Jonathan Macagba

Almost Us: Photography and Native American Identity

Unlike much of European colonial portraiture, where indigenous peoples were

clearly portrayed and exoticized as the other because they were, in a truly physical sense,

outside of the immediate experiential reach of colonizing nations and their peoples,

Native American photographic portraiture is arguably different. The close proximity of

European Americans and their Native American counterparts allowed for daily economic

and social interactions that were not possible between European nations and their distant

colonies, and further complicated the “colonizing role” of photography in an American

context. North American tribal lands were taken forcibly, via coercion, or through treaties

to be part of United States proper (as opposed to a distant, colonized land, in the case of

European colonization). And, later, the people themselves, as a result of the Dawes Act of

1887, went through a period of forced assimilation through government funded schools

and programs.

Richard Henry Pratt, the founder of the Carlisle School, one of the schools whose

main purpose was to “assimilate” Native Americans, expressed a common belief at the

time that to “kill the Indian (is to) save the man” (qtd. in Montez de Oca & Prado 146).

The dual role of photography in the United States to both other Native American peoples

and to show them as almost us can be seen in and traced through the vast collection of

visual records taken of, and later by, Native American peoples since the middle of the

nineteenth century.

The Sympathetic Colonizer

The North American Indian is a massive twenty volume collection of

ethnographic text and images (2,500 photographs out of a total of over 40,000 images)

taken over a nearly thirty period from 1896 to1930 of over eighty North American tribes

west of the Mississippi River (Prins 892). Edward Curtis, the self-taught photographer

who conceived of, embarked on, and occasionally self-funded the project expressed a

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desire to create a “comprehensive and permanent record of all the important tribes… that

still retain to a considerable degree their primitive conditions and traditions” (qtd. in

Kennedy 2). Curtis’ commitment to this extensive project cannot be understated as his

attention to detail extended not only to photographic records and detailed textual

descriptions, but also to filming a feature length movie, and recording hundreds of audio

recordings of Indian songs on wax rolls (Prins 892).

Curtis’ photographic collection, and the conception of and reasoning behind the

project itself, is representative of the complexity and difficulties inherent in the portrayal

of Native American individuals and groups, particularly by (dominant) Europe American

photographers with commercial or ethnographic interests. Curtis’ dual, and conflicting,

interests to both sell his prints (to white buyers), while pictorially portraying his subjects

with “a certain respect and dignity” (Andrews 3) brought about allegations that he often

“faked authenticity for the sake of romantic appeal, [and has led to the fact that] few

scholars have seriously considered him as one of visual anthropology’s forerunners”

(Prins 892). Appealing both to European and (non-native) American desires to view and

purchase “stereotypical images of North American Indians as the ‘Vanishing Race’”

partly because of “society’s infatuation [at the time] with romantic primitivism” (892),

Curtis’s sympathetic images could be viewed at as a type of paternalistic portrayal of

Native Americans, and no different than the type of othering that could be found in

colonial photography elsewhere in the world. Indeed, in a 1964 article in Montana: The

Magazine of Western History, Ralph Andrews belauding of Curtis as someone who

“approached these people as a friend, worked with them as with children, and above all,

did not treat them as curiosities, to be exploited or ashamed” (4, italics mine) sums up the

inherent problem with “dignified” indigenous photography. This type of romantic

portrayal of indigenous groups often serves to inadvertently confirm already existing

stereotypes, and support dominant European narratives:

The North American Indian, it is argued, cannot extricate itself from the binary logic of savagism and civilization that underwrites narratives of Native demise, or vanishing, as well as the historical self-assurance of white culture. (Zamir 615)

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Figure 1: The Scout’s Report — Atsina

Despite Curtis’ attempts at authenticity, his frequent use of Hollywood-style staging and poses (he worked for several movie studios in Los Angeles including several Tarzan movies) makes it difficult to separate out

ethnographic or photojournalistic realism from his “staged authenticity.”

