, although a lot of it was illegible. I photographed relevant materials. I also found a letter in French regarding the loss of some Indigenous cultural belongings on a boat. After almost four hours in the archive, I had looked through the entire folder and found a few interesting letters and documents. Nothing related directly to the Americas, however, although the lists of materials from China and Paraguay was interesting. I was not sure if l would be able                                                           34 Visit to the Verbite Order Archive (SVD), Rome.  19  to use any of the material, but I would see. It piqued my interest to know that lists were made, but many materials were lost, objects being a bit unruly in their way.  The archivist Herbert Scholz was kind and knowledgeable, and he told me that the director of the Vatican museums had been an SVD member up until the 1990s. After sifting through documents in the archive, I went to the library at the SVD. A couple of times, the archivist came into the library where I was searching through books, speaking in fast German. He went on for a few minutes before he looked up and realized I did not know what he was saying. It was disorientating. I planned to return to the SVD archive and check out their library and look further at the Annali Lateranensi and some of the other periodicals from the 1920s, as they had a small but impressive full set collection. I said a prayer or two to the divine for help with the project.   Methodology: Situating Archival experiences, Felt Theory   Drawing inspiration from and building into the broader methodological shift in Indigenous art history by scholars of Indigenous and settler descent, this study works to decolonize art history and destabilize the language and legacies of settler colonialism, an ongoing challenge that requires self-reflexivity.35 Throughout this introduction, I sketch out some personal experiences. Presenting my experience doing archival work creates a personal, embodied narrative that contrasts with the many sterile archival environments I have worked in in Italy, the US, and Canada. In addition, using my journal entries in this introduction allows me to tilt the hierarchy of value that exists within the archival structures I have encountered, shift the weight from archival documents as the only form of acceptable knowledge, and include my                                                           35 There is a growing concern in the field of Indigenous art history with how to decolonize art history. First, we have to pay attention to the language of settler colonialism and work to destabilize it.  20  personal experience in order to question and expand what counts as art history. My research process has not been linear or straightforward, and I have encountered many roadblocks, such as documents that went missing in archives after requesting them, reticent curators, whispers, and reluctant and inaccessible archives. This project also forms part of the broader work that Indigenous Studies researchers are creating, working on unacknowledged histories that are waiting to be written. Archival work goes both ways in that, as researchers, Indigenous Studies scholars are deeply implicated in the scholarship on many levels. For example, a researcher doing archival work in India and London writes about feeling that “she was not only reading the archives, the archives were reading her.”36 In many ways, I too was shaped through the processes of working and conducting the archival conversations in Italian and English with curators, Jesuit archivists, Native Studies allies in Rome, and others. My research has an international element and dynamic that has been challenging, as records exist in the Vatican archives but also in provincial archives and online. I have amassed a small private collection of postcards and ephemera (Figure 1.5). I have worked in Italian and English, written correspondence in Italian, French, and English, and read archival writings in Italian, English, and French. Thus, the project requires an engagement with multiple languages and much translation. All this, too, remains a partial process and presents a larger complexity than if I were working solely with English documents.37  For researchers in Indigenous studies there is an extra layer of accountability for our research processes and writing; we knowingly work with archival records that always remain                                                           36 Durba Ghosh, Jeff Sahadeo, Craig Robertson, and Tony Ballantyne, Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006),10.  37 I acknowledge that I am working in the language of colonizers. Another way of thinking about the issue would be to emphasize the traces of Indigenous words and concepts that are in the Rivista Ilustrata, but that would be beyond the scope of this dissertation and would require a linguistic capability and fluency in multiple Indigenous languages.  21  partial. Zoe Todd and Crystal Fraser note that “[f]or Indigenous peoples, access to state or church archives is complicated, given ongoing settler-colonial realities that frame and govern archives in Canada.” They add that “[t]o decolonize the archives requires an erasure or negation of the colonial realities of the archives themselves. Given the inherent colonial realities of the archives as institutions, any effort to decolonize or Indigenize the archives in Canada can only ever be partial.”38 As a Métis woman, I can attest to the mental, emotional, and physical struggles of working through archives. Knowing that Indigenous peoples have been subject to emotional, physical, and intellectual colonial architectures of violence that continue due to the legacies of settler colonialism, and that a large part of that has been missionary-based, produces a weight and a sense of responsibility. Throughout this process, I have had numerous phone calls with my mom and sisters, who support my work on Native histories. They remain engaged with the realities for Indigenous peoples, with the systemic racism that Indigenous communities have faced and still do. We also talk about youth suicide and the legacy of residential schools and how we can address these terrible realities. My mom and family ground and inspire my work, and for that I am thankful. I do not take my position for granted as an art historian; the more research I do, the more I read, write, and teach, the more important I feel it is to be writing about histories that engage Indigenous issues. The words of Lee-Anne Martin and Gerald McMaster resound with me: “To be an Aboriginal person, to identify with an indigenous heritage in these late colonial times, requires a life of reflection, critique, persistence and struggle.”39 In this spirit of persistence, I present this dissertation.                                                            38 Crystal Fraser and Zoe Todd, “Decolonial Sensibilities: Indigenous Research and Engaging with Archives in Contemporary Colonial Canada,” L’Internationale (2016). 39 Gerald McMaster and Lee-Ann Martin, “Introduction,” in Indigena: Contemporary Native Perspectives (Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre, 1992), 11.  22  I feel like a maverick in straddling the disciplines of art history and Indigenous Studies,  pulled towards the importance of visual analysis but also drawn into telling Indigenous histories. Nevertheless, the project is biased towards the visual record. I draw on a plethora of visual records including photography, children’s games, maps, statistical charts, and Indigenous cultural belongings. All this visual material presents an exciting and entangled paradox of visual culture that requires human interpretation. Art historian Hal Foster reminds me that projects like mine can be “retrieved in a gesture of alternative knowledge or countermemory.”40 This project, then, gestures toward a counternarrative to the one presented by the PME; unlike in the PME, Indigenous lives, stories, and cultural belongings matter in this narrative.   Perhaps when I started, I imagined a complete record might have been available in the archives. Since then, I have amassed a large collection of missionary ephemera and documents about the PME, but they persist in telling only one side of the story and thus function in many ways as a trap.41 Moreover, traces within the documents themselves suggest Indigenous alternatives. The documents are not objective truths but crafted articulations. For example, the Rivista Illustrata, the illustrated journal of the PME, remains a critical source for my project, but I felt overwhelmed when I first started flipping through it. There are over 800 pages of writings by missionaries, complemented by photography. I focused on some photographs of Indigenous women and men in the Southwest US, but on closer inspection, I realized the captions and the images conflicted. This presented an important moment to begin to question the entire structure of “truth” presented within the PME and to understand the fallibility of the interpretations in the Rivista Ilustrata and within the PME as a spatial paradigm. By this, I mean how the PME crafted                                                           40 Hal Foster, “An Archival Impulse,” October 110 (2004): 4. 41 James H. Sweet, “Reimagining the African-Atlantic Archive: Method: Concept, Epistemology, Ontology,” Journal of African History 55, no. 2 (2014): 147–159.  23  its narratives to position Indigenous materials and peoples in an allochronic space outside of modern reality. The lure of the archive, the ever-present possibility that I might find something new, drew me further and further into the archives in a hunt that never ends. This search is a seductive one; I could keep searching archives across the world in the hope that I might come across another trace of the PME, what French philosopher Jacques Derrida alludes to as the possibility and lack of the archive.42 Especially for Indigenous artists and scholars, a sustained engagement with colonial archives has been fruitful for understanding the legacies of colonialism but also for creating new spaces for Indigenous articulations. Matthew Ryan Smith puts it this way: “[a]s Indigenous peoples subjected to colonial hegemony repeatedly suffered forced segregation to reserves, they were similarly relegated to archival reserves as well; those abstract, demarcated spaces of the colonial archive set aside for ‘vanishing peoples.’”43  So yes, this project is about archival documents, but it is also about what is not in the archive, what is beyond the scope of Papal understanding and missionary writing. In this way, Indigenous perspectives on art and history can be illuminating for understanding other histories not presented in the limited scope of the Rivista Illustrata or the Hall of Americas. The capacity for stories, which for Indigenous peoples are theories that inform ways of being in the world, provides another way of illuminating the significance of Indigenous cultural belongings.44                                                            42 Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996). 43 Matthew Ryan Smith, “The Archive in Contemporary Indigenous Art,” First American Art Magazine (Fall 2016): 29.  44 Scholars discussed the importance of centering personal stories to foreground a Feminist approach in art history research at the symposium, Groundhog Day Redux: A Symposium with Dian Million, Kristina Lee Podesva, and Kimberly Phillips, Vancouver, Friday, February 2, 2018. 24  Notes from the Roman Archives: Forgotten, Unknown, and Missing Cultural Belongings  Pope Pius XI’s list of requests to be filled out with the shipments of materials to the PME was extensive. (Figure 1.6)45 Missionaries often did not fulfill these requests, either because they did not have the knowledge required or the time. One might recall the account of Philip Delon, the Alaskan Jesuit missionary who told his superior that he had neither the time nor the inclination.46 Thus, materials often arrived with little or no information regarding the maker, the place made, the materials used, the context, or other details. I make this observation based on discussions with other researchers and a former curator of the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Collection.47 While missionaries writing in organs such as The Indian Sentinel, a publication of the Bureau of Catholic Indian Missions in the US, sometimes described and acknowledged the artists and makers such as Mrs Martinez, as I discuss below,  the same publication was not coherent in its overall production of knowledge about the PME. In the Indian Sentinel, a publication of the Bureau of Catholic Indian Missions based in Washington DC, a notice from October 1924, reads:  For the Vatican Exposition: Among the souvenirs of Indian missions to be forwarded to the Vatican Missionary Exposition may be included two articles that Mrs. Pearl Martinez, the first Apache convert to the Faith at St. Francis of Assisi Mission on the Fort Apache Reservation, Whiteriver, Arizona, presented to me for this purpose.48 The materials are then described as “souvenirs of Indian missions.” Missionaries generally used patronizing terms to describe Indigenous objects in accounts relating to the PME such as American Catholic Missionary John Considine’s as well as in newspaper reports, describing                                                           45 Orders on material to send in, 1924. (Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (ARSI).  46 Father Delon Papers 1:9, Alaskan Jesuit Archives, September 1924 (Courtesy of Gonzaga University, University Archive and Special Collections, Foley Center Library). See also discussion in Chapter Two.  47 Conversation with former curator and Alison Wates, Rome, November 2016.  48 Rev. Augustine Schwarz, OFM, The Indian Sentinel, Oct 1924, 188. 25  them variously as “souvenirs,” “grotesque,” “relics,” or “beautiful.”49 Such vague terms suggest that missionaries did not really know what they were looking at and did not engage deeply with the materials, in part because of their racist biases. Because missionaries believed Indigenous Americans were in a primitive state, their cultural belongings did not deserve any detailed description. This paucity of information in the archival record is a major challenge that many people in Indigenous Studies face. Often no material records exist regarding an artist’s name, tribal identification, or other signifying details in museum records of the cultural belongings and material culture of Indigenous Americans.50 Further contributing to the ambiguous nature of the records, missionaries did not include names of artists and other personal signifying details in the Indian Sentinel nor the Hall of Americas, further contributing to the idea that the anonymous, primitive Indigenous peoples of the Americas needed redemption via the Catholic faith. This observation is based on my survey of the Rivista Illustrata, numerous PME papers, and discussions with a former curator of the Vatican’s Americas collections.51Thus, the tracing of the contributions of Indigenous artisans, some of them children, to the PME remains an ongoing question. I have found evidence, as discussed above, in the Indian Sentinel, but I have not been able to find details of which artists sent in materials and what exactly they sent in. This suggests the biases in missionary records; the Indian Sentinel did not name the contributors, because they were not considered artisans, and the work they created was described as “souvenirs” not art.52 There are traces of this tension between the named individual artists, such as European artist Ferdinand Pettrich, and the desire to generalize and therefore flatten particular Indigenous identities throughout the records of the                                                           49 John Joseph Considine, The Vatican Mission Exposition: A Window on the World (New York: Macmillan, 1925), 108. 50 Phillips, Museum Pieces, 64. 51 Conversation with former curator and Alison Wates, Rome, November 2016.  52 See, for example, “For The Vatican Exposition,’’ The Indian Sentinel, October 1924, 188.   26  PME. Despite the brief discussion of Martinez’s life in the Indian Sentinel, the recognition of her labour, like the contributions of the Cree artisan who made the intricately beaded moccasins discussed in Chapter Four, has been to this point hidden. Gwichya Gwich’in scholar Crystal Fraser and Métis scholar Zoe Todd discuss the difficulties of tracing Indigenous presence in archival records, especially Indigenous women and children:  Canadian historians have questioned if other less-known historical actors—such as Indigenous people, women, and children—are able to “speak” in archival documents. Archival records produced by Indigenous people prove to be far and few between. We know very little about the lives of Indigenous women, apart from a few celebrated heroines, such as Thanadelthur, Kateri Tekakwitha, and E. Pauline Johnson. Even less is known about Indigenous children, two-spirited individuals, and liminal figures such as medicine men and women.53  Throughout this research, it is useful to consider how the history of Indigenous women’s labour has gone unarticulated up to this point and the one-sided stories that the archives present.54 Indigenous art historians must use a creative process and critical thinking to read into the paucity of available information, a process that always remains partial. Todd and Fraser note further that “to decolonize the archives requires an erasure or negation of the colonial realities of the archives themselves.”55 I extend Todd and Fraser’s grappling with the archive to a Roman context and agree that the archival record presents the art historian only with a partial story, a dynamic that remains in tension throughout the project.                                                            53 Zoe Todd and Crystal Fraser, “Indigenous Research and Engaging with Archives in Contemporary Colonial Canada,” L’Internationale, Februrary 15, 2016, accessed January 15, 2018, http://www.internationaleonline.org/research/decolonising_practices/54_decolonial_sensibilities_indigenous_research_and_engaging_with_archives_in_contemporary_colonial_canada.  54 Women artists have largely been ignored throughout history. Perhaps the most famous art historical research on this subject is Linda Nochlin’s Women Artists: The Linda Nochlin Reader (London: Thames and Hudson, 2015). 55 Todd and Fraser. 27  Photographs in the Indian Sentinel of Sioux children at residential schools, alongside missionary discussions of material sent in for the PME, suggests that missionaries sent materials made by Indigenous children at residential schools to the PME (Figure 1.7). For example, Reverend Florentin Digman of St. Francis Mission, Rosebud Reservation of South Dakota, wrote on May 23, 1925 in the summary of the photograph of young Sioux girls listed above: “Dear Father, many thanks for informing us that Indian articles have been sent to the Vatican Mission Exposition. I hope that the articles will be as welcome as dessert at the feast.”56 Digman’s wording is reminiscent of the cannibalistic tendencies of museums.57 Expositions across Canada as well as in the Eternal City featured homogeneous Indian arts and crafts made by students from residential schools.58 The Catholic Church sold souvenir arts and crafts by Native children to make money as well to ensure a future source of cheap labour for the Church and settler society. Of a parallel example in Australia, historian Fiona Paisley observes that “unless they were expected to become priests, for most Aboriginal children education and religious training were designed to prepare them for a life of servitude.”59 Missionaries subjected Indigenous children in North America and Australia to religious and educational teachings and provided training in trades such as carpentry, laundry, and agriculture.60 The federal government expected Indigenous people to contribute and assimilate to American society, leaving behind all aspects of Indigenous cultures and lifeways. Throughout the PME, gaps in knowledge exist between artists and materials. On the one hand, the “primitive” person who made the object remains anonymous in most accounts, their                                                           56 Florentin Digman, The Indian Sentinel 5, no 3 (Summer 1925), 115.  57 Ames, 3.  58 Gerald McMaster, “Tenuous Lines of Descent: Indian Arts and Crafts of the Reservation Period,” The Canadian Journal of Native Studies 9, no. 2 (1989): 205–36. 59 Fiona Paisley, The Lone Protester, 7.  60Margaret L. Archuleta, “Making a Willing Worker,” in Away from Home: American Indian Boarding School Experience 1879–2000, eds. Margaret L. Archuleta, Brenda J. Child, and K. Tsianina Lomawaima (Phoenix: Heard Museum, 2000), 32.  28  materials often “grotesque.” Such terminology conforms to the colonial vision and the discourse of primitivism.61 In the Hall of Americas, missionaries erased the individual details and presented cultural belongings in a homogeneous mass.62 The failure to provide the names of artists and other personal details in the Hall of Americas reinforced the hierarchical contrast of value implied between missionary material culture and Indigenous cultural belongings. In other words, the visual consumption of missionary material culture such as paintings, games, and sculptures reinforced the hierarchy that contrasted “civilized” and “developed” Western arts with “primitive” and “inferior” Indigenous cultural belongings. This contributed to the idea that the Indigenous peoples of the Americas were primitive, in need of redemption via Catholic religion and education.63  In the Hall of Americas at the PME, missionaries framed Indigenous cultures using a geographical approach subdivided by the missionary order that sent in the material.64 The organizers did not include the names of the makers of the Indigenous cultural belongings, perpetuating the idea that Indigenous cultural belongings did not need to be considered as art by visitors. Yet the curators foregrounded the names of European artists, including Gaetano Trentanove, who carved a statue of Jesuit Father Marquette, discussed in Chapter Four, on plaques.65 Throughout this period, and particularly in the Southwest of the United States, scholars and writers romanticized Indigenous people and their labour. Popular media representations presented Indigenous cultures as unaffected by mechanical, industrial stresses, and as part of a collective rather than alienated. The “Indian Craze,” art historian Elizabeth                                                           61 Sally Price, Paris Primitive: Jacques Chirac's Museum on the Quai Branly (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 5. 62 Kahn, 191.  63 This observation is based on my survey of the PME literature and examination of photographs.  64 Considine, 76. 65 Considine, 59. 29  Hutchinson’s term, had a prominent role in the supply of, and demand for, Native arts.66 However, Indian arts and crafts made for the booming market occupied a similar position to the Native artists themselves. Collectors viewed the rugs, silver jewelry, basketry, and other Native-made objects as reminders of a previous, simpler time before industrial mechanization; Native people in this equation were reminders of the past, not contemporaries.67  Missionaries contextualized materials sent in from the Apaches, which included hide shirts and quill-worked gloves, as Christian trophies.68 They used material things made by young Indigenous children in residential and boarding schools as evidence of their successes in conversion. The lack of discussion of the Indigenous artists within the PME and the scant fragments I have pieced together from the Indian Sentinel and the Rivista Illustrata indicate the elusive nature of tracing Indigeneity in the colonial archive and suggest another way of thinking through the contributions of Indigenous artists to the PME.  The trail of forgotten, missing, and unidentified Indigenous cultural belongings presents many more questions than answers and reminds us of the fragmented nature of colonial archives, which always remain partial. While the archive is limited in the stories it presents, I am interested too in the moments in-between, in what can be read “between the lines” in the archives and beyond the limiting and misinformed interpretations found in documents such as the Rivista Illustrata and in current Vatican Ethnological Missionary Museum wall texts and catalogues (Figure 1.8). Even today the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Museum does not question its savagist strategies. It still relies heavily on dramatic lighting, minimal textual information, and other strategies used by early displays of                                                           66 Elizabeth Hutchinson, Indian Craze: Primitivism, Modernism, and Transculturation in American Art (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009), 3.  67 Leah Dilworth, Imagining Indians in the Southwest: Persistent Visions of a Primitive Past (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Scholarly Press, 1997), 20. 68 Schwarz, 188. 30  non-Western “primitive art” that perpetuate a primitivizing discourse.69 As my counternarrative will show, we need to re-read the colonial documents that celebrate the PME and recognize that Indigenous readings of cultural belongings move beyond colonial understandings to a consideration of cultural belongings as visual markers of sovereignty. They present us with an eloquence of things that cannot be denied.  Notes from the Roman Archives II: Indigenizing Art History   Another aspect of my research, evidence of which is found in the appendix, involves my contemporary letters regarding the inaccessible Vatican Missionary Ethnological Museum. Access to this museum presents an ongoing research challenge. Letters to the Pope, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, and Minister of Aboriginal Affairs Carolyn Bennett regarding my research and the lack of access to the archives for researchers interested in the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Collection are included in the appendix. As of this writing, no researchers have been granted access.70  Ultimately, my dissertation addresses the vast absence of Indigenous interpretations and narratives not only at the PME but more broadly in the Vatican and Roman archives. This study is the first that I know of to provide an Indigenous American-centred narrative and interpretation of the PME but also of the Vatican collections as a whole and the Roman archives. This project focuses on Indigenous experience in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but an engagement with Indigeneity at the Vatican also requires one to think expansively into previous centuries and the future.                                                           69 Price, 5. 70 I am one of a number of scholars from across the Americas and Europe who have been refused access to the Vatican Ethnological Missionary Collections. Conversation with Alison Kahn, Rome, November 2016.  