I first encountered Joe Harjoâs work in 2017, and then again last year at Blue Star Contemporary in San Antonio, where he presented the second installment of his three-part exhibition series, Indian Removal Act. Part 1 debuted at the Galveston Arts Center in 2023, and the final act is on view at the newly reopened Fort Worth Contemporary Arts (FWCA) through mid-November.

Joe Harjo, âESTE MVSKOKVLKE,â 2025
Colette Copeland (CC): Thereâs a lot to unpack in your work. Caroline Frostâs Glasstire article from last year highlights the historical connections in your practice, including the effects of the Indian Removal Act on Indigenous peoples across the country â specifically with the Muscogee Nation. Before we dive into the new work, Iâm curious about how you use language to bring multiple contexts into the work.
For example, the word âactâ appears in the titles of all three exhibitions, referencing not only the legislation that forcibly removed people from their lands but also theater, as in âthe final act.â It also evokes the âactingâ Indigenous people were compelled to perform as spectacle and entertainment for white colonizers, and as a means of self-preservation â either to assimilate or to die.Â
The individual worksâ titles carry a range of meanings, and Iâm especially drawn to those that deploy dark, subversive humor as a tactic to spark dialogue. Tell me about how you use language â not only in the titling of your work, but in your broader artistic practice. I was recently asked: âWhen does a title function as a frame, and when does it become part of the artwork itself?â Iâd love to hear your thoughts on that as well.Â
Joe Harjo (JH): The way language functions in my titling is both as a guide and as an inseparable part of the meaning of the works themselves. Many of my titles come from song lyrics that have stayed with me over the years, carried into residencies, projects, and into the conceptual framework of my practice. When the lyrics move into the context of my art, they take on a completely adjacent meaning, translating into visual form.Â
[Other titles] are from being in conversation about my work or from considering how Native narratives were formed by a language that was forced upon us. The words I choose frame the viewerâs experience while also becoming part of the workâs structure. You mention that the word âactâ functions deliberately in Indian Removal Acts IâIII. It points to legislation, to theatre and performance, and to the staged roles Natives were forced to take on as a method of survival.Â
I donât know if I can answer definitively when a title functions as a frame and when it becomes part of the artwork, because in my work, the title does both interchangeably. It frames, contextualizes, and points a way into the piece, while also functioning as an active element of the concept and experience.
CC: Another question I was asked recently is âWhat risks emerge when language becomes too central and what are the risks when language is absent?âÂ
Iâve been thinking a lot about the necessity of telling oneâs own story â especially when it is a nondominant narrative that has been erased from history or misrepresented as factual history. How do you balance giving the visual work room to breathe and speak for itself with providing important textual insight for viewers?
JH: Our narratives have been ignored, overlooked, misrepresented, and silenced, so it is essential that we speak our truths through the mediums that best carry our voice. In that respect, language and visual representation guide the work rather than needing regulation or limitation. In my practice, any balance between image and text emerges organically because I take agency over both. I use language intentionally, guided by what I know is necessary for the work and how it will function in its context.Â
For instance, in A Heretical Act of Resistance: Resting (Attempted), the title carries weight as much as the video itself. The words frame the act of attempting to rest within the historical and ongoing violence of Indian Removal, highlighting the exhaustion imposed on Native communities while asserting that, for Natives, even a basic human gesture is an act of resistance.Â

Joe Harjo, âA Heretical Act of Resistance: Resting (Attempted),â 2025
CC: A Heretical Act of Resistance: Resting (Attempted) is one of my favorite works in the exhibition. Resting is often frowned upon in society and carries extra judgment for people of color due to racist stereotypes. With three solo exhibitions in three years and your teaching responsibilities, you must be tired.Â
The title adds humor and humility, especially with the attempting/failure confession. I confess to not being proficient at resting. I love your idea of rest as a radical gesture of endurance and healing, suggesting we must care for ourselves before we can care for others. How do you use humor as a tactical strategy in your work?
JH: Humor is such an important part of my practice, and in my work it functions as both a tool and a tactic. It allows me to approach difficult histories, ongoing violence, and personal struggles in a way that is accessible without diminishing their seriousness. In A Heretical Act of Resistance: Resting (Attempted), humor comes through in simply the word âAttempted,â which acknowledges failure and humanizes the act of rest, while also providing a moment of humility and self-reflection.Â
I honestly have not had the rest Iâve needed in quite a while, and that small, wry gesture and acknowledgement opens a space for the viewer to engage with the work more honestly, more humanly. I use this humor and subversive wordplay in my titles because humor has always been a survival strategy in Native communities. It disarms the systems of power, creates space for endurance, and keeps our voices louder than the attempt to silence us. Humor carries forward to challenge expectations and position language itself as a point of resistance.

