The Tabeguache Band of Colorado: Known Today as The Uncompahgre Ute

The Ute, pronounced as "yoot," refer to themselves as the Noochew or Nuuchui, meaning "Ute People." The term "Utah," the name of the state, originates from the Spanish word "Yutah," which describes the Ute as the "high land" or "land of the sun."

Renowned for their courage, some historians believe the Ute possessed comparable skill and cunning to the Apaches. In the past, they occupied an expansive territory of approximately 79 million acres in the Great Basin region. Their extensive travels through the picturesque mountainous landscapes of the Western region led them to establish trails, the remnants of which proved invaluable to the white settlers who eventually displaced them.

Early observers noted the remarkable proficiency of Ute women in tanning hides, which served as valuable trade items and were used for clothing. They adeptly worked with buffalo, deer, elk, and mountain sheep hides. Ute women typically adorned themselves in long, belted dresses, leggings, and moccasins. Meanwhile, men wore shirts, leggings, and moccasins for their daily activities, reserving elaborate feathered headdresses for special occasions. During times of conflict, many men painted their bodies and faces using yellow and black pigments. Women occasionally painted their faces and adorned their hair partings. Some Ute individuals pierced their noses, inserting small, polished animal bones, while others tattooed their faces using cactus thorns dipped in ashes. Both men and women occasionally wore necklaces crafted from animal claws, bones, fish skeletons, and juniper seeds.

Early Ute ceremonies involved clothing embellishments such as paint, hair fringes, rows of elk teeth, or brightly dyed porcupine quills. Later, as the Ute acquired beads from European traders, their costumes incorporated intricate beadwork.

The Ute held two significant ceremonies—the Sun Dance and the Bear Dance—which continue to be performed annually.

The Sun Dance reflects a personal desire for spiritual power provided by the Great Spirit, but each dancer also represents their family and community, transforming the dance into a communal sharing experience. The Sun Dance is based on a fable about a man and a woman who left their tribe amid a severe famine. During their voyage, they discovered a deity who taught them the Sun Dance practices. When they returned to their tribe and performed the ceremony, a herd of buffalo appeared, putting an end to the hunger.

The Sun Dance ceremony encompasses several days of clandestine rituals followed by a public dance around a Sun Dance pole, symbolizing the connection to the Creator. These rituals involve fasting, prayer, smoking, and the preparation of ceremonial objects.

Describing a modern Sun Dance atop Sleeping Ute Mountain, journalist Jim Carrier recounted, "Night and day, for four days, the dancers charged the pole and retreated, back and forth in a personal gait. There were shuffles, hops, and a prancing kick. While they blew whistles made from eagle bones, their bare feet marked a 25-foot (7.5-kilometer) path in the dirt."

The Bear Dance, conducted annually in the spring, venerates the grizzly bear, revered by the Ute for imparting strength, wisdom, and survival skills. In earlier times, the Bear Dance coincided with the bears emerging from hibernation and aimed to awaken the bears to guide the Ute towards bountiful sources of nuts and berries. The dance served as a joyous social occasion after enduring a harsh winter.

The Bear Dance involves constructing a sizable circular enclosure made of sticks, representing a bear's den. Music played within the enclosure symbolizes the thunder that rouses the slumbering bears. The dance follows a "lady's choice" tradition, allowing Ute women to show their preference for a certain man. The Bear Dance ceremony traditionally lasted for four days and four nights. The dancers wore plumes that they would leave on a cedar tree at the east entrance of the corral. Leaving the feathers behind represented discarding past troubles and starting fresh.

MY PHOTOGRAPHS AS RESIDUE
My photographs for this project are what I consider residue. Residue is a small amount of something that remains after the main part has gone, been taken, or been used. It’s a lot like memory. The function of photography is to somehow "show" the memories and residue of a person, place, or thing.

I’m approaching these ideas indirectly. It’s a conscious choice to make the work somewhat abstract, like all memories are. This isn’t a documentary project, although it’s difficult to put anything in a box. There are elements that seem to fit, at least somewhat, into the documentary category. However, I would never consider this work documentary photography. The context and narrative provide the direction of the work. It’s my personal journey to discover answers to questions that I’ve wrestled with for decades. There’s no doubt it’s interdisciplinary work, combining art and several disciplines in the sciences and psychology. I think that’s what makes it interesting.

