The Home Issue | Volume 19 | Fall 2018

THE HOME I SSUE | V O LUM E 19 | FALL 2018

W E L C O M E

Welcome to the Home Issue! It’s always bittersweet

and anxieties of traveling between two places she

when summer slips away, but autumn inspires us

considers home: the United States and Mexico.

to slow down a bit and take stock. It’s a season

Santa Fe writer, editor, and model Maria

of metamorphosis: the trees take on a dazzling

Manuela debuts a fable called A Boy Named

palette, while we step out in cozy new sweaters

Adobe, which is excerpted from her forthcoming

and countless other layers. Fall is a time to open

collection of short folk tales. The story is paired

up to new opportunities and rediscover community,

with photographs by Hayley Rhaegan and

even as we’re preparing to coop up for winter.

Danny Allegretti, featuring clothing from Santa

As we brought this issue together, our most

Fe vintage boutique Dandelion Guild. Albuquer-

common gathering place was the Santa Fe living

que photographer Jenn Carrillo invites us on a

room of our guest editor Jordan Eddy and his

thrift shopping adventure in a photoshoot with

partner, Kyle Farrell. We sprawled on the squashy

clothing from Mill & Finery and Natural High

red couch, munched on carrot muffins, sipped

Vintage, while Santa Fe art critic Iris McLister

Mariah’s kombucha, and meditated on the myriad

offers up a colorful meditation on her personal

meanings of home. One evening, we worked with

passion for thrifting.

Kyle to transform their little backyard for a very

Albuquerque journalist Maggie Grimason

sweet photoshoot. All of us grew up in other places,

introduces us to Santa Fe designer Trilby Nelson,

so part of making Santa Fe our home involved

whose work appears in a style story by Santa Fe

indulging in lots of comfort food, like the Mexican

photographer Brad Trone. Sisters Jordan and

sweet breads you’ll see in the Editor’s Shoot.

Madison Craig of the Oakland-based custom

Whether you live in your hometown or have

lingerie label Shy Natives point out that home

chosen a new one, the true essence of “home”

is about wearing things that actually fit. Poetry

is something you carry inside you. It’s a truth

by Santa Fe poet Dan Bohnhorst floats through

that emerges in each of the stories and shoots

dreamy imagery by Lindsey Kennedy. Finally, an

that appear in the Home Issue. In these pages, we

infographic by guest editor Jordan Eddy reminds

meet Albuquerque artist Grace Rosario Perkins,

us that home is something that should never be

who talks about returning to her home state of

taken for granted.

New Mexico after building an artistic career in Oakland. Santa Fe photographer Danny Allegretti

Enjoy,

takes us on a colorful tour of Grace’s live-work

Mariah, Darnell & Jordan

studio and neighborhood. In a personal essay,

1905magazineblog@gmail.com

Santa Fe artist Daisy Quezada recounts the joys

cover image: Lindsey Kennedy | on the left: photography by Amy West | styled by Kyle Ferrel

keep up with the contributors and their work on their Instagrams and websites

editors

MARIAH ROMERO co-editor | art director illustration & design @mriah_rose mariahromero.com

DARNELL THOMAS

LINDSEY KENNEDY @lindsekennedy lindseyrinkennedy.com

HAYLEY RHEAGAN @heyraygun

JASON STILGEBOUER

@jammminjay etsy.com/shop/JasonsPhotoStore

JORDAN EDDY

BRAD TRONE @bradtrone bradtrone.com

AMY WEST photography

DANNY ALLEGRETTI @allegretts dannyallegretti.com

JENN CARRILLO @jennisradd jenncarrillo.com

@mariamanuela

IRIS MCLISTER @irisbro

DAISY QUEZADA

co-editor | art director @dudeitsdarnell

guest editor | writer @santafeshuffle strangersartcollective.com

MARIA MANUELA

@videovidvideo words

DAN BOHNHORST MAGGIE GRIMASON @infantamarina

@daisyquezadaaurena style

KYLE FARRELL

@kylefrrll strangersartcollective.com

S H O P T H E PA G E S SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESSES. SUPPORT BROWN BUSINESSES. SUPPORT BLACK BUSINESSES. SUPPORT QUEER-OWNED BUSINESSES. SUPPORT WOMEN-OWNED BUSINESSES. SUPPORT LOCAL ARTISTS. SUPPORT INDIGENOUS ARTISTS. BUY VINTAGE. KNOW WHO MADE YOUR CLOTHES. KNOW YOUR ARTISTS. KNOW WHERE YOUR FOOD COMES FROM. BUY LOCAL. BUY FAIR TRADE. EAT LOCAL. BUY ITEMS THAT MAKE YOU LOVE YOURSELF.

