Ode to My Ancestors - Why Beading is so Important to Me

Plains Native Woman (tribe unknown) carrying traditional 
beaded cradle board (this is one of my favorite pictures)


 Every day, I am struck in some way by the beauty that is my culture. Odds are, if you have visited my blog before, you can sense my intense pride in my culture, and this stems in no small way from the stories of endurance and strength I have heard from my family. For my final post, I want to share with you some stories of my family, and why beadwork, quillwork and leather work are such important art forms for me. 

(left) Mabel Eagle, early 1980's, with her 
granddaughter, my auntie
 To start at the tail-end of my family's very sad   history, I will start with my paternal great-     grandmother. Mabel Eagle, who is the first member   of my family to be put on a reservation. Before she   came to Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, she and her family lived at a concentration camp in Minnesota. Here, her mother and older sisters starved to death, and her father and brothers were all lynched soon thereafter. At six years old, she was put on Pine Ridge alone. I met her quite a few times as a baby, but by the time I was born, she was far past one hundred years old, and died before I could form a memory of her. 


When my great-grandmother had her children, many things were illegal. When my great-aunt Jeannie was born, Native American individuals were not allowed to legally leave their reservations yet. When my grandfather was born, we were not legally able to practice any religion or spirituality beyond forced Christianity. When my great-aunt Alice was born, the youngest of all the children, Natives were not legally allowed to dance, to hunt, Native men could not wear their hair long, or allowed to raise tipi, to sing traditional songs, to speak our own languages, to raise our own children or to bead. These things would not be allowed until after my father was born. 

The site of the concentration camp where my family was almost wiped out
- is now a garden of remembrance 

There are many sad stories in my family, and while I am proud of my family's ability to survive under these horrible conditions, I am most proud of the happy stories of strength and resistance. My grandparents met during the Occupation at Wounded Knee, where my grandfather was living there on Rosebud, and my grandmother was smuggling food to the occupiers. My grandfather was a great beader in his heyday, and through it's illegality, made many beautiful artworks through his younger years. Watching my grandfather bead or weave God's eyes was one of my favorite things to watch as a child, and spurred on my love of the craft since the age where I began to form memories. 

Example of traditional Lakota beadwork 
worn by Sitting Bull's daughter - made of 
dentalium and abalone shell 
For a very long time, these forms of art were illegal for us to do or wear, though they are culturally significant to us. The Eastern tribes made shell beadworks first, and those carried over to the plains tribes generations ago, and this was the first form of beadwork. For centuries, the Lakota and Oceti Sakowin people have been creating beadworks and quillworks. For most of the 1900s, these practices were almost lost. And this is why I create. 

As I was taught, for each bead you lay down, you are to say one prayer. It can be for anything and anyone other than yourself. For me, I often pray for my ancestors. Through the horrible struggle and genocide the government put us through, their strength, moments of humor, happiness and humanity carried me here, and allowed for me to do such works. Now, I am working on my graduation beadwork, beadwork for my sisters and cousins' regalia for the summer, and with each bead, I am filled with love and appreciation. For each bead in the millions I have sewn over my life, each has been a prayer of gratitude that I am alive, that I can don my favorite pair of beaded earrings without a worry. 

For me, each time I can choose to show off the art I create, it is a great triumph. Despite the greatest, most violent efforts of a genocidal government, I am still beading and quillworking, just as my ancestors did. 

My younger sisters on our reservation, posing in front of a rain-wrapped tornado

If you have made it this far, thank you for reading. I hope that you remember the strength and love that has carried you here, to this very moment. You are strong, just like your ancestors. I wish you luck with your futures, and I hope you purchase some Indigenous beadwork in future! 

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