 

Figure 2: A Cree Canoe on Lac Les Isles

Curtis took great pains to write detailed captions that aimed to record what he considered to be quickly vanishing traditions, and described as many details (in a somewhat dramatic fashion for the most part) in his

photographs, including objects that seem like peripheral parts of his images. In this image he describes the material used (birch bark) to build the canoe depicted in the picture.

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Early Years

Compared to Curtis’ more sympathetic photographs, earlier Native American

images were often no different than other colonial portraits of “noble savages.” While all

images produced in this era were in the “European style” with emulated poses and seating

arrangements that were “self-consciously Victorian” (Bush & Mitchell xxi), facial

characteristics that were perceived to be exotic and exaggerated, i.e. non-European facial

features such as longer hair, darker skin, and more pronounced noses are featured

prominently in the photographs (in the case of Figure 3, accomplished with a side view).

 

Figure 3: I’-Sta-Sta’-Pa, Black Eye, an Upper Yanktonaois (undated) (Bush and Mitchell 67)

In images featuring both European Americans and Native Americans, the seating

arrangements, and even the props that were used, made it clear who the dominant group

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is. In Figure 4, note how the lone Caucasian man is the only one seated on an armchair,

with the Ute delegation seated around him in a classic Victorian style, where children are

often seated around their parents, complete with a child’s hand on the father figure.

 

Figure 4: Ute Delegation (undated) (Bush and Mitchell 115)

The Almost Us Years

While American groups were clearly exoticized and othered by early European

American photographers, a late nineteenth century project to assimilate indigenous

American groups—starting with the “forced assimilation era” from the 1870s to the

1930s (Montez de Oca & Prado 58)—changed or, rather, added to how indigenous

groups were portrayed. This period was characterized by government policies such as the

General Allotment Act of 1887 (The Dawes Act), which forced Native Americans to

switch from kinship based cultures comprised of “extended indigenous families into

male-dominant, nuclear families, modeled after middle-class, Anglo-American

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households” which dissolved tribal based lands and creating “individual homesteads” to

“cultivate their attachment to American society, which encouraged individualism and

materialism” (Stremlau 265, 266). Large multi-tribal boarding schools were also created

as a “humane strategy of forced assimilation” (Montez de Oca & Prado 146) which

replaced the “explicit violence of conquest to the cultural violence of schooling” (147).

The result is a strange, and forced attempt to both separate Native Americans as

the other, and to portray them as Christianized or as “domesticated” (Stremlau 266)

populations. Images from these schools were often created and presented as before-and-

after images, and were meant to be consumed by the American public as photographic

proof of the success of the U.S. government’s attempt at forced integration (Bush &

Mitchell 86).

 

 

Figure 5: Transformation: Recruits for school on arrival at government school, Santa Fe, New Mexico by A.P. Nelson, ca. 1886 (Bush & Mitchell 92).

This is a typical “before” picture used to portray a group of new recruits as bedraggled (and naked) savages.

I presume that the image is supposed to invoke pity, although probably not for being forcefully separated from their tribes and families.

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Figure 6: Indian girls at the government school, Sta. Fe (One week after arrival) by AP. Nelson, ca. 1886 (Bush & Mitchell 93)

The same group of girls in “proper” Western clothes taken a few weeks later. Note that they are in front of a

house this time (a sign of civilization) vs. in front of some bushes in the previous, “before” photo. They are also seated on chairs instead of on the ground, as in the “before” image.

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Figure 7: Training to be cobblers in Oregon by Isaac G. Davidson, b. 1845, undated (Bush & Mitchell 96)

It is telling that the type of education Native Americans were given were not only purposely Westernized

(e.g. the making and repair of Western shoes) but were lower trades that are meant to serve the needs of the dominant population.

