Art and writing about the possibility of the imagination to mobilise social change and environmental activism // Through a pop and cult culture approach.
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Monday, 21 November 2011
Bury my heart at Wounded Knee
Nebraska, 1868, The Great Father Ulysses Grant had signed the 'worthless' Black Hills over to the Indians froever, unaware of their richness in gold that grew from the grass roots down.
By 1972 however the miners were back, storming about searching the rocky passes and clear-running streams for that yellow that drove the white men crazy.
Soon enough the 'White Eyes' (Americans) wanted to buy back the Black Hills from the Indians. But the Black Hills were sacred - the home of the Gods and the place of visions and dreams, where the Great Spirit 'Wakan Tanka' was.
Following an attack by greedy American soldiers many of the Indian tribes fled to the Rosebud River. Soon the Hunkpapa tribe held their annual sun dance to bring in clear skies and sunrises from the east and cast away the black evil and danger that threatened them.
For a long time the brave Sioux warrior Crazy Horse had been waiting to test himself in battle again. He knew from a young age that the world men live in is but a shadow of the ‘real world’. To enter the ‘real world’ he had to dream. He had often been into the Black Hills to seek visions and ask for secret powers from the Great Spirit Wakantanka. Crazy Horse called these visions and dreams his ‘medicine’. In his dreams his horse seemed to dance as if wild or crazed.
