Tradition! Arts and Crafts Revived
By
Gussie
Fauntleroy | Published 11/30/2005 |
Textiles/Weaving
,
Cultural
Items ,
Wood
Carving ,
Cherokee
,
Navajo
,
Haida ,
Tlingit
,
Choctaw
,
Confederated
Tribes of Umatilla ,
Cree ,
Creek ,
Muskogee
,
Paiute
,
Shoshone
,
Sioux ,
Ute ,
Gussie
Fauntleroy ,
Yokut ,
Diné |
Feather Fans
The feather fan is an integral part of daily and ceremonial life for many
Native peoples. It is used in dance, for blessing, prayer, ceremony and for
fanning. Patrick Scott (Diné) has been making feather fans since 1981, and has
created fansfor tribal people around North America and Mexico. His work is in
collections as far away as Europe and in institutions such as the Gilcrease
Museum in Tulsa and the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington,
D.C. Yet many of his fans still go to Native people, who use them in traditional
ways. For his part, the 39-year-old artist often attends powwows and is an
active member of the Native American Church.
Making a fan involves finding the perfect combination of feathers,
washing them with traditional herbs, then steaming and flattening them.
Feather fans and beaded handles by Patrick Scott (Diné). Photos by HW
Brelsford.
Most of Scott’s feathers come from moltings of live birds such
as macaws, cockatoos,exotic turkeys and pheasants—feathers that are legal to buy
and sell. If someone wants a fan containing eagle or other raptor feathers that
cannot be sold, the client must provide the feathers. Paint is not used; the
fans’ carefully combined color choices come from beadwork, threadwork and
featherwork using small dyed goose feathers, as well as the primary fan
feathers.
Along with his brother, from whom he learned the craft, Scott
developed the gourd stitch for beading, and uses high-quality, small beads. His
one-of-a-kind designs often reflect the purchaser’s life situation and planned
use for the fan, he says. Other acclaimed fan-makers selling their work today
include Mitchell Boyiddle (Kiowa) and Steve Darden (Diné/Cheyenne).
Woven Cedar Hats and Clothing
Lisa Telford grew up around Haida women—her grandmother,
mother, aunt and cousins—who wove cedar bark into baskets, clothing and hats. It
was such a familiar activity she took it for granted and didn’t learn it
herself. Then in 1986 she joined a traditional dance group in Washington State.
Wearing a conical hat woven by her grandmother, Telford found herself wishing
the other dancers could have traditional hats as well. In the old days, cedar
garments were worn for dances and daily life all along the Northwest
Coast.
above: Twined hat of red and yellow cedar by Lisa Telford. below: A pair of
dance leggings of pounded red cedar bark, decorated with sea otter fur and deer
hooves by Lisa Telford. Photos by Jerry McCollum.
In 1993, a grant from the Washington State Arts Commission
allowed Telford to study basketry with her aunt. Later she learned cedar
clothing weaving from a cousin. Since that time, Telford’s traditional and
contemporary cedar baskets and garments—robes, tunics, canoe capes, dance aprons
and hats—have earned numerous awards. Yet whether her designs are innovative or
centuries old, the process of harvesting and preparing the bark, and then
weaving, is traditional, labor intensive and long.
The bark
of yellow or red cedar offers itself only in the spring, the artist explains,
adding that she may travel hours to find good trees. She never takes enough to
harm a tree. Back home in Everett, Washington, Telford rolls and dries the bark.
Before she weaves clothing, red cedar is pounded and softened, and yellow cedar
is stripped and thigh-spun to make twine for the weft. A dance apron requires
600 feet of twine, and weaving alone can take more than 250 hours. But, through
these and multiple other steps, it is a labor Telford truly loves.
Cherokee Marbles and Games
Walking
through the woods near his home in eastern Oklahoma, Cherokee artisan Hastings
Shade collects the materials he uses to make gadayosdi, or stone “marbles” for a
traditional Cherokee game. He picks up small chunks of limestone and sandstone,
and cuts a small, sturdy stick. As he walks he strikes one rock against the
other, beginning the long process of shaping the limestone into a ball about the
size of a billiard ball. Traditionally, these marbles were used in a game played
on a large area of smoothed dirt. Teams pitch their marbles—today using
commercial billiard balls—to see which can be first to get them into an L-shaped
series of holes in the ground.
Back home, Shade spends hours rough-shaping the stone ball
with the limestone and sandstone. Then he splits the end of the stick and uses
it to hold the ball in place in a rounded depression in a larger stone. Keeping
the depression filled with water poured from a terrapin shell, he twirls the
stick between his hands. Gradually the ball becomes perfectly smooth and round.
