Painful Beauty: Tlingit Women, Beadwork, and the Art of Resilience [1 ed.] 029574894X, 9780295748948

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PAINFUL

BEAUT Y

Native Art of the Pacific Northwest A Bill Holm Center Series The mission of this publication series is to foster appreciation and understanding of Pacific Northwest Native art and culture. In the Spirit of the Ancestors: Contemporary Northwest Coast Art at the Burke Museum, edited by Robin Wright and Kathryn Bunn-­Marcuse Return to the Land of the Head Hunters: Edward S. Curtis, the Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw, and the Making of Modern Cinema, edited by Brad Evans and Aaron Glass Northwest Coast Indian Art: An Analysis of Form, fiftieth anniversary edition, by Bill Holm Unsettling Native Art Histories on the Northwest Coast, edited by Kathryn Bunn-­Marcuse and Aldona Jonaitis Art of the Northwest Coast, second edition, by Aldona Jonaitis Painful Beauty: Tlingit Women, Beadwork, and the Art of Resilience, by Megan A. Smetzer

PAINFUL B E AUT Y Tlingit Women, Beadwork, and the Art of Resilience

Megan A. Smetzer

University of Washington Press Seattle

A Helen Marie Ryan Wyman Book Helen Marie Ryan Wyman was intelligent, curious, and gregarious; she took great stock in books and reading, and books abounded in her life. The Wyman family is proud to sponsor this book in Native American and Indigenous studies in her name. Painful Beauty was made possible in part by a grant from the Quest for Truth Foundation.

www.tulalipcares.org

This book was also supported by the Tulalip Tribes Charitable Fund, which provides the opportunity for a sustainable and healthy community for all. Publication of this book has been aided by a grant from the Wyeth Foundation for American Art Publication Fund of CAA.

Copyright © 2021 by the University of Washington Press Design by Katrina Noble Composed in Iowan Old Style, typeface designed by John Downer 25  24  23  22  21   5  4  3  2  1 Printed and bound in the United States of America All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Bill Holm Center for the Study of Northwest Coast Art Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture www.burkemuseum.org/bhc University of Washington Press uwapress.uw.edu Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020055821 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020055822 ISBN 978-0-295-74894-8 (hardcover) ISBN 978-0-295-74895-5 (ebook)

CONTENTS

vi Map of Southeast Alaska, Southern Yukon Territory, and Northern British Columbia



vii Preface: Painful Beauty



xi Acknowledgments



3 Introduction: Innovating Adornment



33 Chapter 1: “They Are Both Plain and Fancy”: Souvenirs and Status within the Alaskan Tourist Trade



63 Chapter 2: Regalia and Resilience: Beadwork at the 1904 “Last Potlatch”



95 Chapter 3: Co-­opting the Cooperative: Making Moccasins in the Mid-­20th Century



125 Chapter 4: Gifts from Their Grandmothers: Contemporary Artists and Beaded Legacies



159 Epilogue: Beading Beyond Borders



183 Notes



199 Bibliography



211 Index

Southern Tutchone

Kaska

kat Chil er Riv Klukwan

Tagish

Kake

BIA

Sitka

Tahltan

er

Angoon

Telegraph Creek River

M OLU HC TIS SKA ALA

Hoonah

BRI

Juneau

MBIA

Riv

Bay ier

Gulf of Alaska

YUKON BRITISH COLU

Tlingit

Gl ac Haines

CA

Nisga’a

Gitksan

Na

ss

Ketchikan

River

NA US DA A

Wrangell

Skeena

Yakutat

Stikine

ALAS KA

Ahtna

YUKO N

Eyak

Dixon Entrance

Pacific Ocean

Haida

Tongass

Tsimshian Haisla

Nuxalk Heiltsuk Oweekeno Tlingit Territory Other Territories

Kwakwaka’wakw _ _ Fort Rupert

US/Canada Boundary Provincial Boundary Settlements 0 0

100 miles

N

uu

-c

ha

h-

nu

lth

100 kilometer

Southeast Alaska, southern Yukon Territory, and northern British Columbia showing territories and locations mentioned in the book (Map by Ben Pease)

