Looming before us is “Sacred Rain Arrow,” a monumental statue by Allan Houser, the foremost Native American artist of the 20th century and the first Native American awarded the National Medal of Arts.
Here at the Allan Houser Sculpture Park and Gallery at Haozous Place just south of Santa Fe, New Mexico, the bronze stands 8-feet high and 5-feet wide. And, it soars ever more skyward anchored atop a thick stone pedestal surrounded at its base by hefty, earth-colored boulders.
My hiking boots crunch gravel and kick up fine sand from the Chihuahuan Desert on the winding pathway as I approach. “Sacred Rain Arrow” is one of some 75 sculptures punctuating this remote desert landscape ringed with distant mountains, and is perhaps Houser’s most widely published bronze work.
I shade my eyes with my outstretched hand, and crane my neck.
The figure is formidable and evocative – an Apache warrior, young, muscled, and virile, yet all the while exuding a quiet dignity. He aims an arrow toward the heavens.
The lore that informed the piece was probably never written down. Most likely, generations of storytellers passed the legend on orally, and perhaps even communicated through dance. It goes something like this: the warrior’s tribe sent him to a medicine man, who blessed his bow and arrows. Then the warrior knelt down and launched his arrow to convey to the Spirit World the tribe’s prayer for rain.
Without apology, I’m glad the warrior’s mission has failed, for the moment anyway. Overhead is a sweep of nearly cloudless, azure skies. Breezes are brisk. The mid-morning sun determinedly illuminates and warms these expansive, arid grounds, dramatically showering Houser’s monumental sculptures in brilliant natural light.
David Rettig, curator of corporate collections who knew Houser for 20 years, is leading me and my husband, Bill, on a private tour of this garden-like sculpture park. David relates the story of the pioneering, prolific life and international renown and acclaim of Allan Capron (Haozous) Houser with unbridled enthusiasm and respect.
“The fact that Allan Houser was a Native American was so basic,” David says. “He was so talented and spent all his time doing art. He was the most widely recognized Native American artist ever and that probably ever will be.”
Becoming Allan Houser
Allan Houser forged a uniquely personal and original design aesthetic and body of work marrying the figurative and the abstract. He mastered every sculptural medium – stone, marble, limestone, alabaster, fabricated steel, bronze, clay, and plaster. He also painted, sketched, and carved. His artistic output numbered in the untold thousands.
As Allan Houser said, “One of the good things is creating something that you’ve never seen before.”
Proud of his Native American heritage, he drew inspiration from his strong tribal traditions. He absorbed influences from other artists, too, among them Frederick Remington, famous for depicting the Old West, and iconic contemporary modernists such as Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth.
Allan Houser’s parents, Sam and Blossom Haozous, were members of the Chiracahua Apache tribe, hunter-gatherers who roamed from northern Mexico to New Mexico. Sam’s father was first cousin of the legendary Apache leader Geronimo, who surrendered to the U.S. Army in 1886 after years of resistance and exile. Geronimo’s followers were imprisoned, and Sam was among those jailed in St. Augustine, Florida. Blossom was born in a prison camp in Alabama.
Both Sam and Blossom were sent to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and remained prisoners there for 20 years. Finally granted their freedom in 1913, they chose to stay and farm close to Fort Sill. In 1914, Allan Houser was born – the first child in his family born out of captivity.
Houser’s story echoes the country’s saddening history of racism and mistreatment of Native Americans. Despite those hardships, it was clear early on that he was blessed with and followed a muse, his destiny set.
As a child, Allan Houser made small sculptures from bars of soap and other found materials. He taught himself to draw. At age 20, he enrolled in the painting studio at Santa Fe Indian School and became its most widely recognized student. Soon, he had a solo exhibition of watercolors at the Museum of New Mexico, art displayed at the Art Institute of Chicago, and a commission from the Department of Interior to paint large-scale murals for its headquarters in Washington, D.C.
Amazingly, with no formal training as a sculptor – “He was given some tools and he just did it,” David says – Allan Houser launched a new phase of his career with “Comrade in Mourning,” a memorial in Carrera marble commissioned in tribute to fallen Native American soldiers during World War II. He taught at the Inter-Mountain School in Utah, and joined the faculty of the American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, all the while producing and perfecting his art.
