MIXED MEDIA

Online platforms are transforming the marketplace for Native artists. But will counterfeits pose an existential threat to their work?

- BY ISABEL CLARA RUEHLPHOTOGRAPHY BY GABRIELLA MARKS

WHEN MARLO KIYITE was 19 and pregnant with her second son, she and her husband, Fitz, moved in with her cousin in Gallup, New Mexico, trying to make ends meet.

Her cousin was an artist, a well-known carver of pocket-sized animals that the Zuni Pueblo call fetishes, and one day, she suggested Kiyite give it a try. "I said, 'Hey, anything at this point,'" Kiyite remembered. "So I started carving."

She learned how to cut, clean, and decorate the figures, which the Zuni believe carry the spirit of the animals they represent and offer protection and strength. Kiyite found the work difficult at first, but over the next 40 years, she and Fitz would develop their own unique style of stone fetishes, long and flat with small jet eyes, sometimes with a subtle smile. It was after their son was born that they decided to start selling their work in town.

Gallup ran on the arts: Many businesses purchased jewelry, textiles, and carvings from nearby Native artists and resold them to tourists. Kiyite went from shop to shop, holding her heavy tray of dozens of pieces steady so none fell over. Finally, at Turney's Trading Company, the owner inspected each item, considering, then offered just over $100 for the lot.

Kiyite knew that trading posts often bought low to sell high, and she had asked for a better price, but still she felt giddy: Someone else valued what she had created. After all, she was a brand new carver, still lacking the name recognition of more accomplished artists like her cousin—there was something wonderful about learning a new skill, and then being able to enter a marketplace that was competitive yet open to all. This work wouldn't make anyone rich, but it did offer a little cash, and in the moment, that was what she needed.