31   Art history matters for Indigenous peoples both in the way it interprets us and the way we interpret it. I have found that the visual record requires a massive reinterpretation in order to centre Indigenous perspectives and issues within the PME narrative. At first, the documents presented me with an almost insurmountable silence, and thus my contribution forms an unbinding of these silences.71 I am reminded here of the South African historian Helen Pohlandt-McCormick on her experiences working with archival documents in the context of Apartheid, when she observes that “documents are never innocent.”72 Especially for Indigenous histories, an engaged critique of archives that have enabled colonialism is crucial. For example, in March 1493, the Pope issued the Papal Bull Inter Caetera essentially enslaving the Indigenous peoples of the Americas. This document is held at the Vatican archives, the very same place where I conducted my fieldwork. Alongside the genocide of Indigenous peoples of the Americas, this and other documents were used to justify colonialism and negate the livelihoods of Indigenous Americans, with devastating and profound impacts. By 1512, Pope Julius II had adjusted the Papal attitudes towards Indigenous peoples and recognized them as people with souls, yet they were still seen as in need of redemption via Christianity. Historian Jace Weaver notes that “…by the grace of God and declaration of the Holy Pontiff, Indians were found to possess divine souls and were thus eligible for salvation.”73 Four hundred and thirty-two years later, the PME reiterated the same limited language and linear Christian concept of time found in the Papal bulls                                                           71 “As I focused my topic and placed it in the time of the Soweto Uprising of June 16, 1976, I came up against what, at the time, seemed like the intransigent barriers of the South African archival system and the laws that—not unlike those in other countries—prevented insight into documents younger than thirty years. It was clear that the archives were also rooted in a historical context and reflected the conventions and habits of the Apartheid past as much as the rapid pace of historical change in South Africa during the 1990s.” Helena Pohlandt-McCormick, “In Good Hands: Researching the 1976 Soweto Uprising in the State Archives of South Africa,” in Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, eds. Durba Ghosh, Jeff Sahadeo, Craig Robertson, and Tony Ballantyne (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006), 303.  72 McCormick, 306.  73 “If, however, we are ever to dismantle the colonial paradigm and move to a place ‘after’ and ‘beyond’ colonialism and the imperialist readings it engenders, we must have hermeneutical sovereignty as well.” Jace Weaver, Native American Religious Identity: Unforgotten Gods (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1998), 22.  32  regarding the redemption of the souls of “pagans.” In 2016, Indigenous leaders from several First Nations across Turtle Island participated in the Long March to Rome calling for the rescinding of these Papal edicts. Their march was a pushing back against colonial time and space and the disastrous impacts articulated by the Papal documents. Throughout this dissertation, then, it is useful to consider the significance of the Roman archives and what is beyond them.  Moreover, there are many Indigenous interpretations and Indigenous “orientations,” which are beyond the space and time of the colonial archives, and today more than ever, these Indigenous spaces and narratives matter.74 As Tanana Athabascan scholar Diane Million asks in her poem The Highway, “what if the river called and we were not here?”75 Here she uses the space of the riverbank as a metaphor of encounter and of the persistence of Indigenous peoples and their active, collective presence within the space of the Northwest Coast. Indigenous peoples have ties to the land, and our collective sense of identity is inspired from this relationship with the diverse lands our ancestors occupied and continue to inhabit. Yet, in this story, many Indigenous cultural belongings and Indigenous American artists, such as Edmonia Lewis, ventured beyond familiar territories into Roman territory, and the territory of the Vatican, sculpting new spaces of potential for Indigenous peoples. The presence of Indigenous cultural belongings and Lewis’ engagements within the city of Rome present expansive alternative conceptions to the linear and limited narrative suggested by the PME. Journal: The Propaganda Fide Library and Archive, Janiculum Hill, Rome, April 2016                                                             74 Mark Rifkin, Beyond Settler Time: Temporal Sovereignty and Indigenous Self-determination (Durham: Duke University Press, 2017), 1.  75 Groundhog Day Redux: A Symposium with Dian Million, Kristina Lee Podesva and Kimberly Phillips, [Vancouver] Friday, February 2, 2018. 33  After a few visits to the Vatican Museum and discussions with the archivist at the Jesuit Archive (ARSI) in Rome, I decided to head to the Propaganda Fide College, which held the Propaganda Fide Library and the collection of missionary documents from the PME. The Propaganda Fide College is to this day a place of missionary study and training. Situated on Janiculum Hill, it is a rusty-blood-red, brick-walled fortress housing an archive, library, and school. After walking past Saint Peter’s, I faced a steep uphill climb. Occasionally, nuns in grey suits and priests with white collars brushed past me on the narrow footpath up to the college.  On one side, the narrow sidewalk abuts a steep brick wall that climbs for 100 feet and frames the edge of the Propaganda Fide. On the other side are two lanes of speeding traffic full of tourist buses and Vespas. The wall is interspersed with pink and green plants clinging to the bits of soil in the crevices. Passing through the gates of the Propaganda Fide, I walked under two globes, symbols of the doctrine of Propaganda Fide and its mission to convert the world. After checking in with security, I followed a palm-tree lined path and climbed another set of stone stairs, which were worn down like a mountainside that has had water pass over it for thousands of years,the effect of being trodden by thousands of priests and nuns in training. I headed to the library but stopped first at the archive. After verification of my academic status, I inquired about the PME, but was told there were scant documents available. The archivist directed me to the Propaganda Fide Museum, so I went there, only to find it had closed for renovation six years ago and showed no signs of reopening anytime soon.  It was quiet when I returned later to the library. Nuns in grey habits with golden rings on their left hands, the only flashy display in their comportment, and priests in training, mostly in black, with their bibles and religious tracts open, hunched over their studies. After a brief conversation, the mustachioed librarian, wearing a dark grey jacket, brought me the Rivista 34  Illustrata, the official publication of the PME. It was overwhelming to look through at first, its more than 800 pages full of miscellaneous missionary accounts and anecdotes from around the world. The Propaganda Fide held the majority of documents and accounts from the PME, including some Indigenous language dictionaries, missionary flyers, and a variety of guides to the PME. Some duplicates are also held at the Vatican Apostolic Library.76 It was sunny outside that day, but inside the library was a hushed environment. I felt hopeful and optimistic. There were two librarians at work, who were stern but kind. A pleasant breeze washed over me this morning as I had my cappuccino at the café near the library. It was a surreal feeling to be in Italy at this time, in this place, with this privilege. On my lunch break, as I walked past the Collegio di Propaganda Fide and looked over the panorama of St. Peter’s, the apostles were in full view. I could see and feel the power and glory of the Roman Catholic world. The library of the Collegio di Propaganda Fide was situated on Janiculum Hill, overlooking St. Peter’s and offering breathtaking panoramic views of Rome, the Tiber river, and St. Peter’s itself (Figure 1.9). This was the core, the heart, the epicentre of Catholic dogma and the Catholic world. I almost felt as if I was in Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code due to the encounters I had had in Rome thus far: whispered conversations with curators, documents that have gone missing, and other barriers I faced. The pine trees that line the walk along the St. Peter’s vista seemed to be centuries old, and there were green parakeets, sparrows, and jackdaws in grey and black that flew overhead, unrestricted by the boundaries of access that I faced. I reflected on the fact that Pablo Tac had also studied here at the Collegio di Propaganda Fide, and that encouraged me to keep going, despite the many opportunities I have had to give up.                                                           76 Conversation with the librarian of the Propaganda Fide Library, March 2016.  35  Tac was a Luiseño scholar and priest-in-training who lived and studied in Rome during the 1820s. He compiled the first Luiseño dictionary and was fluent in Latin and Luiseño. His life and writings are an example of an Indigenous person from the Americas living in Rome during the early nineteenth century and thus are outside the parameters of this project, but his work remains an inspiration. I first came across Tac’s work when I was thinking and researching about Indigenous scholars abroad.  Historian Lizbeth Haas notes that “Tac’s death follows an all-too-common pattern among native scholars, diplomats, and translators who travelled to Europe; many died there, and their bodies never returned here. Although Tac is buried in Rome, his unique contribution remains.”77 Like Tac, I came to the Propaganda Fide College to study at the library and spent a good deal of time there. The college remains a walled fortress, and it is fascinating to think that Tac and I have looked out over the same vistas onto Saint Peter’s. Often during my lunch break, I would look out over the wall onto St Peter’s and feel the glory and power of being in Rome, a Catholic stronghold. I also felt a mixture of emotions. Sadness and overwhelming feelings plagued me, largely due to the immensity of my task and the bureaucracy surrounding the Vatican archives, as well as the massive paper trail surrounding the PME. I wondered what Tac was thinking about when he was here, studying Latin and also writing his Luiseño dictionary. I wondered if he experienced similar feelings of sadness and homesickness, pondering the future of Indigenous peoples. Could he foresee that other Indigenous scholars from the Americas would follow in his footsteps? Tac attended the Propaganda Fide College with several other Indigenous scholars from the Americas, including Cherokee scholars and Natives from Ohio.78 Tac’s legacy as the first to write a Luiseño dictionary for his people, in the                                                           77 Lisbeth Haas, Pablo Tac: Indigenous Scholar Writing on Luiseño Language and History, c. 1840 (Oakland: University of California Press, 2011), 33. 78 Dr. Lisbeth Haas, email message to author, May 9, 2016. I also consulted the Cardinal MezzoFanti Archives in Bologna at the Archiginnasio, as well as Pablo Tac’s drawings, but those are outside the parameters of this project.   36  heart of Rome, during a period of intense missionization for Luiseño peoples, provides creative inspiration for thinking about the legacy of scholarly Indigenous Americans abroad and the importance of centering Indigenous stories right in the heart of the Vatican.  Chapter Summary   My thesis consists of four core chapters, an introduction, and a conclusion. Chapter One, “Indigenizing the Story of Neoclassicism: Ferdinand Pettrich and Edmonia Wildfire Lewis,” forms a prehistory of the PME with an emphasis on Indigenous representations, mainly via statuary in Rome. The statuary and life stories of Pettrich, a white German artist, are placed into productive tension with those of Lewis, an Ojibwe-Haitian artist. Through comparative and visual analysis, the chapter challenges core colonial assumptions that were prevalent in art historical literature on neoclassicism: first that Indigenous peoples had already disappeared from history, and second, that they existed only outside of modern metropolitan cultures and certainly not in Europe.79 Third, comparing their lives and statuary challenges the neoclassical binaries between Indigenous subjects and artists and opens up conceptions of Indigeneity as a state of survival amidst the violence of colonial rule in the transnational contexts in which Lewis and Pettrich worked. Considering their works in tension provides new insights into the problem of agency in representing Indigenous nations in art, thinking about the Indigenous presence in Rome, and the limits of neoclassicism as an artistic genre and a colonial mindset.   The second chapter, “Allochronic Representations in the Hall of Americas: The Visitor’s Experience at the PME,” first provides a detailed discussion of the PME, articulating how the vast amount of materials from all over the globe overwhelmed missionary organizers and visitors                                                           79 Tamara Buffalo, “Knowing All My Names,” International Review of African American Art 17 (2000): 41–44; Kirsten P. Buick, “The Ideal Works of Edmonia Lewis: Invoking and Inverting Biography,” American Art 9, no. 2. (1995): 4–22.  37  to the exposition. Indigenous materials arrived, but missionaries misinterpreted and misunderstood materials. They made inaccurate assumptions, especially in the Rivista Illustrata, the visual companion to the exposition, and materials did not always arrive in time, causing missionaries to worry if they would arrive at all.80 Papal anxiety, by which I mean the worries and fears of Catholic missionaries, is evident in these mistakes and misunderstandings. To focus the discussion, I examine the Hall of Americas. Throughout this space, the organizers portrayed Indigenous Americans as being outside the time and space of Western progress and Christian civilization, as pagans, not as contemporary citizens. The inclusion of their visual cultures, which visitors described using binary terms such as “beautiful” or “grotesque”, associating them with pagan idols, witchcraft, shamanism, and other fantastical terms, made tangible their allochronic state.81 This allochronic representation, the denial of the coevalness of their cultural production and existence in time, relied on the paradox of inclusion.82 The chapter contextualizes this global exposition in relation to other expositions that featured Indigenous American art during the early twentieth century, the height of collecting Indigenous curios and home decor, which art historian Elizabeth Hutchinson calls the “Indian Craze.”83 Then the depiction of the American Southwest is deconstructed by analyzing mislabelled photographs of Indigenous peoples in the Rivista Illustrata, the illustrated journal of the exposition. The chapter contends that the construction of the Hall of Americas promoted an allochronic placement of Indigenous Americans as outside time and history. Mistakes prevalent in the illustrated journal evidence the fissures within the visual logic of the PME.                                                            80 Father Dreves, A Visit to the Vatican Missionary Exhibition (Propaganda Fide Library, 1925), 6. 81 Anonymous, “Vatican Exhibition is Taking Shape: Pavilions to Cost 6,000,000 Lire,” New York Times, September 7, 1924, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.  82 For an analysis of this issue in relation to the Canadian artists the Group of Seven, see Lynda Jessup and Shannon Bagg, eds. On Aboriginal Representation in the Gallery (Hull, QC: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 2002). 83 Elizabeth Hutchinson, Indian Craze: Primitivism, Modernism, and Transculturation in American Art (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009), 17. 38  The third chapter, “‘A Window on the World’ of Blindness, Disavowal and ‘Colonial Unknowing’: Analysis of Dioramas, Children’s Games, and Missionary Perspectives on the PME,” focuses on missionary perspectives and argues that the dioramas and games at the PME form part of the cultural archive and the visual evidence of the exposition as a “window on the world” replete with colonial unknowing and processes of denial and disavowal of Indigenous agency in the Americas.84 To counteract this elision, the second half of the chapter incorporates a discussion of the realities that Indigenous children of the Americas faced in residential schools run by Catholic missionaries in North America in the early twentieth century. I argue that the PME functioned like the residential schools in that it was part of the settler-colonial project for the eradication of Indigenous lifeways. Thus, it is necessary to review the overarching impact of residential schools on Indigenous children in North America and the way that vision and art-making played a significant aspect in that process. The games and the dioramas of the PME offered a “window on the world” onto the attitudes of missionaries toward Indigenous children, evidence of how the seeing, the looking, and the understanding flowed one way. Missionary attitudes did not account for, and indeed actively denied, Indigenous realities and settler-colonial violence against Indigenous peoples in the Americas. Missionary organizers and artists constructed the Indigenous people in the dioramas and the games as mute and compliant subjects; only the Catholic stewards animated the discussions.  The fourth chapter, “The Eloquence of Things: Indigenous Materiality at the PME,” considers how cultural belongings made using Indigenous methods and hands resonate beyond missionary anxiety, beyond the allochronic space of the Hall of Americas. While missionaries                                                           84 Manu Vimalassery, Juilana Hu Pegues, and Alyosha Goldstein, “On Colonial Unknowing,” Theory and Event 19, No. 4, (2016): 1.   39  and the Pope considered them as silent markers of missionary progress, I argue they are present markers of Indigenous cosmologies and ideologies. By tracing five works by unnamed Indigenous artists—a Lakota Sioux Sun Dance drawing, a Passamaquoddy cross, a Haudenosaunee wampum belt (derived from the Algonquin word wampumpeag, meaning a shell), Cree beaded moccasins, and a Kwakwaka’wakw ancestral sun mask—I suggest these works have a persuasive glory and power that the curators of the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Collection and missionaries working for the PME failed to consider in their scanty and inadequate interpretations found in the Americas catalogue and the Rivista Ilustrata. The glory and power of Indigenous cultural belongings matter, creating an eloquence of things that disrupts the Pope’s logic and the pervasive but not all-encompassing views of missionaries and visitors.   The dissertation closes with a story about Antonio Martin Fernando, an Indigenous man who protested at the entrance to the exposition, leafleting visitors. His narrative, like Lewis’ and the stories of some of the Indigenous cultural belongings, helps pull the experience of Indigenous peoples and engagements with Rome and the Vatican as agents and actors on history into a new discursive conceptual space of Indigeneity in Rome.  Journal: Roma, Non Basta Una Vita, February 2017  Not much to note today other than that I am feeling a bit anxious and excited about upcoming trips and travels, my departure from Italy, and my travels to the Yale Divinity Archive to see the children’s games. I can hardly believe I have been here in Rome nearly one year. I have this sense of being here but also not here, a floating sensation. Feeling the strong Roman sun on my face, walking through the old Roman churches and amidst the ruins with Italian friends, I get this in-between feeling. It is not quite an out-of-body experience, but almost as if, 40  recognizing my body being in this place but knowing I will leave soon, my spirit identifies a sense of magic that still exists in some very old parts of Rome. I remember a conversation with an elderly Roman lady who reminded me on Janiculum Hill of the words of Roman author and Vatican correspondent Silvio Negro “Roma, non basta una vita” (Rome, a lifetime is not enough).85                                                                          85 Silvio Negro, Roma, Non Basta Una Vita (Vicenza: Neri Pozza, 2014).  41  Chapter One: Indigenizing the Story of Neoclassicism: Ferdinand Pettrich and Edmonia Wildfire Lewis   Preface: The Roman Carte-de-visite (1876): An Anishinaabe Artist in Rome  The only known Roman portrait of artist Edmonia Lewis is a carte-de-visite taken circa 1876, a decade after she had settled in the city (Figure 2.1).86 Photographed at the prestigious Fratelli D’Allesandri Studio in Rome, photographers to the Pope, this rare image depicts Lewis in her prime at the age of 32. Her hands crossed over her chest in a confident pose, a cravat tied around her neck in bohemian fashion, she projects an aura of confidence and cosmopolitan worldliness, at ease in the Eternal City. Her expression is relaxed, and she has a slight smile. She used these cards to advertise her vocation as a sculptor in Rome, to give to potential patrons, artist friends, writers, critics, and admirers, perhaps even to Pope Pius IX.87 The card is inscribed: “Flli D’Alessandri Corso No 12 Roma.” Journalists of the day remarked on her visible difference as an artist of colour and described her as an “interesting novelty” and a “lady of                                                           86 This carte-de-visite of Lewis in Rome was discovered by curator Jacqueline Copeland, and is now in the collection of the Walters Art Museum. Art historical literature on Edmonia Lewis—Monograph: Kirsten Pat Buick, Child of the Fire: Mary Edmonia Lewis and the Problem of Art History’s Black and Indian Subject (Duke University Press, London: 2010).  Catalogue: Lynda Roscoe Hartigan, Sharing Traditions: Five Black Artists in 19th-century America: [from the coll. of the National Museum of American Art] (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1985). “Exhibition: Edmonia Lewis and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Images and Identities, February 18, 1995–May 3, 1995,” Fogg Art Museum, accessed October 27, 2017,  https://www.harvardartmuseums.org/visit/exhibitions/4632/edmonia-lewis-and-henry-wadsworth-longfellow-images-and-identities. Biography: Harry Henderson and Albert Henderson, The Indomitable Spirit of Edmonia Lewis: A Narrative Biography (Milford: Esquiline Hill Press, 2012); Romare Bearden and Harry Henderson, A History of African American Artists from 1792 to the Present (New York: Pantheon, 1993), 54–77. Art historical books that discuss Lewis and her statuary: Melissa Dabakis, A Sisterhood of Sculptors: American Artists in Nineteenth-century Rome (Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2014); Charmaine Nelson, The Color of Stone: Sculpting the Black Female Subject in Nineteenth-century America (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007), http://public.eblib.com/choice/publicfullrecord.aspx?p=334222. Scholarly articles on Lewis: Melissa Dabakis, “‘Ain't I a Woman?’: Anne Whitney, Edmonia Lewis, and the Iconography of Emancipation,” in Seeing High and Low: Representing Social Conflict in American Visual Culture, ed. Patricia Johnston (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 84–102; Charmaine Nelson, “Edmonia Lewis's Death of Cleopatra: White Marble, Black Skin and the Regulation of Race in American Neoclassical Sculpture,” in Local/Global: Women Artists in the Nineteenth Century, eds. Deborah Cherry and Janice Helland (Burlington: Ashgate, 2006), 223–243; Marilyn Richardson, “Edmonia Lewis’ The Death of Cleopatra,” International Review of African American Art 12, no. 2 (1995): 36–52; Elenor Tufts, “Edmonia Lewis, Afro-Indian Neo-classicist,” Art in America (1974), 71–72; Luisa Cetti, Forever Free: Oltre la Barriera del Colore: L'esilio Romano di Edmonia Lewis (1845-1907) (Roma: Castelvecchi, 2017). 87 Lewis received a Papal blessing for her work. See Notable American Women, 1607-1950: A Biographical Dictionary, vol. 3, eds. Edward T. James, Janet Wilson James, and Paul S. Boyer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), 398.  42  color” in newspaper accounts.88 Lewis drew upon elements of her Anishinaabe and Haitian background to emphasize the distinctiveness of her heritage compared to that of her white American colleagues, although her pose and dress echo those of her fellow bohemian artists of the time. Lewis wanted to advertise her prominence as a sculptor to gain support in the form of commissions for her work. She was the youngest of her female colleagues, and her experiences in Boston and Rome evidence her drive and ambition in a white-male-dominated field.89 Lewis had the Roman carte-de-visite made in preparation for the Papal visit to her studio, showcasing her sophistication.90 Lewis converted from Protestantism to Catholicism and felt more comfortable in Italy than in the United States. Fluent in Italian, she spent most of her life in Italy (1866-1900), where she produced many sculptures based on Henry Longfellow’s “The Song of Hiawatha” and other works, including the famous sculpture of the Death of Cleopatra (Smithsonian American Art Museum, 1876). She found respite in Italy outside the racially charged atmosphere of the United States. In an interview with New York Times in 1871, she stated that “I was practically driven to Rome, to obtain the opportunities for art culture, and to find a social atmosphere where I was not constantly reminded of my color. The land of liberty had no room for a colored sculptor.”91  Lewis often discussed her Anishinaabe (Ojibwa) heritage as well and used this as part of her artistic persona. Although she did not, for example, pose with any moccasins, quillwork, or against a backdrop that might suggest her Indigenous ancestry in her carte-de-visite, she often discussed her Indigenous ancestry with the media and in her artistic circles, and in this way drew                                                           88 “An interesting novelty has sprung up among us, in a city where all our surroundings are of the olden time. Miss Edmonia Lewis, a lady of color, has taken a studio in Rome and works as a sculptress.” Sheffield Independent, Monday March 5, 1866. 89 Charmaine Nelson, The Color of Stone: Sculpting the Black Female Subject in Nineteenth-century America (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007), 180.  90 Kirsten Pat Buick, Child of the Fire: Mary Edmonia Lewis and the Problem of Art History’s Black and Indian Subject (Duke University Press, London: 2010), 27. 91 “Seeking Equality Abroad,” The New York Times, December 29, 1878, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.  43  attention to her unique heritage.  This visiting card is exceptional in that Lewis actively chose to have it made, whereas photographers such as Edward Curtis often took photographs of Native American subjects for consumption by others. They were not usually collected or distributed by the subjects themselves.92 The significance of Lewis’ carte-de-visite should not be underestimated, as she was the first artist of Native American descent to gain international recognition.93 She advertised her prominence as a sculptor not simply to attract commisions but also to announce her place as an artist of international renown.94  Lewis’ identity as an artist of colour defied colonial expectations. In this way, her biography is important for understanding her role as a participant in the artistic community of German artist Ferdinand Pettrich (1798–1872) and his contemporaries. I think that, in this context, we have to acknowledge Lewis’ subject position working within neoclassicism, a culture of denial of Indigenous peoples’ modernity. In their statuary, paintings, and other artistic forms, neoclassical artists typically placed Indigenous peoples in the past rather than in contemporary time. Famous examples include Thomas Crawford’s (1814 – 1857) The Indian and Pettrich’s Dying Tecumseh. Many of Lewis’ white contemporaries remarked, sometimes favourably, sometimes not, on Lewis’ extraordinary situation as an artist of colour, a Native, an “aborigine,” an Indian.95 They expressed shock because they had conditioned themselves to                                                           92 Margaret R. Blackman notes in “Studio Indians: Cartes de visite of Native People in British Columbia, 1862-1872” that “In the frontier city of Victoria, cartes de visite of Indians were made over about a ten-year period beginning in 1862 and represent, by a few years, the earliest photographs of British Columbia's native population. While it is doubtful that these cartes were purchased by the Indian subjects of the images, they were sought by local colonists and particularly by visitors to Victoria.” Archivaria 21 (1985): 68. 