Within the hushed galleries of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe, a series of paintings captures the iconic Cerro Pedernal, a distinctive mesa in northern New Mexico. Artist Jason Garcia, a member of Santa Clara Pueblo (Kha’p’o Owingeh), has repeatedly rendered this geological landmark—known as "Flint Hill" in Spanish and Ts’í P’í­n in Tewa—from an identical vantage point. His interpretations range from minimalist studies to complex explorations of light and shadow, with at least two canvases depicting the mesa under the cloak of night. This deliberate repetition is more than an artistic exercise; it is an act of reclamation. Garcia, whose Tewa name is Okuu P’ín and who co-curated the exhibition, aims to display more of his visions of Ts’í P’í­n within the museum walls than Georgia O’Keeffe herself created in her lifetime; currently, he has installed 19 works. He envisions this ambitious project, eventually comprising over 30 depictions of Ts’í P’í­n, as a unified piece titled "Our Private Mountain."

These works are featured as part of "Tewa Nangeh/Tewa Country," an exhibition that thoughtfully juxtaposes the art of 12 Indigenous Tewa artists, scholars, and cultural custodians with the celebrated paintings of Georgia O’Keeffe. O’Keeffe’s evocative landscapes of the region have become so deeply embedded in the American consciousness that they often serve as the primary visual representation of northern New Mexico, eclipsing the enduring presence of its original inhabitants. Throughout her prolific career, O’Keeffe produced countless depictions of the Southwest, including flora, fauna, and architecture. However, it is her sweeping landscapes that have achieved the most enduring fame. This genre, much like her artistic output, often omitted human figures, fostering an impression of the region as an untouched, isolated expanse. Her portrayal of this desert landscape has been distilled into the widely recognized phrase, "O’Keeffe Country." This narrative, however, overlooks the lived reality: "Tewa people are still living on this land," Garcia emphasizes. "We still have our ancestral place names for pretty much all of Tewa country." He further asserts, "We’re still living within our four sacred mountains."

Despite these assertions of continuity and cultural depth, O’Keeffe’s interpretations continue to hold significant sway. In a 1977 interview with Newsweek, O’Keeffe referred to Ts’í P’í­n, which she simply called "the Pedernal," stating, "It’s my private mountain. It belongs to me. God told me that if I painted it enough, I could have it." This possessive perspective proved highly influential, shaping how an entire region is commonly perceived. The New Mexico Tourism Department even revived one of her quotes for a 2021 advertising campaign, featuring a voice-over proclaiming, "When I got to New Mexico, that was mine," accompanied by imagery of riders traversing the state’s iconic red rock formations.

In a significant move, the O’Keeffe Museum itself challenged this dominant narrative. The museum issued a statement disavowing the use of O’Keeffe’s quotes that characterized the New Mexico landscape as "her country" or claimed ownership, declaring, "While these quotes are from the artist, it is now clear that this is the language of possession, colonization, and erasure." This stance reflects a sustained period of institutional self-examination. In 2020, the museum hosted a panel discussion titled "This is Not O’Keeffe Country," which I had the privilege of moderating. The panel included Corrine Sanchez, executive director of Tewa Women United; Christina Castro, founder of Three Sisters Collective, an Indigenous and Pueblo-women-led organization based in Santa Fe; and Jason Garcia.

The "Tewa Nangeh/Tewa Country" exhibition represents a vital effort to counterbalance the lingering influence of O’Keeffe’s ubiquitous presence and the institutions that have leveraged her mystique. By showcasing the work of contemporary Tewa artists, the exhibition offers richer, more expansive reflections of Indigenous life and heritage, reminding viewers that O’Keeffe, for all her renown, was but one individual within the vast and intricate history of Tewa Nangeh.

Among the compelling works is This Land Carries Us, an experimental documentary by Charine Pilar Gonzales, a 2024 Sundance Institute Native Lab Fellow and a community-based filmmaker from San Ildefonso Pueblo. Gonzales’s film masterfully employs rich visual layering and stop-motion animation. One particularly striking scene opens with a stand of trees ablaze with the orange hues of autumn foliage under a setting sun. Superimposed upon this vibrant landscape are Polaroid photographs of elders, children, and traditional ceramics, weaving together generations and cultural artifacts. In her artist statement, Gonzales writes, "The visuals of this film reaffirm what has always been true: You cannot speak of Tewa land without also speaking of Tewa people."