Shade, 64, is a full-blood Cherokee and sixth-generation
descendant of Sequoyah Guess, inventor of the written Cherokee alphabet. He is
retired deputy principal chief of the Cherokee Nation, and teaches Cherokee
language and traditional crafts. Along with marbles, he makes a dice game from
disk-shaped pieces of antler dyed with pokeberries and bloodroot, and other
games, blowguns, bows and arrows. His wife, Loretta Jean Shade, also Cherokee,
creates cornhusk and buffalo grass dolls and teaches traditional cooking. The
Shades have also written books on the Cherokee language and culture.
Shell Carving
The sea
creatures, animals, birds and symbols Dan Townsend carves in shell comprise a
“language of the soul that speaks to the heart,” he says. It’s a language whose
roots lie deep in the artist’s Muskogee Creek heritage and lifelong love of the
sea, as well as in spiritual realms and human experience shared by us all.
Townsend, 50, grew up in the Florida Keys and Everglades, and now lives in
Tallahassee. As a boy he taught himself to carve coconut shell, carved tikis and
totems in palm, and later did scrimshaw. About 25 years ago he met Mary Frances
Johns, an elderly Seminole maker of medicine. Townsend, by then carving shell,
began delving ever more deeply into the history, traditions and medicine ways of
Southeastern tribes, whose shell work dates to the Mississippian period of A.D.
1000 to 1600.
above: “Love letter to Vicki,” glass and bone trade bead necklace and black
mother of pearl pendant carved with a spider. The spider has a fire symbol on
her back because she is the bringer of the first counsel fire; right: “Warrior
Society” carved out of conch shell with two ivory billed woodpeckers. Both by
Dan Townsend. Photos by Lynn Ivory.
Townsend’s exquisitely carved gorgets (pendants), medicine cups
and earrings are created exclusively from lightning whelk shell for ceremonial
pieces, or from gold and black mother-of-pearl. He uses existing shell and never
kills the lightning whelk animal itself, a gastropod. While the ancients used
stone carving tools, Townsend sees his own use of non-power dental tools as true
to tradition. Many of his designs are inspired by old shell carvings found in
burial sites around the Southeast. He has created items for medicine people
around the United States, Borneo, Africa and elsewhere. “This work is about the
old folks, the ones before us,” he explains, adding, “it’s been quite a journey,
and still is.”
Another notable artist working in this medium is Knokovtee
Scott (Creek), who specializes in river mussel shell pieces.
Birchbark Biting
In 1980 in an isolated mining town in Saskatchewan, Canada, Angelique Merasty’s
eye was caught by her own name on a magazine cover. Merasty, then in her late
20s, could barely read. She was raised in far northern Manitoba, the eldest of
12 children whose parents trapped for clothing and food. She spoke only Cree
until age 15 and never attended school. But she read well enough to learn that
this other Angelique Merasty, an elderly Cree not related to her, had no
daughters and was looking for someone to whom she could teach the ancient craft
of birchbark biting.
“Four Frogs,” birchbark biting by Angelique Merasty Levac.
In old times, women picking berries entertained each other by using their teeth
to make designs in birchwood’s soft inner bark. Remembering this, Merasty was
struck with the unshakable feeling that she was the one who should learn and
carry on this almost-lost Northern Woodlands art. After an exhausting journey by
plane, bus, taxi and finally on foot across a frozen lake, she found the woman
who shares her name.
From there, doors opened in her life that she could never have imagined.
She learned to choose the right tree, test the bark and carefully remove a
section, not harming the tree. She learned to painstakingly peel the bark to
reach the inner layers, fold a piece and bite designs into it. Eventually she
and her teacher were featured in a documentary, and the almost-lost art found
new life. Still one of the only artists of her kind, Merasty (now Merasty
Levac), sells to collectors internationally and through her own shop in Prince
George, British Columbia.
Other notable artisans working in this field include Sally
McKenzie (Cree), Vivian Nipshank (Cree), Pat “Half Moon” Bruder (Metis), Yvette
Bouvier (Metis) and Ssipsis (Penobscot).
Caribou Hair Tufting
In pre-contact days, women of the far North adorned clothing with
tufts of moose hair, and later caribou hair, dyed with plant or berry juice. For
the past 16 years, Inuk (Brendalynn Trennert) has been reviving, preserving and
teaching this almost-lost craft. Inuk is of Inuvialuit and German descent and
lives in Hay River, in Canada’s Northwest Territories. Although self-taught, she
grew up watching her mother, Julia Pokiak Trennert, tuft moose hair.