The Seeds of Photographic Identity

The invention of the camera, and subsequent technological developments that

gave rise to easily reproducible photographic images, coincided with the nineteenth

century’s popular acceptance, some say obsession (see Poole), of physiognomy—the

belief that one’s character or inner “essence” could be determined from biological

features, i.e. the face—and proved to be perfectly suited to a “science” that was used to

rationalize existing power relations within European society (between classes, or against

outsider groups, i.e. “criminals”), and used as a pretext for nineteenth century colonial

domination and imperial expansion in Asia, Africa, and the Americas.

Physiognomic manuals and handbooks “flooded Europe in the mid-nineteenth

century” and were commonly used as “easy guidelines and rules with which to discern

the true inner character of a new acquaintance, old friend, or prospective employee”

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(Poole 110). Even Dr. Duchenne de Boulogne—the scientist who conducted experiments

wherein facial expressions were shown to be externally manipulable by performing

moderate electric shocks to patients’ faces (Figure 8)—believed, as did his fellow

scientists and the population in general, that “the spirit is the source of the expression”

(Caton 1019).

Figure 5

Beyond one’s “character” and “spirit”, other physiognomic manuals also were

used to distinguish a person’s “class origins” or social standing (Poole 110). This deep

seated belief in outward appearances reflecting essentialist notions of a person’s “true

inner character” elevated the camera’s standing in nineteenth century European society.

Photography’s ability to permanently record, freeze, and physically display and distribute

“accurate” portrayals of the human body and face began to be used as rapidly and

extensively as the new technology would allow.

The Carte de Visite

While a long history of portrait miniatures (small, and meticulously hand-painted

portraits) had already been established since the sixteenth century (Rooseboom & Rudge

292), the invention and rapid development of photography, i.e. the negative and (easily

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reproducible) paper positive, gave rise to their cheaper photographic equivalent, the

photographic “calling card”, or carte de visite. This new format, portable images that

were easy to produce, share, and store, were being used widely, enjoying “wildfire

popularity” (Perry 729), and by the 1860s were “big business” (Caton 1019) with cartes

de visites of family, friends, and celebrities—nearly 4 million images of Victoria were

sold in a two year period (1019)—being “collected in albums, exchanged among friends,

and shown off as evidence of the breadth—and quality—of an individual’s circle of

acquaintances” (Poole 109).

The rise of “cartomania” (Caton 1019) came hand in hand with the “physiognomy

craze” (Poole 110), and created unique conditions and meanings around photography that

probably wouldn’t have happened if the camera (as we know it) were invented a couple

of centuries before or after the nineteenth century. Deborah Poole writes that

physiognomy’s “emphasis on physical appearances as the clue to an invisible inner worth

… offered a ready-made vocabulary for interpreting the popular new photographic

portraits” (111).

The carte de visite became an object of exchange and public display that

“reflected the needs and aspirations of the bourgeois” and stood as “testimony to their

social standing and material achievements” (Poole 111). And with this new “act of

posing” for a photograph, “the process of self-presentation to the camera (becomes) a

complex psychic and social operation by which we (come to) transform ourselves from

subjects into objects” (Perry 733). Figure 9 shows a typical Victorian family portrait

taken around the 1860s with the father and mother seated and surrounded by their

children. In many of these photographs, the children have their hand rested on the

shoulders of their parents.

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Figure 6: The Griffiths. Ca. 1860 (Griff)

        In a similar photograph taken around the same time, a clearly more awkward

grouping of Caucasians and Native Americans (Figure 10) shows a white couple

surrounded by Native Americans, and posed in the same way that a European bourgeois

couple would be shown surrounded by their children (complete with the trusting hands on

the shoulders of their “parents”). Without the context of European carte de visites, and

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their established visual cues and pictorial hierarchies, this image, could be easily

misinterpreted as a tribe surrounding a captured Caucasian couple.

 

 

Figure 7: Indians and Whites Photographer unknown. ca. 1860s (Hathaway 19)

                                                                                               

Photography and the Other

Photography’s role in objectifying Europe’s in-groups had the inverse, but related,

role in identifying and classifying those that didn’t fit into proper European society, i.e.

criminals. Alphonse Bertillon and Francis Galton created photographic systems and

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apparatuses that reduced human identity to a measurable system (Bertillon, Figure 11)

and essentialist typologies (Galton) that were used to measure, archive, and classify

criminals in French and English society.

