
Marlena Myles, âDakota 38 + 2 Prayer Horseâ (2017) (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)
ST. PAUL, Minnesota â Thereâs something about having a president who openly promotes hate and fear that makes a country reconsider its foundational values. We are the society that created Trump, that created Dylann Roof, that opened the door for a white supremacist madman to drive his car into a street full of protesters. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Perci Chester, âOld Soles with Holesâ (2015)
So itâs time to go back to the drawing board. What are we teaching our children in schools? What are the statues that tower over us in public places? What is the art that visitors see in museums? And if these cultural artifacts embedded in our institutions donât lay the right framework for creating the open, respectful society we want, perhaps itâs time to do some rethinking.
Itâs in this context that the Minnesota Museum of American Art presents We the People, a group exhibition organized by four curators who each grapple with the question of how to reshape our American social contract. The show follows up on a similar investigation the museum undertook two years ago when it presented American Art: Itâs Complicated.
Like the earlier exploration, We the People takes an intersectional approach to the question of what makes American art, but this time around, the curators push things a little further in the direction of art with a message and protest art, with many pieces that grapple not only with American identity but with an all-out call for revolution.

Bobby Wilson, âDakota War Coat and Shirtâ (2017)
Unsurprisingly, thereâs a strong Native American presence in the show, with works that reflect on Standing Rock, Native American mascots, and the recent local controversy surrounding Sam Durantâs âScaffoldâ that was briefly erected at the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, before protests against the Walker Art Center prompted its disposal.
The Twin Cities is a hotbed for Native artists, with at least six galleries that feature either specifically Native American artists or indigenous artists from the Americas more broadly. Two of the four curators for We the People are based in these indigenous communities. Maggie Thompson runs Two Rivers Gallery in Minneapolis, which features Native American artists, and Mary Anne Quiroz is part of the Indigenous Roots Cultural Arts Center, which features Latinx and indigenous artists as well as artists of color.

JosuĂŠ Rivas, âStanding Strongâ (2016)
For this exhibit, both curators chose artists who represent current struggles that face Native people. Among Quirozâs selections are Josue Rivasâs âStanding Strongâ (2016), a stark photograph of a scarf-wrapped figure standing on top of a hill, with an encampment in the background. The image captures the harsh conditions that faced the water protectors for months as they camped on the banks of Cannon Ball River in hopes that they could stop the Dakota Access Pipeline from being installed.

Cannupa Hanska, âThe Weapon is Sharing (This Machine Kills Fascists)â (2017)
Cannupa Hanskaâs âThe Weapon Is Sharing (This Machine Kills Fascists)â (2017), selected by Thompson, offers a bit of a tongue-in-cheek take on the ephemeral nature of documentation, particularly within a resistance movement. Hanska transfers what appear to be cell-phone photographs of Standing Rock onto ceramic tiles, giving the social mediaâtype images permanence and critiquing the notion of art that âstands the tests of time,â suggesting that a snapshot holds just as much value as a more permanent structure.
That tension â whether a political piece of art can last beyond a particular moment in time â does present itself as a problem in some of the works selected. Beyond a piece of art losing its relevance once a current event is no longer current, thereâs a danger that work focused solely on one issue can come to lack nuance. For example, Marlena Mylesâs swirling digital-vector print, âDakota 38 + 2 Prayer Horseâ (2017), which takes on Sam Durantâs âScaffoldâ sculpture, feels a bit flat, especially since that issue has been, for the most part, resolved.
Holly Youngâs âNative Nations Risingâ (2017), meanwhile, nods to historical uses of ledger paper to create Native American art. Young depicts three figures wearing long skirts and holding umbrellas, each with some element in their outfits that shows off their Native identity. The figures face away from the viewer, looking toward a Native American protester across the street and, farther off, a national monument occupied by tipis. Like Mylesâs work, this piece feels like a document of a moment, though Youngâs is less specifically placed on a single issue.

Holly Young, âNative Nations Risingâ (2017)
Johnnay Leenayâs contributions as curator bring personal reflections by artists within the realm of political art. Many of Leenayâs selections are LGBTQ artists, which, perhaps inherent in issues revolving around those identities, draw on intimate stories of the self and relationships. Dustin Yagerâs âUntitled (Trash Can)â (2015) includes a life-sized porcelain garbage can with a drawing of a gay couple on the outside. It stands in front of a mirror, with a roll of paper hung to one side. Thereâs a note instructing visitors to write a letter to a past, current, or future lover â and then throw it away in the bin. The piece navigates vulnerability, exploring a kind of banal cruelty that comes with romantic relationships. Yagerâs work is more personal than political, though perhaps even in our postâsame sex marriage era, centering a gay couple is itself political.

Josh Schutz, âSomething for Everyoneâ (2017)
Similarly, âSomething for Everyoneâ (2017), Josh Schutzâs erotic tower of porcelain sacs (they look vaguely like condoms filled with sand, or perhaps male organs, though more squishy), promotes a âweâre here, weâre queerâ kind of message. More than that, Shutz enters into a titillating exercise with the viewer, due to the sexual nature of the monument.
The final curator, Christopher Harrison, adds an element of abstraction into the mix, choosing works that investigate form as much as content. Tia-Simone Gardnerâs installation âSlap!â (2017) features the frame of a screen door standing about a foot in front of a large piece of paper, where a reverse shadow of the door is apparent, plus added textures of perhaps a crocheted table cloth. The work evokes notions of home and safety but also hints at violence. James Maurelleâs intriguing sculpture, âNileâ (2014), constructs copper pipes into a stately form. He transforms objects that usually lie beneath the earth into a moment of beauty, and in doing so, alludes to the labor associated with people than install and clean such pipes. Itâs as if he is attempting to upend hierarchies with his work.

Tia-Simone Gardner, âSlap!â (2017)
Like American Art: Itâs Complicated, We the People doesnât offer a definitive answer to what being in American society is supposed to look like. Rather, the four curators ask viewers to reflect on the somewhat messy task of engaging with American discourse through an intersectional lens. In the end, thereâs no one answer, but rather an open dialogue from different perspectives.
We the People continues at Minnesota Museum of American Art (141 East 4th Street, Suite 101, St. Paul,) through October 29.