93 A contemporary of Lewis, the Haida carver Charles Edenshaw (1839–1920), would make an interesting comparison but is outside the parameters of this essay. 94 Eric Hanks, “Rare Edmonia Lewis Photo Discovered,” International Review of African American Art, accessed May 25, 2018,  http://iraaa.museum.hamptonu.edu/page/Rare-Edmonia-Lewis-Photo-Discovered. My analysis focuses on the rare photograph of Edmonia Lewis in Rome. The other set of six cartes de visite of Lewis made in Chicago, and wearing a Phrygian cap and shawl, were by prominent Chicago photographer Henry Roche (made between 1868-1870), and have been widely discussed. See Gwendolyn DuBois Shaw, Portraits of a People: Picturing African Americans in the Nineteenth Century (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006). 95 Nelson, The Color of Stone, 27. Quoting from Letter, Anne Whitney to Adele Manning, 9 August 1864, AWP-WCA. 44  neoclassical statuary that only represented Native people in the past. Her modernity and her ability to create art using the language of a largely white, colonial artistic milieu unsettled them.  Edmonia Wildfire Lewis was the first black or Native artist to gain international recognition for her sculptural work in the nineteenth century. Her life and artworks present a much-needed alternative to the staid depictions of Indigenous peoples within the oeuvre of neoclassical production and a striking point of comparison with Pettrich. Lewis challenges colonial assumptions regarding what Indigenous American people could do and did in a period of intense cultural erasure and violence as well as challenging the binaries of neoclassical art. Her artworks, voice, and lifestyle choices remain a singular and inspiring narrative of creativity and international presence in the art world.  As a sculptor, Lewis was a contemporary of Pettrich in artistic output, medium, and subject matter but, as an Indigenous female artist working in Rome, was a unique figure at the time. Considering her within the canon of art history helps to expand and broaden our definition of what Indigenous artists and artists of colour created in the nineteenth century, as well as questioning our assumptions about Native American art.96 For example, Lewis worked in the medium of marble, not beads and quills, the more “traditional” media for Ojibwa female artists. She also worked and lived in Rome for most of her life. Her life provides evidence against the settler colonial assumption, often expressed in neoclassical sculptures, that all Indigenous Americans had died out. In the words of historian Lorenzo Veracini, “[s]ettler projects are inevitably premised on the traumatic, that is, violent, replacement and/or displacement of                                                           96 For a parallel example of debates around ethnicity and art and the limits of these approaches, see John Davis’ discussion of African-American art in John Davis, “The End of the American Century: Current Scholarship on the Art of the United States,” The Art Bulletin, 85, no. 3 (Sept. 2003): 559.  45  indigenous Others.”97 While neoclassical artworks such as Crawford’s evidence complicity in the settler colonial process of the denial of the modernity of Indigenous Americans, Lewis’ counteracts this denial simply through her presence. Pettrich’s details confront generic understandings of Indigenous peoples. Lewis provides evidence of alterity in the artistic canon and thus requires our attention if we are to write more expansive and critical art histories.  While Lewis drew on fictional characters such as Longfellow’s Minnehaha, she also created work from her life experience as an artist of Afro-Haitian and Native-American heritage. She was an artist of colour working at a time when the US government largely confined Native American people to reservations, and while slavery continued.98 My inclusion of her in this conversation with Pettrich and other neoclassical sculptors is purposeful. I include her as an artist of colour who produced work contrary to nineteenth-century colonial assumptions about what artists of colour could do and, moreover, who worked within the milieu of the American art community in Rome.  Lewis played to an audience of largely American, white collectors in an artistic atmosphere that represented Indigenous Americans as either nubile young pagans ready for conversion or doomed savages fleeing from civilization. As I will discuss later, her Minnehaha, with its idealized features, conforms to the standards of neoclassical representation and depicts Minnehaha with a dignified expression. Importantly, Lewis presented Indigenous peoples in her statuary as alive and well, countering the depictions of Indigenous subjects as dying or doomed that were prevalent in Pettrich’s Tecumseh, Crawford’s The Indian, and many other works.                                                           97 Lorenzo Veracini, Settler Colonialism (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 75. 98 Francis, 100. 46  Although Lewis drew on Ojibwa myths and conformed to idealized popular versions of Indigenous people, her presence in Rome did not conform to neoclassical ideals. Thinking of Lewis as part of a history of unexpectedness of Indigenous people abroad helps place her life and works within the broader history of Native peoples transcending colonial expectations and boundaries in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Sioux scholar Phillip Deloria aims to recentre American Indigenous histories as histories of unexpectedness and argues for the continuing presence of Indigenous lives. Presenting stories of Indigenous engagements with modernity, he counters the narrative that Native people belong in the past. The US government largely contained Native Americans on isolated reserves from the late nineteenth into the twentieth century. However, Lewis is a disruption in these often-told stories.99 Thus, I follow in Deloria’s vein of centring Indigenous American life stories. Speaking of his grandfather, who was a theologian on the Pine Ridge and Rosebud reservations and a mediator between Lakota and non-Lakota, Deloria observes: “My grandfather’s life was not like Thorpe’s, for his athleticism—like that of so many hundreds of Indian men and women—was not anomalous. It was simply unexpected.”100 I take inspiration from Deloria’s analysis and think of Lewis as part of this ongoing history of unexpectedness. Indigenizing the Story of Neoclassicism: Ferdinand Pettrich and Edmonia Wildfire Lewis   In this chapter, I place into productive tension the statuary and life stories of Pettrich, a white German artist, and Lewis, an Ojibwa-Haitian artist. Through the tools of comparison and visual analysis, I challenge two core colonial assumptions prevalent in art historical literature on neoclassicism: first, that Indigenous peoples had disappeared from history and, second, that they                                                           99 Deloria, 240. 100 Ibid., 135.  47  existed only outside of modern metropolitan cultures and certainly not in Europe.101 Comparing their lives and works challenges the neoclassical binaries between Indigenous subjects and artists and opens up conceptions of Indigeneity as a state of survival amid the violence of colonial rule in the transnational contexts in which Lewis and Pettrich worked. Considering their works in tension provides new insights into the problem of agency in representing Indigenous nations in art and thinking about Indigenous presence in Rome, and about the limits of neoclassicism as an artistic genre and a colonial mindset.  In the first half of the chapter, I examine a drawing, Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City (c. 1837, ink on paper, Pettrich Sketchbook, Newberry Library) and a sculpture of Tecumseh (c. 1857, plaster, 89 x 197 x 155 cm, Vatican Museums, Ethnological Museum, Rome), both created by Pettrich. Having received a Papal commission, Pettrich donated his work to the Vatican in 1858 as an “Indian Museum.”  His museum formed a prominent visual anchor at the Hall of Americas in the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exhibition (Figure 2.2).102 The two works continue to have a significant visual presence in the current Vatican Missionary Museum Collection. Pettrich’s statuary features several busts and larger-than-life sculptures of Indigenous                                                           101 Tamara Buffalo, “Knowing All My Names,” International Review of African American Art 17 (2000): 41–44; Kirsten P. Buick, “The Ideal Works of Edmonia Lewis: Invoking and Inverting Biography,” American Art 9, no. 2 (1995): 4–22.  102 The only existing major catalogue on Pettrich is Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal: Exhibition of the Staatliche Ethnographische Sammlungen Sachen in the Albertinum Dresden, October 1, 2013 to March 2, 2014, eds. Iris Edenheiser and Astrid Nielsen (Dresden: Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, 2013). Scholarly articles include Paolo Dalla Torre, “Le Plastiche a Soggetto Indigeno Nordamericano del Pettrich Nel Pontificio Museo Missionario Etnologico,” Annali Lateranensi IV, (1940): 34 (accessed at Propaganda Fide Library and Verbite Order Archive, Rome); R L Stehle, “Ferdinand Pettrich in America,” Pennsylvania History 33, no. 4 (1966): 1-24. MA thesis: Nancy Noonan Morrissey, Ferdinand Pettrich—His American Experience and The Dying Tecumseh ( Lexington, Ky: [publisher not identified], 1979); Encyclopedia entry: “PETTRICH, Ferdinand Friedrich August,” Benezit Dictionary of Artists. Oxford Art Online (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), accessed October 17, 2017, http://www.oxfordartonline.com.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/subscriber/article/benezit/B00140145. There is also a black and white glass lantern slide collection of Pettrich’s statuary available for online viewing at the Smithsonian American Art Museum, Photo Lot 20, National Anthropological Archives. Smithsonian Institution.  (http://edan.si.edu/slideshow/slideshowViewer.htm?damspath=/Public_Sets/NMNH/NMNH-RC-Anthropology/NMNH-RC-Anth-Archives/NMNH-RC-Anth-Archives-NAA/NAA-Photo_Lots/NAA-Photo_Lot_20) In addition, curator Karen Lemmey’s notes on Tecumseh at the Smithsonian American Art Museum are available at this online website: Karen Lemmey, “The Dying Tecumseh,” accessed October 25, 2017, https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/the-dying-tecumseh-19670. One source that discusses Pettrich’s drawings briefly is Harry Lieberson, Aristocratic Encounters: European Travelers and North American Indian (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001).  48  American chiefs and medicine men, as well as low-relief battle scenes in a neoclassical style. Artists across Europe, Britain, and the Americas from the late eighteenth through the nineteenth century worked in the neoclassical style, a dominant movement in art and architecture with its epicentre in Rome, which drew these artists with its ancient allure.103 The Eternal City, brimming with antiquities and ruins, lured American and European artists who then brought the movement back to the US.104 Artists strove to create a new style based on the emulation of ancient Greek and Roman ideas of civilization and beauty, inspired by antiquity and archaeological discoveries of ruins in Pompeii (beginning in 1747).105 Neoclassical artists praised the classical qualities of clarity, order, rationality, and didacticism. The artistic language emphasized emotional restraint and self-sacrifice, lack of ornamentation, the glorification of heroic death, and allusion to the mythologies and political histories of ancient Rome and Greece.106 Building on Enlightenment ideas of rationality, exploration, and scientific observation, artists were also influenced by the discovery and exploitation of Indigenous peoples in the Americas, a contradiction inherent in the idealistic values of neoclassicism, a term that in its birth in the nineteenth century conveyed the revival or risorgimento of the arts.107 They discussed the moralizing power of sculpture and, in their colonizing mindset,108 understood Indigenous peoples as epitomizing the ideal of the noble but doomed savage. Statuary by Pettrich, Thomas Crawford, and others promoted the                                                           103 Ian Chilvers, “Neoclassicism,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Art (Oxford University Press, 2004). http://www.oxfordreference.com.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/view/10.1093/acref/9780198604761.001.0001/acref-9780198604761-e-2493. The Oxford Dictionary does not discuss the prevalence of the figure of the Indigenous American or issues of representing Indigenous peoples.  104 Anna Ottani Cavina, Geometries of Silence: Three Approaches to Neoclassical Art (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 4.  105 Ian Chilvers, “Neoclassicism,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), http://www.oxfordreference.com.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/view/10.1093/acref/9780198604761.001.0001/acref-9780198604761-e-2493. 106 Hugh Honour, Neoclassicism (Penguin Books: New York, 1979), 146.   107Art historian Hugh Honour uses the term “contradiction” in his discussion of neoclassical art. He does not discuss, however, the contradiction of the treatment of Indigenous Americans by American settlers and the US government and their parallel representation in neoclassical art.  Honour, Neoclassicism, 15.  108 Charmaine Nelson, The Color of Stone: Sculpting the Black Female Subject in Nineteenth-century America (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007), xiii. 49  misperception that Indigenous people existed solely in the past. To make an intervention in the consideration of neoclassical depictions of Indigenous peoples, in the second half of the chapter, I will consider the life of Edmonia Lewis, focusing on her sculpture Minnehaha (c. 1868, marble, 29.5 × 18.4 × 12.4 cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). Decolonizing Neoclassical Art History    Art historical literature on American neoclassical artists in Rome paints their project through rose-coloured glasses. There is little acknowledgement of neoclassicism’s complicity in the destruction of Indigenous societies. While artists like Pettrich sculpted dying Indian chiefs and sensuous Indian maidens, Indigenous Americans experienced genocide by famine, violence, and relocation as American and Canadian settlers occupied their traditional homelands. Artistic discussion of neoclassical statuary leaves out this reality, except for the important work by Charmaine Nelson discussed below. The work of art historian Jules Prown does acknowledge the power of paintings such as Benjamin West’s Death of General Wolfe in mythologizing Native American peoples but leaves out the impact of settler colonial expansion on Indigenous lands and the attempted erasure of Indigenous cultures that was simultaneous with representations of “the noble savage.”109  My goal is thus to expand our understanding of what is acceptable in the canon of art history by thinking critically about the relationship among three constituencies: 1) American art history, which has trumpeted North American settler colonialism via the large corpus of neoclassicism; 2) the scholars who discuss the genre of neoclassicism and 3) Indigenous artists themselves. This chapter builds on the important work of art historian Charmaine Nelson, in                                                           109 Jules David Prown, Art as Evidence: Writings on Art and Material Culture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 99.  50  particular her discussion of the stakes for the representation of African Americans and women of colour within neoclassical marble statuary, as well as on the work of other scholars who are pushing for a more expansive vision of Indigenous contributions to art history.110 Nelson argues that scholars need to identify their position regarding neoclassicism: “the problem is that when scholars who are actively and consciously self-reflexive are set against those who do not name themselves, their methodology, or their product, the latter are often accepted as the ‘norm of the discipline.’”111 Nelson, building on the work of art historian Griselda Pollock, encourages art historians both to display their position and be self-reflexive in their approach and methodology.112 In the same vein of productive subversion, I analyze the work of neoclassical sculptors Pettrich and Lewis and break down the assumptions of neoclassical art.   The lack of criticism of neoclassicism within the canon points to a lack of critical engagement between art history and the lived reality of Indigenous American peoples at the time. This is the gap I am contending with here. It needs to be acknowledged in the scholarship. Although neoclassical artists often imagined Indigenous Americans as fictional heroes existing solely in the past, Lewis, as an Indigenous artist, worked against that narrative. Government agents and artists made assumptions and created artworks depicting Indigenous Americans as dying out. Lewis’ life and practice refuted that assumption. She negotiated her position within an artistic community that consistently romanticized Native American people as always precursors but never contemporaries. This is what I refer to in Chapter Two as the “allochronic space” of Indigenous representation.                                                            110 Nelson, The Color of Stone, 3.  111 Ibid., xvi.  112 Griselda Pollock, Differencing the Canon: Feminist Desire and the Writing of Art’s Histories (London: Routledge, 1999), 34.  51  In this chapter, I suggest that the sculptures of Pettrich and Lewis are palimpsests and that their artistic production in the transatlantic axes of Boston, Rio De Janiero, Rome, and Washington matters in understanding the global circulation of neoclassical statuary and, consequently, the idealizations and misconceptions of Indigenous peoples. The transatlantic network in which the statuary and the artists circulated is evidence too of the discursive and social networks in which conceptions of Indigeneity and, with them, the multiple fraught meanings of neoclassical art, accumulated.  Through visual analysis and critical historical interpretation, their sculptural works and biographical details may be recontextualized as evidence not only of colonial artistic production but also the persistence of Indigenous peoples. Rome itself is a multi-layered city, like a palimpsest in that multiple traces of the past overlap, while Romans continue to reinvent themselves. In this spirit, then, this prehistory of the Pontifical Missionary Exposition is the writing of a new story over an old one, a telling of the survival of Indigenous peoples in the nineteenth century and into the twentieth.  Neoclassical Denial of Indigenous Presence   Pettrich and Lewis participated in a broad circle of artists and writers, such as American artist Thomas Crawford, working in Rome and creating sculptures of Indigenous Americans. By the late mid-nineteenth century, discourses of Euro-American progress and civilization considered Indigenous peoples in America and Canada as out of time, as vanishing people restricted to reservations and reserves, displaced from their original territories to make way for settler colonials. Artistic depictions solidified this discourse.113 Government agents, artists, and scholars considered Indigenous people as noble but anachronistic and doomed, and therefore as                                                           113 Pamela Kort and Max Hollein, I Like America: Fictions of the Wild West (Munich: Prestel, 2006), 16. 52  ideal romantic subject matter.114 In this context, it is useful to analyze a white marble sculpture created by a contemporary American artist in Rome, Thomas Crawford’s The Indian: The Dying Chief Contemplating the Progress of Civilization (1856, 152.4 x 141 x 71.1 cm, New York Historical Society and Museum) (Figure 2.3).115  After his apprenticeship in New York, Crawford moved to Rome in 1835, trained there under the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770–1844), and became one of the preeminent neoclassical sculptors of his age. Crawford reworked The Indian, a commission that took him two years to complete (1853–1855).116 This version of The Indian is a reworking of the low-relief Indian figure found in the triangular pediment frieze of the Senate wing of the Capitol building in Washington in the Progress of Civilization frieze that Crawford installed there (1853-1855). The Indian sculpture on the frieze formed part of a larger visual narrative that illustrated American settlement and civilization subduing the “vanishing Indian” and his savagery.117 Crawford wrote of the sculpture that “the chief is broken and bowed before the progress of the civilized white man.”118  Crawford worked within a long tradition of American artists who depicted Indians in neoclassical style. The pose of the “pensive Indian,” resting his head on his hands, may have been inspired by American artist Benjamin West’s Iroquois warrior, who rests his head in his hand while surveying The Death of General Wolfe, (1770, oil painting, 149 x 213 cm, Royal Ontario Museum). The warrior in West’s painting has blue tattoos; he is a member of the Snake                                                           114 Ibid., 76.  115 “The Indian,” New York Historical Society, accessed October 25, 2017, http://www.nyhistory.org/exhibit/indian-dying-chief-contemplating-progress-civilization. 116 Jan Seidler Ramirez, “A History of the New-York Historical Society,” The Magazine Antiques 167 (2005): 138. 117 Dabakis, A Sisterhood of Sculptors, 99.  118 “The Indian,” New York Historical Society, accessed October 25, 2017, http://www.nyhistory.org/exhibit/indian-dying-chief-contemplating-progress-civilization. 53  or Great Serpent Clan.119 He also sports a large, triangular, tin-metal earring in his right earlobe. His mouth is open as if he is about to speak. He wears a rich blue robe around his torso with a finely beaded chevron bag with tinkle cones hanging down. These details convey a sense of his personality, his identity, and gravitas. By contrast, Crawford departs from West’s livelier version with a stripping down of detail. West, Crawford, and other neoclassical artists imagined a direct link between antiquity and Indians. As a symbol, the Indian marked the epitome of the ideal male in an earlier, uncorrupt time, a muscular warrior unaffected by modernity.120 The Enlightenment concept of the noble savage informed this perception. Upon seeing the Roman sculpture of the Apollo Belvedere in the Vatican collections, West said: “‘My God, how alike it is to a young Mohawk warrior!”121 American artists such as Crawford then appropriated and reproduced the equation between classical Roman antiquity and the Native American hero, started by West, in nineteenth century painting and sculpture. According to Prown in Art as Evidence: Writings on Art and Material Culture: “West converted his American background into a strategic advantage by seeming to identify intuitively the relationship between classical antiquity and the noble savage, between the Apollo Belvedere and a living Mohawk warrior.”122 Crawford presents The Indian defeated, holding his head in his hands, completely nude except for his moccasins and the stylized eagle feather headdress he wears on his head. He sits on a buffalo hide, his tomahawk at his side, no longer fighting, creating a sense of his immobility. He is part of the past, not the future. Presented as a solitary figure, he has given up                                                           119 Prown, 99.  120 Further discussion of the connection between classical antiquity and American Indians is found in Vivien Green Fryd, “Rereading the Indian in Benjamin West's Death of General Wolfe." American Art 9, no. 1 (1995): 73-85. Leslie Kaye Reinhardt, “British and Indian Identities in a Picture by Benjamin West,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 31, no. 3 (1998): 283-305. 121 John Galt, The Life of Benjamin West, ed. Nathalia Wright (Gainesville, Florida: Scholars’ Facsimiles & Reprints, 1960). 122 Prown, Art as Evidence: Writings on Art and Material Culture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), 99.   54  the fight against white settler encroachment, unlike West’s Mohawk warrior, who is part of a dynamic, narrative painting with his contemporaries. Like the anonymous title of the work, he is a symbol of all Native nations, but also of none. Crawford gives no sense of the subject’s individuality; there are no tattoos, body markings, distinctive hairstyle, or other unique detail. The figure is part of the trope of the anonymous, vanishing Indian. He is nude, with a highly idealized, muscular body, and with feathers around his head, loosely referencing the feather headdress of Plains Indigenous peoples. There is no visual marker of tribal affiliation. Crawford depicts The Indian as stooped over and dying; he does not pose a threat to American civilization and progress. He holds his head in his right hand and contemplates his fate and, by implication, the fate of all Indigenous peoples in America.123 The chief is in a vulnerable space, his hunched pose and sad facial expression meant to evoke sympathy from the viewer, though not enough to warrant any change in behaviour. The statue is evidence of the complicity of Crawford’s art in promoting the settler colonial project of the eradication of Indigenous peoples, which I consider as the neoclassical mindset behind the dispossession of Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island.  Generic sculptures such as The Indian leave their subjects unnamed; they are representative of all Native peoples but also of none. This anonymity helped further the binary thinking of savage and civilized required for settler colonialism. Such sculptures visualized and celebrated Euro-American assumptions that Western progress and civilization doomed Indigenous nations to irrelevance rather than acknowledging the ongoing presence and diversity of these nations. This sculpture remained in Crawford’s studio in Rome after his death until English sculptor John Gibson (1790–1866) praised it in 1858 as one of Crawford’s masterpieces                                                           123 Daniel Francis, The Imaginary Indian: The Image of the Indian in Canadian Culture (Arsenal Pulp Press: Vancouver, 2012), 50. 55  and proposed that a copy be made to memorialize his work in Rome.124 The New York Historical Society purchased the original in 1861, and it is now on permanent view at the society’s location at Central Park West.125 Pettrich, who like Crawford trained under Thorvaldsen, likely saw this sculpture in Crawford’s studio, although he departed significantly from it in his famous Tecumseh. Crawford’s sculpture and its ideology are iconic of the collusion of neoclassical art with settler colonial values of the triumph of Western progress and civilization. The statue is a visualization of Indigenous peoples without specificity and thus perpetuates the elision of Indigenous narratives, memories, and realities.  