by Judith Altruda | Sep 23, 2024 | Portrait of Gene
State Capitol Dome (adjacent to the Governor’s mansion) Olympia WA. Photo by Marcy Merrill 2024
A few years ago, while seeking venues to host a traveling exhibit of Eugene Landry’s art, I contacted the director of a PNW museum whose mission is to “reassess the hierarchy of Northwest art history by advancing the work of women, minority, and other artists who historically [1860-1970] made substantial contributions to the region’s cultural identity.” It certainly seemed like Gene might qualify as one of those “hitherto neglected artists” the museum sought to recognize. I sent an email to the museum’s director with a link to this website and got a quick reply:
“…Unfortunately, I don’t think [ X museum] would be able to consider his work for an exhibition…portraiture of unknown people would not go over well with the general public.”
What a way to underestimate and devalue the general public! It made me ponder how women, minority and other artists were able to make “substantial contributions to the region’s cultural identity,” if they were “hitherto neglected?”
The director’s dismissal seemed counter to the museum’s mission statement, yet it was typical of the marginalization Gene Landry faced in his lifetime. As a Native American and a paraplegic, he faced enormous barriers as he pursued his artistic goal—of visibility. None of these obstacles, be it stairs blocking wheelchair access to art supply stores or curatorial gatekeepers stopped Gene from creating. Rejection did not deter him. For Gene, overcoming obstacles was a way of life.
In about 1962, after losing the use of his dominant hand through the negligence of attendants at an Indian Health Service facility, Gene returned to art school and started all over again, learning to draw and paint with his left hand. In the mid-60s he could often be found at Pioneer Square and other (then) downtrodden Seattle locations, drawing the “unknown” people of the street. He painted portraits of his tribal relations, friends, and wife Sharon. In addition to the portraits, Gene painted still lifes and landscapes reflecting the world around him. He had solo shows in the Puget Sound region and won awards at juried NW festivals. Against great odds, by age 30, Gene had become a practicing, professional artist. However, after his death in 1988, at age 50, Gene’s art had largely been forgotten by the world beyond his reservation.
Thirty years later, I uncovered a trove of his art in an attic. Despite decades of neglect, these paintings were survivors. Even in the darkness, through a film of dirt and mold, the faces of these “unknown people’ stirred me to action. Partnering with the Shoalwater Bay Tribe in 2019, we staged an exhibit of Eugene Landry’s art that opened (after two years of pandemic rescheduling) in 2021. Two years later, Gene’s art crossed the Columbia River to find acclaim in Astoria at the AVA, a non-profit gallery. Which opened the doors to two more exhibits, both opening this month in Washington State; one at the Governor’s Mansion in Olympia, and an extensive display at the Washington State History Museum in Tacoma. Hopefully the general public’s’ interest and appreciation of Eugene Landry will continue to grow, thanks to this recognition. We would like to see his exhibit eventually travel into other states—and maybe even the “other Washington.”
In the words of Margaret Cho, “The power of visibility can never be underestimated.”
Gene’s models for this collection, “Faces of Washington State” lived in Seattle, where he made his home between 1960-1968.
RECEPTION
On September 17th a grand reception hosted by the Governor’s Mansion Foundation, celebrated the work of four PNW artists/writers. Sharing a few photo highlights below. Gene’s work will be displayed in the public tour until 2026.
Program cover for the reception
Gene’s Shoalwater Bay and Quinault family members in attendance
Speeches and storytelling in the adjoining ballroom
Me with Washington State’s First Lady Trudi Inslee (L) When I thanked her for having us in her home, Trudi said, ‘Oh no, this is YOUR house.’
At the entrance to the Governor’s Mansion, L-R Leatta Anderson, Judith Altruda, Frank Shipman, Lynn Clark, Davin Culp. Photo by Marcy Merrill
by Judith Altruda | Jul 4, 2022 | Portrait of Gene
L: Kenneth “Poggie” Baker, 82, “showing the ropes” to a new generation. Raleigh Anderson, 20, gets an education in fireworks-and tribal history- while working in Baker’s warehouse.
