You won't find Terry Cunningham searching the Internet to add to his collection of Native American art.

The Melbourne resident celebrates his Cherokee heritage through an extensive collection of art from various tribes. But to him, there's more to adding a piece than simply seeing a picture of it.

"Sometimes in art, things are just objects," Cunningham said. That's not the case with the garments, sculptures, moccasins, rugs and drums that fill the home he shares with his partner, Bob Cleveland. "The piece has to speak to me spiritually," Cunningham explained. "I must see it in person, meet the artist and make sure they respect Mother Earth." He cultivates an attitude of reverence for the art because of the belief system and way of life it represents. It's not about age, but beauty and meaning.

A small clay bowl found in an archaeological dig shares space in a display case with an intricatelybeaded money belt crafted by a Native American artisan just a few years ago. He admires the workmanship of a Navajo woven blanket and the hand-sewn beading that covers a knife sheath dated no later than 1850. But just as much, he appreciates the spiritual meditation he knows accompanied the painstaking work, each pass of a needle or shuttle moving with the artist's prayer for guidance in the design.

Cunningham's mother grew up in North Carolina, the daughter of Cherokee parents. She met Cunningham's Irish father when he visited the reservation and was enthralled with the beautiful Cherokee woman weaving baskets. The couple moved to Tennessee, and then to Illinois, where Cunningham grew up.

His art collection started with items being handed down in the family, but Cunningham soon started adding items. One of the first was a clay pot Cunningham estimates is more than 200 years old. The hand-coiled pot is painted green, orange and blue – what he refers to as the colors of Mother Earth. Though the pot appears to be in excellent shape considering its age and method of creation, he relishes the imperfections that remind him of the human hands that formed its shape.

The collection encompasses many native tribes, each with their own style and manner of representing meaning in their art. War bonnets near the front door are more in the tradition of the Sioux tribe. One trails 6 feet long and would have been worn only for ceremonial purposes. The other war bonnet is made of turkey feathers, horse hair and rabbit fur.

Like many of Cunningham's pieces, beading plays a prominent design role and carries historical significance. He values pieces that include the original glass beading, used as currency in trading by the Native Americans. Many of his acquisitions include a certificate of authenticity that he keeps under or behind the piece. Some are by artists who also have work displayed in Native American museums.

Choosing a favorite is too hard, but an Indian ceremonial shirt, framed and lighted on a wall, would be a contender.

Cleveland shares the collecting passion, and in fact has selected some of the pieces. He chose the salmontoned alabaster sculpture "God's Embrace," a depiction of an eagle shielding a Native American family on a recent buying trip out West.

He also has applied his artistic skills to create a space that complements the carefully arranged display. Cleveland built the kiva-style fireplace, smoothing the stucco surface with mud to resemble adobe and including a niche to showcase a Native American bust. He also made a wooden cornice that tops the sliding glass doors with a carved Southwest design accented by turquoise, and cares for the cactus garden on the back porch.

In the movies, cowboys and Indians were enemies, but in Cunningham's home, the factions happily coexist. Metal sculptures of cowboys roping calves decorate the living room chandelier, and an ox yoke hangs on the wall. Instead of cowboys vs. Indians, "we look at it as cowboy meets Indian," Cleveland said.

The centerpiece of the family room diverges from the Native American theme, but is integral to Cunningham's life story. The handcrafted piano, made by fifth-generation German manufacturer Feurich, represents to Cunningham how far he has come. He grew up poor, Cunningham says, and fell in love with piano music when he attended a cousin's recital. His mother did extra basket weavings to save enough money to buy a used upright so he could learn.

In reality, only 77 of the 88 keys worked. But in his mind, he was Liberace at the keyboard, grateful for those 77 keys. "I played by ear, so in my mind, I could still hear those missing notes," he said.

Art fills the home, delighting the senses and reminding visitors of an enduring culture. Don't get too close to the sconces, Cunningham warns – the kokopelli adorning the light is the spirit god of fertility. A strike on the Conchiti Ray drums produces the deep vibration the drum maker is known for.

A Kachina doll was well-loved by a young Hopi girl, and rabbit fur-lined moccasins sit on display, the bottoms showing evidence of miles traveled.

Cleveland and Cunningham have made their own journey, from separate careers to a new venture. Cleveland formerly worked as a hospice counselor and professor of theology, while Cunningham's background was as a motivational speaker. Constant travel to various sales seminars took its toll, and the two decided to start a business that would give them more control over their lives. The result was an ice cream truck business, specializing in 50 flavors of shaved ice.

Remembering his past, and the ice cream man who had compassion on him when he couldn't afford a treat, he tries to return the favor.

"When they don't have money, I end up giving a lot away," Cunningham said.