Artists of the time framed Native Americans as savage and American settler colonials as civilized not only in sculpture but in paintings and prints as well. Crawford’s sculpture and pediment are a very public statement of this ideology, as well as a reminder of the rising imperial power of the US. As art historian Melissa Dabakis points out, “cultural, intellectual, economic, and political processes worked together in the formation and perpetuation of the ideologies of both racial supremacy and westward expansion.”126 I would add to Dabakis’ observation that artistic representations of Indigenous subjects, such as Crawford’s, which celebrated the subjugation of Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island, illustrate the complicity of artistic production within settler colonialism. In contrast, Pettrich’s individually detailed sketchbook and statuary convey not Crawford’s subjugating vision but an engagement with individual Indigenous nations.  Ferdinand Pettrich: Sculpting Indigenous Nations                                                             124 William J. Clark, Great American Sculptures (Philadelphia: Gebbie and Barrie Publishers, 1878), 68.  125 “The Indian,” New York Historical Society, accessed October 25, 2017, http://www.nyhistory.org/exhibit/indian-dying-chief-contemplating-progress-civilization. 126 Dabakis, A Sisterhood of Sculptors, 99.  56  Pettrich trained under prominent neoclassical sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen, the successor to neoclassical sculptor Antonio Canova (1757–1822).127 Pettrich arrived in Rome in 1819 and received extensive training. It was Thorvaldsen who encouraged Pettrich to venture to America and depict a new and exotic subject matter: Native Americans.128 Pettrich then moved to Washington DC in 1835 and also spent time in Philadelphia and Baltimore, leaving the US in 1842.129 During his time in Washington, he also created busts of political figures, including Indigenous Americans who visited the capital to negotiate treaties with the federal government. One night at his Washington studio, near where the Corcoran Art Gallery stands today, he was attacked and stabbed in an apparent assassination attempt.130 Scholars suggest that anti-immigrant nationalists attacked Pettrich due to jealousy. They wanted the commission for the statue of Washington Resigning His Commission, intended for Washington Square in Philadelphia, to go to the American artist Horatio Greenough, not to a foreigner.131 After a heated debate in the House of Representatives, Pettrich lost the commission and received little compensation.132 My interpretation is that the xenophobic nationalists attacked Pettrich due to the perception that his works promoted American Indian visibility, not simply because of his status as a foreigner. In 1830, just seven years before Pettrich arrived in the US, the Indian Removal Act had been passed by Congress at the urging of then-President Andrew Jackson (1829–1837), and during Pettrich’s American career, President Martin Van Buren aggressively                                                           127 Ian Chilvers, “Thorvaldsen, Bertel,” in The Oxford Dictionary of Art (Oxford University Press, 2004), accessed October 25, 2017. 128 Arnold Nesselrath, “Points of View,” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, eds. Iris Edenheiser & Astrid Nielsen (Stuttgart: Arnoldsche Verlagsanstalt, 2014), 69.  129 Iris Edenheiser, “Introduction,” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 16.  130 “An attempt at assassination—One of the most atrocious attempts to take away the life of a respectable citizen that it has ever befallen our lot to record occurred last Sunday night about ten o’clock, in the first ward of this city, at a building not far from the Executive Mansion. Two assassins entered the studio of Mr. Pettrich, the sculptor, and after a severe struggle, stabbed him in two places. This fiend-like and cowardly attack was made, as it is thought, by two white men with their faces blacked.” As described in Intelligencer May 31, 1842 and reprinted in Stehle, 403.  131 Stehle, 402. 132 Ibid., 403. 57  pursued Jackson’s policies.133 He forcibly relocated the Cherokee from the southeast to Oklahoma and removed almost all Indigenous nations east of the Mississippi.134 The US government forcibly removed over 70,000 Indigenous people from their homelands during the Trail of Tears after they ceded their land to the government in exchange for land in “Indian Territory.” Sauk leader Black Hawk returned to his homelands in Illinois in 1832 so that his people could grow corn and feed themselves, only to be violently pushed out by white settlers in the Black Hawk War. 135 A sketch of Black Hawk exists in Pettrich’s sketchbook. From this, Pettrich made a bust and included it in the “Indian Museum.” Perhaps because his drawings and lithographs of Indigenous Americans promoted their visibility, specifically his depictions of the 1837 treaty delegations in which many Indigenous tribes from across Turtle Island participated, his artwork went against the colonial aims of the time, which were the complete assimilation and annihilation of Indigenous Americans. His would-be assassins therefore had a double motive in targeting the Dresden-born artist. Tellingly, besides seriously wounding Pettrich, they also destroyed a dozen of his plaster sculptures of Indigenous Americans.136 Before he left for Brazil in 1842, Pettrich made larger sketches on the walls of his studio based on the meetings he had witnessed in Washington between Native American leaders and the American government.137 He developed these into a series of lithographs, a collectible, lower-cost medium. On October 18, 1842, the United States Gazette of                                                           133 The Indian Removal Act (1830) passed by US congress and president Andrew Jackson implemented a policy of eradication of all Native peoples from east of the Mississippi onto reservations in present-day Oklahoma, to make way for American settler colonials. This policy continued to be implemented for two decades. Michael Witgen, “American Indians in World History,” in The Oxford Handbook of American Indian History, ed. Frederick Hoxie (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 605.   134 Witgen, “American Indians in World History,” 605.   135John P. Bowes, “US Expansion and its Consequences, 1815–1890”, in The Oxford Handbook of American Indian History, ed. Frederick Hoxie (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 96–97.  136 Torre, 34. 137 Herman J. Viola, Diplomats in Buckskin: A History of Indian Delegations in Washington City (Bluffton: Rivolo Books, 1995), 61.  58  Philadelphia advertised these works and Pettrich’s upcoming departure to Brazil. The lithograph booklet, based on the sketchbook drawings now held at the Newberry Library, reads “Portraits of Distinguished Indians from several tribes who visited Washington in 1837 and also a faithful representation of The Indian War Dance which took place during the visit drawn on the spot by Ferdinand Pettrich.”138 Pettrich’s inscription on his sketchbook at the Newberry reads “Fleeting sketches of Indian tribes according to Nature by Ferdinand Pettrich Artist, 10th August 1842, Washington City.”139 He changed the wording for the lithographs in order to appeal to collectors and a public interested in the veracity and documentary quality of his works, which complicate the generalizing tendencies of neoclassical artists such as Crawford. Yet Pettrich’s usage of the term “fleeting” also suggests his belief that Indigenous Americans would soon disappear and, in this way at least, conforms to settler colonial ideas of the time. The lithograph publication also gives details about the original context of the works: “The above portraits were originally drawn from life, full-size, on the four walls of Pettrich’s studio and now for the first time presented to the public by Ferdinand Pettrich. Lithographed by Edward Weber and Co, Baltimore, 1842.”140 The description emphasizes the veracity of the depictions and their documentary nature. Although still heavily influenced by ideals of classical antiquity, Pettrich drew inspiration from real people.  In order to recuperate from the attempted assassination, Pettrich moved to Brazil, a warmer climate, in 1843 and reworked the portraits in plaster while employed at the court of Emperor Dom Pedro II in Rio de Janeiro, creating busts and sculptures at the court. It was in Brazil that he conceived his vision for an “Indian Museum” to memorialize Native American                                                           138 Stehle, 410.  139 Pettrich Sketchbook Cover, Newberry Library Special Collections.  140 Ibid.  59  people. American dentist Dr. DeWitt Van Tuyl visited Pettrich at the emperor’s court in 1850 and saw Pettrich’s portfolio of works depicting Indigenous Americans. Van Tuyl was impressed with Pettrich’s skill and agreed to fund a sculpture in marble based on the works. Van Tuyl then ordered the shipment of a piece of Carrera marble to Pettrich’s Rio de Janeiro studio in 1851.141  Art critic Wilhelm Heine saw some of Pettrich’s works in progress in March 1855 in Brazil and noted a series of low reliefs (five to six feet in height) that depicted the evolution of Indian life, a war dance, and treaty negotiations, as well as a series of large sculptures, including Tecumseh and a Sak and Fox Girl.142 He also noted that an English nobleman had ordered a much larger frieze of Indigenous life (twenty-six metres in length and two and a half metres high). The artworks that Heine admired are now in the Vatican collection. However, Pettrich never produced the commission for the unknown English nobleman.143 The other low reliefs also in the Hall of Americas depict a buffalo hunt by the Sioux near the Mississippi and a battle between the Winnebago and Creek tribes. Other, more fantastical works by Pettrich, although not displayed in the Hall of Americas, include a hybrid buffalo and suggest that Pettrich never ventured outside the major American cities to view Indigenous ways of life.144  Pettrich’s Sketchbook: Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City (1837)  Pettrich’s sketchbook consists of 35 finely detailed and highly-finished drawings done in ink and wash that record his time in the US. With their intricate details, shadowing, and sense of depth, these “drawings” may more accurately be described as paintings. In October 1837, Pettrich had seen the Sioux perform a war dance at Franklin Square, Washington. The Sioux                                                           141 Torre, 53.  142 Stehle, 409. 143 Ibid., 410.  144 This is based on my observation of some of Pettrich’s other drawings in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 83. 60  opposed the Indian Removal Act that President Andrew Jackson had signed in 1830,145 and many Native American leaders travelled to Washington in the following years. Pettrich invited several to his studio and made detailed drawings.146 These events are pictured in his drawing Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City (Figure 2.4), which depicts treaty negotiations in 1837. This drawing and others in his sketchbook record encounters that Pettrich witnessed between Sac and Fox, Sioux, and the American government against a background of the ceding of land and the relocating of Indigenous Americans as part of the Indian Removal Act. In Pettrich’s drawing, the Indigenous men recline in classical style, one smoking a long pipe on the far left, but all have individual features and togas, suggesting Pettrich’s interest in their personalities despite using a decidedly Eurocentric perspective. Keokuk points his right arm and gestures with his right hand towards General Forsythe, calling on Forsythe to engage in conversation and respond to the treaty negotiations. He wears heavy drapery, reminiscent of figures on an ancient Greek vase, again suggesting the European stereotype of the “noble savage.” Laura Peers notes in her study of Swiss-born artist Peter Rindisbacher’s sketches and watercolour scenes of Cree and Métis at the Red River Settlement (c.1825) that Rindisbacher relied on and imitated European poses and the gestures of ancient Romans to depict Indigenous men and women.147 Peers points out the dangers of interpreting these visual images as historical depictions, criticizing the fact that governmental officials, academics, tribal historians, and others have used these images as if they were straightforward, historically authentic documents. In doing so, Peers notes, these observers are “assuming that [the images] provide objective and accurate views and that they function as unmediated windows on the past: equating realistic                                                           145 “Andrew Jackson”, accessed September 16, 2016, http://www.chrysler.org/ajax/load-artwork/50. 146 Stehle notes that the Indian chiefs visited Pettrich’s studio on the site where the Corcoran Gallery now stands in Washington, DC. See Stehle, 397. 147 Laura Peers, “Almost True: Peter Rindisbacher’s Early Images of Rupert’s Land, 1821-26,” Art History (Oxford: Blackwell, 2009), 528. 61  detail with a lack of artistic mediation.”148 However, the poses of the Cree men and women in Rindisbacher’s sketches “would never have been made by Ojibwa and northern Cree people, for whom pointing was exceptionally rude and potentially dangerous: it was the way that evil-intentioned individuals sent harmful power in witchcraft or shamanic feuds.”149 Pettrich too adopted the pointing gesture for his figure of Keokuk in his Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City. I follow Peers’ critique of these images as “almost true.”150   Pettrich depicts several Indigenous groups, including the Creek, Sioux, and Sac and Fox, in harmonious postures in his sketchbooks, idealizing the often fraught relationships and frequent animosity between the Sac and Fox and the Sioux.151  Although sometimes presented in drawings together, these diverse nations came from a vast geographical region. The Sac and Fox travelled to Washington from Illinois and the Sioux from their lands extending over North and South Dakota, Nebraska and Wyoming, but the drawings collapse highly diverse nations into one. Most of the figures in the 35 sketches in Pettrich’s sketchbook are virtually nude, signalling their inferiority as uncivilized people, echoing the observation made by Christopher Columbus on his arrival in the “New World”: “But it seemed to me that they were a people very poor in everything. All of them go around as naked as their mothers bore them.”152 Pettrich sidelines the actual complexity and diversity of the Indigenous nations of Turtle Island.153 Given the seriousness of the treaty process, the representatives of the Indigenous nations in reality took care to dress up in their finest full regalia in order to defend and petition with dignity for their                                                           148 Ibid., 517.  149 Ibid., 529.  150 Ibid., 532. 151 Viola, 34. 152 Oliver Dunn and James Kelley Jr, The Diario of Christopher Columbus’s First Voyage to America, 1492–1495 (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma  Press, 1989), 65.  153 Cameron B. Wesson, “America in 1492,” in The Oxford Handbook of American Indian History, ed. Frederick Hoxie (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 17.   62  right to their territories.154 Viewers during Pettrich’s time, especially collectors in Europe, Brazil, and North America, would have read the visual clue of near-nudity and understood themselves as inherently superior to Pettrich’s subjects. Thus, Pettrich, like Rindisbacher, produced his images with an eye on the preconceptions of the colonial art market.155  Washington portraitist Charles Bird King (1785–1862) also observed the 1837 treaty negotiations in Washington and painted hundreds of portraits of Indigenous delegations. Pettrich likely knew King’s works; they both worked as artists for the Department of War in Washington, and the government collected King’s artwork during the 1830s.156 King departed from Pettrich by depicting his subjects in their full regalia.157 Theodor de Bry’s series of engravings Americae (1594) also have some resonance with Pettrich’s works.158 De Bry’s widely emulated and much praised rendition of Native Americans emphasized the visual connection between Ancient Greece and the Americas. Pettrich repeated the idealized musculature, tattooed bodies, and artful poses in his sketches and statuary. Viewers of Pettrich’s work would have delighted in the many classical and Renaissance-based references Pettrich drew upon, such as Antonio Pollaiuolo’s widely admired and imitated engraving Battle of the Nude Men (c. 1470), with their warring muscular bodies, exaggerated poses, and hyper-athleticism. Pettrich, however, departed from his artistic sources in his attention to his subjects’ facial details and ornamentation; he created                                                           154 Viola, 108.  155 Peers, 534.  156 Donald L. Fixico, “How We Remember Black Hawk of the Sac and Fox,” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 142.  157 Thomas McKenney and James Hall, History of the Indian Tribes of North America with Biographical Sketches and Anecdotes of the Principal Chiefs. Embellished with One hundred and twenty portraits from the Indian Gallery in the Department of War, At Washington, vol. 1 (Philadelphia: D. Rice and A.N. Hart, 1855), 213. Newberry Library Special Collections.  158 Theodor de Bry’s, “America, Part Four. Distinguished and admirable history of Western India, Discovered for the first time by Christopher Columbus in the year 1492. Written by Jerome Benzoni from Milan, Who having lived there for fourteen years, Diligently observed everything. Additions to almost every chapter, not including comments, Also treat the idolatry of those populations. Also added is a map of those regions. All illustrated with elegant images copper engraved by Theodor de Bry from Liege, Citizen of Frankfurt,” Online Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries, accessed March 29, 2018, https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/p15195coll39/item/72. 63  distinct personalities for his subjects. However, he also relied heavily on tropes of the nude, idealized warrior, unable to adapt to modern technologies, that was common in European Renaissance and later depictions of the Indigenous peoples of the New World.159 Pettrich’s visual implication is that, like the ancient Romans, Indigenous peoples too will decline and fade away with the coming of modern Western civilization. In Aristocratic Encounters: European Travelers and North American Indians, historian Harry Liebersohn notes of the same drawing: “They are Indians—the feathers and breechskins signal that much—but the composition and costumes make a pointed comparison with classical predecessors and almost completely overwhelm the ethnographic subject.”160 I would argue that, within Pettrich’s larger oeuvre, the Indigenous Americans are not only props for a classical composition, but that their faces and individual dress, together with the names inscribed above their images, suggest Pettrich’s interest in them as individuals. Liebersohn’s analysis suggests that he did not see Pettrich’s sketches and busts of individuals, including Keokuk, Blackhawk, Wah-pe-ke-suk and Ha-Sa-Za.   Regarding the composition of the drawing Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City the Native men occupy the left side, and the American white men and government officials in Western dress occupy the right. This narrative strategy, with the translator and General Forsythe on the right, created a clear sense of Pettrich’s idea of the progression from savage, primitive life on the left to the “civilized” ways of the American officials on the right. The clothing of the Native figures, such as the thick buffalo robe draped around one Native man listening intently as well as the bear-claw necklaces and fringed buckskin leggings of the men                                                           159 Michael Gaudio, Engraving the Savage: The New World and Techniques of Civilization (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008), 1.  160 Lieberson, 153.  64  who sit attentively, suggest Pettrich’s fascination with the clothing and cultural belongings of Indigenous nations. Contrasting the drawing Council of the Sacs and Foxes at Washington City with the low relief (Figure 2.5), one can see that, in the low relief, Pettrich removed a few figures in the background so that those in the foreground would stand out.161 Pettrich replaced Keokuk with Black Hawk in the low relief. The main rival of Keokuk, Black Hawk displaces Keokuk from the central standing position in the drawing. With a small hawk perched on his head, a symbol of his namesake, Black Hawk occupies the near centre of the composition, clutching his toga around him and pointing his right arm as if in mid-dialogue like a Roman senator. Whereas in the drawing General Forsythe is shown smoking a pipe of peace, in the final low relief he places his hand on a Bible on the covered pulpit next to the seated Secretary of War, Joel Poinsett.162 While Pettrich retained the finely worked details present in the drawing in the relief such as the buffalo robes and the bear-claw necklaces of the Indigenous sitters, the overall low relief gives no sense of movement nor of the excitement that the more than 100 Indian delegates stirred up in Washington.163 The government initiated the meetings to establish peace between the Sioux and the Sac and Fox and to continue land cession. The public attended the meetings at Reverend James Laurie’s Presbyterian Church, attracting multiple press reports.164 Pettrich depicts the men in pensive poses at a critical moment in American history. Italian writer Paolo Torre hints at this awareness of history in his summary of Pettrich’s works. Pettrich knew he was witnessing a decisive moment, but it was also an episode in the undeniable history                                                           161 Edenheiser and Nielsen, “The Reliefs of the Indian Museum,” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 99–107.  162 Ibid.  163 Viola, 176.  164 Viola, 35. 65  of settler colonial violence in the territories of the Northeast.165 Ultimately, after this month-long series of meetings, the Sioux and the Sac and Fox had a brief period of peace, but in exchange for this peace, they ceded over one million acres to the US government in addition to the entirety of Winnebago and Sioux lands east of the Mississippi.166 While the low reliefs and sculptures are striking for their portraits of key individuals at a crucial moment in Native American history, they are also evidence of white seizure and appropriation of Native lands.167 Pettrich’s material, the drawings, lithographs and sculptures, are also evidence of his international efforts to tour and distribute his work as well as of the global audience for neoclassical art.  Pettrich’s Washington sketchbook provided direct inspiration for his statuary, including the 16 busts, three life-size statues of Tecumseh, Wah-pe-kec-suk, and Sak and Fox Girl, and the low reliefs that feature prominently in the 1925 PME. He altered the compositions only slightly from the sketches to the low reliefs and statuary. He retained many sketchbook details, such as the tin-thimble earring. A comparison of the sketchbook with his later busts shows his heavy reliance on the sketches for the sitters’ facial features. Thus, the sketchbook is a crucial source for understanding Pettrich’s original thinking regarding the Indigenous nations he encountered in Washington and his reliance for his statuary on these original sketches.  Tecumseh (1857)  Missing from the sketchbook are any preparatory drawings for Pettrich’s statue of Tecumseh. Unlike the other Indigenous leaders he rendered, he never saw Tecumseh; he worked from his imagination and his observations of other Indigenous delegations. Tecumseh is perhaps                                                           165 Torre, 28.  166 Viola, 36.  167 Except for The Dying Tecumseh at the Smithsonian and the bust of Creek leader Rory McIntosh, done in marble, the rest of Pettrich’s works in the Vatican are in the fragile medium of plaster, normally the first step in the process from plaster to marble or bronze. 66  Pettrich’s best-known work, due at least in part to its prominent locations at the Vatican and the Smithsonian in Washington. Tracing the life story of this sculpture shows the strong international interest surrounding Pettrich’s work and in representations of Indigenous Americans at the time. Pettrich completed Tecumseh in 1856 in Brazil to the praises of the royal family and the Foreign Ambassador for the Arts. Impressed with the statue of Tecumseh and the busts of Indigenous Americans that Pettrich created, the Foreign Ambassador for the Arts wrote to the Pope, stating that he “was greatly surprised to find an artist of such extraordinary talent so far from Rome, the cradle of the fine arts.”168 Upon receiving this letter, the Pope asked Pettrich to return to Rome with his work.169 When Pettrich left Brazil in 1857, he shipped the marble statue of Tecumseh to Gurney’s Art Gallery in New York City at 707 Broadway.170 The US Capitol Building displayed it in 1864, and it eventually landed in the Smithsonian American Art collection, where it remains on display.171 Pettrich made two nearly identical versions of his Tecumseh. While in Rio de Janeiro, he made one of terra-cotta-colored plaster (89 x 197 x 155 cm), which he donated to the Vatican and featured in the Hall of Americas, and the other of marble, (93.1 x 197.2 x 136.6 cm), which stands today in the Smithsonian American Art Museum (Figure 2.6 and Figure 2.7).  Tecumseh (1768-1813) led the Shawnee but envisioned a future not only for his people but for Indigenous nations across Turtle Island. Persistent and persuasive, he devoted his life to fighting against the white settlement of Native lands across the Great Lakes Region and rallied hundreds of Indian soldiers in the Pan-Indian resistance.172 He lost his life at the Battle of the                                                           168 Gurney, 18?? (full date not given in Worldcat reference).  169 Notes from the curator Karen Lemmey’s file, “Research Notes,” Smithsonian American Art Museum, accessed October 26, 2017, https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/the-dying-tecumseh-19670.  170 See the advertisement “On the exhibition, the dying Te-cum-seh, and other elegant pieces of statuary, by the celebrated sculptor, Chevalier Pettrich, of Rome, pupil of the world-renowned Thorwaldsen.” 18?? (full date not given in Worldcat reference).  171 Karen Lemmey, “Research notes,” Smithsonian American Art Museum.  172John Sugden, Tecumseh: A Life (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1999), 216.  