Book Release: “Touch My Tears: Tales from the Trail of Tears”

In 2012, I was honored as one of four artists in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian Artist Leadership Program for my literary work in preserving Choctaw Trail of Tears stories. As a Choctaw, this historic event has always been close to my heart. Every spring, my mom and I make a special trip to Oklahoma to join our tribe in a commemorative walk to honor our ancestors.

Now we have a new way to honor them, and help other people of all cultures understand this piece of American history so few know of.

Touch My Tears: Tales from the Trail of Tears

Whether or not you enjoy history or reading fiction in general, I believe these stories will reach out from the pages and touch your heart. And maybe a tear or two of your own.

Video: My NMAI Project

The story of my journey as a participant in the NMAI Artist Leadership Program 2012-2013. Video produced by my talented mama, Lynda Kay Sawyer of RockHaven Productions:

Chahta Siah!

NMAI Artist Leadership Program Part 3: Smithsonian Museum Support Center

The first week of our trip to Washington, D.C. was spent in orientation, getting hands on with our first set of artifacts, artist training, and a lunchtime presentation at the Cultural Resources Center. We also made our first visit to the Library of Congress, but we'll save that experience for another post. For this one, here are photos from our experience in the MSC where we handled artifacts in the National Museum of Natural History Department of Anthropology.

Week One: Smithsonian Museum Support Center

Amazing...the things beyond those doors

NMAI Artist Leadership Program, and Life

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

There are not many ways to describe this season in life. One of the worst summers of my life, and it ended with my dad’s passing. Then I got a phone call.

June 2012

In May, 2012, I had applied for the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian’s Artist Leadership Program. Amid the disasters of the summer, I still checked the mailbox every day in August, catching myself going out there on Sundays too. Waiting, waiting for a letter that would either accept me or a say a polite try again.