My family lineage is from the Xutsnoowú Kwaan (Angoon, AK). My grandfathers were all chiefs of the kwaan. My great-great-grandfather was Chief Gust'eiheen, meaning 'spray off the dorsal fin' of the killer whale. Your clan defines everything; it's your lineage. Our clan system consists of two top moieties: Eagle and Raven. Our culture is matrilineal, following the clan of one's mother and marrying into the opposite moiety, preserving balance in our society. For example, since my mother was Eagle, I am Eagle. My wife is Raven, so our son is Raven. Within these top clans, there are sub-clans. I am Ch'aak' Dakl'aweidi, which is Eagle killer whale clan. A few years ago, I carved a Killer Whale Clan hat to honor my grandfather. These items hold special significance; our sacred ceremonial objects are called 'at.oow' and are passed down through generations within the clan. They are prominently featured in our potlatch ceremonies known as 'ku.éex'', where the true essence of the art form is displayed. Masks are danced in, regalia featuring clan crests is worn, and clan hats are proudly displayed and worn. Our at'oow are stored in bentwood boxes when not in use. Bentwood boxes are among the most prized possessions in our culture; during ku.éex', clan chiefs would stack their bentwood boxes as a symbol of wealth. These boxes contain knowledge, storing the history and stories of our people. The art used in the Slowtide Collection, both the blanket and towel, depicts a bentwood box design, symbolizing 'containers of knowledge'.
To be a Tlingit artist takes dedication; it's not a hobby you do on the weekends, it takes everything you have in order for you to be good at it. There are a lot of rules and fundamentals within the art form you need to learn in order for the work to be proper. This takes a tremendous amount of time and learning. And it's a lifelong pursuit; you're never really going to fully master the art form, you're always going to be reaching, trying to get better every day. My ancestors set a really high standard for what we do today; every artist today will tell you we are not there yet. We have every tool imaginable to create the work, but the reason why their work is so much better than ours is they had this tremendous amount of knowledge we don't have today. For 10,000 years, the Tlingit people have existed and created this beautiful art to tell our story. During the colonization of Alaska, this line of generational knowledge was severed. There was a point in time where you'd be thrown in jail for creating this art; you were not allowed to speak your language; thousands upon thousands of pieces of our art left Alaska. Disease killed three-quarters of the Northwest coast population during contact. How many artists died without being able to pass on the knowledge we had? The final blow was they took your children from you and placed them into boarding schools. They completely stripped the culture from that generation; we've heard of this from our elders, the horror stories that occurred in those institutions. My dad went to boarding school. All these factors left the Tlingit people with a fractured culture. What I do is so much bigger than just trying to create something that is beautiful; you're carrying forward a tradition, a culture, where everything that could have been done was done to destroy it. This is a weight I carry on my shoulders doing this art, but I welcome it. I remember the first time I was able to study a museum collection, looking at the work of my ancestors, pieces that are hundreds of years old, pieces that left Alaska. I was down in a basement with a museum curator, and I remember how emotional I felt just walking into that area. You feel it in your heart, like heartbreak. The first piece she pulled out, I saw it, and I just started to cry. Being a Tlingit artist, you have this spiritual connection to your people, and throughout the journey, this emotion I never knew was there revealed itself. It's led to a deeper connection to what I do; it's helped guide me along this path. But I'm fortunate to have found this, or better yet, I was chosen to do this; this is exactly what I'm meant to be doing with my life.
I'm extremely thankful to be in a position to help my community through my art. I love being able to give back, especially to help the Tlingit youth back in Alaska. Slowtide has been great; we've given a portion of my collections back to the youth in Alaska, specifically the Yakutat Surf Club. It's wonderful to support the youth and provide them with the means to pursue their passion for surfing. I have friends in Yakutat, so you can see directly how that support impacts the community. It's really rewarding. I think there comes a point where you're called to be more involved; you're not just an artist anymore. These things are much larger than yourself. I also started working with the United Nations in Geneva, Switzerland. They approached me to help create guidelines for indigenous artists to effectively collaborate with global brands. They have been using my experiences to help forge a solid path. It's a global initiative as well, working alongside indigenous artists from all over the world—South America, Australia, Africa, etc. I'm glad to highlight all the companies I work with and showcase them in a positive light. You know, telling the United Nations, 'Look at what this brand Slowtide is doing; we've had a healthy, positive relationship. We honor the culture and give back to my community. Slowtide is doing it right.
I get this question a lot; artists reach out to me asking, 'How can I do this?' My biggest advice is patience. Learning this art form takes a lot of time and practice; the skill doesn't develop overnight. I've been doing this for 17 years now. I spent 10 years learning and understanding the fundamentals. Then, one day, it starts to click, and your work improves. It just takes a lot of time and dedication. It's easy to get discouraged, but trust the process and believe in your ability when the time is right. Things will happen when they should.
It's everything; it's my main motivation. The skill my ancestors had—you can look at their work, and there is a sense of magic in it. The balance, the composition, the sculpture, and most importantly, the story and history the piece contains are so powerful. As a Tlingit artist, you reach a point where you know your ability; you can create the same magic in these pieces. It's really exciting. Anything is possible; it flows. I feel like I'm in that state right now. Every piece is advancing our culture. Colonization left our culture fractured; we lost so much. But it's like we've been given a puzzle, one that we know is missing many pieces, but we are going to piece it back together the best way we know how, even if it takes 10 lifetimes. We are moving forward, celebrating our culture, our beautiful art, and the Tlingit people. Gunalchéesh.
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