Alaska Native Arts & Culture

Growing up, Crystal Worl remembers looking up at the 120-foot-long mural on G Street that showed major events in Anchorage’s history: the Alaska Purchase, a Fur Rondy auction, a series of World War II planes.

For years, the wall of the RIM Architecture building behind City Hall featured the Anchorage History Mural, which was painted in 1995 by artist Bob Patterson.

But Worl said there wasn’t anyone in the painting who looked like her. She didn’t see many Alaska Native faces, or women.

“I felt that it was very lacking of being inclusive of Indigenous people, and I felt that the only acknowledgement it gave me was that I exist in the past and that my history is not present,” she said in a recent phone interview.

Nearly 30 years after the original mural was created, Worl is now taking a paintbrush to the same wall and designing her own. The art, she said, is a way to tell a different version of the city’s history — a story that celebrates the diverse Alaska Native people who make Anchorage their home.

‘It’s not like a marble sculpture’

A number of new murals have been installed downtown during recent years as part of the Alaska Mural Project, which was formed by the Anchorage Museum in 2020 to improve the community through public art.

The murals are an opportunity for Anchorage to update public art with new narratives and ideas about the city while giving the downtown area a makeover, said James Temte, Alaska Pacific University’s project manager.

Murals are not intended to last forever, said Temte, who’s also a muralist.

“It’s not like a marble sculpture or anything, and so I think murals, they come and they go, and this is just the next of a new series,” he said. “With street art, mural art, it’s very much a progress — it’s not stuck in time.”

Worl applied to be part of the mural project more than two years ago and was selected by a panel of community leaders from the Anchorage Museum, Alaska Pacific University, Anchorage Downtown Partnership and others.

Worl, who is Lingít, Athabaskan, Yup’ik and Filipino, said she was eager to bring Indigenous culture into everyday life for people in Anchorage. She recently finished a mural on civil rights activist Elizabeth Peratrovich in Juneau.

Museum officials reached out to the co-owners of the RIM Architecture building, Barbara and Larry Cash, about participating in the mural project.

The building has a large, exposed wall that is a perfect for a mural, Barbara Cash said.

“It’s about recognizing and celebrating the sense of place and the local identity. … We thought it was a refreshing, forward-thinking movement that they had put together and we were very excited to participate,” she said.

Murals and public art are an accessible way for visitors to learn about Anchorage on a deeper level, Cash said.

“I think the relevance of going back to recognize and celebrate the original owners and stewards of the land, it very much emphasizes our unique identity here,” she said. “When people come to visit Alaska, and when they live here, hopefully the visitors get to feel more and more the roots of the place rather than just what stores are open. I think that’s very meaningful.”

Making space for an overlooked history

Crews covered the prior mural with white paint last week, and Worl began working this week on the new mural. She said she expects to finish in a few weeks, weather permitting.

The sight of the old mural getting painted over was met with some criticism on social media.

Worl said she knows some are upset the former mural is being replaced, but she feels it’s the right time for change given the cultural shift in Anchorage and around the country to recognize people of color in historical accounts.

“When I started doing public art, I was in lockdown during COVID, almost three years ago, and the Black Lives Matter movement happened and George Floyd happened and it was a whole chain of events that led to the removal of colonial statues,” she said. “And I saw that as opportunity, as space being made for people of color to step up and make art in place of those old pieces. And so it’s scary, but it’s exciting.”

In the old mural, the highlights of Anchorage history largely began after 1778, when Captain James Cook arrived. But Alaska Native people have been in the area for thousands of years and their history is often overlooked, Worl said.

Her mural depicts human figures, animals and nature in the Chugach Mountains. Worl said she plans to incorporate Alaska Native tribes within the small details of the mural, such as beading texture in much of the landscape, including depictions of dentalium jewelry, an important part of Dena’ina culture. And Worl is incorporating formline design, a type of art associated with Lingít, Haida and Tsimshian tribes.

Worl said she is painting with vibrant colors as an homage to how innovative her ancestors were.

“They adapted to change,” she said. “They took on new tools and new pigments and new items that helped them ever evolve and create new work, so I’m really embracing that mentality in this project by bringing in new color palettes, new textures, new tools and methods to achieve the piece.”

On Wednesday afternoon, Worl stood on a blue mechanical lift, high above the pavement, as she added swaths of purple to the mural just starting to take shape. Tourists milled about outside the Dena’ina Center across the street and locals stopped to pause at the new art.

Kat Barron and Oscar Avellaneda-Cruz specifically walked on G Street to see the mural after they took a break from work to buy ice cream on the sunny afternoon. Avellaneda-Cruz knows Worl, but said he is especially excited about the mural because he sees it as the community taking a step toward inclusivity.

“For a long time, a lot of the institutions that made or designed the city didn’t look at what the actual community or commons cared about,” he said. “And the board of the Anchorage Museum even listening is a good sign of the passing of the guard.”

Barron said the art made her feel hopeful. She wants a more inclusive community where everyone feels welcome.