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TRILBY NELSON

words by Maggie Grimason photography by Brad Trone

14

24

16

A BOY NAMED ADOBE

words by Maria Manuela photography by Hayley Rheagan & Danny Allgretti

SHY NATIVES

photography by Andrea Gutiérrez

GRACE ROSARIO PERKINS words by Jordan Eddy photography by Danny Allegretti

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38

LACK THEREOF

32

ALMOST HOME

poetry by Dan Bohnhorst photography by Lindsey Kennedy

words by Jordan Eddy

HOME AWAY

words by Daisy Quezada photography by Jason Stilgebouer

40

ON THRIFTING

words by Iris McLister photography by Jenn Carrillo

SWEET HOME

Designer Trilby Nelson has had desertscapes on the horizon since she was a child. Born in Los Angeles, she spent a few formative years of her youth in New Mexico, recently returning to Santa Fe, where she lives and works, designing textiles that reflect both her ethics and her joys. “I like making things that are playful and cozy,” she said.

Those emotions surface in large throws in recycled cotton with organic images and vibrant colors, woven felt tubs, and wall hangings.

Each item begins as a hand-drawn sketch, and is later translated into textile through collaboration with manufacturers in the U.S. The materials—their origins, their quality, and their production—are integral to the design process, selected for their sustainability and high standards. Woven together, these values and ethics create items for the home that just feel good to have around. “I really enjoy designing for the home,” Nelson explained, “I’m always thinking about the environment it will be in and the person using it and how it might fit into their lives.”

Often reflecting Nelson’s chosen home of the Desert Southwest in palette and form, these functional art objects are imbued with an appreciation of place and aim to—softly and sweetly— help others make their home, too, wherever that might be.

Maggie Grimason is a writer living in Albuquerque. She is the Arts & Literature editor of the Weekly Alibi and contributes to many other independent publications. When she’s not writing, she’s watching the birds.

words by Maggie Grimason | photography by Brad Trone photo assistant: Brandon Soder | art direction by Darnell Thomas clothing from Dandelion Guild | model: Julian Bonfiglio

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DESIGN SPOTLIGHT | SUPPORT WOMEN-OWNED BUSINESSES

S H Y N AT I V E S OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

Founded by Northern Cheyenne sisters Madison and Jordan Craig in 2017, Shy Natives aims to empower women with their handmade, customized lingerie. Shy Natives is in the nascence of their establishment, and the sisters work towards making their art a full-time commitment. Each piece is designed, patterned and sewn by Madison. After years of struggling with fit, she taught herself how to sew bralettes and underwear. Seeing a need for custom-fit, locally-made undergarments, the sister duo founded Shy Natives to provide beautiful, comfortable products to fit women of all sizes. Shy Natives is not a standard indie lingerie brand. It is an ongoing art and social project. The sisters collaborate with photographers, videographers, artists and musicians to create beautiful, meaningful content in addition to their handmade pieces. Our world has oversexualized and objectified Indigenous women for far too long. Ultimately, Shy Natives aims to redefine and reclaim sensuality of Native peoples, and inspire all women to take power and pride in their bodies.

images courtesy of Shy Natives | photography by Andrea GutiĂŠrrez assistant photographer: Jacob Martinez | models: Ala Ho, Alexis Perez, Serena Adams, Sidtia Sidt kun | videographer: Matthew Freiheit

FARAWAY FRIENDS | SUPPORT BROWN BUSINESSES

15

A BOY NAMED ADOBE words by Maria Manuela | photography by Hayley Rheagan fashion photography by Danny Allegretti | clothing from Dandelion Guild art direction by Mariah Romero | model: Khalah Mitchell

Adobe was a little boy who lived in the desert. He loved to run, and he ran from the time he finished breakfast until the sun disappeared behind the mountains. He ran through the hills, around the cacti and chamisa with his bare toes digging into the sand.

He ran because he wanted to be everywhere, and see every bit of the desert. The spiny plants, and bright-tailed lizards, the tops of mountains and the bend of every river. He wanted to see it soaked from monsoon rainstorms, and frozen in a blanket of white snow.