 Figure 8

By the beginning of the twentieth century, the use of Bertillon’s machine and his

method of identifying criminals had already been in widespread use. One could argue that

the “typical” Bertillon layout, i.e. a head shot composed of a frontal view of the head on

the left, with a side view on the right panel, had become associated with images of those

outside of the proper society. This type of photography (Figure 12) would not have been

used in a typical bourgeois carte de visite, for example, although they did share a similar

(conventional) approach to portraiture as the “cookie-cutter” (Perry 730) pictorial

aesthetic of the carte de visite.

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 Figure 9

These photographs were methodically filed—later with careful measurements and

descriptions—into what is possibly the first facial recognition system (Pavlich 174),

a system that “reduced ‘human identity to a language of notation which could be

organized and accessed at will’” (Cole, qtd. in Pavlich 177).

Francis Galton, who coined the term and founded the eugenics movement—a

social philosophy based on a belief in inheritable positive and negative traits (“positive

eugenics” and “negative eugenics”), and whose goal and purpose was to “improve the

quality of the human race (through) selective breeding” (World English Dictionary)—

also had a system to classify criminals, believing in the “hereditary disposition” of

criminal behavior (Pavlich 174). In Galton’s case, his photographic apparatus was meant

to find the “typical” facial features of a criminal “type” through the use of composite

imagery. The second row of images in Figure 13 show facial differences in terms of class

by differentiating composites between officers and foot soldiers.

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 Figure 10

As there is already a deep-seated belief around this time that “criminality” is not

only hereditary, but outwardly manifested in the human face, the presuppositions behind

Galton’s system—including the pictorial representability of character, class, intelligence

and other essentialist characteristics—created a widely distributed form of pictorial

“cues” that was used by those in power to express, maintain, and assert existing and

desired power structures and relations. The images, therefore, served to create a referent

of the other or the extremes in society in order to normalize existing class relations and

were eventually used to validate nineteenth century colonial oppression and

expansionism, including establishing a pictorial language in how Native Americans in the

US were depicted. The nineteenth century obsession with racial classification was the natural

extension of early anthropologists’ and naturalists’ desire to “prove the evolution from

primitive to complex societies” (Zamorano 429). This necessitated the creation of a

“general notion of racial type” wherein European “scientists and travelers developed

photographic methodologies as part of anthropometric research from the 1880s to the

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early 20th century” (430). Bertillon himself used his own system of identification in

1882, and published a book on “savage races” with the physical anthropologist, Paul

Broca (431).

An important point that must be made is that while these photographic projects

were conducted under the guise of scientific knowledge, the power of the gaze was held

solely by European colonizers. In fact, one could argue that while this new photographic

apparatus could have been easily acquired and used by the more affluent and powerful

individuals in these colonized populations, there have been no recorded instances (that I

know of from my own research) where a party from colonized countries, e.g. India,

China, Bolivia, Algeria, embarked on a European expedition to photographically record

and measure European facial and biometric characteristics in order to conduct their own

experiments to validate European findings. The assumption of European racial

superiority ensured that the control and direction of much of these “scientific” studies

went in a single direction.

As late as 1925, during Robert Gordon’s photographic and filmed study of

Namibian “bushmen”(the Denver African Expedition), Gordon was clearly aware of this

fact and remarked that “the photographic gaze is about power and domination and

submission… The dominators call the shots. They did and do still” (qtd. in Ranger 170).

