| The Magazine of the CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES |
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Here at the academy Traditions Alive Interviewing June Anderson requires quickness and determination. Show any hesitation and she'll turn the tables. She will lean toward you, and, with her warm English voice, interview you. She willh ask urgently, not rudely, but as if she is truly eaten up by curiosity about what makes you, you. This interest in people is Anderson's raison d'etre. It also makes her the best person for her job: supervisor of the Traditional Arts Program at the Academy. In 1983, after graduate school in anthropology at the University of California at Berkeley, she started a program designed to bring to the museum the people who typically stay away. "Traditionally, museum goers were middle class and white," says Anderson. "And minorities are still often intimidated. They see them [museums] as the establishment. They see the Greek columns and are scared to walk through the doors." The way to get them in, she decided, was to invite them. The program gives ethnic artists a chance, every Saturday, to show off their crafts, arts, and music. When they come to perform, their families and friends join to offer moral support. After the presentation, they wander around, seeing the Academy for what it is, an interesting and friendly place. Finding performers was the program's first challenge. As Anderson put it, you can't exactly look up "ethnic artists" in the phone book. But the Bay Area is a good place to start. "To find them, you literally have to walk the streets." Using her eyes, ears, and sometimes her nose, she began surveying the neighborhoods. She would visit bakeries to see if they sold unusual, ethnic pastries. She would check the signs in the hair salons, say, to see what languages they used to beckon patrons. Once she knew whose community she was in, her next step was to contact the community elders. These were the people who take on the responsibility to maintain traditions, the culture bearers. Finding religious or cultural leaders was relatively easy, but if they were just part of the community it would take a little detective work. "Neighborhoods are like villages were in the old days. You hear: If you want the recipe for the best tamales, go see Mrs. So and So. She is sort of the chief tamale maker." Great tamale makers, rug weavers, music makers; these are the people she asks to perform at the Saturday programs. These days, Anderson no longer walks the streets. Word of mouth, and the trust the program has built, make that part of her job unnecessary. Now her contacts come to her. But Anderson and her assistant of two years, Karin Kamb, still go out into the neighborhoods to meet the artists. It is important, she says, to see the art in context, and besides, you can't develop trust over the phone. After artists have spoken with Anderson, they are far less intimidated at the thought of signing contracts. And, says Anderson, once they loosen up, "You always get more than you asked for." The Traditional Arts Program has achieved more than asked for, too. It has grown into a resource for the community; academics use the program archives, and grade school teachers find artists here to give presentations in their classrooms. College students from as far away as Australia become interns for course credit in urban ethnography. Most important to Anderson, the Saturday program has seen prejudices dashed. Anderson describes the scene when the Huichol Indians of Mexico presented their beeswax paintings. "The audience asked questions about dyes and beeswax, but you could feel the tension." The Huichols use peyote in their religious ceremonies, and many in the audience knew it. "Finally one person broke the ice and asked about using peyote. It was like a dam broke. People were asking if they really gave it to babies. The Huichols got a chance to explain how they used the hallucinogen in a socially controlled way." Having the artists in the museum makes these confrontations safe. The audience knows it is their job to ask questions. The performers get a chance to explain themselves and clean up misunderstandings. Success created new frustrations for Anderson. After 13 years the program has collected extensive archives. While available to anthropologists, access for the general public, and in particular the artists who created the materials, is less assured. Anderson plans to rectify this by turning the archives--including some of the six thousand photos--into short books. Each volume will focus on one local artist, using a single story to represent the lives of many. The first book is about an African-American wood carver, who preserves the braided hair of female ancestors within the wooden ancestor-stools he carves. "I was always interested in the differences between people, the so-called exotic," says Anderson. "Now the thing that comes across so clearly is the similarities. I think we tend to look at the veneer, the obvious differences. If I've learned anything it is that the customs, the family rituals, the way a mother treats her child, have such strong similarities. These are what are most intriguing. That's what I love about this."
Cynthia Mills is a veterinarian and freelance writer living in Mill Valley. |
Summer 1996
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