This profound connection to place is echoed in Coming Home, a mural by Eliza Naranjo-Morse of Kha’p’o Owingeh. Naranjo-Morse applied clay gathered from across the region directly onto the gallery walls, depicting the view northward through the badlands and mesas of Tewa Country, a vista she observed during her drives home from Santa Fe. The artwork prompted her to contemplate, as she notes in her artist statement, "the understated but significant acts that maintain relationship to land, preserve the Tewa language and the values of respect and reciprocity with all life."

Other pieces in the exhibition address threats that are uniquely tied to New Mexico’s history and environment, notably the enduring impacts of climate change and nuclear weapons development. Michael Namingha, of Ohkay Owingeh and Hopi heritage, confronts these issues in his work Disaster #8. Here, a colossal cloud of smoke looms ominously over a mountain landscape. While the smoke is directly inspired by the devastating Hermits Peak/Calf Canyon Fire of 2022—the largest wildfire in New Mexico’s history—it also evokes the chilling imagery of nuclear mushroom clouds. Namingha’s piece engages in a direct dialogue with O’Keeffe’s 1945 painting Red with Yellow. Notably, 1945 marked the year scientists detonated the world’s first atomic bomb in a New Mexico desert area that the military had inaccurately deemed uninhabited. Both artists utilize a similar fiery palette of intense oranges and reds, but in Namingha’s hands, these colors serve as a stark reference to the Air Quality Index chart, symbolizing contemporary environmental and historical anxieties.

Some artworks offer direct critiques of O’Keeffe’s perceived territoriality over the landscape. Garcia’s series, Tewa Tales of Suspense, presents comic book-style clay tablets, each roughly the size of an iPad, crafted from naturally pigmented clay fired in his studio in Kha’p’o Owingeh. In one piece, O’Keeffe herself appears as a character, standing before Ts’í P’í­n. Dressed in her signature black wrap dress and hat, she is positioned behind a sign that reads "Welcome to O’Keeffe Country." However, the word "O’Keeffe" has been deliberately scratched out and replaced with "TEWA," a powerful visual assertion of Tewa sovereignty and presence.

The exhibition arrives at a critical juncture, amidst a broader national debate surrounding historical narratives and representation. Six years ago, the O’Keeffe Museum initiated its critical evaluation of O’Keeffe’s role in Indigenous erasure. Today, however, the national political climate has demonstrably shifted rightward, impacting discourse around cultural imagery. Last summer, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security shared John Gast’s infamous "American Progress" tableau, a depiction of Manifest Destiny, alongside a quote that resonated with white nationalist sentiments: "A Heritage to be proud of, a Homeland worth Defending." Concurrently, the Trump administration has enacted significant cuts to federal funding for public art institutions that champion diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives. Furthermore, Indigenous and minority-serving higher education programs, including the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, face potential funding reductions, as indicated by the administration’s proposed budget in April.

"We can and should do better and work from a place of care instead of violence, fear or racism," stated Bess Murphy, the O’Keeffe Museum’s Luce Curator of Art and Social Practice and co-curator of the exhibition alongside Garcia. Murphy highlighted the collaborative nature of the exhibition’s development, noting that the 12 featured artists were involved in every stage, from selecting O’Keeffe’s paintings for display to writing their own interpretive texts, which were subsequently copyedited by Dr. Beverly Singer, an Indigenous anthropologist from Santa Clara Pueblo. Garcia further elaborated that a map detailing the six Tewa pueblos, incorporating Tewa place names and ancestral villages, was also a collaborative creation.

This exhibition framework champions the principle of self-representation, offering artist- and community-led exhibitions that foster nuanced and educational dialogues. It provides a vital counterpoint to a region too long defined by external perspectives, asserting the enduring significance of Tewa voices and visions.