Like much of colonial photography, the photographs from the Denver Expedition were

produced (and staged) to express and continue this narrative of European racial

differentiation and superiority:

The expedition, setting out to depict bushmen as a ‘missing link’ and to emphasize their difference from all other men and women, chose very small people and ignored taller ones; chose undressed rather than dressed; chose people with wild animals rather than people with domesticated ones. Thus bushmen were thoroughly ‘othered’. (Ranger 170) Indigenous peoples were often depicted naked or “in leaves” (Chaudhary 6)—an

attempt to give the photographs “a more scientific character” (Zamorano 440)—or

dressed in simplified “types” of native dress (440) that couldn’t have been recognizable

or differentiated by their European viewers and these images in any case (Poole 133).

Indigenous groups were also sometimes shown in European clothing and posed in a

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bourgeois, carte de visite style to present and “exemplary type of the potentially civilized

Indian” (Zamorano 443). But ultimately the “fantasy of primitive innocence” (Chaudhary

6) prevailed, with colonized and indigenous peoples dressed up or stripped down for the

camera as a form of pictorial aggression and subjugation.

Native Responses

 

Far from the European “cartomania” of nineteenth century bourgeois society

(Caton 1019), early subjects of colonial photography were not “paying clients or even

willing subjects” (Poole 128). The difference of course between the traditional bourgeois

portrait and these other types of portraits is that colonized indigenous peoples, like

prisoners in Europe who were photographed with Bertillon’s machine, did not offer

themselves up voluntarily, and had every right to be suspicious or even resistant to this

type of pictorial domination.

As an extreme example, Karl Weule, a German ethnographer working in East

Africa, sent soldiers to capture a “specimen” from the forest, and proceeded to put the

man’s head in a wooden vice to hold him still while his photograph was being taken

(Ranger 203). In colonial Bolivia, during the Créqui-Montfort French Expedition, where

Bertillon’s apparatus was used, finding indigenous volunteers to be photographed proved

to be difficult, “even refusing money to allow being photographed” (Chervin, qtd. in

Zamorano 436). In the end, “frustrated by his subjects’ resistance… the expedition

member in charge of anthropometrical portraiture, ‘was forced to contact the prison’s

director [in La Paz] to gather the documents [measurements and photographs]” (436).

Under these conditions of forced “documentation”, outside of the comfortable

photographic studios frequented by willing and paying participants, indigenous groups

were often photographed with “harsh or direct lighting … to emphasize the high

cheekbones and to broaden the noses of Andean Indians,” along with unstyled and

“unkempt hair”, and with clothing (or the lack thereof) forced upon the sitter, “it was

possible to suggest conformance with ruling physiognomic definitions of ‘bandits’ and

other ‘criminal types’” (Poole 118). Like the scowling faces of many of Bertillon’s

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portraits of European criminals “a majority of the Indians in the cartes appear distrustful,

and, at best, reluctant models” (119).

Native Agency

While much more could be written about the pictorial aggression of certain types

of colonial photography—and the victimization of indigenous groups with forced

posings, and states and types of dress and undress that fit the narratives of European

colonizers—by the end of the nineteenth century, at least with Native American

indigenous groups, one could see various levels of the sitters’ cooperation with less

visible signs of suspicion or forced participation.

In Edward Curtis’ thirty-year photographic project, he collaborated with

“hundreds (if not more) of Native Americans (who) participated in the construction of the

project, not only as photographic subjects but also as translators, informants, and cultural

brokers” (Zamir 613). Curtis’ main collaborator, interpreter, and “field worker” was

Alexander Upshaw, a Crow Indian who attended the Carlisle Indian School in 1897.

While viewing himself as a model of an assimilated Indian, Upshaw (along with other

Native Americans) became “willing participants” (Zamir 616) in Curtis’ photographic

project. By this time Native Americans had been “both familiar with the photographic

process and… (had become) regular participant(s)” in the picture making process (645).

The dramatic relocation and restrictions imposed on First Nation tribes between

1890 and 1908 “forced the Crows to transform traditional forms of tribal leadership and

to reinvent themselves politically” (633). Part of this reinvention included a dance around

both assimilation and a retention of traditional identities by choosing the manner in which

they were photographically depicted. By 1908 “the younger generation of men like

Upshaw had come together to form something akin to a tribal government that “accepted

cultural and social change but that also sought to mold the process of transformation to

Crow needs and to a Crow sense of identity” (635).

