As a child, I remember my father telling me stories of visitors traveling through Ohkay Owingeh in the summertime. My father and his sisters recalled how as children they used to sit in front of the church and wait for tourists to drive by so they could get paid to have their pictures taken. They would then walk across the street to the mercantile store to buy pocketfuls of penny candy. A nickel back in the late 1940s and early 1950s would purchase plenty of sugar goodies to spread among their brothers and sisters.
My father has since passed on, and I would do anything to see some of those old photographs of my father and his siblings as children. I imagine them stored in some dusty East Coast attic along with other “souvenirs” from a long-forgotten summer vacation to New Mexico. I continue to cherish and laugh about my family’s stories and share them with my own son. This is how traditions remain alive. We as New Mexicans are the link to those who came before and those yet to be born—and photographs can be powerful agents in creating dynamic spaces of memory and continuity.
I’ve often wondered if visitors to New Mexico realize the impacts their photography—the taking of images—may have on future generations. The very act of taking a photo is extractive. But for New Mexicans, every extractive practice is balanced by the core value of reciprocity, deeply embedded within community relations and cultural traditions. As an example, when we gather clay and other materials to create a micaceous pot, we appropriately ask our Mother Earth, Nan Ochu Kwiyó, for permission. Among Tewa people, the deliberate act of sharing one’s intentions in gathering and using clay is a central part of the process in creating a pottery bowl.
Photographing is no different. It falls in line with what it means to actively engage in reciprocity. How these images are taken and shared, often in intimate settings, can create and strengthen ongoing community relationships. A photograph can connect people and community values and, at the same time, interweave stories that define a community’s rich histories. When the images travel out to the general public, they take on lives and interpretations of their own.
Historically, New Mexico’s cultural traditions, peoples, and landscapes have inspired photographers and artists, and Indigenous peoples throughout the Southwest have been some of the most photographed and documented people in the United States. Kevin Bubriski’s photographs of Pueblo dances and ceremonies are part of this long tradition of image making and image taking. With the publication of this book, they become an act of reciprocity, returning to the peoples and communities from which they originated.
Like the gathering of clay from Mother Earth, the framing of a subject to be photographed is an intentional act. Bubriski states that “with camera in hand, I have always let my curiosity lead my eye. Or maybe it’s my eye that leads and triggers my curiosity.” As a tangible artifact, one that physically holds that moment, a photo conveys a sense of proof of what actually happened. What is not included in the photograph, what lies outside the frame, is also a significant part of the framed image, informed by the viewer’s experience and knowledge of a larger context. In viewing these black and white photos of Pueblo dances, one can feel the echoing beat of drumming at the plaza, smell the aroma of piñon and juniper smoke from the fireplaces, and hear the laughter of nearby children.
“One day, while living in New Mexico in the late 1970s and 80s, I met the young photographer Kevin Bubriski who had moved here like so many of us coming from elsewhere,” tells the great photographer Bernard Plossu, himself author of a mythical book on Mexico – Le voyage mexicain (The mexican journey, 1979). “He showed me his prints of Nepal. I knew right away that he was a true photographer; good pictures have evidence that is immediate. He stayed, like many of us, for years, under the passion of what is called in this state ‘the land of enchantment’.”
One of the many captivating images in The New Mexicans is of the late Joe Garcia as a young man, with his wife and daughter. Taken during the annual feast day at Ohkay Owingeh, this probably records a short break for the dancers, a moment to catch up on staying hydrated during a smoldering mid-June afternoon. Joe’s daughter gladly partakes in sipping from a can of Shasta. Like many of these photographs, this image captures the innocence of this young Comanche Dancer with his family. Later in life, Joe would become Governor of his tribe and a national force in Indian Country. As an act of reciprocity, these photographs will serve as deep personal records for the families who view them and will in turn spark memories of private moments and public gatherings.
Other extraordinary photographs are those of Native men incarcerated at the New Mexico State Penitentiary, holding their annual powwow along with friends and family members. These photos capture a time and intimate space where cultural traditions are practiced, despite being within a restricted system. Powwow traditions are often intertribal and centered on community and family relations. Perhaps influenced by the signing of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act just a few years before in 1978, Native men and their families created a healing space as seen through photographs of dance and song. As a return to basic liberties, the Act allowed American Indians to practice and express their traditional religious rites and cultural practices. Native traditions, both social and within village settings, often serve as a time on their own to express a way of life. What is compelling is the level of access Bubriski pursued with his camera in hand.
“Many of us have spent years, even a lifetime, photographing the breathtaking landscapes,” says Bernards Plossu. “Bubriski reacted differently, he was concerned by the people, just like it had happened to him years before in Nepal. And little by little, he tried to capture the different lifestyles of this state, moving from South to North, from Santa Fe chic to real Albuquerque, up to Taos. He became what is called a ‘concerned photographer’ of this land. His pictures were patiently done along the years. Patience is one of the keys of good photographers: things visually happen to those who are ready all the time. So, pictures of free horses, of meaningful dances in Pueblos, of hip people bathing in the snow, of lowriders, of elegant people, men in ties, in social gatherings, of cowboys in rodeos, of musicians, guitars and accordions, of portraits of all his fellow photographers, of funerals, of joggers, etc.”
The 1980s were a pivotal time in this country and for New Mexicans, a time of transition, of vibrant and tumultuous social movements, a moment in which we stood on the brink of a new internet era that would change so much. Bubriski’s photographs capture this moment. Although they are black and white, their shadows and light exude a vivid sense of everyday people and communities full of color and life—even when those people aren’t included in the frame. The photograph of an abandoned Cadillac facing a pair of wooden crosses in Truchas sparks vivid memories and endless questions. An abandoned car may be an all-too-common sight in rural New Mexico, but the image grabs our attention and incites our curiosity. Who owned this vehicle? Did they have a family, and where did they travel in this boat-like car? What would have been playing on the radio? Did the car eventually become a shiny lowrider? Although seemingly abandoned on cinder blocks, this vehicle continues to have life through family memory and lore. Just ask any New Mexican about their most memorable road trip.
Photographs themselves can serve as vehicles, allowing us to revisit places and people and discover new truths. And a photograph can radically change how we think and feel. Kevin Bubriski’s photographs in The New Mexicans remind us of a spirit and place we call New Mexico, and they show us who we were and are.
The New Mexicans, 1981-83, from Kevin Bubriski, is published by Museum of New Mexico Press and available for $50.
