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<h1>Stories Retold in Water and Tallow</h1>

<p>In the heart of the Wolf Teeth Mountains, on the wall of a log cabin, hung the physical manifestation of a dream: a buffalo hide painted in natural pigments. By combining water and tallow, I blended together multiple generations through a single piece of art. And it reawakened a traditional storytelling technique used by my people, the Northern Cheyenne. </p>



<p>After the Dull Knife Battle in November 1876, a society of Cheyenne men sat down and documented their account of the events on a buffalo hide or robe—the traditional medium on which my ancestors told stories and kept records. The buffalo hide is where they memorialized important moments in the Tribe’s history, as well as their own personal achievements. And they did so using pigments they created from their environment with ingredients like ash, soils, berries, and plants.</p>



<p>The Dull Knife hide was kept in a camp at the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains. But this camp was a major target for the United States Cavalry, which was still in search of those tribes involved in the Battle of the Little Bighorn, which had taken place in June 1876 and left the U.S. military sorely defeated. </p>



<p>After scouts reported the camp’s whereabouts, the cavalry ambushed it. The Cheyennes put up a good fight but eventually fled deeper into the Bighorn Mountains in freezing conditions. As the cavalry raided the now-empty camp, a soldier stole the painted buffalo hide out of a tipi. And thus the beloved hide, and the story it told, began its journey away from its people.</p>



<p>Heartbreakingly, this kind of theft was all too common for us. It was part of the settler-colonialist effort to erase us from our homelands—and erase us altogether. Oftentimes when sacred objects were taken from camps, they were locked in private collections with no way to track or find them. Many were never seen again, and the Cheyennes had mourned the loss of this buffalo hide and accepted its fate to be gone forever. But after more than 100 years, this hide was once again seen by the descendants of the people from which it came.</p>



<p>On the 146th anniversary of the battle, the unveiling and honoring of this historical object took place at the Brinton Museum in northern Wyoming. Tribal Members and the Northern Cheyenne Tribal Historic Preservation Office were invited to view it. Many eyes filled with tears as our traditional honor songs filled the room. The sacred objects that surrounded us, caged in glass, hummed in their display cases. They, too, were excited to be a part of this honoring; it’s not everyday we as Indigenous people get to practice our ceremonies for pieces put into institutions. This was a raw and powerful experience for everyone and everything involved.</p>



<p>At this moment, in the presence of it all, I felt the importance of keeping our hide-painting tradition alive. I understood the impact this form of storytelling has on my own culture and on those who experience it from near and far. Although this painted retelling of the Dull Knife Battle now hangs in another non-Indigenous collection, it is closer to home than it’s ever been, and relatives are able to view it freely. </p>



<p>And so, in the winter of 2023, I began my renaissance of buffalo hide paintings, not far from where the Dull Knife robe was painted nearly 150 years earlier. </p>


<div>
<figure><img src="https://www.yesmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/buffalo-hide-1-679x1024.jpg" alt="A figure stands facing a majestic, large, rock formation in the background. They are wearing a buffalo robe with a tallow painting by Miah Chalfant—a black-and-white portrait of a tribe matriarch wrapped in a white blanket. Behind her is a red background with blue herbs and flowers decorating it. "/><figcaption>The portrait of Pretty Shield, an Apsáalooke Crow medicine woman, on buffalo robe is the first in a series Chalfant is calling “Matriarchs of the Plains.” <em>Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant</em></figcaption></figure></div>


<p>As a storyteller and an artist, I have painted with many different media before, on canvas, ledger paper, felt cowboy hats, and more. I had never painted on something like a tanned buffalo hide, though. Plastic paints like acrylics simply didn’t stick to the surface. Oil paints bled and left dark spots. This required me to use trial and error, as well as asking elders, scouring the internet, and reading historical books to figure out the best way to use modern materials for such a traditional technique.</p>