Every day he ran, he thought the same thought over and over in his head. “I want to see the desert, all of it at once. I want to see the desert, all of it at once.” He repeated these words in his head as he ran, a song to the beat of his feet hitting the earth.

One day, Adobe got his wish. As he ran he met a tower of dust, spinning in a sandy arroyo. The winds around it were fast and the boy struggled against them. He leaned into them and pushed forward with his runner’s legs until he broke into the center.

It was calm and windless there, where Life was waiting for him. Adobe asked to see the desert, all of it at once. His wish was granted and now he exists in every bit of dirt. He comes alive when you mix him with a bit of straw and water, and form him into a home. Adobe is happy, and spends all his days gazing at desert, all at once.

A Boy Named Adobe is an excerpt from Maria Manuela’s forthcoming collection of short folk tales, inspired by her lifelong experience of New Mexico’s landscape and multifaceted culture. A freelance writer based in Santa Fe, Maria has modeled for 1905 Magazine and was guest editor of the Friend Issue in summer 2018.

SHORT FICTION | SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESSES

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Grace Rosario Perkins words by Jordan Eddy | photography by Danny Allegretti

“Yeah, I’m not minimal at all,” says Grace

woman. It’s about the way I’m told not to take up

Rosario Perkins. We’re standing in her Albuquerque

space, or not be loud or expressive in a specific way.”

live-work studio at the mouth of her closet, which

Through five little tales of her life, Grace recounts

is really just the space underneath the loft where

a far-flung personal unfurling—in her art, life, and

she sleeps. Even in dim overhead lighting, Grace’s

style—that eventually lead her back to the land she’s

wardrobe is eye-popping—an undulating sea of color

always considered home.

and pattern that makes the cramped space seem vast. If this were a Narnia-like portal, I know what the world on the other side would look like.

Grace pulls out her iPhone and summons a

Grace was born at Santa Fe Indian Hospital on

photo of her old Oakland studio, which is packed

Cerrillos Road. She lived in a number of places

floor-to-ceiling with visually cacophonous canvases.

throughout her childhood, but Santa Fe was home

The artist is dead center, immersed in a universe of

base. It was there that her father, Olen Perkins, built

her own creation (and destruction, considering her

his own reputation as a painter, and where her uncle

penchant for completely painting over compositions

Michael McCabe taught her printmaking techniques

that she’s worked on for ages). Her canvases hold

in his studio off Second Street. One day when she

tangles of gestural brushstrokes and partially

was at Santa Fe High, Grace skipped a class and

submerged text, reflecting an overarching exploration

hightailed it for the hills. “When I came back, the

of the layered, twisty nature of memory and identity.

security guard said to me, ‘If you’re going to ditch,

During Grace’s time in Oakland, where she went to art school and started her artistic career, the painter’s domestic routine and studio practice were

don’t dress so loudly,’” she recalls. “I guess he watched me slowly disappear off campus.”

Back in junior high, Grace had boasted a

quite separate. “My former bedroom in Oakland was

typical 90’s-youth-in-Santa-Fe style—“hooped bangs,

just like a bed and a plant and maybe two framed

crunchy hair, wide-legged jeans, the whole thing”—

pieces of art,” she says. Since returning to her home

but then she got her first two punk records. “I was

state of New Mexico last May, Grace has brought

just like ‘whatever’ and shaved half my head,” she

the two worlds crashing together. “Here, I come

says. By high school, her hair was bright green and

downstairs and I’m like, ‘Oh, shit,’” she says. Her new

she wore red lipstick and vintage dresses every day. “I

space is in a former bookshop not far from downtown

only went to Santa Fe High for a little bit, but people

Albuquerque, and the front room where Grace has set

remember me if you say, ‘Did you know the girl with

up her studio is still lined with dark brown shelving.

the green hair?’” Grace says.

Right now the shelves are vacant but for a few books and small sculptures, because Grace is exhibiting in seven shows across the nation. “This is like the most empty it’s been,” she says, sounding

After dropping out of high school, Grace took a GED

a little forlorn. “But I think there’s something to be

course that was in a strip mall near a comic book

said about being maximal, especially being a Native

store. “I was really into Love and Rockets, just a specific

ARTIST PROFILE | SUPPORT INDIGENOUS ARTISTS

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set of alt comics,” she says. “I’d exclusively draw

says. “But it’s also something that’s really complicated.

things like that in the beginning, lots of weird and

Language is expression, and expression is tied to your

grotesque faces, and then I got into painting. They

identity, and identity is part of home.”

were full of images and symbols, naively political stuff that I’d never paint now. I was a teenager, you know?”