67  Thames in Ontario on October 5, 1813, allied with the British against American invaders. Pettrich depicted him at a crucial moment; dying, he props himself up using his tomahawk to encourage his troops to keep fighting. The Confederacy, a group of Indigenous Americans whom Tecumseh and his brother, Tenskwatawa had inspired to fight with him, disbanded after his death. Through statuary such as Pettrich’s, Tecumseh became part of popular myth as a typically doomed Native American hero.173  Tecumseh used gesture effectively in his practice as an orator. As historian John Sugden notes, “with fiery and expressive oratory he would excite Indian listeners across the frontier, antagonizing some, spellbinding others, unsettling most.”174 In an excerpt from a speech he gave days before his last battle, he scolded British General Proctor for abandoning him and his warriors to fight against the American forces:  Father! You have got the arms and ammunition which our great father sent for his red children. If you have an idea of going away, give them to us, and you may go and welcome for us. Our lives are in the hands of the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and if it be his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them.175   From Tecumseh’s words, it is easier to understand the moment Pettrich chose to depict. He wanted to memorialize a fallen hero, reminiscent of the figure of the Dying Gaul (3rd century B.C., marble, 94 × 186.5 × 89 cm, Capitoline Museums Rome), an ancient Roman copy of a dying warrior of ancient Greece.176 The bullet hole in Tecumseh’s right temple and the wounds in his chest and abdomen are neat and clean but ultimately defeat him. The dying Gaul, a brave                                                           173 Charles Bird King painted a beautiful portrait of Tecumseh’s brother, the prophet Tenskwautawa. See Thomas McKenney and James Hall, History of the Indian Tribes of North America with Biographical Sketches and Anecdotes of the Principal Chiefs. Embellished with One hundred and twenty portraits from the Indian Gallery in the Department of War, At Washington, vol. 1 (Philadelphia: D. Rice and A.N. Hart, 1855), 47. Newberry Library Special Collections. 174 Sugden, 179.  175 Tecumseh, “Father! Listen to Your Children! September 18, 1813,” in Great Speeches of Native Americans, ed. Bob Blaisdell (Mineola, NY: Dover, 2000), 62. 176 “Hall of the Galatian,” Capitoline Museums, accessed October 26, 2017, http://en.museicapitolini.org/collezioni/percorsi_per_sale/palazzo_nuovo/sala_del_gladiatore.  68  warrior, also has an open wound carved into his chest, as he slumps down to succumb to death. Colonizing armies defeated the dying Gaul just as they defeated Tecumseh. Tecumseh never sat for a portrait, and American troops disfigured his body after his death.177 Pettrich depicts him in a moribund moment, leaning back, with an idealized muscular body, parted lips, and half-closed eyes, as if he is speaking his last words of encouragement. Located in Rome and in Washington, Pettrich’s Tecumseh reinforced settler colonial ideas that Indigenous Americans had run out of time and posed no physical threat to American settler advancement. 178 Tecumseh leans against an axed tree stump, a symbol of the inevitable progress of white civilization, although the viewer might also interpret it as a memento mori, a symbol of Tecumseh’s mortality.179 Nicolai Cikovsky notes that “the stump affirmed civilization’s conquest of nature, [and] its connotations of death—of violent death—were a constant reminder that this conquest was brutal and final, and that the wilderness that civilization destroyed could never be restored.”180 In the nineteenth century, American artists and viewers of their works recognized the equation between the tree stump and the end of Indigenous American life181 and lamented the loss of nature and the forced removal of Native American peoples onto reservations and off their traditional lands. However, government policy and popular writers insisted that Native people represented an earlier, uncivilized stage of human evolution and argued that they would inevitably die out due to their “savage” state. While there are no records to indicate that Pettrich spoke with the Indigenous leaders that he represented in his later works, his artistic record                                                           177 John Sudgen, Tecumseh’s Last Stand (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1985), 138.  178 Paolo Torre in his article in the Annali Lateranensi, 1940, describes Tecumseh as inhaling and exhaling his last breath., Torre, 53. Pettrich’s sculpture is unusual in that it is sculpture, not a painting or drawing of the Shawnee leader. John Dorival’s famous Battle of the Thames a painting made into prints and widely distributed, depictsTecumseh as a large man engaged in combat with the Kentucky commander Richard Johnson and about to throw an axe at invading American forces,.   179 “Memento mori,” accessed October 26, 2017, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/memento%20mori.  180 Nicolai Cikovsky, “The Ravages of the Axe: The Meaning of the Tree Stump in 19th century American Art,” in The Art Bulletin, 61, no. 4 (1979): 626.  181 Pettrich, with his use of the dead stump, no doubt referenced this equation. Cikovsky, 626.   69  remains, and is a reminder of the inherent contradiction (literally, “against-speech”) and bias of the visual versus oral record in interpretations of Indigenous history, and of the contradictions of neoclassicism. His statuary could be considered as a form of advocacy for the Indigenous nations he represented in sketches, lithographs, and statuary, yet it also conformed to neoclassical binaries.  There are slight differences between the two versions of Pettrich’s Tecumseh. In the plaster version, there are two bullet holes, one at the temple and the other in the chest. In the marble version, Pettrich depicts only one bullet hole, placed at Tecumseh’s temple. In the marble version, there is an incised tattoo of a snake on Tecumseh’s chest, which is visible in the plaster version as well. However, the Shawnee during Tecumseh’s time did not decorate their bodies with tattoos in this manner and would not have used the snake symbol in this fashion.182 Given that Pettrich spent some of his American sojourn (1835–1843) in Philadelphia working for the marble mason John Struthers, he likely had access to the library and natural history collections at the American Philosophical Society. Perhaps he saw illustrations there that inspired him and prompted him to take creative liberties with the tattoo design. While there, he may also have visited Charles Wilson Peale’s Philadelphia Museum, where he could have informed himself about the diverse traditions of the Indigenous nations he depicted in sketches, lithographs, and sculpture, perhaps viewing the lively portrait of Joseph Brant Thayendanegea (c. 1797) by Peale.183  The tattoo could also be a fantastical interpretation of body art that Pettrich saw when the tribal delegations visited his studio during his time in Washington, or it could simply be a                                                           182 Conversation with Shawnee Nekona Gokey, October 25, 2017.  183 “Painting of Joseph Brant,” National Park Service, accessed September 14, 2017, https://www.nps.gov/museum/centennial/treasures/brant.html.  70  creative fantasy.184 It could also be a nod to the Mohawk warrior in West’s The Death of General Wolfe, who sports snake and bear clan tattoos across his upper chest and arms, and thus a nod also to West’s neoclassical tendency to link the noble warriors of Native America with those of ancient Greece. It is notable that Tecumseh is the only figure depicted as dying in Pettrich’s statuary of Indigenous Americans. In the rest of the series, Pettrich depicts living warriors and chiefs. Tecumseh is one of only two plaster versions of these works that Pettrich later realized in marble. The other is the bust of Creek leader Roley McIntosh.185 Pettrich memorialized a critical event for Indigenous American people, and did so monumentally. Tellingly, when the US Capitol placed the marble statue of Tecumseh in the House of Representatives from 1864-68, they were also legislating a slew of anti-Indian policies.186 Tecumseh, a remarkable Native leader with vision, strength, and purpose, continues to be thought about and referenced in the American and European imaginations. Indeed, the Smithsonian Institute of American Art recently unveiled the marble version of the sculpture again. The statue is a visual anchor in the American gallery. Surrounded by American landscape paintings, it is subsumed into a narrative of the triumphs of American settler colonialism over Indigenous lands. Tecumseh surely rests uneasily in relation to the two statues of him in Washington and Rome. The paradox of inclusion would not have been lost on him; leading the resistance movement, he did everything he could to denounce and repel American settler                                                           184 Kenneth Haltman,“Towards Immobility: Pettrich’s Ethnographic Sources [Gegen Unbewegtheit: Pettrichs ethnographische Quellen]” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 52. 185 This marble bust is illustrated in Pamela Kort and Max Hollein, 8. There is a nice portrait of McIntosh in Thomas McKenney and James Hall, 307.  186 In the oil painting by Samuel Morse The House of Representatives (1822), one can see the Pawnee Indian Chief Petalasharo in the visitor’s gallery at the balcony watching the debate on American Indian land rights and policy. Tecumseh was placed in this room above the place where there was a designated crypt for George Washington. “Carving Myths out of History,” Friday January 10, 2014, Symposium at the Smithsonian American Art Museum, https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/the-dying-tecumseh-19670.   71  colonialism.187 He united Indigenous groups and allied with the British because of their promises to protect Indigenous sovereignty against the encroaching American frontier.188 The two versions of Tecumseh by Pettrich perform two functions. First, they are reminders of the popularity of the image of Indigenous peoples as noble but doomed that was prevalent in Europe, America, and Oceania. Second, neoclassical statuary located in prominent metropolitan imperial spaces such as Washington, Rio De Janiero, and Rome represented important, but not neutral, bystanders of settler colonialism. They were visual signifers that celebrated settlement and displacement.  Pettrich’s Indian Museum 1857–1925: The Multiple Valences of Indigenous Statuary  In August 1857, Pettrich travelled to London and exhibited “the bold and classic forms of the Red Indian races” at an exhibition of the New Society of Painters in Watercolours at the Pall Mall Gallery.189 Visitors saw Pettrich’s works at the Egyptian Hall, where European painters such as George Caitlin had displayed a collection of 474 paintings and artifacts of Indigenous peoples from across Turtle Island in 1839.190 In May 1858, Pettrich moved back to Rome to present the “Indian Museum” to the Pope, after which he was granted a papal pension.  He remained in Rome for the next two decades, the period during which Edmonia Lewis lived there.  For the “Indian Museum,” he created 33 works, including life-size sculptures, low-relief works, 16 busts, and nine bozzetti (plaster casts) painted in terra-cotta colour and based on a series of drawings and sketches. The “Indian Museum” attracted the attention of both scholars and tourists who visited the collection, and it held pride of place in the Lateran Palace of the                                                           187 Sudgen, 180.  188 Sudgen, 17.  189 Anonymous, “The Chevalier Pettrich’s Sculptures” The Examiner, Saturday, 13 February, 1858. 190 Kort and Hollein, 16. Pettrich’s “Indian Museum” is less well known, and he never received as broad recognition as other European artists who travelled to Native America such as Carl Bodmer, George Caitlin, or Peter Rindisbacher, but his works are central to this discussion, as they were an early iteration of the “Indian Gallery” tradition and featured prominently in the Hall of Americas in the PME. 72  Vatican Museum collection, as tourist guidebooks noted.191 Until the recent exhibition Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal (2013) in Dresden, the “Indian Museum” remained in near obscurity.192 Tecumseh formed part of the large statuary collection. The PME organizers moved it to the Hall of Americas, where it featured prominently (see discussion in Chapter Two). Pettrich’s statuary collection is the first and only body of work to depict Indigenous Americans in the Vatican Museum of St. John in the Lateran. Scholars and church representatives used it to create theories about Native American presence and origins in the Americas.193  In an article by Father Bresciani, SJ, entitled “A Dissertation on The Indian Statues of Chevalier Ferdinand Pettrich, Sculptor” (Art Journal, 1868), the author centres Pettrich’s “Indian Museum” within a discussion of the origins of Indigenous Americans. He posits a relationship to ancient Egypt, as well as to the ancient Phoenicians, a connection that other scholars and artists at the time, such as Benjamin West, also asserted.194 The comparison between Indigenous Americans and ancient Greeks and Egyptians strongly influenced neoclassical thinking.195  Pettrich is part of the long legacy of European artists depicting Indigenous Americans for a largely European and American audience, thereby contributing to the colonial archive of                                                           191 Karl Baedecker, Italy: Handbook for Travellers (London: Dulau and Co., 1890), 272.  192 I have cited the general studies on Pettrich at the beginning of this chapter. See, for example, footnote 12. Yet the “Indian Museum” remains in near obscurity, likely because the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Museum remains closed and has been for the past decade, while Pettrich’s marble Tecumseh at the Smithsonian American Art Museum is well known.  193 Father Bresciani, SJ, The Art Journal 7 (1868): 247. 194 On Benjamin West and the connection between American Indians and ancient Greece, see Prown, 99.  195 Visitors and travelers to the US equated the mound cultures of Indigenous Americans with the pyramids of the Ancient Egyptians. This created an artistic and architectural link between Egypt and the Americas as well, although Indigenous Americans were not seen as the direct descendants of the mound builders, but as less culturally developed relatives. Gordon M. Sayre, “The Mound Builders and the Imagination of American Antiquity in Jefferson, Bartram, and Chateaubriand,” Early American Literature 33, no. 3 (1998): 225–249. Art historians such as Aby Warburg would later go on to explore these associations further, although today such simplistic comparisons are often viewed as reductive and uninformed. See, for example, David Freedburg, “Warburg’s Mask: A Study in Idolatry,” in Anthropologies of Art, ed. Mariet Westerman (Williamstown, MA Clark Institute, 2005), 3–25.    73  Native American representations, a problematic legacy that includes historical reenactments.196 He created the “Indian Museum” to show off his skill in sculpture and to ensure a pension to support himself and his family for the rest of his career.197 He also depicted Indigenous Americans as proud individuals with distinctive personalities at a moment when they were engaged in peace talks with the US government and petitioning for their land rights. Pettrich’s renderings of Indigenous people with distinctive, individual details give a sense of their gravitas and dignity as human beings. On the other hand, his placement of them in his “Indian Museum” firmly located Indigenous people in the past, emphasizing their status as anachronisms, not as living, developing nations. Moreover, as represented in his static low reliefs, Pettrich drastically simplified the complex processes of the treaty talks, the multiple discussions, ceremonies, and engagements between the Sioux and the Sac and Fox and the US government.198  In addition to the larger-than-life sculpture of Tecumseh, Pettrich made four low reliefs in terra-cotta coloured plaster, based on sketches he had made in Washington, which later featured in the 1925 Vatican Missionary Exhibition. In a photograph of the Hall of Americas (Figure 2.8), one can see how the PME organizers positioned the low reliefs high above the exhibits of Indigenous American cultural belongings.  This arrangement could have had to do with the nature of the materials: reliefs need to be positioned at a high angle in order for viewers to see their details properly. However, it also suggests a hierarchy of the arts and a hierarchy of race,                                                           196 Germany has a long and complex history of reenactments of “authentic” Native American peoples at ongoing summer fairs every year. This started with the novel Winnetou and Shatterhand by Karl May, a popular novelist at the turn of the 19th century. See, for example, Green, 30-55.  197 Iris Edenheiser, “Introduction: The Indian Museum of the Dresden Sculptor Ferdinand Pettrich in the Vatican,”  Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 18.  198 Viola, 35.  74  with the fine arts of painting and sculpture placed above cultural belongings, thus confirming contemporary evolutionary ideas about the lower developmental status of Indigenous peoples.199  Bresciani reviewed Pettrich’s work first, and his assessment is revealing of the atmosphere in papal Rome surrounding the understanding of Indigenous Americans. After a wordy introduction presenting his ideas on the presence of hieroglyphics in both ancient Egypt and ancient Mexico, he then praises Pettrich’s works: The Chevalier Pettrich, one of the most celebrated pupils of the admirable Roman school, having lived many years in the United States of America, had every opportunity to examine with his skillful, artistic eye, the most minute features and exact forms of the heads of the different savage tribes which he undertook to portray. He also resided several years in Brazil, and was enabled to observe the most striking contrasts between the types of the South American savages and those of Central America, and to draw from thence all their substantial differences.200 It is questionable, however, if Pettrich conflated Indigenous peoples from North American and South America, as Bresciani suggests, as he created individual busts of Native American leaders rather than general types. Nevertheless, Bresciani’s comments are revealing of the atmosphere and focus of the time, which emphasized race and physiognomy. He noted:  Whoever observes attentively and impartially the formation of these heads, the slope of the shape of the face, the aquiline form of the nose, narrow across the bridge and gently swelling at the nostrils, with the tip slightly turned in towards the mouth, or the mouth itself partially open and the under lip somewhat curled, will perceive in every feature the type of anterior Asia.201  Bresciani’s obsessive emphasis on physiognomy and on tracing the geographic origins of a certain group of people is representative of his time and tells us more about him and his interests than the individuals portrayed. Physiognomy studies went hand in hand with studies on                                                           199 For a discussion of hierarchies more broadly within exhibitions, see Ruth Phillips, Trading Identities: The Souvenir in Native North American Art from the Northeast, 1700–1900 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1998), 252. 200 Father Bresciani, SJ, 247. 201 Ibid.  75  phrenology, which would later lead to craniometry, the idea that studying a person’s facial features would reveal moral character.202 This type of thinking led to the Carlisle Indian School’s reform policy and obsession with before-and-after comparative portraits of Indigenous American youths.203 Colonial agents’ obsession with physiognomy influenced the developing practice of photography and the surveillance and documentation of all citizens, both criminal and upstanding. This legacy cannot be divorced from the legacy of Indigenous American history.204 Anthropologists employed photography to document what they saw as a vanishing race throughout the Americas. This mindset was part of a “salvage” paradigm through which anthropologists, government agents, and others, under largely coercive circumstances, collected Indigenous American cultural heritage, including sacred material, clothing, and linguistic information, for museums across Canada and the United States in order to preserve specimens of what they assumed was a vanishing civilization.205  Pettrich’s “Indian Museum” is significant in that it became part and parcel of the Vatican’s archive on Indigenous American people. This archive essentially took possession of the representation of a group of Indigenous Americans. It is also significant as part and parcel of the legacy and archive of state documentation and control of Native American lives, although in the fragile medium of plaster. While the Vatican does not have the same political relationship with Indigenous Americans as the governments of Canada and the US, Pettrich’s “Indian                                                           202 See Allan Sekula, “The Body and the Archive,” October 39 (1986): 3–64. 203 Art historian Peter Hayes Mauro notes the importance of the visual in the “civilizing” process: “The school’s founders and subsequent administrators deployed visual imagery in the forms of life masks, photographs, and pseudoscientific illustrations to show the efficacy of the institution’s assimilationist mission.” Mauro further notes the project’s “naïve correlation between appearance and reality.” See Art of Americanization at the Carlisle Indian School (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2011), 5.   204 See, for example, the photographs of Edward Curtis in Sharon Gmelch, The Tlingit Encounter with Photography (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania: 2008), 9.  205 Anne Whitelaw, “Placing Aboriginal Art at the National Gallery of Canada,” Canadian Journal of Communication 31, no. 1 (2006): 203. 76  Museum” cannot be properly understood apart from the history of control and surveillance of Indigenous Americans by colonial governments. Tellingly, the Vatican curators write of Pettrich’s work using heroic terms and do not fully contextualize his work within the history of North America.206  Pettrich donated his collection to the Vatican in 1858, promoting it as unique and emphasizing his depiction of individuals. Writing to Pope Pius XI on May 21, 1858, he asserted:  Having had the occasion during my long sojourn abroad—especially in South America and Rio Janeiro—to undertake careful studies in sculpture of indigenous Indian races, I succeeded with the help of my three sons, who are also sculptors, to create an Indian Museum composed of various statues, busts, and bas-reliefs of the most prominent of these tribes. In the judgement of the most celebrated sculptors of America and England, there may be no other museum like it in all of Europe. I desire no greater honor than that of being able to offer it to Your Holiness, humbly imploring that I be granted a provisional site to display it in the Vatican so that it might be considered by Your Holiness. I have no doubt that this museum will be pleasing to Your Beatitude as well as to the many tourists who will visit Rome.207 Pettrich’s statement makes it clear that he is using the subject matter to gain the Pope’s interest and favor rather than from any commitment to support or empathize with Indigenous peoples. Pettrich’s term “Indian Museum” implies that the Indigenous nations represented belong in the past, thus conforming to the neoclassical imagery that helped justify settler colonial eradication of Indigenous peoples and, paradoxically, their memorialization within statuary. The Vatican catalogue meanwhile states that Pettrich’s were the first depictions of Native Americans in their collection.208 However, if we consider the materials of Indigenous American manufacture as cultural belongings, then this was not the first instance of Native American presence within the                                                           206Katherine Aigner, “The Vatican Museums and Native Americans: From Objects to Subjects,” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 87. 207 Torre, 86. See also in Iris Edenheiser and Astrid Nielsen, 83. 208 Katherine Aigner, “The Vatican Museums and Native Americans: From Objects to Subjects,” in Portrayals of Native Americans in Times of Treaties and Removal, 89.  77  Vatican walls. Displays of cultural belongings of Indigenous American manufacture in the Vatican date back to the Cardinal Borgia collection (1731-1804), which includes an Haudenosaunee wampum belt that I discuss in Chapter Four. In a letter to the Pope dated November 8, 1858, scholars Johann Friedrich Overbeck and Peter von Cornelius evaluated the statuary and emphasized the veracity of the artworks as a record of the destruction by the American settlers of Indigenous Americans and their homelands:  Mr. Pettrich places before our eyes, with startling verisimilitude, those unfortunate wild tribes of North America whom the cold-hearted selfishness of a nation that calls itself Christian is now succeeding in eradicating from the face of the earth, and whose few remnants, it seems, will not long survive the massacre unleashed by their brothers. In these faces, full of spirit and vigor, one can easily recognize a people of uncommon dispositions of mind and heart.209  These European scholars emphasized the complicity of American governments and citizens in the destruction of Indigenous American lifeways. They understood the artworks as records of a way of life that was under siege.210 They also express the inevitability of the destruction of Native American life and a patronizing sympathy for the state of Indigenous Americans at the time. Indigenous Americans faced extreme conditions on all fronts, losing their homelands, removed to reservations, consigned to hunger, poverty, and dispossession. Westward expansion continued, as settlers and gold miners moved across the Plains. US treaty policy took over 1.5 billion acres of Indigenous lands across the US from 1766-1866, and a series of Indian wars in which Indigenous nations battled for their traditional lands continued.211 Pettrich’s works are important for their record of Native American presence. The Pope accepted the collection of 33 sculptures and portrait busts in 1858. Eight years later, Edmonia Lewis arrived in Rome. Perhaps                                                           209 Torre, 87.  210 Kort and Hollein, 16. 211 George Brown Tindall and David E. Shi, America: A Narrative History (New York: WW Norton and Company, 2016), 554.  78  she visited Pettrich’s “Indian Museum” at the Vatican during the 40 years she lived in the city. Artists at the time were known to tour through the Vatican galleries by candlelight, viewing the statuary in the round.212 I turn now to Lewis and Pettrich in comparison with each other in order to consider the problem of representing Indigeneity in art and to promote new thinking about the complicated meanings of neoclassicism for Indigenous peoples and artists. Edmonia Lewis: Defying Colonial Expectations  In this section, I consider the artist Edmonia Lewis in comparison with her contemporary Ferdinand Pettrich. Pettrich’s statuary featured prominently in the 1925 Pontifical Missionary Exhibition and to this day plays a prominent visual role in the Vatican Ethnological Missionary Museum Collection (Figure 2.9). Scholars treated Pettrich’s works in the Vatican and the Hall of Americas as documentary evidence of Indigenous American identity. His work was broadly understood at the time as documenting the vanishing state of Indigenous Americans across Turtle Island. Edmonia Wildfire Lewis, an Indigenous woman with maternal ties to the Mississauga of the New Credit First Nation in present-day Ontario, lived and worked in Rome from 1866 to 1909.213 She provides an example of the survival and resilience of Indigenous Americans challenging the narrative epitomized in sculptures such as Crawford’s The Indian and other neoclassical works that promoted the eradication values of settler colonialism.                                                            212 Personal discussion with Melissa Dabakis, Empires in Rome Terra Foundation Talk, American Library in Rome, November 2016.  