gious
feeling, the American Indian stands alone. In accord with his nature and
beliefs, he does not pretend to imitate the inimitable, or to reproduce
exactly the work of the Great Artist. That which is beautiful must not
be trafficked with, but must only be reverenced and adored. It must
appear in speech and action. The symmetrical and graceful body must
express something of it. Beauty, in our eyes, is always fresh and
living, even as God Himself dresses the world anew at each season of the
year.

It may be artistic to imitate nature and even try to improve upon her,
but we Indians think it very tiresome, especially as one considers the
material side of the work--the pigment, the brush, the canvas! There is
no mystery there; you know all about them! Worst of all is the
commercialization of art. The rudely carved totem pole may appear
grotesque to the white man, but it is the sincere expression of the
faith and personality of the Indian craftsman, and has never been sold
or bartered until it reached civilization.

THE INDIAN'S VIEWPOINT

Now we see at once the root of the red man's failure to approach even
distantly the artistic standard of the civilized world. It lies not in
the lack of creative imagination--for in this quality he is a born
artist--it lies rather in his point of view. I once showed a party of
Sioux chiefs the sights of Washington, and endeavored to impress them
with the wonderful achievements of civilization. After visiting the
Capitol and other famous buildings, we passed through the Corcoran Art
Gallery, where I tried to explain how the white man valued this or that
painting as a work of genius and a masterpiece of art.

"Ah!" exclaimed an old man, "such is the strange philosophy of the white
man! He hews down the forest that has stood for centuries in its pride
and grandeur, tears up the bosom of mother earth, and causes the silvery
watercourses to waste and vanish away. He ruthlessly disfigures God's
own pictures and monuments, and then daubs a flat surface with many
colors, and praises his work as a masterpiece!"

This is the spirit of the original American. He holds nature to be the
measure of consummate beauty, and its destruction as sacrilege. I have
seen in our midsummer celebrations cool arbors built of fresh-cut
branches for council and dance halls, while those who attended decked
themselves with leafy boughs, carrying shields and fans of the same, and
even making wreaths for their h