Several Native American groups were able to “use” the tools that have been used

to other them for their own purposes and, at times, as a form of cultural preservation:

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The Crows had already learned to use national holidays as an excuse for dancing their traditional dances and shared in the pan-tribal powwow dancing as, in part, a substitute for their sacred dances… The repeated visits over a number of years by Curtis and his team (to photograph them), sanctioned by the Indian Bureau authorities, must then have provided unexpected and safe opportunities for renewing, reliving, and remembering aspects of traditional culture otherwise frowned upon and sometimes banned. (Zamir 638)

In Harald Prins’ review of the film “Coming to Light: Edward Curtis and the

North American Indians”, he argues that — despite the fact that Edward Curtis’

photographic collection risked stereotyping and overly romanticizing Native American

cultures (for white consumption) — “this exotic ‘Indian’ imagery, as conjured up by

romantic primitivism, played a curious role in the political and cultural reawakening in

Indian Country since the late 1960s” (892, emphasis mine). Pegi Deam, a Suqamish

woman interviewed in the film explains how she “grew up” with Curtis’ photographs: “I

was hungry for my own culture… [and] there are definitely thing locked up [in the types

of images that Curtis and others took that] that are available to us” (qtd. in 862).

Native Appropriation

By the 1940s, cameras and photographic images were a common instrument and

object and started to be in widespread use by First Nations peoples themselves: “The

Indian continues to be the subject of photographic interest but now has also become his

and her own photographer” (xxiii). While Sitting Bull famously (by accident) pressed the

shutter of a loaded camera in 1882, some Native American photographers were already in

existence around the turn of the century including Thomas Easton (a Tsimshian Indian)

who signed his photographs with the title “Native Photographer” (xxv). By the middle of

the twentieth century however more sensitive photographic images were being taken by

Native photographers themselves, and had fully appropriated more readily available

cameras to create their own uses and meanings outside of the colonial gaze.

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Figure 14: Bay-povi and Nana at the Tesuque Water Tower, 1986 Color print by Paul Tioux (Bush & Mitchell 294)

It is difficult to extricate the technological object of the camera and the pictorial conventions that have been used for over a century. The “snapshot” style used in this photograph by Paul Tioux brings up the question

of stylistic appropriation, and whether this impedes the development of a truly Native American approach to photography.

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Figure 15: Verna Catholique, with her son, Snowdrift, North West Territories, 1984 by Dorothy Chocolate (Dene), b. 1959. (Bush & Mitchell 278)

Does this image by Dorothy Chocolate humanize Native American life, or does the Western

Madonna and Child motif dominate how this “native” image is ultimately received?

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Conclusion

While it would be simple enough to create a “redemptive” technological narrative

of photography’s use as a tool and system of power that was eventually appropriated by

the oppressed as a form of cultural self-empowerment, looking at some of the images that

Bush and Mitchell showcase as Native American appropriation reveal Western

compositional methods and subject matter (e.g. mother and child) that make it difficult to

determine and find a specifically Native American approach to the medium. Mitchell

concedes that Native American photographers express an “ambivalence about being part

of two cultural systems whose deepest premises are opposed” (Bush & Mitchell xxv). To

be a photographer, or even a viewing participant in photographic culture, in a context

where important cultural rituals are supposed to be secretive presents a dilemma in

perpetuating a “Native” form of photographic practice whose partial aim is to preserve

these very practices from extinction.

The complex path that photography has taken—from its early utility in forming a

singular Native American identity (as the other), to later photographic documents of their

“domestication” during the forced assimilation period (as the almost us), their depiction

in romanticized ethnographic documents as a “vanishing races” by photographers like

Edward Curtis (the noble savage), and the current, ambivalent use of photography within

First Nations communities themselves—makes it difficult to pin down the future of the

medium in 21st Century indigenous American cultures. Its dual role to both separate and

assimilate Native American culture(s) and identity(ies) was initially (and still is?)

determined by nineteenth century European notions about identity, race, and the other.