213 Buick, 4. On the history of the Ojibwe and the Mississauga New Credit First Nation, see Heidi Bohaker, “Reading Anishinaabe Identities: Meaning and Metaphor in Nindoodem Pictographs,” Ethnohistory 57, no. 1 (2010): 11–33; Melissa Nelson, “The Hydromythology of the Anishinaabeg,” Centering Anishinaabeg Studies: Understanding the World through Stories (Troy: Michigan State University Press, 2013), 213–33; Donald B Smith, Mississauga Portraits: Ojibwe Voices from Nineteenth-century Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2013); Robert Penner, “The Ojibwe Renaissance: Transnational Evangelicalism and the Making of an Algonquian Intelligentsia, 1812–1867,” American Review of Canadian Studies 45, no. 1 (2015): 71–92. 79  Edmonia Wildfire Lewis was born on July 4, 1844, in Greenbush, New York, and died in London in 1909.214 Her mother, Catherine Lewis, was raised on the Credit River Reserve, now known as the Mississauga of the New Credit First Nation, but when she married Lewis’ father, who was Afro-Haitian, New Credit First Nation denied them Indian status and annual government support. After her parents died when she was four, Edmonia maintained a nomadic life. Raised along with her brother by her Ojibwa aunts, she sold souvenirs in Buffalo and Toronto. 215 Since the voices of Indigenous peoples, and especially Indigenous women, are rare in the archival record of the nineteenth century, I will begin with this statement by Lewis from an 1866 interview in the literary magazine Athenaeum: My mother was a wild Indian and born in Albany, of copper color and with straight black hair. There she made and sold moccasins. My father, who was a Negro, and a gentleman’s servant, saw her and married her… Mother often left her home and wandered with her people, whose habits she could not forget, and thus we, her children, were brought up in the same wild manner. Until I was twelve years old, I led this wandering life, fishing and swimming… and making moccasins.216 By describing her mother as a “wild Indian” and saying she was brought up in a “wild manner,” Lewis’ statement in one way plays into the standard tropes of American settler colonialism, which depicted Indigenous Americans as primitive savages and amounted at best to what Robert Penner describes as “the commodification of the Indian… as exotic entertainer.”217 Lewis also                                                           214 There is some mystery surrounding the date of Lewis’ death and her final resting place. Based on an archival and cemetery search in Florence and Rome, Nelson notes in The Color of Stone that Lewis’ date of death remains inconclusive. Nelson, The Color of Stone, 179.  Buick’s book, published later, gives Lewis’ birth and death dates. Buick, 4.  215 Buick, 4.  216 Henry Wreford, “A Negro Sculptress,” Athenaeum no. 2001 (March 3, 1866), 302, qtd in Sylvia G. L. Dannett, Profiles of Negro Womanhood, vol. 1 (Yonkers, N.Y: Negro Heritage Library, Educational Heritage, Inc., 1964), 19. See also Buick, Child of the Fire, 111. 217 Penner, “The Ojibwe Renaissance: Transnational Evangelicalism and the Making of an Algonquian Intelligentsia, 1812–1867,” American Review of Canadian Studies 45, no. 1 (2015): 85. DOI: 10.1080/02722011.2015.1013264. Scholarship by Edward Said and many others following his lead describes how the European and American fine arts of the nineteenth century exoticized, misrepresented, and misunderstood non-western cultures, namely Middle-Eastern, African, and Asian. Edward Said, Orientalism, (Knopf: London, 2014. In Orientalism, Said does not write explicitly on neoclassicism, but the primitivizing discourse he discusses has a parallel in the exoticization of First Nations cultures here on Turtle Island. Indeed, many Americans imagined the Southwest US as an “American Orient” (anthropologist Anthony Shelton’s term), a romanticized and mythical place of primitive people. Anthony Shelton, “The Imaginary Southwest: Commodity Disavowal in an American Orient,” in Les 80  marketed herself as Indian to capitalize on popular interest in Indigenous history and peoples. Perhaps it was easier for her to identify with her Indigenous ancestry than her African American ancestry considering the prevalence of anti-black sentiment and her artistic development during the Civil War. Lewis took risks in identifying with her Native ancestry, but they paid off in the form of commissions for her work and her enjoyment of an international lifestyle and fame in American expatriate circles in Rome as well as in North America. By 1867, when Lewis had moved to Rome, missionary and settler colonial attitudes towards Native people had firmly established them as belonging to the past and not the future, as “relics of an outmoded, prehistoric savagery.”218 Pettrich too, as a German artist in the xenophobic atmosphere of Washington, faced discrimination and hostility and moved to Brazil after being attacked and stabbed. However, Pettrich’s peers never questioned his choice of subject matter or his ability to create art. White European male artists took it as their prerogative to portray Native people. The “wild manner” Lewis articulated drew on romantic ideals of Indians in touch with nature, another facet of neoclassicism. As a Native woman of her time, she articulated the romantic ideals surrounding the Indigenous American figure. She also played with these concepts and “performed her Indianness verbally and visually” for a primarily white audience in her press statements and her statuary.219 Indeed, many contemporary Indigenous writers referred to themselves as wild children of the forest. Thus, through her articulation of the “wild Indian,” Lewis expressed her awareness and identification with other Indigenous scholars, writers, and                                                           cultures à l’ouvre Recontres en art, eds. Michèle Coquet, Brigitte Derlon, Monique Jeudy-Ballini (Paris : Maison des sciences de l’homme, 2005), 75–96. See also Peer’s essay discussed earlier in this chapter. . 218 Penner, 85.  219 Buick, 102.  81  thinkers of the time. In this way, she connected with an Indigenous community of scholars and artists writing from their marginal positions within society.220  Lewis emphasized the training and knowledge she learned from her Ojibwa ancestry and her exposure to Indigenous American art production at a young age. She learned how to make moccasins. She helped her aunts create souvenir arts for the tourist trade, using the skills of beadwork, quillwork, and basketry, a form of employment and labour that many Indigenous artists engaged in to support themselves.221 From an early age, Lewis made art. Tourists and travellers respected and admired the Mississauga Ojibwa in the northeast for their fine quillwork and beadwork on moccasins and other souvenir arts. “Because Native people successfully commoditized their arts,” art historian Ruth Phillips explains, “these reinvented constructions of Indianness achieved wide distribution. Popular with members of nearly all classes of North American and European society, these objects traversed cultural boundaries and took their places in fashionable cosmopolitan displays in curio cabinets and cozy corners.”222 Like the souvenir arts that she sold, Lewis too would traverse international boundaries in her artistic career. She lived most of her life abroad, studying at Oberlin College, Boston, then lived in Rome, never returning to the Anishnaabeg and her traditional territories near the Credit River in Ontario.223  During her teenage years, Lewis seized the opportunity to study first at New York Central College in McGrawville, an abolitionist school, and then at Oberlin College (1859 –                                                           220 S. Alice Callahan, Wynema: A Child of the Forest (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1891). Native American writers William Apess and Charles Eastman used the ideals of the “native of the soil” and the “free and natural life of an Indian” in their writings and autobiographies. William Apess, A Son of the Forest: The Experience of William Apess, a Native of the Forest; Comprising a Notice of the Pequod Tribe of Indians (New York: Published by the author, 1829). Charles Alexander, From the Deep Woods to Civilization: Chapters in the Autobiography of an Indian. (Lincoln, NE: U of Nebraska Press, 1936). 221 Buick, 4. 222 Ruth Phillips, Trading Identities: The Souvenir in Native North American Art from the Northeast, 1700–1900 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1998), 10.  223 Buick, 4. 82  1863), the first interracial and co-ed college in the United States.224 While completing a liberal arts degree with a focus on sculpture, a mob of angry students in the winter of 1862 accused her of poisoning two female colleagues.225 The mob severely beat her before her trial. Defended by James Mercer Langston, a prominent black lawyer, she was acquitted of the charges. Despite these hardships, she persevered. She then moved to Boston where she joined a group of abolitionist activists headed by William Lloyd Garrison. Inspired by the artistic culture and civil rights movement in Boston, she met Edward Brackett, a neoclassical sculptor and began to work directly with clay and create casts of hands.226 A journalist described this training period of her life as the “spiritual epiphany of an unsophisticated Indian in the face of the civilized white man’s ‘stone image.”’227  She completed the exercises Brackett gave her, showing aptitude and mastery, building her artistic skill and competence. Seizing the moment during the Civil War, she made busts of Robert Gould Shaw, an American hero who led a regiment of black troops into battle. She sold one hundred plaster busts and, with the proceeds, she purchased her ticket to Rome and returned only sparingly to the US.228 The Studios of Edmonia Lewis as Indigenous Spaces  John Murray’s Handbook of Rome and its Environs (1867) lists Lewis as “Miss Lewis (American) Via Della Frezza 27,” the address of the former studio of Antonio Canova, a notable and celebrated Roman artist. Murray adds: Among the characteristics of Modern Rome capable of affording high interest to the intellectual visitor, there are few that offer a greater charm than the artists’ studios.                                                           224 Ibid.  225 Charmaine Nelson, The Color of Stone, 17.  226 Buick, 12.  227 Charmain Nelson, The Color of Stone, 174.  228 Kirsten Pat Buick, Child of the Fire, 14.  83  Travellers in general are little aware of the interest which they are calculated to afford, and many leave Rome without making the acquaintance of a single artist.229  Visiting this studio today, one can see ancient Roman fragments of putti, Latin inscriptions, and other pieces of the Roman past fixed to the exterior of the studio. The studio is a few minutes walk from the busy Piazza di Spagna and the intellectual and artistic hub of Café Greco, frequented by writers and artists. Lewis took up this studio when she first moved to Rome, surely drawing inspiration from the larger-than-life Papal figures, mythical goddesses, and Roman centurions created by Canova and left as models in the studio.230 It is likely she walked up the Spanish Steps to sweeping views of Rome and perhaps even attended services at the church of Trinità dei Monti perched above the Piazza di Spagna. The street around the studio spot is narrow, but the morning light dapples over it. The lighting, together with the fact that Canova worked here, surely inspired an ambitious sculptor like Lewis.  Harriet Hosmer and fellow women sculptors had homes in the Piazza di Spagna area close to the studios of contemporaries such as Ferdinand Pettrich’s. A decade later, Lewis relocated from Canova’s former studio near the Spanish Steps and across the way from the Fratelli D’Alessandri brothers’ studio to a studio near Piazza Barberini.  She moved to Via San Nicola di Tolentino, number 7, another area of Rome halfway between Piazza Barberini and Piazza di San Bernardo.231 The Triton fountain by Baroque artist Bernini in the main square of                                                           229 John Murray, John Murray’s Handbook of Rome and its Environs (London: John Murray, 1867), x1ii, accessed (January 15, 2018), https://archive.org/stream/ahandbookromean07firgoog#page/n50/mode/1up 230 Nelson notes that Lewis received aid from her colleague and fellow sculptress Harriet Hosmer to set up in Canova’s studio. Another colleague, Anne Whitney, also visited Lewis while at Canova’s former studio. See Nelson, The Color of Stone, 196. Regarding Canova himself, his studio was a transnational site for artists, collectors, and travellers who came to Rome: “Canova, was, on the one hand, a cosmopolitan artist who moved easily between individuals and groups, and, on the other, an esteemed citizen and internationally recognized representative of the Papal States, one deeply entrenched in its shifting political identity.” Christina Ferando, “Truly Transnational? Sculpture Studios in Rome after the Restoration,” in Rome, Travel, and the Sculpture Capital, c. 1770–1825, ed. Tomas Macsotay (London: Routledge, 2017), 104. On Canova’s studios, see Hugh Honour, “Canova's Studio Practice I: The Early Years,” The Burlington Magazine 114 (March 1972): 146–59; Hugh Honour, “Canova's Studio Practice II: 1791–1822,” The Burlington Magazine 114 (April 1972): 214–29; Giuseppe Pavanello, and Giandomenico Romanelli, eds. Canova, Exh. cat. (New York: Marsilio, 1992); Countess Albrizzi and Count Cicognara, The Works of Antonio Canova, vol. 1 (London: Septimus Prowett, Strand, 1826).  231 John Murray, John Murray’s Handbook of Rome and its Environs (London: John Murray, 1867), x1ii. 84  Piazza Barberini is a commanding presence; Lewis likely bought her fruit and vegetables at the market stands that used to surround the fountain. Murray’s Handbook of Rome (1875) listed her again, evidence of her success as a sculptor in a competitive, international sphere and of the ongoing importance of her work and her many commisions from American, British, and European patrons.232  Lewis purposefully chose to work in a medium not associated with Native American souvenir arts. She chose to create work that was part of the elite Western art tradition. At the same time, she drew on the aesthetic traditions of Native American art, an element that would become important in her well-known work Minnehaha.233  As an artist of colour and a Native American woman, Lewis was an unexpected presence in an unexpected place. As one of a group of female artists, she was subjected, like her female contemporaries, to patronizing critiques from her male contemporaries, but as a person of colour, she also faced discrimination from her female colleagues. However, she also enjoyed a degree of social freedom not available to her in the United States.234 At the same time, Lewis had to negotiate a complex politics of representation and did not want her contemporaries to pigeonhole her as a “coloured artist.” As art historian Charmaine Nelson argues:  Lewis was recognized as one of the flock, but in comparison with her white female contemporaries, the invisibility, visibility or hypervisibility of her black-Native body within the Roman colony further complexified her experience as a female sculptor, since her racial identity challenged the “regime of race” as it transgressed the entrenched western ideal of the white artist.235 Thus, working in Rome amongst a group of other American sculptors, Lewis challenged ideas of who could create neoclassical sculptures, and why. Her colleague, the white female sculptor                                                           232 Ibid., 50. 233 Buick, 78. 234 Buick, 65. 235 Nelson, The Color of Stone, 17.  85  Anne Whitney, wrote of Lewis as being “very much of an aboriginal, grateful, vengeful, a little cunning… I like her in spite of her faults and will help her all I can. I wish she were a little less of an aborigine.”236 Thus, while Lewis arguably had more freedom within the artistic and social circles of expatriate Rome than she would have had in the US, she still suffered discrimination from fellow artists based on her Anishinaabe and Haitian ancestry. While her works exemplify the technical standards of neoclassical art, her identity as an Indigenous woman unsettled her colleagues and challenged the neoclassical idea that Indigenous people lived only in the past. In this way, I suggest, her presence in the Roman artistic community and her statuary left an indelible trace of Indigenous Anishnaabe space-making within the city of Rome.  Minnehaha (1868)  Lewis’ sculpture Minnehaha draws inspiration both from Henry Longfellow’s “The Song of Hiawatha” (1855) and her own Ojibwa heritage and experience growing up selling quill-work and birch-bark baskets for the souvenir trade. The artistic community in Rome at the time included Longfellow, and Lewis created a bust of him, reputedly an excellent likeness. “The Song of Hiawatha” is an epic poem that gives a fictional account of the Ojibwa peoples of the Great Lakes Region. Longfellow drew on the ethnographic studies of Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, an Indian agent married to an Ojibwa woman, Jane Schoolcraft, who was a direct source of inspiration and knowledge for him.237                                                            236 Nelson, 27. Quoting from Letter, Anne Whitney to Adele Manning, 9 August 1864, AWP-WCA.  237 Together the couple published a literary magazine called The Literary Voyageur, a compilation of poetry and short stories. While Henry Rowe Schoolcraft receives the most credit for his long Travels through the Northwest Regions of the US (1821), acknowledgement should also be given to his wife, as she provided a direct point of access to Ojibwe legends, myths, epistemologies, and language.  86  With her marble bust of Minnehaha, dated 1868 (Figure 2.10), Lewis capitalized on the popular image of Minnehaha within American popular culture.238 The half-length bust, carved from Carrera marble, depicts a young girl with stylized eagle feathers that mesh into her hair. She wears a necklace of wampum beads and a hide tunic with a shawl over it. Minnehaha purses her lips in a serious expression, and Lewis depicts the young woman as she is coming of age. Her long hair flows over her shoulders, and her headband is a piece of hide. Lewis did not want the artistic community to accuse her of having a male atelier complete the work, as her colleague Harriet Hosmer had done and been reprimanded and discredited for doing.239 Working with the marble herself required a great deal of strength, tactility, and grit, and Lewis seems to have thought of herself as a modern Michelangelo, as she made several copies of his works, challenging herself against a prominent male artist of the Italian Renaissance and proving via sculpture that she was equal to the challenge.240  Viewers could interpret Minnehaha’s aquiline nose and high cheekbones as reminders of Native American facial features, but they can also signify as European. Thus, her facial features seem ambiguous, yet the eagle feather in her straight hair serves as a reminder of the sacred reverence that Ojibwa hold for the eagle; its feathers carry intercessions and prayers to the Creator, and participants in sacred ceremonies use the eagle feather. The bust therefore suggests that Minnehaha is protected by the spiritual powers of the eagle that watches over Ojibwa                                                           238 For example, Norwegian sculptor Jacob Fjelde was commissioned to create a sculpture of Hiawatha and Minnehaha, first made in plaster and later cast in bronze, for the Minnesota Building at the 1893 World’s Columbian Expo in Chicago. 239 Melissa Dabakis, Sisterhood of Sculptors: American Artists in Nineteenth-century Rome (University Park: Penn State University Press, 2015), 2. 240 Lewis made a copy of Michelangelo’s Moses figure, which is in San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome, complete with horns. Michelangelo cultivated a rough, gritty image as a worker with marble, working directly with the material, like Lewis. The comparison between Michelangelo and Lewis is my own.  87  peoples.241 Lewis’ bust, all in white marble, has no hint of colour, unlike the tinted Venus done by her predecessor John Gibson, which had created a scandal in Rome.242 Lewis chose to work in white marble for all her sculptural pieces, like the rest of the artistic community working in Rome at the time. Her use of white marble also allowed her to reference Eurocentric notions of racialized whiteness and to appeal to collectors, much like her contemporaries, including Anne Whitney.243 One exception was French artist Charles Cordier(1827-1905), who used polychrome marble for his busts of Algerian and Egyptian figures.244 In other words, the medium of white marble allows artist and viewer to understand Minnehaha according to the racial prejudices of the time. Although not visible in this version, in her larger sculpture The Marriage of Hiawatha, Lewis used a Greek key motif (meander) on the hemline of Minnehaha’s dress, suggesting a connection between Indigenous Americans and the antique Greek past. In this regard, it is interesting that Lewis also included the Greek key motif in her carte-de-visite in Chicago, placing herself within the artistic legacy of the Greek past but also affirming her contemporary cultural capital.245  Unlike Pettrich, who based his sketches and statuary on real events and real people, using individual details to animate the Indigenous leaders he portrayed, Lewis wanted to capitalize on                                                           241 Historian Coll Thrush discusses the significance of eagle feathers for Yamacraw peoples and their presentation within imperial London as sacred gifts. Coll Thrush, Indigenous London: Native Travelers at the Heart of Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2016), 83. 242 Charmaine A Nelson, “White Marble, Black Bodies and the Fear of the Invisible Negro: Signifying Blackness in Mid-Nineteenth-Century Neoclassical Sculpture,” RACAR: Revue d'art Canadienne/Canadian Art Review 27, no. ½ (2000): 87–101. 243 Dabakis, A Sisterhood of Sculptors, 203. On the Haitian-French artist and a neoclassical precursor of Lewis, see Darcy Grimaldo Grigsby, “Revolutionary Sons, White Fathers, and Creole Difference: Guillaume Guillon-Lethière’s ‘Oath of the Ancestors’ (1822).” Yale French Studies, no. 101 (2001): 201-226. One exception was French artist Charles Cordier(1827–1905), who used polychrome marble for his busts of Algerian and Egyptian figures. Nelson, The Color of Stone, 129. See also “Facing the Other: Charles Cordier (1827-1905), Ethnographic Sculptor,” Musée d'Orsay, accessed May 23, 2018, www.musee-orsay.fr/en/events/exhibitions/archives/exhibitions-archives/browse/14/article/charles-cordier-1827-1905-sculpteur-lautre-et-lailleurs-4210.html?print=1&. 244 Nelson, The Color of Stone, 129. See also “Facing the Other: Charles Cordier (1827-1905), Ethnographic Sculptor,” Musée d'Orsay, accessed May 23, 2018, www.musee-orsay.fr/en/events/exhibitions/archives/exhibitions-archives/browse/14/article/charles-cordier-1827-1905-sculpteur-lautre-et-lailleurs-4210.html?print=1&. 245 For a discussion of the carte-de-visite done in Chicago, see Gwendolyn DuBois Shaw, Portraits of a People: Picturing African Americans in the Nineteenth Century (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006). 88  the tourist market for images inspired by Longfellow’s romanticized vision of Ojibwa peoples, and she did so far from her traditional territories. This may be why Lewis sculpted Minnehaha’s face to reference both European and Native American ideals. Lewis most likely made Minnehaha with idealized rather than individualized features in order to appeal more readily to a white audience hungry for images of the romantic, beautiful maiden who came to a tragic end in the famous poem. At the same time, Lewis also drew on her childhood memories of selling baskets and souvenirs with the Ojibwa Mississauga band, even while working in Rome, far away from her traditional territories.  I have not found any evidence that Pettrich and Lewis had any conversations, but they surely knew each other. The expatriate artistic community thrived in Rome during this period, and both Lewis and Pettrich worked in the same genre. The distance between Pettrich’s and Lewis’ studios was about a five-minute walk, with major attractions such as the Café Greco along the way.246 They both had studios beside Piazza Barberini from 1866 to 1872, and Pope Pius IX (1846-1878) supported both artists.247Both used the artistic language of neoclassicism for unique purposes. Both were pragmatic sculptors who recorded Indigenous American life as they saw fit. As I noted earlier, Pettrich’s sketches and statuary call for a substantial degree of skepticism when considering them as documentary evidence and require an engagement with the stakes for Indigenous peoples at the time, what Peers calls the “deeper challenges” of artworks like Pettrich’s.248 Lewis and Pettrich depicted Indigenous Americans for a popular audience and for commissions. Although romanticized, their depictions challenged the biases of neoclassical                                                           246 The Guide to the Studios of Rome (1860) lists Pettrich as “Pettrich Ferdinand (of Dresden) sculptor. Inquire his address at Mr. Spthover’s German library in Piazza di Spagna” pg 91. Microfilm, 1992, Columbia University (accessed online September 14, 2017).  247 Edward T. James, Janet Wilson James, and Paul S. Boyer, Notable American Women, 1607-1950: A Biographical Dictionary, vol. 3 (Cambridge: Radcliffe College, 1971), 398.  248 Peers, 540.  89  art in their different ways. In his sketches, Pettrich used individual details to work against the neoclassical preference for a lack of ornamentation, but his Tecumseh sculpture glorified death and heroic sacrifice, key tenets of neoclassicism, rather than the living presence of Indigenous nations that he witnessed in Washington. For her part, Lewis complicated the expectations and meanings of Indigenous identities associated with neoclassical art through her presence as a modern artist  in itself and in her newspaper interviews, while her oeuvre remained fairly standard, drawing on literary inspiration from Longfellow while also meeting the demands of a public hungry for an idealized Minnehaha, a mythical Ojibwa figure. However, the extent to which Pettrich and Lewis—and other neoclassical artists—were personally invested in understanding the struggles of Indigenous peoples in North America remains a question for further research. In a patronizing and pigeon-hole judgement of Lewis’ work as “appropriate,” art historian William Gerdts, in his well-known “Marble Savage” article, had this to say about Lewis’ work:  The 19th-century American sculptor perhaps most involved with Indian subject matter was Edmonia Lewis—appropriately enough, since she was half-Indian and half-black (her mother was a member of the Chippewa tribe). One contemporary report, during a visit to Lewis’ Rome studio in the late 1860s, noted that the sculptor denied her Negro ancestry, though freely acknowledging, even capitalizing upon, her Indian heritage. The majority of Lewis’ idealizing sculptures related to one or the other aspect of her background.249   It is precisely this judgement of Lewis’ work as merely autobiographical that I am arguing against. Lewis depicted Native American statuary at a time when Indigenous Americans were experiencing massive upheaval and displacement, but at the same time, ironically, a burgeoning                                                           249 William Gerdts, “The Marble Savage,” Art in America 62 (1974): 70.  