Monday, July 25, 2011

Eyes on the Northwest









An ad for UBC's Museum of Anthropology recalled an old fascination and suggested my next summer camp project. As a child, I was given a small book titled (before the days of political correctness) Indian Children of North America that showed the lifestyles of "Indians" of the plains, the woods, the swamps, the deserts, and -- my favorite -- the Northwest coast. I loved the intricate carvings on the huge canoes and the zoomorphic artifacts, like a huge bear-shaped ceremonial bowl. When we came to Vancouver in the late 1970s, I was already predisposed to love the environment and the characteristic First Nations art.

For many years, we hiked or kayaked every weekend all year round, and every trip was an opportunity to indulge our shared weakness (or strength) for randomly collecting the stones, shells, and pieces of wood that captured our eyes. It didn't take many small bits of cedar, weathered or waterworn, for me to develop a personal theory about the origins of art like the Edenshaws'. Maybe it's very obvious, but I've never seen my theory referred to elsewhere. Take a look at these wood pieces of mine:




















Get my drift? The rhythms, the concentric ovals, the eyes... Is there any doubt that these (and probably the swirl of oyster shells) inspired coastal First Nations art?

Here at summer camp, where the intent is to do a lot of splashing around, I decided to assemble some of my pieces in a long band -- like a silver bracelet perhaps?


I decided to work very loosely with a larger than usual brush on top of an old painting.

The final outcome -- "Eyes on the Northwest" -- was a personal amble into the past, recalling hiking trails and beach walks.


It was also an invitation to recall one of my all-time favorite works of art, a treasure at the MOA: Bill Reid's Raven and the First Men. Check out his exquisite piece (which stands about 10 feet high, as I remember) and see if you don't agree that its origin could be found in a morning's walk, gathering tidbits from the high tide line of a coastal beach.

1 comment:

  1. I wish I had seen that work before we left. But I remember you showed me a picture which was quite astonishing.

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