The larger question around its future direction will be determined by new and successive

waves of indigenous photographers who have (or will have had) enough distance and

time to create self-determined visual cultures around and with this nineteenth century

European technology.

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Figure 16: Waiting in the Forest — Cheyenne 1910 By Edward Curtis.

Original caption: At dusk in the neighborhood of the large encampments young men closely wrapped in non-

committal blankets or white cotton sheets, may be seen gliding about the tipis or standing motionless in the shadow of trees, each alert for the opportunity to steal a meeting with his sweetheart.

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Works Cited

Andrews, Ralph W. “He Knew the Red Man: Edward S. Curtis, Photographer.” Montana: The

Magazine of Western History 14.2 (1964): 2–12. Print. Bush, Alfred L., and Lee Clark Mitchell. The Photograph and the American Indian. 1st edition

edition. Princeton, N.J: Princeton Univ Pr, 1994. Print. Chaudhary, Zahid R. Afterimage of Empire: Photography in Nineteenth-Century India. N. p.,

2012. Print. Curtis, Edward S. The Plains Indian Photographs of Edward S. Curtis. First Edition edition.

Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2001. Print. Montez de Oca, Jeffrey, and José Prado. “Visualizing Humanitarian Colonialism Photographs

From the Thomas Indian School.” American Behavioral Scientist 58.1 (2014): 145–170. abs.sagepub.com.remote.baruch.cuny.edu. Web. 16 Apr. 2014.

Pavlich, George. “The Subjects of Criminal Identification.” Punishment & Society 11.2 (2009):

171–190. pun.sagepub.com.remote.baruch.cuny.edu. Web. 20 Feb. 2014. Perry, Lara. “The Carte de Visite in the 1860s and the Serial Dynamic of Photographic Likeness.”

Art History 35.4 (2012): 728–749. Wiley Online Library. Web. 18 Apr. 2014. Poole, Deborah. Vision, Race, and Modernity: A Visual Economy of the Andean Image World.

Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1997. Print. Prins, Harald E. L. “Coming to Light: Edward S. Curtis and the North American Indians. 2000.;

Edward S. Curtis and the North American Indian, Incorporated.” American Anthropologist 102.4 (2000): 891–885. Wiley Online Library. Web. 7 May 2014.

Ranger, Terence. “Colonialism, Consciousness and the Camera.” Past & Present 171 (2001):

203–215. Print. Stremlau, Rose. “‘To Domesticate and Civilize Wild Indians’: Allotment and the Campaign to

Reform Indian Families, 1875-1887.” Journal of Family History 30.3 (2005): 265–286. jfh.sagepub.com.remote.baruch.cuny.edu. Web. 18 Apr. 2014.

Zamir, Shamoon. “Native Agency and the Making of The North American Indian.” American

Indian Quarterly 31.4 (2007): 613–653,663. Print. Zamorano, Gabriela. “Traitorous Physiognomy: Photography and the Racialization of Bolivian

Indians by the Créqui- Montfort Expedition (1903).” Journal of Latin American & Caribbean Anthropology 16.2 (2011): 425–455. EBSCOhost. Web. 20 Feb. 2014.

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Visual Sources Bush, Alfred L., and Lee Clark Mitchell. The Photograph and the American Indian. 1st edition

edition. Princeton, N.J: Princeton Univ Pr, 1994. Print. Curtis, Edward S. The Plains Indian Photographs of Edward S. Curtis. First Edition edition.

Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2001. Print. Griff, Ross. The Griffiths, C. 1860. N. p., 2011. Flickr. Web. 8 May 2014. Hathaway, Nancy. Native American Portraits. 1862-1918. Photographs From the Collection of

Kurt Koegler. Reprint. edition. Chronicle, 1990. Print.