Caribou hair tufting artist Inuk with “Eskimo Kayaker.” Photo courtesy News
North.
For her own work, Inuk prefers the softer, finer chin hair, or “bell,” of the
caribou, which requires a steadier hand and allows more detail. She cuts the
hair from the hide in small bundles and cleans it, leaving some natural and
coloring some with commercial dye. The bundles are sewn to leather with sinew
and knotted at the back. When sewn down, the tufts gently fan out like pom-poms,
and together they form a raised design, which then is trimmed.
Inuk, 37, continues the traditional method of tufting, yet she
is known for her contemporary designs, including animals, birds and geometric
imagery. She gains inspiration from travel, Native cultures, her family, tufting
students and nature. Along with framed pieces, her tufted designs adorn
clothing, brooches, barrettes and leather-wrapped brass hoops.
Inuk is one of very few master tufters—along with her
mother—working today. She has taught and exhibited in North America, Siberia and
Japan, and was honored to present a tufting to Queen Elizabeth II and Prince
Philip on their royal visit to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. As the artist
puts it, in her warm, delightful manner, “I was born to tuft!”
Jessie Wastasticoot (Cree) and Helen Bussidor (Dene) are two
other well-regarded tufters.
Cornhusk Weaving
One day
when he was 15, Michael R. Johnson, of the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla,
noticed an aunt weaving a cornhusk bag. Feeling proud that he’d learned the
traditional art at a culture camp, he announced that he knew how to weave.
“Here, work on this!” his aunt replied. So he did, taking tips from his aunt as
he went along. When the bag was finished, Johnson started another. He continued
to refine his skills and today, at 36, is considered a master weaver, teaching
apprentices through the tribe, the Oregon Historical Society and a local art
center.
Cornhusk bag by Michael Johnson.
In pre-contact times, a number of Plateau tribes wove cornhusks
into watertight bags and hats. The large bags were used as trade items and
storage containers for dried roots, berries, salmon and meat. The weaving is
done using the inner layers of husk, which are dried flat and bleached in the
sun. Wetted, the husk is wrapped around twine in what is called a “false
embroidery” technique. While Johnson wraps the husk around yarn and incorporates
earth-toned satin ribbon for color, weavers in the old days made twine from
dogbane. Some of the cornhusk was dyed with cattail or roots to create designs.
Otherwise, Johnson says, he weaves using the traditional process as it has been
done for centuries.
He creates flat bags, rounded bags, belt bags, hip bags,
hats and bell holders for longhouse bells. Among other respected Plateau tribe
cornhusk weavers are Lynn-Sue Jones, Verna Patrick, Joey Lavadour, Jess Nowland,
the late Rose Frank and the late Katherine Ramsey, Johnson’s grandmother.
Northwest Coast Carved Items
Low in the water in a dugout canoe, hunters creeping toward a sea otter in the
old days would quietly pull in their regular paddles and use very small paddles
to guide the canoe closer to their prey. The miniature paddles made almost no
sound in the water, providing the stealth the men needed. Today these small
paddles, often carved or painted in Northwest Coast designs, are carried by
Native women when they dance. They are among the traditional items created by
Tlingit master carver Wayne Price of Haines, Alaska.
Yellow cedar paddle with eagle design by Wayne Price. Photo by Matt Davis.
Price, 48, has lived in Haines all his life. Early on he began hanging out with
carvers and other artists at Alaska Indian Arts, one of the earliest nonprofit
Native artschools. Rough times intervened for a while, but art helped get Price
back on track with his life. Today he carves paddles of all sizes, from
eight-inch decorative paddles to eight-foot-long steering paddles of yellow
cedar or spruce. He also creates elaborately carved seal grease dishes and
potlatch feast dishes, wooden spoons, masks, drums, bentwood boxes and
ceremonial dance regalia. And he has designed and carved 23 traditional totem
poles, at times using no power equipment to raise three-ton poles.
Recognizing the importance of Native art in his own recovery,
Price uses it to help troubled Native youth. He and about a half-dozen young men
are currently carving a 30-foot dugout canoe in Price’s yard. “My mission in
life,” he asserts, “is to bring our people back together through the art.”
Other skilled carvers who also produce traditional Northwest
Coast items include Tommy Joseph (Tlingit), Ken Decker (Tsimshian), George
Bennett, Jerry Laktonen (Alutiiq), Israel Shotridge (Tlingit), Pete Peterson
(Coast Salish) and Nathan Jackson (Tlinget).