On a late June morning at Shoalwater Bay, Kenneth “Poggie” Baker rode his motorized “Jazzy” scooter along the shoulder of Highway 105, against traffic. An American flag fluttered behind him as he lumbered along, cap pulled low over his face to keep out the sun. The 82-year-old entrepreneur headed to work, passing seven firework stands in the half mile between the casino and Chief Charley’s Smoke Shop. There, he crossed the road and motored to his “office”; a huge garage stuffed with cases of pyrotechnics.
Baker’s helper, tribal member Raleigh Anderson, checks the inventory: Excalibur, Chicken on a Chain, One Bad Mother, Loyal to None, “cakes” “backpacks” “canisters” and more. Throughout the day, firework stand owners will stop by to replenish their stock. Business is brisk as July 4th approaches.
Almost 60 years ago, Baker and his extended family opened one of the first Indian reservation firework stands in Washington State.
“My aunt, Myrtle Landry, her son Gene [Eugene Landry] and her husband Fred came up with the idea,” the elder says. “They got everybody involved.” It was 1965. Five family members invested $500 apiece to buy inventory. “Reginald Hunter and I drove a truck down to Canby, Oregon and filled it full of fireworks.”
Baker’s brother in law, Reginald Hunter, riding atop Myrtle Landry’s Cadillac, 1979
They parked their 1950 Chevy pickup in an open field on the reservation. Their open-air display was set up on “a couple of saw horses with planks across them.” Their inventory was limited: M80s, red white and blue firecrackers, bottle rockets, fire crackers and fountains. Baker still remembers their first sale, to “four young guys in a yellow VW bug. They spent over $100. That was a lot of fireworks.” (Back then, firecrackers sold for a penny apiece.)
They sold out the first day and got another truckload. They did this several times, and then bought a trailer-full of inventory.
The next year they built two stands. Eugene Landry designed a mural for one of the stands. “It looked like a sunrise with red white and blue beams,” Baker recalled. “Gene was at the stand every day. He counted the money. It was Gene’s idea to raise the price of firecrackers to 4 cents.”
Brothers and partners: Dennis Baker (L) and “Poggie” Baker (L) 1965.
As the big holiday drew near, customers “came out of the woodwork.” They usually sold out before Independence Day. On July 4th, “We’d have a family show. We built a big fire out by the road; put a big pot on it, boiled hot dogs and had pop or beer for whoever wanted to stop by. It was a lot of fun.”
But there were also challenges from the Feds and the State.
In the mid-1970s, Baker got a call from a friend who worked at the State Capitol, who warned that US Marshals were heading to Shoalwater Bay to raid their stands. “We removed most of the inventory, just left a small amount on the shelves. Everybody was sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for them to arrive, even the kids.” Two Federal Marshals pulled up in an unmarked car. “One guy sat there with his hand on his gun. The man who came to the stand wore a pistol. He said they were here to confiscate our illegal fireworks. I asked to see his ID.”
The Marshall seized all the firecrackers and bottle rockets, but “had to leave the smoke balls because they weren’t illegal.” After the officer piled everything up, he asked Baker for a bag. “I told him no.” The elder chuckled. “Then he asked for a box… The answer was negative.” State Senator Slade Gorton sent Baker a letter, “telling me I was a communist-or Un-American. I wrote back and said I had a right to sell fireworks here, we are a sovereign nation.”
Baker mused, “I always thought it would be nice to have a painting of an Indian in a fireworks stand and a marshal with his hand on his gun, and three little kids peaking around the corner at them. Who was that guy who used to do all the Americana?
“Norman Rockwell?”
“Yeah. That would have been a hell of a Rockwell.”
Tires crunched on gravel as a truck backed up to the warehouse. Baker put his coffee cup down. He would have to continue his story later. Independence Day was just around the corner.
Originally published in the July 2021 Shoalwater Bay Tribal Newsletter. (Updated for 2022.)