<p>To practice, I started with a vintage elk hide, which I hoped would behave similarly to buffalo, but was much easier to source. Black, white, blue, red, and yellow pigments sat in small vibrant piles of powder on my palette. While I wasn’t able to source everything the way my ancestors had, I gathered materials from far and wide to bring these pieces to life. Slowly, I began to add water and buffalo fat, mixing them with the powders until the consistency was smooth and even. The thinner the paint was, I found, the easier it was to push it across the surface of the hide. </p>


<div>
<figure><img src="https://www.yesmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/buffalo-hide-2-770x1024.jpg" alt="Four Polaroid photos are spread out on a wooly, textured brown hide. The four photos capture Miah Chalfant's hide painting at different stages. From left to right, the painting becomes more full with each picture. "/><figcaption>Chalfant takes Polaroid photographs at various stages of the painting to show her process and progress. It’s her modern take on the artistic tradition of her people. Buffalo hide is the medium on which Northern Plains Tribes traditionally kept records and stories.&nbsp;<em>Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant</em></figcaption></figure></div>


<p>I hung the elk hide from the wall, tacked along the top and pulled taut by gravity. I sprayed a layer of water and watched as the hide went from a bright off-white to a dark tan. Spraying the hide opens the skin’s pores and makes the painting process much easier. After a deep breath to steady my hand, I began with my first paint stroke. The nerves, the worry, and all other thoughts in my head went silent. I could feel my ancestors guiding my hands as I worked the earth pigments into the tanned hide. Almost like being in a trance, I brought paint to hide without feeling the passage of time, and the portrait of a woman appeared in front of me. She was an Arapaho/Cheyenne woman warrior who gave me the confidence that the vision I was seeing in my head was achievable in real life. </p>



<p>After I finished the elk hide, I was ready to move on to the much larger buffalo hide that was patiently waiting its turn to become a part of my story, the story of a modern Indigenous artist. I already knew who I wanted to paint next: I could see in my mind’s eye the contrasts of bright red and electric blue against neutral black and white, and the tan of the unpainted skin of the hide. </p>


<div>
<figure><img src="https://www.yesmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/buffalo-hide-3-683x1024.jpg" alt="A picture from the back of Mia Chalfant painting on hid. She has her hair pulled back in a ponytail and holds a painter's palette of her natural tallow pigments."/><figcaption>Hide is not a forgiving surface, nor are natural pigments. Chalfant had to research and experiment in order to develop her own contemporary technique to revive this art form. But she says “The reward of seeing it finished and getting to experience its presence is beyond worth it.” <em>Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant</em></figcaption></figure></div>


<p>I chose to paint an Apsáalooke (Crow) medicine woman by the name of Pretty Shield. A strong matriarch revered for her knowledge of medicinal plants, Pretty Shield had influence that reached far beyond her own tribe. I chose to render her in black-and-white natural pigments, representing a time when reservations were fresh and photographers were documenting the foreign feelings throughout Indian Country in black and white. </p>



<p>Rising above her is a halo of medicinal plants. I chose to represent this aspect of her work in contemporary color to show its continued relevance and vitality in modern times. </p>



<p>Each aspect of the hide represents a different generation of storytelling and art. The first generation is the hide itself, the traditional material. The second generation is the black-and-white photography that captured the first accounts of reservation life. The third generation is the contemporary style of bright colors and stylized plants. </p>


<div>
<figure><img src="https://www.yesmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/buffalo-hide-5-768x1024.jpg" alt="A photograph of a painting in progress. Strips of white paper block out sections of the painting, which is a tribe matriarch against a red background with blue floral details. "/><figcaption>Chalfant carefully blocks out sections of the portrait to preserve the art as she adds detail. The natural pigments were far more challenging than the acrylic or oil paints Chalfant normally employs, but they yielded a vivid palette on the hide that matched her vision.&nbsp;<em>Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant</em></figcaption></figure></div>


<p>My own love for medicinal plants comes from another matriarchal figure in my life: my mother. Bringing wellness back to the reservation through healers, medicinal plants, and creative outlets, she provided opportunities for people to help themselves, much like Pretty Shield. These two women reflect each other’s energy and inspire me to see the medicine women of today. </p>