One thing Grace’s early paintings had in common with her current work was their vivid palette.

“When I moved to Oakland, that’s when I had a

Another element that has carried forward is the DIY

moment where I was like, ‘Ohhh.’ I just kind of

philosophy she developed at that time. “I was a Native

had culture shock,” says Grace. She was headed to

punk kid who made art, but the art I had to look up to

Mills College, a private, all-women’s university, to

was always outside of my own identity,” Grace says.

study English after a brief stint in the film school at

“For me, DIY culture is about accessibility. I want to

University of Arizona, Tucson. “I was like, ‘What the

be relatable to specific people, and I always want to

fuck?’ Everyone there was in such a different position

have zines or t-shirts or something there for kids who

than me,” she says. She tried on a few different

can’t afford to buy my paintings.”

majors—English, art history—but completed her degree in intermedia arts (also known as video arts) with a minor in art history. Her artistic practice had expanded to encompass video, paintings, sculptures,

At 17, Grace left Santa Fe to live between her parents’

and performance. One video piece folded together

reservations. Her mom is Diné, from Navajo Nation

audio from phone conversations with excerpts

in Northern Arizona, and her dad hails from Tohono

from letters and old photos to tell the story of her

O’odham Nation in Southern Arizona. “The thing

grandfather, who was a Vietnam vet.

that’s intense about reservations is that the only

After school, Grace started exploring the idea

industry is social services,” she says. “Being on a

of taking up space in earnest. She mounted solo

reservation, you kind of just work for the tribe.” Her

exhibitions with dozens of paintings installed edge-

time living on the reservations was an opportunity to

to-edge, and created a series of large-scale, mask-like

connect with her grandparents and begin practicing

sculptures that project into the viewer’s sphere. She

her ancestral languages, a pursuit that would later

also cofounded an artist group called Black Salt

figure prominently into her work.

Collective and started teaching at Bay Area nonprofits

“All of my grandparents went to boarding

like NIAD and Creative Growth—new ways to hold

school. My grandmother was punished for speaking

space and speak out. “No shade on painting, but I’m

her language,” Grace says. “It’s humbling and

really interested in not just making a painting,” she

embarrassing to be in a space where you’re around

says. “I want to create a space and have people enter

elders and you can’t talk to them. It’s not a beautiful,

it. I’m creating a space for the people who need it.”

amazing experience—it’s actually kind of hard to

Grace’s fashion sense followed suit, and the color

look through dictionaries and be like, ‘Why is this

world that inhabits her closet came together. “The Bay

so foreign to me?’” Years later, Grace would begin

Area has a very specific aesthetic,” she says. “If you

weaving partially obscured bits of English, Diné and

went to a DIY show eight years ago, everyone would

O’odham into her paintings and speaking phrases in

be wearing really bright, colorful, crazy stuff.”

performance art pieces. “I’m interested in language

When she returned to New Mexico in May, after

in the context of looking at it as reclamation,” Grace

eleven years in Oakland, Grace briefly settled in Santa

Fe. “I don’t know, would you move back to your hometown

she officially resides, the artist still takes short-term teaching

in your 30’s?” she says. Being there brought up old feelings

jobs in Oakland and travels across the country exhibiting

about Santa Fe’s colonial history, and how it informs the

her work and participating in artist residencies.

neocolonial present. “Almost everyone in my family is an

Grace heads out the door of her studio to show me

artist, so growing up, there were a lot of conversations

around her neighborhood, pointing out murals that she

around what it meant to be Native and to be contemporary

loves. Her paintings are cousins to these bright, gritty

and to be put in a position where things are expected from

creations that electrify the urban landscape. “I use dynamic

us,” she says. “It’s complicated. There are traditions, and

color that’s meant to be a little overwhelming,” Grace says.

then it gets kind of melded with commerce and tourism.”

“You have to look at it. You can’t look away.”