Joe Harjo, âAll Exits Look the Same,â 2025
CC: Another aspect of the video work is the visual subterfuge. At first glance, it looks like a photograph, but upon closer inspection we notice subtle movement within the frame. You use this strategy in All Exits Look the Same, constructed with memorial flag cases containing unfixed, light-sensitive darkroom paper arranged to form the shape of a cross.Â
From across the room, the cross dominates; up close, the other materials reveal themselves. Throughout the exhibition, the photo paper will change color, growing darker. Iâm interested in hearing more about the choice of unfixed darkroom paper and the symbolism of impermanence in your broader practice.
JH: Darkroom paper absorbs light, and in doing so, it absorbs the presence of those who engage with it. It turns the cross into a kind of spectator or voyeur. This absorption mirrors the way historical violence and religious imposition have left their mark on Native bodies and communities, how memory and trauma are carried and internalized over time. The impermanence of the paper reinforces this idea. Its gradual darkening and transformation reflect time moving forward, the evolving relationship between visibility and erasure, and the fragility of imposed symbols of authority.Â
The cross itself, a symbol of faith, is weaponized and represents the authority and control Christianity imposed and imposes on Native people. In All Exits Look the Same, the cross initially dominates, but as viewers approach and recognize the materials that make it, the work shifts. Itâs this nuance, the impermanence and changeability that acknowledges that identities and experiences are layered, and the work itself can evolve as it is witnessed and experienced.

Joe Harjo, âIndians Removed,â 2023
CC: As a performance artist, Iâm intrigued by what remains â the residue and ephemera from actions. Your performance print series Indians Removed from 2023 and the new 2025 Indians Removing/Returning are powerful markers of resilience and power. I remember seeing the earlier work at Blue Star Contemporary, imagining the footprints as the last remaining evidence of existence. The color red suggests bloodshed; there is a sense of movement that I read as violence and resistance.Â
At FWCA, the juxtaposition of the two series is intriguing. In the new series, you use brown butcher paper, connoting an inexpensive disposable commodity. The word âreturningâ suggests reclamation. The printsâ titles reference taking control of oneâs trauma and driving change. The series feels hopeful for the future.Â
In your statement, you describe this third installation as symbolizing resolution, which to me feels utopian. There is still so much work to be done. Please share some thoughts on repair, reparations, and affirmation.

Joe Harjo, âIndians Removing/Returning,â 2025
JH: The prints in Indians Removed Series and Indians Removing/Returning Series deal with the traces of history that remain, the residue, the footprints, the evidence of survival and the path we collectively walk as generations both present, past, and future.Â
In the 2023 series, Indians Removed, the prints acknowledge violence, displacement, and loss, imprinting the scars left by forced removal while also pointing to the endurance sustained during the long walk and further displacement. The color red signals both bloodshed and resistance, and the movement in the prints embodies action, struggle, and persistence.Â
The 2025 Indians Removing/Returning Series signals reclamation, repair, and the ongoing work of asserting self-determination over histories that were taken from us. The series carries a returning and a shedding, not in a naive sense that our experiences have found total resolve, but as a recognition that repair and affirmations are active, ongoing processes.Â
For me, repair and reparations are about acknowledging harm, restoring visibility, and creating space for Native voices and practices to persist and flourish. Affirmation comes through witnessing, remembering, and asserting presence. These prints, and the dialogue they create between removal and return, embody that tension and possibility. The work is both a reflection on history and a marker of the present, an embodiment of what is possible when agency and presence are reclaimed.
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Indian Removal Act III: We are a Wounding is on view through November 15, 2025, at Texas Christian Universityâs Fort Worth Contemporary Arts gallery.
The post âIndian Removal Act III: We are a Woundingâ: A Conversation with Joe Harjo appeared first on Glasstire.