He retired from teaching at age 61 to focus on art. He died in 1994.
His pieces have graced countless exhibitions, retrospectives, museums, public and private collections, and venues worldwide, among them: the United Nations and Smithsonian Institution in the U.S, Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris, the Royal Collections of England and Japan, the 2002 Winter Olympics, and the New Mexico Governor’s Mansion.
Strolling through the Allan Houser Sculpture Park
The sculpture park, part of the 100-acre compound the Houser family owns, is both a showcase and principal sales venue for a veritable menagerie of masterpieces. In addition, the site features an indoor gallery, an archives housing many of Houser’s art objects and personal artifacts, and a visitors center for tours and events.
The site has added cachet. Not only does it present a lifetime of work, but it’s also the setting where Allan Houser maintained his studio during his later years. At that time, reads a boulder-mounted plaque, his sculptures focused on abstract, geometric forms, in which he perfected the use of sheet steel and bronze and the technique of fabrication.
In the Apache language, Allan Houser’s last name at birth, Haozous, describes both the sound and sensation of tugging a plant from the earth and the point when the earth gives way. What an ironic and apt metaphor for the artist’s creative process – the push and pull of effort and resistance, the movement toward transition and transformation, until his visions emerged.
The trail through the outdoor sculpture park is purposely meandering and inviting. The setting, fashioned organically for thoughtful exploration, observation, and contemplation, is serene.
David leads us single-file through the formal entrance – an Anasazi-inspired doorway shaped like a keyhole, with Houser-designed emblems on either side. The reason behind this ancient people’s architecture is uncertain – perhaps strictly ceremonial or a means of defense. Either way, the space is tight. I squeeze through sideways.
Twisted junipers and scrubby chamisa shrubs, refuges for small lizards randomly darting between my footsteps, are placed just so to form natural barriers that tend to preclude clear views of the sculptures ahead. The effect is a slow, teasing reveal that whets my anticipation. Coming at last upon each sculpture fully in its own designated clearing, where art and nature are one, feels to me like a long-awaited discovery.
We pass by “Spirit of the Mountains.” Legend has it that a wandering tribe left an ill child in a cave and sealed it shut. When the tribe returned during the next migration, they found the child alive and healthy – proof, they believed, of the Mountain Spirit’s benevolence.
We meet up with “When Friends Meet,” Houser’s minimalistic rendition of the three graces of Greek mythology. We study “Warm Springs Apache Man,” and he stares back at us. We glance up at “May We Have Peace,” a Native American with welcoming arms outstretched and cradling a peace pipe.
In the center of the dance grounds, stands “Abstract Crown Dancer I,” which Houser produced from 159 pieces of sheet metal cut out and welded together. Amazingly, the look is seamless.
We admire the sleek, smooth contours of “Earth Mother.” We stoop to marvel at the free-flowing forms of “Spirit House.” “Homeward Bound,” with its depiction of goats and sheep, speaks to the Navaho lifestyle of animal herding. “Affection” is clearly reminiscent of Rodin’s “The Kiss,” a sensual embrace of two lovers. An unexpected glimpse through the heart of “Buffalo (Limestone)” affords a sneak peek at “Back and Forth Dance” in the distance.
Around a bend, we encounter a solid block of Italian marble that stood in Houser’s studio when he died. The juxtaposition of this stone with his finished works, all of them so moving in scale, subject matter, and style, is intriguing. Even in its untouched state, the slab bears the look of sculpture. In a momentary flight of fancy, I sense some kind of pulsating life force confined within. Nevertheless, it seems resigned, maybe even content, to remain there.
I wonder what exquisite form Allan Houser would have coaxed from this earthen medium. What narrative he wanted to tell. What connection he would have forged with the viewer. Seemingly endless possibilities remain forever unrealized and open to endless speculation.
The marble spurs my imagination as well with what Allan Houser regrettably could not bring to fruition…a tantalizing takeaway from the Allan Houser Sculpture Park and Gallery.