That’s always been Worl’s goal.

“It’s a little bit rough and rugged when you can’t please everyone, but at the same time, this is who I am and this is what I’m doing,” she said. “There’s going to be some young person who looks up at that mural and is going to start growing up looking and connecting to that mural. And I want them to feel included.”

This story was originally published by the Anchorage Daily News and is republished here with permission.

Lingít illustrator Michaela Sheít.een Goade released her first self-authored picture book this week. “Berry Song” was an opportunity to tell her own story and create images inspired by her homelands.

Goade began her career as a picture book illustrator at Sealaska Heritage Institute as part of the Baby Raven Reads program. She has since worked with authors from many different Indigenous nations. The books she illustrated were picked up by major publishers, and in 2021 she was awarded the Caldecott Medal for her illustrations in “We Are Water Protectors,” by Carole Lindstrom.

“And so everything just sort of expanded,” Goade said. “I was able to learn about all of these different cultures and places around the country and into Canada.”

With “Berry Song,” Goade brings her focus back to Alaska. The story and the imagery are inspired by her childhood here in Lingít Aaní, where she was born and raised. It is also the first book that Goade has both written and illustrated herself.

 

She says it took her some time and experience with the format before she felt ready to tell one of her stories in a picture book.

“Because it’s its own unique art form,” she said. “It has things like the page turn and pacing and narrative storytelling and all of these different elements that I wasn’t familiar with.”

And after helping other authors bring their stories to life with her pictures, she found comfort in illustrating the familiar scenes of Southeast Alaska.

“Getting to work on “Berry Song,” going into the experience of writing the story and then illustrating it, it just felt like coming home. Like I could take all of that experience and return to where I started illustrating and where I grew up.”

Goade hopes “Berry Song” will add to greater inclusivity and representation of Indigenous people in the publishing world. She also wants to help readers understand more about the lifestyle, cultures and land in the Tongass National Forest.

“It’s such a special, unique and incredibly important ecosystem and part of the world,” she said. “Trying to share some of that with a wider audience has been very inspiring.”

The full interview with Goade is available here.

It’s called Between Worlds. And it features a diving whale.

“Peering through the bones of this diving whale pattern is this ancestor with her face and hands pressed against the veil between worlds,” Alaskan Chilkat and Ravenstail Weaver Lily Wooshkindein Da.Áat Hope said. “Because we talk about the Chilkat dancing blanket as the veil that separates our physical realm to the spirit realm on the other side.”

“So, this particular ancestor or teacher, or whomever, is in this space between worlds.”

Hope and weaving assistant Nadezdha Hughes are working on a full-size ceremonial Chilkat dancing blanket in Hope’s studio in Downtown Juneau. It’s for the Houston Museum of Natural Science and due in less than nine weeks. Chilkat weaving is one of the most complex weaving techniques in the world.

“We’ve got a cohort of people coming in to help. It’s totally fine,” Hope said. “My mother would say, ‘It’s going to be done because that’s the deadline it has to be done.’”

Hope’s mother, Clarissa Rizal, a renowned Chilkat and Ravenstail weaver who died in 2016, along with Hope and Hughes, are part of a teaching lineage that goes back hundreds of years. In a newly published book, historian Zachary Jones has traced that lineage to the 1850s when Clara Newman Benson, whose Lingít name was Deinḵul.át, was born.

“Clara Benson taught [Ester Johnson] to weave. [Johnson] taught her daughter Jenny Thlunaut to weave. Jenny Thlunaut taught Clarissa Rizal to weave. Clarissa Rizal taught a number of people to weave, including Lily Hope of Juneau, who is a weaver today and helping other weavers learn about this skill and art,” Jones said.

Researching ‘A Life Painted in Yarn’

“A Life Painted in Yarn: A Biography of Tlingit Chilkat Weaver Clara Newman Benson” is the first-ever biography of the Klukwan artist who lived from 1856 to 1935 and was a significant Chilkat weaver of her day. Of the G̱aanax̱teidí clan, Yéil Hít (Raven House) of Klukwan, Benson was known for weaving Chilkat tunics and Chilkat robes.

Jones said she was one of the most prolific and sought-after weavers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He first heard about Benson when he was an archivist and collection manager for Sealaska Heritage Institute.

“I would acknowledge the late Johnny Marks. He was an elder and former coworker at Sealaska Heritage, and he would come to my office and bring a picture of her and say, ‘This is Mrs. Benson. She was a great weaver from our community,’” Jones said.

At that point, Jones didn’t even know her first name.

“He just said she was known as Mrs. Benson. And there were a few people who would say, ‘This is Mrs. Benson.’ There was not a lot of information known by anyone that I talked to or that could speak about her, so it really prompted me to try and address that. Who was this woman? What was her story?” Jones said.

Jones’ research into Benson’s life involved talking to individuals who had any information about her, including weavers and tribal historian Harold Jacobs who’s a cultural resource specialist at Central Council of the Tlingit and Haida Indian Tribes of Alaska. Jones researched hundreds of museum collections from all over the world, as well as historic records at archival and museum repositories that he could locate.