The book, in context, will give the reader and viewer an insight, not only about my journey but also about the human condition and what knowledge of our mortality does to us. I connect the events of the 19th century clearly to the theories of death anxiety and terror management theory. I show both the beauty of the land as well as inferring the loss. I show life as well as death through the flora and landscape photographs. My hope is that for those who read it, it will inspire and enlighten. That it will bring forward the beauty of life and appreciation of the awe that surrounds us, as well as an understanding of how evil is manifested in our human condition.

“Mountain Bell Cactus and White Granite,” 10” x 10” (25,4 x 24,4cm) RA-4 Reversal Direct Color Print, June 29, 2023 Pediocactus simpsonii, or Mountain Ball Cactus, is a species that grows at high altitudes in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

Summary of My Project: In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering

DEATH ANXIETY & THE DENIAL OF DEATH
This project has a level of complexity in communicating what it is, what it’s about, and the objective of the work. It is very complex in one sense and, in another, very simple and straightforward. It’s simply expounding on theories of human behavior (Becker et al.) that affect all of us and the implications of them. I would sum up the objective of the work using Carl Jung’s idea of making the unconscious conscious. That’s what I would like to have happen: The average person would be able to accommodate and assimilate these ideas and understand their universal implications.

From the book, “The Worm at the Core: The Role of Death in Life,” by Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, and Tom Pyszczynski. This is a great book. I encourage you to read it.

This is what I've written as a short description of the project. I would like to hear your feedback if you're willing to share. Does it make sense? Do you think you understand the work or the goals of the project? Do you feel that you have a basic understanding of the theories I'm working with?

SUMMARY STATEMENT OF THE WORK
Drawing inspiration from the seminal work of cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker, my book, "In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering" (2024), aims to challenge the dominant cultural narratives that deny the reality of death and the ways in which this denial contributes to the oppression and eradication of marginalized cultures, specifically the Tabeguache-Ute of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. By embracing Becker's insights into terror management theory and the role of death anxiety in shaping human behavior, this project seeks to provoke reflection and dialogue about the urgent need to come to terms with our mortality and its implications for our relationships with one another and the planet.

Are You Doing Too Much or Not Enough?

I recently had a conversation with someone about the ubiquity and nature of photography. We talked about how a creative person working in photography can approach making meaningful and significant work and what effect all of these changes since its invention have had on the medium.

We discussed how technology has changed photography and the impact "commonness" has had on the craft—some call this the "democratization" of photography, which I think is a fair statement, but it's had a significant impact both times it's happened. It has altered how we perceive photographs (and their worth) and how creative people work with the medium. The first wave came in 1900 with the Kodak Brownie ("You Press the Button, We Do the Rest"), and the second came in the early 2000s with the advent of consumer-model digital cameras and iPhones (2007).

The conversation went on about different approaches to making art and why some are more effective than others. And we briefly touched on the AI (artificial intelligence) models creating "wet collodion" images from text prompts; there's not much to say about this topic in my opinion.

I’ll give you a brief overview of how the conversation unfolded.

There’s a balance to making art, specifically in photography. Using photography today can lead a person down a path of "thumb-twiddling," especially now with digital image making, which is instant and easy. It can happen with film or historic processes as well. The latter happens in a different way, but it has the same result: vagueness and meaninglessness.

What I mean is that you can meander aimlessly (and easily) into never making anything with substance or weight. You photograph anything and everything with no intention other than the hope that it appeals to someone, somewhere, or you copy what you’ve seen. You have nothing to say about it and nothing to connect it to (no purpose or a very vague purpose). It’s just there, on its own, with no defense and nothing to offer but what the viewer brings to it. It’s mechanical in the truest sense of the word. This is what Baudelaire warned us about so long ago. He was right; he’s always been right.

