offering our licensees access to furniture made in New Mexico during the colonial period (1610-1823), but they were also angry we had not come to them to manufacture the collection. We explained the goal of the licensing program– to raise revenue for the museums and to promote the institutions to audiences beyond the state–and described the operational requirements and expense of distribution, sales, and fulfillment that our licensees undertook. None of this mattered to them. So, in an attempt to find common ground, we came to an agreement that in the future we would not offer outside manufacturers any furniture held in the museum collections that was made during the colonial period. We kept our promise, and since then have developed three furniture collections with different manufacturers–none of which used colonial furniture for inspiration.
At right are imagers from the Hickory Chair Grand Vista catalog (2000) showing the example of source material in the museum and their interpretation.
The Second Lesson
The next lesson I learned about cultural appropriation was a pleasant one. I received a random call from a California-based children’s clothing company called the “Tea Collection.” Trump had just been elected, and the company felt it was important to bring a collection to market that reflected the rich cultural heritage of the U.S. Someone had suggested talking to me for guidance on developing Southwest Native American inspired designs. I met with the company representatives; but instead of telling them where to find design material, I suggested they sign a license with us and work with the collections at the Museum of Indian Arts & Culture and its Indian Advisory Panel (a 19-person panel comprised of representatives of the 19 Indian Pueblos in New Mexico, plus someone from the Navajo and Hopi tribes). By partnering with us, I told them, they would be assured of bringing to market culturally-sensitive product.
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