Plains Leather Items and War
Objects
Shoshone/Yokut artist Black Eagle remembers his grandmother as one of
the finest brain tanners around. But it was the general skill of her
hands—creating buckskin dresses, doing beadwork, building cradleboards and
weaving baskets—that has been Black Eagle’s greatest inspiration. After a series
of diverse “mini-careers,” the Nevada Native turned his attention to his own
skilled hands. Now 51 and living on the west slope of the California Sierras, he
creates a wide range of items, primarily from his Plains heritage, in as
traditional a way as possible.
A war shirt, for example, is made from five large
brain-tanned deer hides, which Black Eagle trades for with tribal tanners. He
uses bison sinew to sew, French linen thread for beading, and wool trade cloth,
as his ancestors would have after trading with Europeans. Black Eagle also
creates award-winning breastplates, rattles, cradleboards, bone knives, war
lances and other traditional items. “I wanted to bring back some of the old
spirit and the old ways of doing things,” he reflects. “If anything, I wanted to
revive it in myself.”
Hide Tanning
On any
given day, the yard of Wesley Dick Kwassuhe (the name means “One Who Tans
Hides”) on the Stillwater Reservation near Fallon, Nevada, has as many as 20
hides in various stages of being tanned: some are soaking, some are ready to be
stretched, some have had the hair scraped off with a dull bone or plucked by
hand, and some have been rubbed with brain to produce an exceptionally soft,
white buckskin.
Kwassuhe, a 40-year-old Northern Paiute, does every step of
the process the old way, including skinning the deer with his hands—without a
knife—to avoid nicking the skin. He learned by listening to the elders and
teaching himself, just as he taught himself to make moccasins, dance dresses,
drums, cradleboards and medicine bags. He’s one of few people still tanning
traditionally, and his passion for the old ways leads him to take on apprentices
and provide demonstrations for local children. Though Kwassuhe most often works
with deer hide, he has also brain-tanned elk, antelope, moose and buffalo. “My
credit is to the elders,” he says, “for taking the time to talk to me.”
Quillwork
For
centuries, Native Americans adorned clothing, tools and weapons with dyed,
flattened, folded and stitched quills gathered from porcupines. Boni Bent-Nelson
(Cherokee) of South Bend, Indiana is among the finest living practitioners of
this rare craft, working in zig-zag, straight line and plaiting techniques. She
also teaches quillwork at the National Center for Great Lakes Native American
culture in Lafayette, Indiana.
Also noteworthy are quillworkers Jerry Ingram (Choctaw/Cherokee)
and Juanita Growing Thunder Fogarty (Sioux/Assiniboine), who won the 2005 Santa
Fe Indian Market Best of Class award for bead and quillwork.
Parfleche Boxes
Tough,
thick, rigid rawhide from buffalo or elk, made into a shield, could deflect an
enemy’s arrow—thus the word parfleche, from the French for “turning away an
arrow.” But sturdy untanned hides also made excellent storage and travel
containers for the early Native people of the Plains. From this tradition,
Southern Ute artist Debra Box constructs containers from untanned hides in
authentic Southern Plains style. She takes part in Santa Fe Indian Market, and
her creations have found their way into such movies as Dances with Wolves.
Living in Colorado Springs, 49-year-old Box does not have
access to buffalo hides. But virtually every aspect of her work with cowhide
reflects her ancestors’ methods. She soaks the hide, cleans it, lashes it to a
wooden frame to dry in the sun, and scrapes it. From the prepared hide she
constructs various-size boxes, flat storage cases, tubular bonnet cases and
quivers for arrows and bows. Finally, she adorns the containers with paint from
ground earth pigments. Of her work, she says, “I get a lot of inspiration
knowing someone will appreciate it.”
As these and other lesser-known ancient arts are
increasingly practiced, collected and more widely exposed, their gifts of
beauty, utility and cultural continuity will be even more appreciated by Natives
and non-Natives alike.
Gussie Fauntleroy lives in Santa Fe and writes
extensively on the arts and other subjects for national and regional
publications. She is the author of three books on artists, including
Roxanne Swentzell: ExtraOrdinary People.
http://www.nativepeoples.com/article/articles/160/1/Tradition%21-Arts-and-Crafts-Revived
Focus:
Indigenous Rights
Action Request:
Petition
Location:
Canada
Just shy of 6 a.m. on a November morning, the pre-dawn temperature hovers barely above freezing. The stars are achingly bright in the rich, black-velvet sky. A sliver of moon hangs over the spectacular buttes of Monument Valley on the Arizona-Utah border. As our jeeps caravan down the sandy road, a soft gold creeps along the horizon to the east. The "Mittens" rock formations become half-seen giants against the glow.
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