“I’ve reached out to every museum in the United States that holds ethnographic material in hopes of piecing together all the clues that I can,” Jones said.

He even found Benson’s own words.

“Clara Benson was interviewed by an anthropologist around 100 years ago, and she shared her words about Lingít history and provided some clues about her own life to him,” Jones said.

Jones hasn’t been able to locate any family or descendants of Benson. Still, he thinks his book offers “a window into her life and understanding of who she was.”

Jones said Benson was a leader in her community who served others.

“To be a weaver is not just to be an artist. It is to be a person who has immense patience and dedication to producing an item that takes many hours of labor,” he said. “That creation – though it’s an absolute, beautiful piece of art that takes many, many hours, sometimes six months to a year or more to create and gather the materials for – is something that’s important in the Lingít community. These robes are used ceremonially and have a very important role. And so Claire was not only just an artist, she’s someone that produced items that continue to live on and serve her community.”

The Shangukeidí (Thunderbird Clan) of Klukwan holds a robe that Benson weaved, according to Jones. People can still see it danced or worn at events in Juneau, like Celebration, or elsewhere in Southeast Alaska. As a leader of the Shangukeidí, the late Lingít elder and culture bearer Kingeistí David Katzeek used to wear it.

Benson is one of about two dozen historic Lingít individuals that Jones originally profiled in his dissertation, which he finished in 2018 for a doctorate in ethnohistory through the University of Alaska Fairbanks. “A Life Painted in Yarn” is published by Sealaska Heritage Institute.

There were limitations to Jones’ research, unanswered questions about Benson’s life he still can’t figure out. Like if Benson had any kids of her own.

“In the course of her life, she had three husbands that I’ve been able to document,” Jones said. “She had stepchildren through her second and third marriage, but I’ve never been able to document a biological child.”

Another unanswered question – who taught Benson to weave? Who precedes Benson in the teaching lineage?

“I could never determine that aspect,” Jones said. “It remains a mystery I’d like to solve someday.”

A whisper away

Back at Hope’s studio Wooshkindein Da.Áat, both Hope and weaving assistant Hughes said their teachers are with them as they weave.

“They are ever present. Like, Clarissa is forever present. She is always here, like a whisper away,” Hope said. “I definitely call on her and Jenny when I’m in the midst of chaos. I’m like, ‘Jenny, Clarissa, I don’t know what I’m doing.’ And, you know, they show up. They’ll pop in. If I can get out of my own head, my hands will move and do the thing they’re supposed to. I always give them credit because they know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m doing all the time.”

Hughes said she regularly practices gratitude to the entire lineage, including Benson, and those weavers whose names aren’t known.

“Like so many blankets you see, they’ll be like, ‘Oh, this artist was unknown.’ And it’s like, they were known, and they were probably very respected and very highly honored,” Hughes said. “So I always say thank you to everyone and all their weavings that we still have and even the ones we don’t have, and ask them to help me do justice to the work.”

Sealaska Heritage Institute bills the Toddler Regalia Review as the most adorable event at Celebration, the biennial festival of Lingít, Haida and Tsimshian culture. It delivers.

For many of the young participants, it was their first time at Celebration due to pandemic cancellations. The event went virtual in 2020 and was canceled in 2021 due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

That was true for 4-year-old Kai Young, who took the stage on June 10 in a raven robe designed by her father and sewed by her mother.

“This is her first time wearing any regalia,” said her mother, Molly Sharp.

“She was born right before the last Celebration, so we did not get to come and then with it being canceled the last few years this is her first kind of big cultural event. So it’s pretty exciting.”

Each child walked across the stage with a family member while an emcee described their clan regalia, who made it, and what it represents. Some toddlers were shy. Others were ready for an audience, with a few spins or some dancing.

Lori David’s 5-year-old triplet sons wore blue-and-black Kaagwaantaan wolf tunics and waved to their father John from the stage. He said it felt cool to see his boys up there.

All 22 participants gathered on stage at the end of the review for a photo — a showcase of toddler-sized regalia from clans throughout Southeast Alaska.

Juneau’s Riverbend Elementary is now called Kax̱dig̱oowu Héen.

Tuesday night, the board of education passed the proposal to give the school a Lingít name.

Kax̱dig̱oowu Héen translates to “going back to clear water.” It’s used to refer to a part of the Mendenhall River.

Unlike other Juneau schools, the name won’t be added to the end of “Riverbend” but will replace it entirely. 

Students have been practicing the new name for months. It was proposed to the district Board of Education in April. 

Kax̱dig̱oowu Héen is now one of six schools in Juneau with a Lingít name. There are another seven schools in the Juneau School District that don’t yet have proposed name changes. 

 

Juneau grunge-metal band Garden of Agony have a ton of exciting news to share.. (Hint: catch their performance at Áak’w Rock Side Stage tonight before you can’t catch ‘em no mo’.)

 

blooms + Southeast x Southeast + the new new