This is a story about the provenance of two paintings I have for sale at my store. The paintings are original oil on canvas paintings by the celebrated native American painter Duane Dishta. Dishta (October 20, 1937 – January 17, 2011) was a distinguished Native American artist known for his remarkable contributions to contemporary indigenous art. Born into the Zuni Pueblo in New Mexico, Dishta grew up immersed in the rich cultural traditions and artistic heritage of his people. His early experiences in this vibrant community deeply influenced his artistic journey, shaping his unique style that beautifully amalgamated traditional and modern elements.
Dishta's art spans various mediums, including painting, sculpture, and textile art. His works are celebrated for their vibrant colors, intricate designs, and profound spiritual depth. Through his art, Dishta sought to preserve and celebrate the stories, symbols, and traditions of the Zuni culture, while also addressing contemporary themes of identity, resilience, and connection to the land.
One of the notable highlights of Dishta's career was the inclusion of his work in the book "Kachinas of the Zuni" by Barton Wright. In this influential publication, Wright extensively discusses Dishta's art, emphasizing its significance in the broader context of Native American cultural preservation and contemporary art.
Dishta’s art is still shown in exhibits at museums across the South West and held in private collections by enthusiasts and collectors of native American art.
But this story isn’t about the artist. This story is about a woman who loved art named CC.
I met CC in the summer of 2019. Her husband, Peter, was in home hospice care and CC’s health was none too good. She rarely left the house but had found my store online and roused herself to come in and take a quick walking tour. My store was small and crowded with furniture, antiques, vintage art, collectibles and décor items. CC was large, over 6’ tall and of substantial girth. She moved with difficulty, walking with short steps, hunched somewhat and assisted by a cane. She made her survey of the store and left without saying a word to me while she was there, but later, she sent me a message on Messenger through my Facebook page asking if I would come to her house. When I received the message, I didn’t realize it was associated with this woman who had come through the store, but upon visiting her at home I made the connection right away.
When I arrived at her home I was invited in, but once inside one could only progress a few feet forward before the crowds of furniture, retail displays, inventory, art, statuary, crafting supplies, housewares, ceramics and accumulated detritus blocked the way. Only a single file path led from the rear of the house to the front door. The entryway was also crowded with boxes, lamps, old papers, paper and plastic bags and piles of mail. It took us some while to clear away enough space for both of us to occupy a spot near the very front of the house, just inside the living room and about one step from the foyer. There was a large, dilapidated recliner there which CC dropped into with a great sigh from herself and a sound of protesting wood and springs from the chair, and no seat for me, but enough room to stand at her feet.
I learned CC’s personality was as large as her person. She was boisterously loud despite being easily winded. She was clever with her words and liked puns and riddles. I learned that she had studied art for many years and practiced too. CC had been “in the business” selling vintage collectibles, artwork both new and resale, and creating and selling her own original art. She had owned a store between 1998 and 2002, but then health issues had slowed the couple down and she closed her store. In the halcyon years of their marriage, CC and Peter had traveled frequently between New Mexico and California, shopping, touring and buying art and inventory for her store along the way. She had been a consequential buyer on Indian reservations, where she made connections with artists and craftsmen, buying their products to take back to California.
Packed into the living room were the large retail display shelves she had pulled out of the store and been keeping for the past seventeen years, along with all her old inventory. In addition to the store inventory was the collected personal treasures from years of travel, mostly in the American Southwest, but also from Japan, China and Europe. “So” says CC, “the time has come”. She had medical bills to pay, and she didn’t see any future for herself without Peter. It was time to begin selling her prized collections.
I spent hours that first day, following the point of her cane to this item and that item as she picked the things she wanted sold. It was careful work to access the things and extract them from the hoard. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs (and worse), reminiscent of Mrs. Havisham from “Great Expectations”. The quality of the items, however, was excellent, as was the conversation. CC knew about every item, and the maker, and the maker’s origin story. For all that the room was stuffed full, she had not wasted space with dross. There were a few tragedies uncovered, where once beautiful and valuable objects had broken in due course, and each of these were of such quality as to merit a moment of silence upon their discovery.
I visited CC about half a dozen times. Each time she would take up her position in the old, tired recliner and point me to this area or that and pick for me the items she was ready to part with. She always gave me more information about the items than I could ever hope to remember, and we both always enjoyed our time together. I made progress at clearing space in the room, and we were able to reach deeper into the time capsule of her life. On one such visit CC told me “I’m ready to sell CC and Peter” and she directed me to a spot on a shelf along the wall where stood two paintings of kachina dancers. The paintings are of identical size and framed to match. One male dancer dancing in the moonlight, the other female, dancing under a blue sky. CC told me that she and Peter had met Duane Dishta, the artist, during their travels and that they had become friends. She told me that Duane had painted these for her and Peter, and the moonlit, male dance was supposed to be Peter, while the dancing woman represented CC. So, along with the other items she had selected for me that day, I packed the paintings up and took them to my store to sell.
Peter died in the autumn of 2020. CC’s health was very poor. She was grief-stricken and lonely, and complained often of the mounting medical bills from Peter’s long illness and her own ongoing care. Sales at my store had been slow since the spring of that year when the pandemic closed everything down, and had not recovered quickly after we reopened, so I had little money for her from the sale of her items. With the Dishta paintings being two of her most valuable pieces, I decided to buy them myself so I could write her a meaningful check. I can still remember her blessings and prayers of gratitude when I gave her the news, and the money.
CC passed away at home just after the holidays that year. I will always remember her. She was a strong spirited, powerful presence possessed of her own very considerable artistic talent. From her stories I know she led a joyous life filled with adventure, art, love, friendship and harmony. She was an unconventional person who built her life to satisfy herself and didn’t want it any other way. That is the story of provenance for these two paintings, paintings of CC and Peter, dancing for all of time.
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