90  market had emerged in North America and Europe for representations of Indigenous peoples. Her own story of expulsion from Oberlin College, the accusation of murder, and then success on an international level is part of the tenacity of Indigenous Americans during an intense period of destruction and assimilationist policy. Lewis, like some other Native Americans, operated outside the expected boundaries imposed on Native American lives by US governmental policy and, as with Lewis, outside the boundaries of artistic expectation as well. The art market expected Native American artists to produce art that seemed ethnographically authentic and exotic, referencing some aspect of their heritage in a recognizably Indian mode, but Lewis complicates this assumption in an interesting way, as is evident in Gerdt’s bias.250 She provides an exceptional way of thinking about how her life and work existed, and about the legacy of Native American representation within America and Italy. Pettrich depicted The Dying Tecumseh as out of time, part of the dying warrior theme prevalent in American art on Indigenous subject matter. His statuary solidifies the idea of Native Americans as stranded in the past. Lewis challenged assumptions prevalent in neoclassical artworks throughout the nineteenth century that presented Indigenous Americans as allochronic. At the same time, her work adds to the chronology and narrative of Native presence.251  From the Indian Removal Act of 1830 through to the end of the nineteenth century and beyond, the US government continued to legislate and enforce the removal and relocation of Native peoples. Lewis moved to Rome in 1867, the year the Treaty of Medicine Lodge began one of the most destructive periods for Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island, during which, throughout the Plains, they were forced onto reservations to be surveilled and “civilized.” With                                                           250 This issue of collector influence is very much an ongoing issue today.  251 Gerald Vizenor, “Aesthetics of Survivance: Literary Theory and Practice,” in Survivance: Narratives of Native Presence, ed. Gerald Vizenor (Lincoln, NE: U of Nebraska Press, 2008), 1–24, 91  the supply of buffalo by then nearly exterminated by the federal governments of the US and Canada, Plains Indigenous people experienced widespread starvation.252  Lewis made brief trips back to Turtle Island for the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition and to attend the exhibition of her award-winning Death of Cleopatra (1876, marble, 160.0 x 79.4 x 116.8 cm), which reviewers praised for its ingenuity. As Nelson notes, “the immediacy of Cleopatra’s death indicates a narrative of witness within which Cleopatra dies under the gaze of the audience.”253 Yet for all her renown in the art world in the US, Lewis felt more comfortable in Rome. Rather than looking back, she carved out new territories for Indigenous peoples and artists of color, claiming with gravitas her place as an Indigenous woman in modernity, making her mark in marble, and complicating the colonial assumptions and simplistic binaries prominent in neoclassical art. Her life is also a testament to the tenacity of Indigenous artists in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and thus forms an important precursor to thinking about Indigeneity in Rome and in the 1925 Vatican Missionary Exposition.254  In Closing: Indigeneity in Unexpected Places, Rome   One should consider for a moment this photograph (Figure 2.11). Italians knew of Indigenous Americans in popular culture mainly through the Buffalo Bill Wild West shows that toured throughout Europe and came to Italy in 1890 and 1906.255 The show made stops in Venice, Rome, Milan, and near Mount Vesuvius in Naples. In the photo, while Major Burke is                                                           252 Collin G. Calloway, “Treaties and Treaty Making,” in The Oxford Handbook of American Indian History, ed. Frederick Hoxie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 547–548. 253 Nelson, The Color of Stone, 168.  254 The Ojibwa Methodist Missionary Peter Jones was also from the Credit River First Nation and led an international life. Scott Richard Lyons, The World, The Text, and The Indian: Global Dimensions of Native American Literature (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2017), 148. 255“John Burke, Chief Iron Tail, and Jacob White Eyes,” McCracken Research Library, Buffalo Center of the West, accessed May 25, 2018, http://library.centerofthewest.org/cdm/singleitem/collection/BBOA/id/1/rec/5. See also Naila Clerici, “Native Americans in Columbus’s Home Land: A Show within the Show,” in Indians and Europe: An Interdisciplinary Collection of Essays, ed. Christian F. Feest (Lincoln, NE: U of Nebraska Press, 1987), 415–26.   92  shown in profile, obscured by a miniature plaster sculpture of American writer Mark Twain, Chief Iron Tail, a famous personality of the Oglala Lakota (on the right), and the Sioux Leader Jacob White Eyes both look out beyond the frame with a steadfast gaze, challenging the viewer. The photographer made the picture circa 1890 in Café Greco in the heart of Rome, to this day a bustling café frequented by writers, intellectuals, and tourists near the Spanish Steps. Although the unknown photographer may have wanted the viewer to accept the conceit that Indigenous Americans were romantic “noble savages,” frozen in time, as the narrative presented by the Buffalo Bill Wild West performances conveyed, the photograph captures a moment which works against that narrative. It is in fact the plaster bust of John M. Burke on the café table that is static. The immobile bust is a stand-in for Burke, the organizer of the Buffalo Bill Wild West show, who along with his promotional team worked to convey a limited and derogatory narrative of Indigenous Americans as savages dying out on the lost frontier.256 Yet, in this photo, Jacob White Eyes and Chief Iron Tail, actors in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West touring show, look confidently out of the picture frame, engaging beyond the viewer, as comfortable in a café in Rome as anywhere else in the modern world. They are cosmopolitan world travellers. Like Edmonia Lewis, the Indigenous men in the photograph at Café Greco, a famous meeting spot for artists and intellectuals, form part of a history of unexpectedness—a history of Indigeneity in Italy.257 It seems as if the photographer has caught Sioux leader Jacob White Eyes (on the viewer’s left) as he looks up from the menu he holds in his hand, his left hand resting on the                                                           256 Historian Paul Greenhalgh elaborates: “the Indian continued to fulfill the role of entertainment, a spectacular but expendable extra in a world conducting itself as though it believed the narratives of cowboy films then enjoying popularity. The reality of genocide and land sequestration were hidden by the pastiche of carefully arranged tepees, totem poles and trinket sellers.” Paul Greenlaugh, Ephemeral Vistas: The Expositions Universelles, Great Exhibitions and World’s Fairs, 1851–1939 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1988,), 101.  257 Philip Joseph Deloria, Indians in Unexpected Places (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2004), 240. 93  Carrera marble countertop. Chief Iron Tail (1842–1916) is on the viewer’s right, also holding a piece of paper, perhaps a menu. The Native men wear their regalia—bison-bone breastplates, intricate beaded trousers (with a chevron and cross motif), and quill-work moccasins—with ease. They are contemporary Indigenous world travellers, international celebrities, and cosmopolitans in Rome. Their relaxed countenances contrast with the stoic and immobile pose of Major John Burke behind them, who is frozen in time like the bust and plaster statue of Mark Twain in the middle ground. The men are Indians in an unexpected place, yes, but they are not out of place. The room, lined with mirrors and displaying a sculpture of the Roman goddess Venus behind Chief Iron Tail, is a study in Italian elegance that parallels the elegance of the Native men.258 The photograph is visual evidence that Indigenous Americans toured, worked, and even enjoyed la dolce vita in Rome. This photograph provides visual evidence of what it meant for Indigenous Americans to be in Rome and Italy, to have their images and their stories circulated. Like Lewis, the Indigenous men in the photograph at Café Greco are part of a history of unexpectedness. For Lewis, a career in Rome meant a happier and more productive life. She was able to work outside the racist assumptions of the US and to carry on her art production and self-promotion to her advantage by discussing and celebrating her Ojibwa heritage. She created sculptures and busts depicting idealized and heroic Indigenous Americans based on “The Song of Hiawatha” and the legends of her people. Pettrich’s work, through its depiction of individual details, challenged the “noble savage” stereotype, yet also confirmed visitor’s expectations in its reliance on classical Greek tropes and its emphasis on the idea of a linear “progress” of civilization with the modern                                                           258 Deloria, 240.  94  west at its apex.259 Lewis’ life as an Indigenous artist contradicted the presumption found in works such as Crawford’s The Indian that Native people had died out or were relics of the past. However, her works also conformed to the popular appetite for Native mythic heroes, as her sculpture Minnehaha suggests. Lewis and Pettrich both used neoclassical art to present Indigenous peoples not as spectres for processes of settler colonialism but to give presence to Indigenous realities through Pettrich’s details and Lewis’ presence as a real Indigenous person.260 Their statuary and life stories in imperial spaces complicate the meanings associated with the neoclassical style and evidence the transatlantic circulation of Indigenous statuary.  Tracing the prehistory of the Pontifical Missionary Exhibition reveals the importance of historical context in analyzing Pettrich’s work, and the complexity of Indigenous experiences in the nineteenth century across Turtle Island and in Rome, including those of one Ojibwa Haitian artist, Edmonia Lewis. Charting a prehistory of the exposition adds a further layer to understanding the Indigenous subjects represented in Pettrich’s sculptures in the Hall of Americas in 1925. Thinking of global art history today seems a recent phenomenon. However, Indigenous imagery as created by Pettrich, together with Lewis’ artworks and her personal experience, are evidence that Indigenous art and people circulated in a transnational network. More broadly, tracing Lewis as an artist in relation to Pettrich allows insights into the ways that Indigenous arts and peoples have influenced each other, intersected on a global stage, and raised awareness of the epistemic violence of colonial rule.261 This prehistory builds a foundation for                                                           259For a parallel argument, see Emily Burns, “Political Contestation in Cyrus Dallin's American Indian Equestrian Monuments,” Archives of American Art Journal 57, no. 1 (Spring 2018): 4–21.  260 Another point of departure could be to consider whether there were other Indigenous artists working in a neoclassical style, such as in North America or Oceania. At this point, I only know of Lewis.  261 This conclusion was inspired by Glen Coulthard’s keynote address, “The Politics of Conversion,” September 15, 2017, Newberry Library, Chicago. See also Edward W. Said, “Travelling Theory Reconsidered,” Reflections on Exile and Other Essays (Cambridge, MS: Harvard University Press, 2000).  95  the following chapters. It indicates the transnational boundaries that Indigenous arts travelled and the circulation of images and conceptions of Indigeneity within and across those boundaries.        96  Chapter Two: Allochronic Representations in The Hall of Americas: The Visitors’ Experience at the PME   On Sunday, December 21, 1924, Pope Pius XI solemnly descended the Vatican staircase and opened the holy door to the Pontifical Missionary Exhibition (PME).262 Standing in the central room, the Hall of Americas, with the visual culture of the Indigenous peoples of North America surrounding him, he welcomed tourists and pilgrims into this unprecedented exposition. Assembled in the heart of the Vatican, the PME included specially designed pavilions showcasing art and artifacts collected by missions across the Americas, Asia, Oceania, and Africa.263 Sponsored by Pope Pius XI, and with the cooperation of the city of Rome and Italy’s fascist dictator Benito Mussolini, the exhibition featured over 100,000 objects and attracted over one million visitors during its 13-month run. Amidst a flurry of world’s fairs and colonial exhibitions during the first decades of the twentieth century, this exhibition was unique; it was the largest Catholic missionary exhibition in Europe during the early twentieth century.  A grainy black and white photograph (Unknown photographer, “Sorting Material,” 1924, Rivista Illustrata) shows a room filled with highly stacked boxes and crates.264 Nuns and priests mill about among some of the 100,000 material objects that missionaries collected for the PME (Figure 3.1). In the middle foreground, a priest in a black robe with sheaves of papers at his feet looks up from unpacking. Behind him, missionaries in long dark robes and workers in civilian clothes take a pause from sorting materials. A missionary crouches on the ground, too busy                                                           262 The “Holy Door” of the Jubilee Year tradition extends back to the 1200s. The door is opened only during the Jubilee Year and blessed by the Pope on its opening. “Mostra Giubileo,” Senato dellla Repubblica, accessed April 25, 2018, http://antiquorum-habet.senato.it/mostra-giubileo/. 263 Considine, 80.  264 Anonymous, “L’insospettata Odissea dei Trasporti”, Rivista Illustrata 1 (1925): 29-30. (Propaganda Fide Library Collections, Vatican Missionary Exhibition Papers, also accessed at Vatican Apostolic Library and Paul Bechtold Library Special Collections, Catholic Theological Union). 97  unpacking to look up for the camera. Half-open boxes filled with flora and fauna, with sacred things and secular objects, wait to be sorted. Folded textiles rest on top of shipping crates stacked high. Rows of model colonial schoolhouses wait unsorted in the left background.  In the chaos of unpacking, missionaries have scattered shipping papers and textiles across the ground. These and the half-opened crates reveal an inevitable moment of disorganization but also suggest a larger context of colonial disorder, a slippage behind the totalizing mission of the PME, a glimpse of what anthropologist Ann Stoler describes as the “the febrile movements of persons off balance—of thoughts and feelings in and out of place” that she argues underlies the entire colonial project.265 This awkward, unpolished space, a back room of the Vatican museum, uncovers a palpable anxiety. The blur of nuns’ hands unwinding some materials in the left foreground, the disordered space, the frantic attempt at organization, are also reminders of the failure of some materials to arrive in time.266 Other items arrived in a damaged condition, and some never arrived at all.267 Port authorities, such as those at Han Kow (now Hankou), China, held back some things, and organizers worried that not enough material would arrive for the opening of the exhibition. Missionaries sent boxes as heavy as 160 kg, which had to be carried excruciating distances to the shipping points on the backs of porters, a “veritable odyssey.”268 Mill Hill Catholic Father Dreves described his experience of viewing the PME under construction:  I was greatly impressed by the many and extensive pavilions that were already built or that were under construction. There was a feverish activity all around. Missionaries were engaged emptying boxes, containing an immense variety of exhibits. Hundreds of boxes had already arrived, but hundreds more were still to come. I spent some anxious weeks                                                           265 Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 2.   266 Father Dreves, A Visit to the Vatican Missionary Exhibition (Roma: Industria tipografica romana, Via Ennio Quirino Visconti, 22, 1925), 6. (Propaganda Fide Library Collections, Vatican Missionary Exhibition Papers, B6f16 g) 267 Anonymous, “L’insospettata Odissea dei Trasporti”, Rivista Illustrata, vol. 1 (1925): 29–30.  268 Ibid.  98  awaiting the arrival of the Mill Hill Missions exhibits. At last, most of these made their appearance early in December.269  The PME required a complex and often untidy global system of effort and organization that remained invisible to those touring the carefully laid-out exhibits. When considering the significance of the PME, it is useful to remember this photograph documenting the unpolished, anxious moments of feverish activity beforehand. It is a marker of the anxieties and frustrations of missionary activity, which will be one of the main currents of this chapter. Analyzing the photograph and other missionary documents more critically is part of the decolonizing work necessary to destabilize the apparent self-assurance of the church’s colonial missionary project.  Anthropologist Johannes Fabian’s articulation of the allochronic relationship between anthropologists and their subjects provides my point of departure for the conception of the Hall of Americas. Fabian argues that the relationship between anthropologists and the people they study has largely been a history of etic representation, in that the scholar studying a culture comes from outside the culture and perpetuates a temporal separation between the scholar and the subject studied.270 Anthropological discourse places the Indigenous person outside history and the contemporary space of the scholar and, by implication, outside modern history and modern reality in a “denial of coevalness.”271 The Indigenous person thus has no future. As Fabian points out, it is a strategy with “a persistent and systematic tendency to place the referent(s) of anthropology in a time other than the present of the producer of anthropological discourse.”272 Applying Fabian’s articulation of the allochronic to a consideration of the PME Hall of Americas space is an approach that is grounded in my engagement in art history and                                                           269 Dreves, 4.  270 Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes its Object (Columbia University Press: New York, 1983), 35. 271  Fabian, 31.  272 Fabian, 31.  99  Indigenous studies. The PME projected a dichotomous vision through the space of the Hall of Americas. In my introduction, again drawing inspiration from Fabian—but also departing from him to some extent—I write about my archival fieldwork in Rome and present self-reflexive writing in an emic-centred research approach. As Fabian notes, “[r]eflexivity asks that we ‘look back’ and thereby let our experiences ‘come back’ to us.”273  At the time, journalist Gaultiero Campino observed that “[t]his exhibition, both as an historical record and as an indication of future achievement, is expected to be the most exhaustive record of the world’s progress ever displayed.”274 In this chapter, I discuss how the vast amount of materials from all over the globe overwhelmed missionary organizers and visitors to the exposition. A dizzying variety of Indigenous materials arrived, and missionary organizers misinterpreted and misunderstood many of them. They made unwarranted assumptions, especially in the Rivista Illustrata, the illustrated journal of the exposition. Papal anxieties, by which I mean the worries and fears of Catholic missionaries, are evident in these mistakes and misunderstandings. Missionaries could not smoothly organize and order everything, as the photograph discussed above reveals. To focus the discussion, I examine the Hall of Americas. Throughout this space, the organizers portrayed Indigenous Americans as out of the time and space of Western progress and Christian civilization, as pagans, not contemporary citizens. The display of their material cultures, described using binary terms such as “beautiful” or “grotesque,” and featuring “pagan idols” and other evidence of “witchcraft,” shamanism, and other fantastical terms, made tangible their allochronic state.275 This allochronic representation,                                                           273 Fabian, 91.  274 Gualtiero Campino, “Vatican Making ready for Notable Jubilee Year,” New York Times, June 8, 1924, 30, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.  275 “Vatican Exhibition is Taking Shape: Pavilions to Cost 6,000,000 Lire,” New York Times, September 7, 1924, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.  100  the denial of the coevalness of their cultural production and existence in time, relied on the paradox of inclusion.276  In what follows, this global exposition is contextualized in relation to other expositions that featured Indigenous American art during the early twentieth century, the height of the fashion for collecting Indigenous curios and home decor, which art historian Elizabeth Hutchinson calls the “Indian Craze.”277 The chapter deconstructs the PME’s depiction of the American Southwest in particular by analyzing mislabelled photographs of Indigenous peoples in the Rivista Illustrata. I contend that the display in the Hall of Americas represented an allochronic placement of Indigenous Americans as out of time and history. The display was a self-serving mechanism, an attempt to show the absolute control of papal activity and authority. In fact, missionaries often had limited influence among the Indigenous nations they worked with and often expressed their frustration at the display requirements of the PME, as I will discuss later in the chapter, using the story of a Jesuit missionary in Alaska. Indigenous realities elided missionary control and perception in many ways. For example, the mistakes prevalent in the illustrated journal evidence the fissures within the logic of the PME. Before entering the exposition, however, the chapter considers the collecting craze for Native Art during the early twentieth century. Then, the chapter contextualizes the display by walking visitors through the grandeur and cacophony of 1920s Rome and Saint Peter’s. Collecting Native Art across Turtle Island                                                             276 For an analysis of this issue in relation to the Canadian artists of the Group of Seven, see On Aboriginal Representation in the Gallery, eds. Lynda Jessup and Shannon Bagg (Hull, QC: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 2002). 277 Elizabeth Hutchinson, Indian Craze: Primitivism, Modernism, and Transculturation in American Art (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009), 17. 101  The photograph analyzed at the opening of this chapter is also evidence of the collecting craze across Europe and the Americas for all things Indigenous. In Indian Craze: Primitivism, Modernism, and Transculturation in American Art, for example, Elizabeth Hutchinson notes the popularity of Indian Curio corners in American homes in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Middle-class Americans amassed Native American baskets, weavings, curios, handwork, embroidered and beaded moccasins, dolls, and other articles, including clothing and ceramics, for their homes. Artists, writers, and homemakers collected Native American materials and displayed them, usually in their parlours or studies, or wherever they entertained guests.278 The passion for Native American handicrafts paralleled the “aesthetic reform” of the time, that is, the Arts and Crafts movement. Many Americans turned to Native art as an antidote to the alienating effects of modern society.279 Women’s home décor magazines esteemed the beauty and usefulness of Native art. Mail orders for Native arts and crafts to create an “Indian Corner” in one’s home boomed, and department stores also sold Native American art. White Americans projected Native Americans as in touch with nature, as “authentic,” in order to construct their own identity. Native American critics saw art as having positive, redemptory qualities for American Indian civilization and reforms.280 Santee Dakota scholar Charles Eastman wrote of the positive value of Native arts and their value as a “vitally American art form” and compared them favorably with Japanese art, which was a popular part of the Oriental art wave.281 Winnebago artist Angel Decora taught Native art history to Native children at boarding schools; she believed Native arts could make a unique and modern contribution to American society.282                                                           278 Ibid., 100. 279 Ibid., 17.  280 Ibid., 218.  281 Elizabeth Hutchinson, “Indigeneity and Sovereignty: The Work of Two Early Twentieth-Century Native American Art Critics,” Third Text 14, no. 52 (2000): 23. 282 Ibid., 22. 102  What Hutchinson does not address, however, is how Americans purchased Native American crafts, arts, and materials at missionary expositions in order to replicate the exhibitions’ displays of Native American art.  The PME formed part of a craze for all things Indigenous American at the Vatican too. Visitors could purchase guidebooks to support missionary orders, as well as souvenirs, postcards, and stamps. Father Dreves of the St. Joseph’s Missionary Society of London recalled that “[h]aving bought your ticket, costing three lire (seven pence)… you pass on your left a stand where you can purchase Anno Santo stamps, souvenirs, etc., and a little further up, a Refreshment room.”283 The packed-in, bibelot nature of the displays of Indigenous American material culture within the Hall of Americas replicated the Indian curio corner fashion found in department stores, museums, and magazine ads for Indian curios; the Vatican’s display technique emphasized too that Indigenous material culture, although not for sale at the PME, was also part of the  larger commodity of cultural capital, a burgeoning aspect of modernity.284 “Walls and roof and floor are covered with exhibits,” Father Felix, OSFC, observed in the Father Mathew Record of June 1925, “one section more interesting than the other.”285 Felix’s observation suggested that the PME mobilized pilgrims and visitors from around the world through a massive display strategy that utilized every available space. Materials overflowed and appeared too crammed for many viewers, but this also replicated the conventions of the curio corners of domestic spaces. The overflow of materials imported a moralizing lesson that visitors took away from their experience. The exhibits contained and decontextualized materials within the space of the Vatican display halls and illustrated the moral order of Catholic missionary vision. For                                                           283 Dreves, 6. 284 Hutchinson (2009), 36.  285 Father Felix, OSFC, Father Mathew Record, June 1925, 172 (Father Mathew Record Papers, Capuchin Provincial Archives, Dublin, Ireland). 103  example, in the Hall of Americas, the PME organizers placed the paintings by missionaries and the sculptural reliefs of Pettrich high above the Indigenous materials, thus reinforcing a hierarchy of the arts that also reinforced a hierarchy of value and race.286 At the same time, the Vatican’s display strategy also aligned with the fashion for the display of Indigenous materials in one’s studio or sitting room and recalled Surrealist artists’ interest in the art of Indigenous Americans. Surrealist artist André Breton, for example, had a collection of Haida and Yup’ik masks in his studio in Paris.287  Thus, the PME forms part of a sustained interest in collecting and displaying Native American cultural belongings not only in America but also in Europe. Art historian Janet Berlo uses the term “apotheosis” to describe the crescendo of interest in Native American art in America from the late nineteenth into the early twentieth century, and the conflating of American identity with Native American art.288 However, Berlo’s term, which literally means “to make a god of,” does not take into account Indigenous perspectives on the materials. Many of the materials sent by missionaries to the PME were sacred objects to the Indigenous cultures they originated from and could be considered ancestral figures. If we consider them as such, as many Indigenous cultures did and still do, Berlo’s term is more suitable than she perhaps realized. I discuss this issue further in Chapter Four.                                                            286 For a discussion of hierarchies more broadly within exhibitions, see Ruth Phillips, Trading Identities: The Souvenir in Native North American Art from the Northeast, 1700–1900 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1998), 252. 