Next time you're in the Channel district, take a stroll through the just-dedicated Fort Brooke-Cotanchobee Park, 4.3 acres sandwiched between Ice Palace Drive and Garrison Channel. It's beside the new Marriott Hotel. The district, with its modern-looking St. Pete Times Forum, Florida Aquarium and cruise ships, doesn't look as if it holds much history. But Tampa's origins lie here in the waterside area.
This was Cotanchobee, a Seminole word meaning where the big water meets the land.
When the United States cruelly drove out the Seminoles and constructed their southernmost military outpost in 1824, they renamed the entire area Fort Brooke and set about obliterating all traces of their Native American predecessors.
A hundred and seventy-five years later, the site of Cotanchobee was a weed-filled lot, drawing mostly homeless people. The Krewe of Fort Brooke, a private not-for-profit organization, suggested converting it into a park to be named Fort Brooke. Parks Department Director Ross Ferlita referred the Krewe to Robin Nigh, City of Tampa public art administrator. She urged Seminole involvement, and a partnership was formed between the tribe, the city and the Krewe.
During the park's Feb. 16, 2001, groundbreaking ceremony, Bobby Henry, Tampa Seminole spiritual leader, read a prayer in his native language: "Our history should not be erased, but we should learn from it. This was a place where we met as enemies and fought and died. Today, finally, we can come here as friends and meet in peace."
Not all Seminoles were emotionally prepared for symbolic conciliation. Mayor Greco, however, grasping the significance of Henry's prophetic words, suggested a public art project to commemorate a unique historical moment.
The best public art is site specific, that is, designed specifically for the place it inhabits, but it rarely enters into historical dialogue or provides potential closure to an ugly episode. Maya Linn's Vietnam Memorial is a notable exception, almost mystical in the way its black reflective granite wall and etched names of the dead add nobility, honor and healing to those who served. Despite early contentions about its minimal form and nonrepresentational nature, this simply stated elegant work entered our collective national psyche, where it no longer demands explanation.
By Aug. 25, 2002, the city announced plans for a sculptural work "being commissioned by the City and the People of Tampa, Florida, to embody the peace and friendship that characterize the relationship between the Seminole Indians and non-Indian Floridians today, a century and a half after the longest, most costly, and last of the United States' Wars of Indian Removal east of the Mississippi River."
Whether creating public monuments that raise the bar for public art or small-scale works that tickle the fancy, the collaborative process can be intricate and lengthy. On Oct. 29, 2002, the Department of Public Art released Requests for Proposals. Fifty applicants responded.
The artwork was capped at $250,000, which includes the artist's conceptual design, all materials and engineering costs. Remember, using installation material like steel can be pricey.
Each project requires a special Public Art Committee consisting of members with particular expertise. Leslie Osterweil, chair of the Seminole committee, represents the Arts Council of Hillsborough County, a prerequisite for using public funds. Other voting members are Bobby Henry representing the Seminole Tribe; Ken Hardin, Janus Research archaeologist; and Cynthia Gandee, director of Plant Museum. The mayor is a voting member, though city architect David Vaughn was designated an alternate in case the mayor was absent.
In December 2002, a preliminary meeting eliminated all but three candidates. Though it wasn't a qualifying condition, the three finalists were all American Indians.
On Feb. 24, 2003, I sat in on artist presentations in the mayor's crowded conference room. With Mayor Greco and the committee were non-voting participants Robin Nigh and Patricia Wickman, director of the department of anthropology and genealogy for the Seminole Tribe of Florida.
Artists who apply are judged by stringent criteria, such as previous public art commissions and awards.
Candidates had one hour to present their proposals and answer questions. All the finalists were experienced professionals and well known within Native American art circles. They came armed with computerized power-point presentations. Two of them arrived with assistants.
Kelly Haney from Oklahoma's Seminole Nation and Michael Naran, a Pueblo from Sante Fe, proposed figurative bronze statues, Haney's of a huge warrior holding a symbolic circle, and Naran's a warrior and two children beside a hoop. Haney had served in Oklahoma politics. Naran, a Vietnam vet blinded by a grenade in 1968, explained the process of sculpting without sight.
The third artist, Bob Haozous (b. 1943), is an Apache Indian with Navajo, English and Spanish heritage. His father is famed representational artist Alan Houser. The son took back his Indian name.
Haozous' soft-toned presentation was mesmerizing and philosophical: "The key question I'm dealing with as an artist is not what we are, but what shall we be. That's why I don't make monuments. I want to make people think." Haozous' work is conceptual and visually powerful at the same time.
His proposal: "Universal Ceremonial Space," a monumental 40 feet high and 90 feet wide stainless steel domed structure with attached cloud-like forms creating shadows and shade. Stones, possibly with text, will be placed below. It's spiritual, a haven for contemplation and reconnecting with nature; a place where the wisdom of Native-American ancestry juts sharply against modernity and its defects.
Haozous was awarded the contract. He'll work closely with the Seminoles and the committee. The piece will take nine months to a year to complete.
With the contract signed, Robin Nigh is staying positive, hoping that funding can be found in various local, state and federal governmental agencies that Greco hoped to include. If not, she'll put the grant writers to work.
Few local public art projects elicit the depth of emotional content and affect as many people as this one does.
Art Critic Adrienne M. Golub can be reached at randagolub@aol.com.
This article appears in Apr 30 – May 6, 2003.