That’s how she landed in Albuquerque, an arm’s length away from her hometown but still immersed in the desert

Jordan Eddy is the marketing director of form & concept, and co-

landscape that has deeply informed her artwork. “The way

director of the emerging art space NO LAND. As an arts writer, he has

I try to use color is really symbolic and tied to home,” she

contributed to The Magazine, Santa Fe Reporter, Visual Art Source,

says. “Being from the desert, it’s all dirt. So I use a lot of this

art ltd, New Mexico Magazine and other publications.

peach red in the paintings.” Though New Mexico is where

LACK THEREOF words by Jordan Eddy

The good news about homelessness in the United States is that, since 2007, the rate has decreased across every subpopulation nationally. There’s been a 14.4% decrease overall, a 34.3% decrease among veterans, and a 27.4% decrease in chronic homelessness. That’s according to State of Homelessness, a 2017 report from the National Alliance to End Homelessness, from which we drew the numbers on this page. The bad news is that numbers are famously bad at telling individual stories. As you read these statistics, picture one person—a child, a parent, a teen, or a veteran—and let them guide you through the forest of digits and percentages. It’s a reminder that, while home is something you can carry inside of you, a physical home is something that should never be taken for granted.

Jordan Eddy is the marketing director of form & concept, and co-director of the emerging art space NO LAND. As an arts writer, he has contributed to The Magazine, Santa Fe Reporter, Visual Art Source, art ltd, New Mexico Magazine and other publications.

553,742

number of homeless people in the United States, according to the last national estimate (2016-2017)

40,056

14.3% PERCENTAGE INCREASE OF

UNACCOMPANIED CHILDREN AND

homeless veterans.

YOUNG ADULTS EXPERIENCING

HOMELESSNESS BETWEEN 2016 AND 2017.

THIS DEMOGRAPHIC EXPERIENCED THE

40,799

LARGEST INCREASE IN HOMELESSNESS

homeless people are unaccompanied children or young adults.

360,867

homeless people live in some form of shelter or in transitional housing.

192,875

OVER THAT TIME PERIOD.

33%

OF HOMELESS PEOPLE ARE IN FAMILY UNITS WITH CHILDREN.

homeless people live in a place not meant for human habitation, such as the street or an abandoned building.

HOW TO HELP

2,482 11.9

number of homeless people in New Mexico, according to the last state estimate.

number of homeless people per 10,000 people in New Mexico.

Without adequate federal funding, our communities can’t end homelessness. Send a letter to your representative in support of $2.8 billion in Homeless Assistance Grants funding for fiscal year 2019. For more information, visit endhomelessness.org and nmceh.org to take action, donate, and learn more about different homeless programs for funding.

INFOGRAPHIC

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Friends in the ancient river’s oxbow, T’ang Dynasty poets, raising onions while your country slaughters itself,

hello.

ALM O S T HO M E poetry by Daniel Bohnhorst | photography by Lindsey Kennedy

Felt I was almost home.

A voice I couldn’t see arrested me, mid-river, saying “Not this way… not yet.”

POETRY

33

Remember.

Memory, put it together again.

The lane of elm trees bending before the thunderstorm.

Our shrieks of happiness as we rushed to clear the table in time.

A few deep breaths and I burst out laughing now, on the street behind the body shop, no reason, you.

Home Away words by Daisy Quezada | photography by Jason Stilgebouer

It’s been several years since my family and I made the trip to Totatiche, Jalisco. When I was a child, we would journey back and forth visiting family on either side of the US-Mexico border. Nowadays when I make my way to Mexico it is predominantly to Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua.

Some people have told me that going there is unnecessary and dangerous. My intentions have nothing to do with security or entertainment; rather, I am situating a place. It is at times unsettling, painful, and distant, but I find my home to be there, where the stem and possibility of freedom resides.

The space where the US and Mexico meet has become that for me—the gray. It is a transitional location where most would prefer not to be. You are looked at as an anomaly if you want to exist there. This is my “home.” A home away from home.

The first time I crossed the divide without my family was daunting.

As the group of individuals I was traveling with approached the Santa Teresa Port of Entry in New Mexico I felt a pull inside of me, not from behind but from ahead. As we hit a tope (speed bump) and approached the light that would decide if we would be inspected or not, the feeling dissipated and an ease began to emerge, with lingering precaution. I’ve since made this crossing on my own regularly and have come to realize the internal draw comes as a form of localizing the self in this evershifting space.

Not only does this “home” reside there at the border, but in La Boquilla, where I once spent summers learning to embroider with grandma Ciliotilde; in Delaware where I learned to see beyond the haze; and more recently in the courtroom of immigration Judge Robert Hough in El Paso, where my uncle is asking forgiveness from the country he has given so much to.