<p>Pretty Shield is the first in a collection of women I plan to pay tribute to with my paint. Each of them has impacted their Plains Tribe communities with their inspiring accomplishments and gifts. I want to honor our shared stories by continuing to push the boundaries of traditional materials and contemporary ideas. I want to uplift the generations surrounding me to live in their medicine, to live out their dreams, and to live how our ancestors dreamed for us.</p>



<p></p>

<p>This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.yesmagazine.org">Yes! Magazine</a> at <a href="https://www.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2024/11/14/women-buffalo-native-portait">https://www.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2024/11/14/women-buffalo-native-portait</a>.</p><link href="https://www.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2024/11/14/women-buffalo-native-portait" rel="canonical"/><p>Yes! Magazine is a nonprofit, independent media organization dedicated to telling stories of ... . Learn more at <a href="https://www.yesmagazine.org">Yes! Magazine</a></p><img id="republication-tracker-tool-source" src="https://www.yesmagazine.org/?republication-pixel=true&post=122667&ga4=G-74QJNNY44Z" style="width:1px;height:1px;">

Stories Retold in Water and Tallow

In the heart of the Wolf Teeth Mountains, on the wall of a log cabin, hung the physical manifestation of a dream: a buffalo hide painted in natural pigments. By combining water and tallow, I blended together multiple generations through a single piece of art. And it reawakened a traditional storytelling technique used by my people, the Northern Cheyenne.

After the Dull Knife Battle in November 1876, a society of Cheyenne men sat down and documented their account of the events on a buffalo hide or robe—the traditional medium on which my ancestors told stories and kept records. The buffalo hide is where they memorialized important moments in the Tribe’s history, as well as their own personal achievements. And they did so using pigments they created from their environment with ingredients like ash, soils, berries, and plants.

The Dull Knife hide was kept in a camp at the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains. But this camp was a major target for the United States Cavalry, which was still in search of those tribes involved in the Battle of the Little Bighorn, which had taken place in June 1876 and left the U.S. military sorely defeated.

After scouts reported the camp’s whereabouts, the cavalry ambushed it. The Cheyennes put up a good fight but eventually fled deeper into the Bighorn Mountains in freezing conditions. As the cavalry raided the now-empty camp, a soldier stole the painted buffalo hide out of a tipi. And thus the beloved hide, and the story it told, began its journey away from its people.

Heartbreakingly, this kind of theft was all too common for us. It was part of the settler-colonialist effort to erase us from our homelands—and erase us altogether. Oftentimes when sacred objects were taken from camps, they were locked in private collections with no way to track or find them. Many were never seen again, and the Cheyennes had mourned the loss of this buffalo hide and accepted its fate to be gone forever. But after more than 100 years, this hide was once again seen by the descendants of the people from which it came.

On the 146th anniversary of the battle, the unveiling and honoring of this historical object took place at the Brinton Museum in northern Wyoming. Tribal Members and the Northern Cheyenne Tribal Historic Preservation Office were invited to view it. Many eyes filled with tears as our traditional honor songs filled the room. The sacred objects that surrounded us, caged in glass, hummed in their display cases. They, too, were excited to be a part of this honoring; it’s not everyday we as Indigenous people get to practice our ceremonies for pieces put into institutions. This was a raw and powerful experience for everyone and everything involved.

At this moment, in the presence of it all, I felt the importance of keeping our hide-painting tradition alive. I understood the impact this form of storytelling has on my own culture and on those who experience it from near and far. Although this painted retelling of the Dull Knife Battle now hangs in another non-Indigenous collection, it is closer to home than it’s ever been, and relatives are able to view it freely.

And so, in the winter of 2023, I began my renaissance of buffalo hide paintings, not far from where the Dull Knife robe was painted nearly 150 years earlier.