287 Illustrated at the following link is a Yup’ik mask that was in Surrealist Italian artist Donati’s collection and that is very similar to the ones included in the PME. See Aaron Glass, “Rare Yup’ik Masks (and their Surrealist Pedigree) on View (and Sale) this week in New York City,” accessed May 25, 2018, http://www.materialworldblog.com/2011/01/rare-yupik-masks-and-their-surrealist-pedigree-on-view-and-sale-this-week-in-new-york-city/. Some representative documents from this time include “The Art of the American Indian” (1920) by Walter Pach, “Red Man Ceremonials” (1920) by Marsden Hartley, and Savage Art (1929) by Paul Eluard. These are excerpted in Primitivism and 20th Century Art: A Documentary History, eds. Jack Flam and Miriam Deutsch (Oakland: University of California Press, 2003).  288 Janet Catherine Berlo, “Introduction: The Formative Years of Native American Art History,” in The Early Years of Native American Art History: The Politics of Scholarship and Collecting, ed. Janet Catherine Berlo (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1992), 15. 104  Approaching the Pontifical Missionary Exhibition  For visitors, Rome is a kaleidoscope of ancient and baroque silhouettes. One can imagine visitors strolling the Ponte Sant’Angelo guarded by larger-than-life angels outside the Castel Sant’Angelo and taking in the Roman palette of burnt sienna, ochre, and sky blue. In 1924, looking from the bridge before Castel Sant’Angelo, one would have seen silhouettes of the churches of Rome standing like ancient sentinels leading up to the central heart of Christendom. Crossing the bridge, visitors then turned left and walked over the San Pietrini (the cobblestones) toward the grand promenade with Saint Peter’s at the apex (Figure 3.2). For Pontifical Missionary Exposition visitors, the Baroque architecture of Bernini’s Colonnade at St. Peter’s Square, the grandeur of the Basilica of St. Peter’s, and the hierarchical placement of fascinating objects throughout the many halls evoked a sense of ritual. In the rush of the crowds, one could hear the excited yet hushed, reverent voices of visitors and pilgrims, and echoes of Italian, French, English, Spanish, Hindi, Farsi, Arabic, and multiple other languages at any given moment (Figure 3.3).  Envision an exposition occupying the space of several neighbourhood blocks, filled with blooming gardens, ornately-designed pavilions, and models of Indigenous peoples, all within the walls of the Vatican. All of these aspects worked on the visitors’ senses to create an atmosphere of reverence.289 The burial place of many saints and martyrs, St. Peter’s Basilica housed countless relics and reliquaries. The Vatican also functioned as a sacred pilgrimage site as well as a reminder of the overlapping of previous pagan rites; Catholics built St. Peter’s on the pagan ruins of Roman antiquity. Proceeding through the grounds of the Vatican, visitors would have                                                           289 For a parallel discussion of a sense of reverence in secular art institutions, see Carol Duncan, Civilizing Rituals: Inside Public Art Museums (New York: Routledge, 2005), 7. 105  experienced the grandeur of St. Peter’s Square at the start of the exhibition: the Pavilion of the Holy Land and the History of the Missions. Onward through the Halls of the Americas, Oceania, and India, visitors encountered the objects (missionary paintings, statues of martyrs, cultural belongings from diverse Indigenous communities) and witnessed what must have been an overwhelming collection of Indigenous belongings from around the globe.  Scholars have discussed world’s fairs and museums as contested spaces of competing influences, especially for the presentation and curation of Indigenous art.290 Art historian Ruth Phillips notes that the Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver, on Musqueam territory, is nowadays a space where the museum works with Indigenous communities and that “competing claims to ownership, compensation, authority, and interpretation have to be negotiated on an almost daily basis,”291 but she then traces how previous scholarship, museum exhibitions, and world’s fairs assumed a hierarchy between Indigenous arts and the colonial powers and perpetuated the denial of Indigenous peoples’ modernity. Philips argues that the museum needs to be “re-disciplined,”292 but while she focuses on museums, Indigenous Studies scholars articulate how Indigenous representation in general not only serves colonial narratives of Western progress, but also how re-reading colonial expositions and their archival holdings, such as the PME, can offer different lessons on the complexities of Indigenous experience within international case studies. As Danika Medak-Saltzman notes: … examining the historical record to shed light on transnational Indigenous encounters is not about seeking a continuous resistance movement where there is none. It is about recognizing Indigenous resistance as a continual part of Native negotiations with colonial regimes and about considering how moments of colonial celebrations of empire may have inadvertently served anticolonial purposes by presenting the Indigenous participants with                                                           290 Laura Hollengreen, Celia Pearce, Rebecca Rouse, and Bobby Schweizer, Meet Me at the Fair: A World's Fair Reader (Pittsburgh: ETC Press, 2014).  291 Ruth B. Phillips, Museum Pieces: Toward the Indigenization of Canadian Museums (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s Press, 2011), 73.  292 Ibid., 92.  106  opportunities to interact across larger distances than had been practical or possible in the past.293 My methodology for the work in this chapter builds on the insights of Medak-Saltzman, especially her creative interpretation of archival documents and Indigenous resistance via close readings of photographs of Indigenous participants at the 1904 St. Louis exposition. In addition to Medak-Saltzman, I also draw inspiration from the work of Tanana Athabaskan scholar Diane Million, who argues for emotive histories that consider how Indigenous peoples work through trauma and the structures of colonial imposition on Indigenous lives, what she calls “felt theory.” 294 Million notes that Indigenous Studies scholars, and particularly Native women, “feel our histories as well as think them.” This chapter considers an affective approach to writing about the embodied experiences of visitors at the PME. Visitors appreciated Indigenous cultural belongings sent in from the missions as silent markers of conversion. Although anxieties surrounding Indigenous beliefs and the cultural belongings that represented them remained just under the surface, materials functioned as reminders of the triumph of missionary work and the suppression of alternative religious beliefs. Thus, Pope Pius XI even situated the objects as part of the “spiritual wealth” and cultural heritage of Catholicism.295 Paradoxically, the inclusion of Indigenous cultural belongings from the Americas bolstered the visual consumption and viewing experience of Catholic citizens through hierarchies of vision that also reinforced a hierarchy of race and the arts established by the organizers. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak calls this paradox of inclusion a function of the                                                           293 Danika Medak-Saltzman,“Transnational Indigenous Exchange: Rethinking Global Interactions of Indigenous Peoples at the 1904 St. Louis Exposition,” American Quarterly 62, no. 3 (September 2010): 593. 294 Diane Million, “Felt Theory: An Indigenous Feminist Approach to Affect and History,” Wicazo Sa Review, Fall 2009: 54.  Million’s affective approach also has parallels with Ruth Behar’s The Vulnerable Observer: Anthropology that Breaks Your Heart (Boston: Beacon Press, 1997).  295 Carol Duncan, Civilizing Rituals: Inside Public Art Museums (New York: Routledge, 2005), 95.  107  “interiorized outside,” in which people are treated as less than second-class within a nation.296 An account in the New York Times promised that the PME would “present to visitors the life, customs, and habits of the most obscure tribes in the remotest regions of the earth.”297 PME visitors wanted to see things the newspapers had promised, and visiting reinforced their intangible beliefs through the observation of  tangible things. The organizers framed cultural belongings as material evidence of Catholic conversion and faith in the Americas, Oceania, Africa, and Asia, all the while denying the modernity of the makers and their artistic, cultural, and spiritual ancestries and iconographic traditions.  The Organization of the PME  The PME opened on December 21, 1924, and closed on January 10, 1926. Over one million pilgrims attended the exhibition, which occupied twenty-four specially designed pavilions in the Pine Court of the Vatican Museum.298 From the moment visitors entered the exhibition, the Catholic ordering of vision pulled them into the space. Missionaries displayed cultural belongings in glass cases and also piled them high on top of the displays. Their inclusion foreshadowed their permanence in the Vatican Missionary Ethnological Museum, which Pius XI opened after the closing of the PME.299 PME organizers noted that missionaries sent in 100,000 items, and from this they selected 40,000 for inclusion.300 From analysis of photographs of the Hall of Americas, it appears the organizers also drew on items they already had in their                                                           296 Judith Butler and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Who Sings the Nation State? (London: Seagull Books, 2007), 16. See also Lynda Jessup, and Shannon Bagg, eds. On Aboriginal Representation in the Gallery (Hull, Quebec: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 2002). 297 “Pope Inspects Exhibition: Views Preparations for Missionary Fair in Vatican Grounds,” New York Times, February 8, 1924, 5, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.  298 Considine, 26. 299 Angelyn Dries, “The 1925 Vatican Mission Exposition and the Interface Between Catholic Missionary Theory and World Religions,” International Bulletin of Mission Research 40, no. 2 (2016): 122. 300 Nicola Mapelli, Katherine Aigner, and Nadia Fiussello, Ethnos: Vatican Museums Ethnological Collection (Vatican City: 2012), 152. 108  collections; two Inuit amulets, for example, one depicting a medicine man and the other depicting a seal, were from the Cardinal Borgia collection.301 Melding historical and contemporary missionary history, statistical data, dioramas, cultural belongings, “and a great variety of memorabilia,” Schmidt, the curator for the Pope, and his team created the exhibition like an adventure experience302 (Figure 3.4 and Figure 3.5). Visitors moved counter-clockwise through a sequence of thirty-two rooms, with information posted in Italian and other languages, viewing Catholic missionary work through a Judeo-Christian framework. They started with the early martyrs (The Pavilion of the Holy Land, the History of Missions, and the Hall of Martyrs) and moved to the contemporary missions, beginning with the Ethnology Room, Schimdt’s special project.  Father Wilhelm Schmidt, Pius XI’s advisor for the PME, was an Austrian Catholic missionary, linguist, and anthropologist, and the founder of Anthropos, an important journal of ethnology, anthropology, and missionary studies. Schmidt wrote many essays on his theory of “primitive monotheism,” which he published in Anthropos, essentially a sounding board for his Catholic version of anthropology.303 Interested in understanding how “primitive” peoples maintained what he saw as their “monotheistic” beliefs, Schmidt maintained that there was an inherent link between race and belief.304 He suggested that, among tribal peoples, a belief in one God paralleled Christian beliefs. While overseeing the entire exhibition, Schmidt took a special interest in the construction and display of the Ethnology Room, which was created to reflect his                                                           301 Ibid. 302 “Quantity and Great Variety of Memorabilia” Vatican Missionary Exhibition (Mill Hill Missionary Society Archive Papers, 1925).  303 Schmidt was also blatantly anti-Semitic and published writings to that effect. In the words of social anthropologist Thomas Hauschild, “his work aimed at dethroning the Hebrews as the direct predecessors of the Christians.” Thomas Hauschild, “Christians, Jews, and the Other in German Anthropology,” American Anthropologist 99, no. 4 (1997): 749.  304 Hauschild, 749. 109  theory of “primitive monotheism,” an innovative idea at the time, but now discredited.305 The Ethnological Hall was arranged by Schmidt to show the “progress of civilization outside the influence of Christianity,” complete with many fetishes and other occult objects.306 Founder of the tradition of Kulturkreise, Schmidt took a missionary-based approach to anthropology that emphasized understanding the particular histories of individual societies rather than placing cultures within a universalizing discourse of human nature.307 He believed anthropology should be “ a scientific discipline, proving the ability of Catholics to work in this field, and an apologetic discipline, proving the natural foundations of Catholic doctrine.”308 Schmidt’s thesis, based on his studies in Africa, did not address the complexities of religious belief for the Indigenous peoples of the Americas. His curatorial method contributed to an understanding of Indigenous Americans as primitive and uncivilized, outside the “rational” time and space of Western exposition visitors, the normative perspective showcased by missionary expositions and world exhibitions at the time.309 As anthropologist Alison Kahn notes, “[t]he pre-contact ‘heathen objects’ were presented en masse with the implicit message to visitors that Indigenous cultures were lost and in need of guidance. Conversion to Christianity was portrayed as simultaneous with an enriched material.”310 By this, Kahn means that with conversion to                                                           305 Wilhelm Schmidt was a prodigious author, and an analysis of his theory of primitive monotheism in relation to the ethnological debates in Europe at the time is beyond the scope of this dissertation. Schmidt’s racist ideas were allied to those of the Nazi party in Germany, but his Catholic beliefs were not, and for this reason he was persecuted by the Nazis in the late 1930s. See Hauschild, 749. It is also interesting to note that Raffaele Pettazzoni was crucial in developing the history of religious studies in universities across Italy. He prided himself on being anti-fascist. In the early 1930s, ethnology as a discipline was beginning to be taught. For example, in 1932-33 there was a course in ethnology at the University of Rome. After Italy invaded Ethiopia (1935), it entered the imperial-colonialist phase. From this point on in Italy, ethnology and anthropology were both taught. Pettazzoni and Schmidt were enemies. In another paper, it would be interesting to explore the relationship between Schimdt’s and Pettazzoni’s views on ethnology. On Pettazzoni, see Michael Stausberg, “Raffaele Pettazzoni and the History of Religions in Fascist Italy (1928-1938),” in The Study of Religion under the Impact of Fascism, ed. Horst Junginger (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 365.  306 Bowen, 269. 307 It should be noted that the term “Kulturkreise” was later used by the Nazis in their racial eugenics program.  308 Stefan Dietrich, “Mission, Local Culture and the ‘Catholic Ethnology’ of Pater Schmidt,” Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford 23, no. 2 (1992): 114. 309 Kahn, 190. 310 Kahn, 191. 110  Christianity, Indigenous peoples would achieve both greater material wealth and the ability to assimilate into Western societies. As I discuss shortly, however, Indigenous societies have much more complex forms of wealth—spiritual, material, and cultural—that defy the boundaries set out by the PME organizers. A newspaper report noted that this section of the exhibition included “a wealth of material relating to the pagan cults and rites, witchcraft, [and] conditions of life,” emphasizing the spectacle rather than the science.311 After these first rooms, deemed the “scientific” section, visitors moved, in the Hall of Americas, onto the larger work and accomplishments of the Catholic missionaries abroad.312  For this vast and ambitious exhibition, Schmidt and his team of missionaries worked with a variety of materials, a plethora of cultural belongings and ephemera including pottery, textiles, paintings, pamphlets, books, and photographs.313 Since Pope Pius XI had sent out a call for submissions connecting the broader community of Catholic missionaries and converts, Schmidt had to work with whatever the missionaries submitted. The submissions’ unpredictability and variety formed part of the importance of the exhibition as pop culture.314 As Father Penkowski, former curator of the Vatican Ethnological Collection, noted regarding the array of material donated:  They included objects from every part of the world where the Catholic missions carry out their activities. The systematic display of this heritage, arranged according to the geographical criteria, provided in itself a wonderful panorama of the life and wide-                                                          311 “Vatican Exhibition is Taking Shape: Pavilions to Cost 6,000,000 Lire,” New York Times, September 7, 1924, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.  312 Ibid.  313 My use here of the term “visual culture” encompasses popular culture items (such as board games, posters, and photographs) and is part of the broader movement within art history to draw attention to the biases of the standard canon of art history, namely, that aspect of the discipline that only examines the work of Western artists and so-called “high art.” For more on this issue, see James Elkins, Stories of Art (New York: Routledge, 2002). 314 It is interesting to note that a call for submissions was also sent out by the curator Dino Alfieri, who organized the Fascist Exhibition, the mass appeal of which was an intentional goal of his curation. Vanessa Rocco, “Room O of the Exhibition of the Fascist Revolution–1932,” in Public Photographic Spaces: Exhibitions of Propaganda, from Pressa to The Family of Man, 1928–55, ed. Jorge Ribalta (Barcelona: Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona, 2008), 245. 111  ranging activities of many non-European peoples in the economic, social and artistic fields, as well as that of their magical practices and their multifarious beliefs.315 Penkowski hints at the collision, throughout this period of intense missionization and salvage paradigm collecting of “magical practices,” between Indigenous belief systems and Catholic dogma. Visitors admired cultural belongings for their status as objects created by Indigenous peoples described sometimes as converts and sometimes as pagans.316 Materials functioned as uneasy reminders of alternative religious beliefs but also of the triumphs and trophies of missionary work. Under the gaze of Pope Pius XI, these objects were all situated as part of the spiritual wealth and cultural heritage of Catholicism, yet they did not always fit this framework neatly, as reflected in the archival record by Father Dreves and others.  These discrepancies created some anxieties on the part of organizers.317 Writing from Holy Cross, Alaska, to the Provincial Rev. Father, Jesuit missionary Phillip Delon noted his distress at his inability to send in a comprehensive account to the PME:  Personally, I knew nothing about the upcoming exposition till I received a letter from Father Rupert, a short while before his death, telling me about it, and all the work he intended to do to make it a success…. having but little time to do anything towards the exposition, the more so as I had not yet received the instructions or directions from Father Cicera on how to prepare the exhibit. These instructions reached me in the early part of spring, or some time before Easter. In the meantime, I had of course, requested our fathers in the various missions to do all they could to come up to the expectations of the Father General. But all of them were all taken up with their missionary work, and they had neither the inclination, nor the money to gather any objects of interest. However, some of them took pains to meet the requirements. But the time was too short, the difficulties of communication among ourselves too great, and the penury of interesting or valuable objects was too deeply felt for one to become much “inspirited” about the matter.318                                                            315 Giuseppe Penkowski, Il Vaticano e Roma Cristiana (Citta del Vaticano, Roma: 1975), 26.  316 Considine, 108. 317 Anonymous, “L’insospettata Odissea dei Trasporti,” Rivista Illustrata 1 (1925): 29–30. 318 Father Delon Papers 1:9, Alaskan Jesuit Archives, September 1924 (Courtesy of Gonzaga University, University Archives and Special Collections, Foley Center Library).  112  Father Delon’s account provides a behind-the-scenes reflection of what Jesuit missionaries were thinking and of their inability to garner the organization and support necessary to send in materials. Second, Delon’s account expresses some anxiety about the ability to meet the Father General’s expectations as well as the ambivalence missionaries felt about participating in an exposition so far from the Indigenous territories they worked in. This personal archival record contrasts sharply with newspaper reports and other visits to the exhibition that praised it as an organized, though overwhelming, space. Delon’s use of the word “penury of interesting or valuable objects” suggests his bias against Indigenous cultural belongings, not viewing them as of adequate aesthetic or scholarly interest for a metropolitan exposition. The term penury also suggests Delon’s view of Indigenous nations as poverty-stricken. In fact, Indigenous nations had (and still have) multiple forms of wealth that did not conform to his materialist standards: songs, stories, and cultural teachings, for example, form part of the vast richness of Indigenous arts.  Visitors then moved from the Hall of Ethnology to the Hall of Americas through the Library of the Missions.319 After this, they entered the Hall of Propaganda of the Faith, then on to South America and the sections on Asia and India. During this sequence, visitors also had access to the Pine Court, where they could move outside into the gardens of the Pine Court and encounter the huts of Indigenous peoples from South America and Africa.320 Back inside, they continued through the Statistical Hall, replete with scientific data on Indigenous converts and “infidels,” then to Europe and the Gallery of Martyrs. From the Gallery of Martyrs, they might enter the Pavilion of the Holy Land, depicting the missionary origins of the church, complete with a miniature reconstruction of Palestine that visitors could walk around.321 From the Holy                                                           319 Considine, 36.  320 Ibid., 25.  321 Angelyn Dries, “The 1925 Vatican Mission Exposition and the Interface Between Catholic Missionary Theory and World Religions,” International Bulletin of Mission Research 40, no. 2, (2016): 122.  113  Land, they would move on to the History of the Missions, which traced the church’s missionary aims from the time of the Roman Empire through to the early twentieth century. Visitors then came to the Hall of Martyrs. Here relics, paintings, sculptures, tapestries, and instruments of torture depicted the sufferings endured by missionaries around the world, including China and Japan.322 One newspaper reporter declared that seeing the tunic and cowl of humble St. Francis of Assisi perched above the entrance to the Hall of Martyrs was the highlight of his visit.323 Visitors then moved onto the Medicine and Hygiene Wing and from there to China, Japan, and Oceania, North and South Africa (Figure 3.6), an Arab Village, and finally the gift shop.324 The setting of the Vatican, the principal pilgrimage site for millions of Catholics annually, along with the architecture of the halls and the placement of the material things, all contributed to visitors’ experience of a ritual space. Pilgrims entered the exhibition through the porta sancta (holy door) of St. Peter’s Basilica (Figure 3.7), only open during the holy Jubilee year. Treading in the pious footsteps of millions of previous devotees through the ages of Christendom, they waited on bended knee for the blessing of the Holy Father in the Apostolic Palace.325 They could stop and admire the beauty and grandeur of the architecture of St. Peter’s or the opulence of the Vatican’s Italian Renaissance paintings, and the ornate interior featuring a wealth of sculpture, antiquities, and decorative arts. A Black Friar priest, Father J. Bowen, recalled his peaceful experience: “There is a happy absence of stallholders anxious to exhibit their wares, self-advertisement or noise; instead, a welcome sense of peace and calm pervades the atmosphere, with the blue sky of Italy overall,”326 in implied contrast to the more raucous and                                                           322 Considine, 69. 323 “The Vatican Missionary Exhibition,” The Catholic Historical Review 11 (1925): 163.  324 Considine, 98. 325 Kertzer, 83. 326 Father J Bowen, "The Missionary Exhibition at The Vatican," New Blackfriars 6 (1925): 267. 114  lively experience of other world expositions of the time. Bowen’s account makes clear the reverence he (and other Catholics) had for the space. The processional walk from St. Peter’s holy door through to the gardens, where visitors contemplated the wonders of the Catholic faith in its illuminated artworks and vast collections, functioned as a practical as well as an intellectual and spiritual gateway preparing them for the experience of the exhibition. Contemporary Fairs and Expositions 1911 The World in Boston   The PME, despite its particularities, was not unique. The World in Boston Missionary Exposition in 1911, organized by Boston Protestants, featured exhibition display halls, costumed re-enactors, missionaries and some of their “converts”, pageants, and illustrated lectures.327 The exhibition organizers aimed to show objects from around the world and, through them, the worthiness of Protestant missionary efforts. Over 300 denominations participated. Anthropologist Erin L. Hasinoff notes that the material culture collected by the missionaries helped create a tangible connection for viewers to comprehend “faith in objects.” Material things provided “object lessons” and examples of American heritage through which viewers could understand missionary work and Protestant Christian ideologies and at the same time cultivate a sense of American identity.328 At the exhibition, which over 400,000 people attended, twenty thousand stewards encouraged support for and pursuit of Protestant missionary work.  A portion of the exhibition featured Native American textil