You can also fool yourself into thinking that you’re making deep, meaningful work when you’re not. The “art talk” in statements leaves the reader confused with what the vague or derivative work is intended to evoke—no one knows, not even the writer of the statement or maker of the images. The intention is to fool the viewer. The statement might read something like this: “Ever since I was a pre-adolescent, I have been fascinated by the endless, ephemeral oscillations of the mind. What starts out as contemplation soon becomes corrupted into a hegemony of defeat, leaving only a sense of unreality and the chance of a new understanding.” What?? This is why the layperson is turned off when it comes to art, artists, and galleries. If they could see how shallow and fake this stuff is, they might reconsider. No one ever talks about the emporor having no clothes; everyone seems to play along.

In essence, you hope the viewer will see something you didn't or understand something you don’t. You hope, through their life filters, they see "something" and make a connection with it. In reality, you’ve created nothing. You’ve expressed nothing. You’re not in control. You’re a machine that’s regurgitating photographs that you’ve seen before. Trying to gain self-esteem by riding the coattails of something that’s been done a thousand times—I know that plenty of people can write dissertations on the validity of this approach to making photographs; I’ve read a lot of them, but they've never justified the blind ambition and aimlessness of working in such a superficial, meaningless way. Never.

When people do this with historic processes or film photography, they concentrate on processes, techniques (process photography), and gear. It’s always about the process, technique, or gear—never about the content of the photograph or what it’s authentically connected to. In some cases, they may try to argue that it's related to something, but it's always vague (see statement above), and the process or gear takes precedence. We have social media to blame for a lot of this. The high "wow-factor" is what gets people to look and "like." And people are always up for learning something for free and then emulating or copying it if it’s popular enough. If they can commodify it, even better.

It seems we are constantly seeking outside validation for our work. We’re always trying to bolster our self-esteem. We want accolades, awards, "wins," and acknowledgement of our creative and technical skills. And we want other people to know what we’ve achieved. In essence, we want to rise above and be the "one in creation," as Becker said. We rarely, if ever, consider our own validation about what we’re doing and why. The existential anxiety would be minimized if we could understand the value of our work without seeking external validation—without hovering around narcissism and navel-gazing. I think this comes from gratitude: truly appreciating what you've made, the reasons you've made it, and the ability to understand its place in the world. Facing the reality of your life and why you do what you do—if we could stop the denying and self-deception, we could see a clear path to why we are the way we are.

That’s where we’re at. When I ask the question, "Are you doing too much or not enough?" The answer is "yes." If you’re doing this, you’re doing both too much and not enough. Too much influence from outside of you (social media, trends, etc.) and not enough self-examination and contemplation—authentically exploring what you’re passionate about and want to share—and forget the standards of success (social media popularity, money, articles, interviews); they are meaningless if you’re not really connected to the work.

The conversation ended with me conceding everything I was ranting about. In the end, it’s all meaningless, so I suppose one could make the argument that doing whatever distracts from reality or buffers the anxiety should be valid. It’s a coping mechanism. And if you pressed me, I would agree. Since none of it matters, it’s all valid, at least in the big picture (no pun intended). My point is that if you’re finding your buffer through "thumb-twiddling" digital work or photography gear and processes and you’re not hurting anyone, go for it! That’s how I ended the conversation. They understood what I meant.

After having this dialogue, I realized that it connected so beautifully to the work on death anxiety that I’ve been doing. It’s literally a metaphor for our lives. It describes how we need to create meaning and significance in order to live from day to day or even get up in the morning. Without meaning and significance or building self-esteem, we wither—we get depressed, we lose hope, and we fall into despair. This creation of meaning, in whatever form, is vital to our well-being.

And, unconsciously, we all know that what we do is meaningless—everything we do—but we just can’t face it. I know it sounds harsh and negative, but it’s the truth. This is what the Norwegian philosopher Peter Wessel Zapffe made clear about consciousness: the knowledge of our death and the impermanence and insignificance of life is a terrible burden to bear. Making art is used in what he calls "sublimation." It’s used as a distraction, or more accurately, as a transference object. Our existential anxiety is projected (transferred) onto the art. It makes so much sense to me. While I’m no different than anyone else, I do understand my predicament, or my paradoxical condition, if you will. Art allows me to intellectualize my impending death. In a lot of ways, it allows me to come to terms with it. Everything you just read here is sublimation, and everything I create is sublimation. I’m resolved to face that, and I think we would all be better off if everyone could do the same.

"If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone; the harm is to persist in one's own self-deception and ignorance." ~ Marcus Aurelius