The portrait of Pretty Shield, an Apsáalooke Crow medicine woman, on buffalo robe is the first in a series Chalfant is calling “Matriarchs of the Plains.” Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant

As a storyteller and an artist, I have painted with many different media before, on canvas, ledger paper, felt cowboy hats, and more. I had never painted on something like a tanned buffalo hide, though. Plastic paints like acrylics simply didn’t stick to the surface. Oil paints bled and left dark spots. This required me to use trial and error, as well as asking elders, scouring the internet, and reading historical books to figure out the best way to use modern materials for such a traditional technique.

To practice, I started with a vintage elk hide, which I hoped would behave similarly to buffalo, but was much easier to source. Black, white, blue, red, and yellow pigments sat in small vibrant piles of powder on my palette. While I wasn’t able to source everything the way my ancestors had, I gathered materials from far and wide to bring these pieces to life. Slowly, I began to add water and buffalo fat, mixing them with the powders until the consistency was smooth and even. The thinner the paint was, I found, the easier it was to push it across the surface of the hide.

Chalfant takes Polaroid photographs at various stages of the painting to show her process and progress. It’s her modern take on the artistic tradition of her people. Buffalo hide is the medium on which Northern Plains Tribes traditionally kept records and stories. Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant

I hung the elk hide from the wall, tacked along the top and pulled taut by gravity. I sprayed a layer of water and watched as the hide went from a bright off-white to a dark tan. Spraying the hide opens the skin’s pores and makes the painting process much easier. After a deep breath to steady my hand, I began with my first paint stroke. The nerves, the worry, and all other thoughts in my head went silent. I could feel my ancestors guiding my hands as I worked the earth pigments into the tanned hide. Almost like being in a trance, I brought paint to hide without feeling the passage of time, and the portrait of a woman appeared in front of me. She was an Arapaho/Cheyenne woman warrior who gave me the confidence that the vision I was seeing in my head was achievable in real life.

After I finished the elk hide, I was ready to move on to the much larger buffalo hide that was patiently waiting its turn to become a part of my story, the story of a modern Indigenous artist. I already knew who I wanted to paint next: I could see in my mind’s eye the contrasts of bright red and electric blue against neutral black and white, and the tan of the unpainted skin of the hide.

Hide is not a forgiving surface, nor are natural pigments. Chalfant had to research and experiment in order to develop her own contemporary technique to revive this art form. But she says “The reward of seeing it finished and getting to experience its presence is beyond worth it.” Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant

I chose to paint an Apsáalooke (Crow) medicine woman by the name of Pretty Shield. A strong matriarch revered for her knowledge of medicinal plants, Pretty Shield had influence that reached far beyond her own tribe. I chose to render her in black-and-white natural pigments, representing a time when reservations were fresh and photographers were documenting the foreign feelings throughout Indian Country in black and white.

Rising above her is a halo of medicinal plants. I chose to represent this aspect of her work in contemporary color to show its continued relevance and vitality in modern times.

Each aspect of the hide represents a different generation of storytelling and art. The first generation is the hide itself, the traditional material. The second generation is the black-and-white photography that captured the first accounts of reservation life. The third generation is the contemporary style of bright colors and stylized plants.

Chalfant carefully blocks out sections of the portrait to preserve the art as she adds detail. The natural pigments were far more challenging than the acrylic or oil paints Chalfant normally employs, but they yielded a vivid palette on the hide that matched her vision. Photo courtesy of Miah Chalfant

My own love for medicinal plants comes from another matriarchal figure in my life: my mother. Bringing wellness back to the reservation through healers, medicinal plants, and creative outlets, she provided opportunities for people to help themselves, much like Pretty Shield. These two women reflect each other’s energy and inspire me to see the medicine women of today.

Pretty Shield is the first in a collection of women I plan to pay tribute to with my paint. Each of them has impacted their Plains Tribe communities with their inspiring accomplishments and gifts. I want to honor our shared stories by continuing to push the boundaries of traditional materials and contemporary ideas. I want to uplift the generations surrounding me to live in their medicine, to live out their dreams, and to live how our ancestors dreamed for us.

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