Luther Standing Bear 1868-1939, 

one-time chief of the Oglaga Sioux

Three Extracts from his Writings

1) The character of the Indian's emotion left little room in his heart for antagonism toward his fellow creatures. For the Lakota (one of the three branches of the Sioux Nation), mountains, lakes, rivers, springs, valleys, and the woods were all in finished beauty. Winds, rain, snow, sunshine, day, night, and change of seasons were endlessly fascinating. Birds, insects, and animals filled the world with knowledge that defied the comprehension of man.

The Lakota was a true naturalist - a lover of Nature. He loved the earth and all things of the earth, and the attachment grew with age. The old people came literally to love the soil and they sat or reclined on the ground with a feeling of being close to a mothering power.

It was good for the skin to touch the earth, and the old people liked to remove their moccasins and walk with bare feet on the sacred earth.

Their tipis were built upon the earth and their altars were made of earth. The birds that flew in the air came to rest upon the earth, and it was the final abiding place of all things that lived and grew. The soil was soothing, strengthening, cleansing, and healing.

2) We did not think of the great open plains, the beautiful rolling hills and winding streams with tangled growth as "wild."

Only to the white man was nature a "wilderness" and only to him was the land "infested" with "wild" animals and "savage" people.

To us it was tame. Earth was bountiful and we were surrounded with the blessings of the Great Mystery. Not until the hairy man from the east came and with brutal frenzy heaped injustices upon us and the families we loved was it "wild" for us.

When the very animals of the forest began fleeing from his approach, then it was that for us the "Wild West" began.

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3) I left reservation life and my native people, the Oglala Sioux, because I was no longer willing to endure existence under the control of an overseer. For about the same number of years I had tried to live a peaceful and happy life; tried to adapt myself and make re-adjustments to fit the white man’s mode of existence. But I was unsuccessful. I developed into a chronic disturber. I was a bad Indian, and the agent and I never got along. I remained a hostile, even a savage, if you please. And I still am. I am incurable.

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Beginning tomorrow at

NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL ART

http://nowthatswhaticallart.blogspot.com

PAINTINGS BY EUGENE DE BLAAS

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