For
many Native artisans, it was the memory of a grandmother’s deftly
moving fingers, or a grandfather’s quiet words, that stirred up a
powerful desire to learn and carry on an ancient skill perhaps in
danger of being lost to the modern world. In some cases, the effort of
a single artist—who taught someone else, who then taught someone
else—has revived and preserved important ancient Native crafts.
While objects such as Native pottery, painting, jewelry and textiles
now enjoy widespread exposure in the world of fine art, many other
traditional arts and crafts may be familiar only on a regional or
tribal basis. Yet these, too, involve extraordinary skill. Created for
daily or ceremonial use, or for fun, they represent essential elements
of Native cultures and communities. With their beauty and ingenuity,
they reveal the living spirit of age-old ways of life. Here is a
sampling of traditional crafts we hear less about. Others—and there are
many—will be featured in future issues.
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 fans for 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 art schools. 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. Photo by Linda Lehnen Andrews.
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.