This space that is not seen as a place is “home,” not only for myself but for many people—some not by choice. We are in search of something more, something beyond.

Daisy Quezada is a visual artist and educator based in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Within her practice she creates ceramic works and installations that speak on themes of identity and place in relation to social structures that cross between borders.

DEAR DIARY | SUPPORT LOCAL ARTISTS

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words by Iris McLister | photography by Jenn Carrillo clothing by Natural High & Mill and Finery model: Judah Estrella

ON THRIFTING For years my ex would tease me for coming home from the thrift store with mugs that said things like “14th Annual Cincinnati Gynecological Conference” or “Special Uncle.” I would hold them up to him, asking, “Who in the world would actually buy this?” The joke, of course, is that I would, but surely, I argued, not in the earnest, unironic way their original owners must have. Who would buy a portrait of a gold-chained pit bull, painted on black velvet? Or a practically threadbare cardigan in noxious shades of teal and pink?

I would, and have, and derive quantifiably more pleasure from old things than from new ones, feeling deeply satisfied whenever I eschew the utilitarian for something with a little heart and soul. Certainly the best scores serve a purpose, at least nominally; that which is functional and funky is every thrifter’s dream. No, my cross-stitched Elvis, embellished liberally with purple sequins, is emphatically not in this category, nor is my lone, unpaired bookend of a ravishingly handsome Jesus. But my glass-topped coffee table, with its heavy, psychedelically carved base, might have been plucked from a late-70s discotheque, and has both aesthetic and practical merit.

I tell myself I stop short of pure schlock, but of course that’s subjective. A toothbrush holder molded into a maniacally grinning Chewbacca, lemon-yellow polyester pants, a Vegas showgirl figurine that’s just a pink-bikinied Barbie on a plastic pedestal: the “value” of these things isn’t obtuse or specific, it’s pretty much nonexistent. Still, some heady combination of cheapness, impulsiveness, and sheer love of schlock keeps me walking through the aisles.

Iris McLister is the daughter of a Florida clam farmer, but don’t ask her to eat anything with a shell on it. She has worked in the Santa Fe art world for nearly a decade, and has contributed to regional and national arts publications.

PERSONAL ESSAY | BUY VINTAGE

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buy local TRILBY NELSON Santa Fe, New Mexico @trilbynelson | trilbynelson.com Trilby Nelson is a Santa Fe-based designer. Her studio practice focuses on textiles and products for the home.

She also has a background in Environment Design and is an Exhibition Designer for the state museums of New Mexico.

DA N D E L I O N G U I L D 1925 Rosina St unit h, Santa Fe, New Mexico @dandelionguild | dandelionguild.com Dandelion Guild was born of a series of small pop-up events that began in Santa Fe in 2014. Since then we’ve grown. Now we have a real-life storefront, filled with wonderful things! We love vintage clothing and supporting our talented local artists, through collaborative installations focused on accessible, shop-able art to wear and use and integrate into your daily life. Hope to see you soon!

M I L L & F I N E RY 6804 4th St NW, Albuquerque, New Mexico @millandfinery | millandfinery.com Mill+Finery provides a curated collection of independent labels and name brand favorites. We strive to offer an elevated shopping experience for the conscious consumer. Our other focus besides providing excellent customer service is community involvement. Mill+Finery participates in local pop-ups, fundraisers, art shows, and more.

S H Y N AT I V E S Oakland, California @shynatives shynatives.com Founded by Northern Cheyenne sisters Madison and Jordan Craig in 2017, Shy Natives aims to empower women with their handmade, customized lingerie.

Each piece is designed, patterned and sewn by Madison. Seeing a need for custom-fit, locallymade undergarments, the sister duo founded Shy Natives to provide beautiful, comfortable products to fit women of all sizes. Shy Natives is not a standard indie lingerie brand. It is an ongoing art and social project. Ultimately, Shy Natives aims to redefine and reclaim sensuality of Native peoples, and inspire all women to take power and pride in their bodies.

N AT U R A L H I G H V I N TA G E Find Natural High at Paradise Club Vintage 115 7th St NW, Albuquerque, New Mexico @naturalllhigh | @shopparadiseclub Natural High collects and curates vintage gems from throughout the Desert Southwest. We believe in sustainable practices, and we use rare clothing as a way of upcycling.