Kate Adams is an Indigenous Vermont artist with multiple disabilities, and in this episode of the show, she sits down with CDCI Academics Coordinator Winnie Looby. They talk about Kate’s work with her horses on disability and trauma, the messages carried by geese, and Kate’s life as an artist with ADHD.

https://youtu.be/kh-UXBCa2MU

Content notes: this episode contains brief mentions of domestic violence, and adult child death. Please decide how best to approach those topics for yourself. A full transcript of the episode appears below.

Winnie Looby: Could you introduce yourself and tell us a little about your relationship with disability?

Kate Adams: My given name at birth was Katherine Mary Adams, and then I grew up being called Kathy as my nickname. But then when I was finally at a point of realizing I needed to get out of an abusive marriage, and I realized that every time I saw in writing or heard someone say Kathy, that I cringed. I realized I need to change my nickname for a new beginning. And so I changed it to Kate. And so that is what I used when I signed my art.

At the time, I didn’t know I was disabled, so to speak. And I became acquainted with Vermont Inclusive Arts Council because I do love the outdoors, and taking photos, and images, and sharing them. And I saw so much awful stuff on Facebook and all this other media that I said, “Well, at least I could share some good things.”

And also that was important to my daughter in the last three years of her battle with three rare aggressive breast cancers. She says, “Mom, send me photos of my boys of the horses, of the sunrises, of the ducks.” And at the time I thought she just needed it as a distraction, a break from her work, or a distraction from the pain.

But I eventually realized that it not only was an expression of my love to her, knowing that though I couldn’t be with her in person through this new technologies, I could send images of her of things that we both loved. And so it was like expressing my mother’s love.

And I wanted to find more ways to share my images. And I have tried in the past to do exhibits and sell photography, and I was privileged to be honored as to do an exhibit for the gallery here in Springfield on the photos of the Lakota and Abenaki peoples. But I find that it’s very hard to sell things that way. Plus, if you don’t have the money to pay for good matting and frames, and I do it thrift store style. Okay?

A large photograph of a stunning sunrise over marshes hangs next to an information window, at which sits a college-aged worker.

So when I saw this notice in the weekly flyer that came that said, “Still accepting entries for this exhibit,” which was called Masked, I thought, “Here’s another way.” And so I inquired, and of course it said people with disabilities.

And so I contacted Heidi [Swevens, of Inclusive Arts Vermont] and she, I want to say is such a blessing. And for anyone that is listening to this and has some of their own challenges, I want to just encourage you that the folks at Inclusive Arts Council understand, and they’re very wise and kind.

And so we had a number of phone conversations because I qualified on their terms of disability, three ways. PTSD. Well, I have more than simple PTSD. I have complex PTSD, which let me tell you, it is more complex. I have ADH, which I didn’t know till about 15 years ago. And so you could now call me ADH late diagnosis, which I’m learning. From what I’m learning through Zoom stuff, that’s even more complicated, and being indigenous.

And these were all in the category. And I said, okay, first of all, I don’t like the word disabled, because it’s been used and the images, and the stereotypes, it’s been used so much in our culture in a very negative way. And I learned through my horses. My horses are family generation bred. They’re the old type Lippitt Morgans, which really connect with people. They’re very wise. They are healer teachers if you’re willing to be open to learn what they have to share.

And I have two of my horses are ADH. And I learned when I started sharing my horses, horses that there was this thing about me that I knew that I was smart. I’d been told I was smart. I was the first in my family to go to college. I graduated from UVM in education in 1971.

And when I went to education, I was a little small town girl, the town of Burlington was like. And my roommate had rows and rows of shoes. I had one or maybe two pairs of shoes. And I learned that people there thought that if you were in education, it was only because you weren’t smart enough to be in some other field where you could make more money. All right?

A pale-skinned Indigenous older woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun rests a hand on a large gray wall plaque. Picked out in gold letters on the plaque: David. W. Howe Memorial Library.

Well, I was in education because I wanted to be a teacher. I loved learning and I loved sharing learning. And so I learned with kids and people that came to learn from my horse connection program, I knew who was ADH. And I would say to them, “I am ADH, but I won’t use the D for disorder because we are not defective. We are different, but not defective.”

And so I had conversations with Heidi about all of this because then I had to decide, what part of my art do I want to share? It’s going to be photography, it’s going to be having to do with the outdoors. And how do I want to deal with this theme of masked? I could just go with, I could have taken, let me be blunt. It would’ve been the easier route to go with PTSD. All right? And say, “Here is an image of the outdoors of the Canada geese. The goose is brooding on her eggs,” which I have one over there brooding this morning. And I’m over there taking pictures of her this morning.

And I’m learning from God’s creatures what is healthy father mother, male female role, which is not what I’ve been taught in the culture that I was raised in, in education, in family, in church, religious.

So I knew I could just take an image, which is what I’ve done for this particular exhibit. It is simply an image of God’s creative beauty that I saw the morning that was the last day that I would be with my daughter on her earth journey. And the encouragement, the message that it was to me. But for masked, I felt like I was ready after a long journey searching, and be careful and quiet, because of those that would look at me and see my whiter skin and say, “You’re just a wannabe. You don’t know if you’re really Abenaki.” So I don’t know if once the tribes even got recognized, if I was eligible to apply.

But about seven years ago, I did genealogy study. And so I found my native ancestors in ...