PREFACE Painful Beauty

The phrase “painful beauty” is a concept central to my discussion of Tlingit beadwork that developed from the confluence of two meaningful events. In 2009, at the Tlingit Tribes and Clans Conference held in Juneau, Alaska, I had a conversation with Tlingit-­Haida elder and weaver Della Cheney (Kaats Saa Waa), who shared with me the important perspective that for many Tlingit people through several generations, beads and beadwork represent both beauty and pain. Along with the beauty and versatility of this medium, which quickly became deeply embedded within long-­standing cultural practices, came the pain and trauma of settler colonialism: devastating diseases, intense missionization, the loss of tangible cultural expressions through museum collecting, and the passage of ruthless laws that denied basic human rights, limited economic opportunities, and enforced assimilation. While I have always worked in my scholarship to critically engage with the complexities of this difficult history, it was not until this moment that I began to understand its effects on a more visceral level. Our conversation inspired the name for this book and contributed to its framework, and for that, I am deeply grateful to Della Cheney. The power of this concept was reinforced shortly thereafter as I approached Montreal, Quebec, via train and saw Anishinaabe artist Rebecca Belmore’s Fringe, enlarged to billboard size and installed atop a tall brick building. In this stark photographic image, a seminude dark-­haired woman reclines with her back to the camera, a pillow under her head and a white sheet draped over her hips and thighs. A deep scar runs diagonally from her right shoulder to her left hip, roughly sewn together with sinew and a ragged fringe of blood-­red beads. Belmore utilizes sinew and trade beads to inscribe the painful history of colonialism directly onto the Indigenous female body. Fringe’s multiple references include the European artistic tradition of displaying beautiful female nudes for the male gaze; the female body as a metaphor for the land; an autopsied



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corpse on a mortuary table, her death perhaps the result of violent and ongoing subjugation of Indigenous women; or alternatively, as suggested by Belmore herself, the closing of a near-­fatal wound and the possibilities for healing. The idea of painful beauty as described by Della Cheney and visualized by Rebecca Belmore encapsulates the ways in which beads and beadwork have been, and continue to be, deeply implicated in the complex histories of Indigenous and settler relations throughout North America.

P.1.  Rebecca Belmore, Fringe, 2007. Billboard. Installation view from Fonderie Darling’s in situ exhibition Plan Large, Montreal, 2007–2011. (Courtesy of Rebecca Belmore. Photo by Guy L’Heureux) 

Tlingit Women, Beadwork, and the Art of Resilience Clarissa Rizal’s 2014 Resilience robe inspired the subtitle of this book, Tlingit Women, Beadwork, and the Art of Resilience. Rizal weaves the history of contact into the fiber of contemporary Tlingit identity using naaxein—defined as the fringe about the body—weaving techniques. Episodes of early encounter are represented by three-­mast ships, the imposition of religion is embodied in a Christian cross, institutional doors suggest the impact of salvage ethnography and residential schools, and emblems of Indigenous organizations based on the structures of settler colonialism—all of which contribute to the complexities of the present day. The history she outlines here is, of course, heavily gendered, as the organizations illustrated grew out of patriarchal religious and government institutions. As the designer and weaver of this robe, however, Rizal suggests the containment of this imbalance and a reassertion of Indigenous ways of knowing through her use of the compositional convention of strong yellow and black borders. These borders, part of the practice of naaxein weaving, acknowledge Indigenous relationships based on marriage and trade that predate contact with Europeans, as well as the customary partnership between women and men in terms of the gathering of raw materials, the design, and the execution of this style of weaving. Rizal overtly reasserts the balance of power between women and men through the symmetry of the central panel of the piece, represented by the inward-­facing Eagle and Raven designs that display the Alaska

viii Pr eface

Clarissa Rizal (Tlingit American, 1956–2016), Resilience Robe, 2014. Merino wool, 64 × 53 in. (Courtesy of Lily Hope and Portland Art Museum, Oregon, 2013.43.2: museum purchase funds given in Memory of Virginia Waterman) P.2. 

Native Brotherhood and Alaska Native Sisterhood logos on their wings. The Sealaska Heritage Institute logo, located at the lower center of the robe and inverted as though in the birth position, suggests the arrival of a new era, one that acknowledges women’s strength and endurance as well as their centrality to cultural and physical regeneration. Painful Beauty argues that the production of beadwork by Tlingit women from the nineteenth century onward embodies the resilience of Tlingit cultural practices and contributed to the revival and strengthening of other artistic and cultural expressions beginning in the late 1960s as Indigenous rights movements gained momentum both locally and globally. Without beadwork as the tangible manifestation of intangible rights and privileges expressed throughout this history, Rizal’s Resilience robe might never have been made.

Pr eface

ix

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book would not exist without the generosity of the many individuals in Southeast Alaska and beyond who shared their experiences of beading and beadwork with me, from my initial trip to Angoon in 2001 to my time as a visiting scholar at the Sealaska Heritage Institute in 2006, as well as during many visits to Juneau to attend Celebration and other events. Gunalchéesh for sharing your family stories, your beautiful artworks, and your gentle and generous commentary on this manuscript: Pamlea Bogda, Linda Carroll, Della Cheney, Renee Culp, the late Nora Dauenhauer, the late Richard Dauenhauer, the late Bessie Fred, Chloe French, the late Lydia George, Shgen Doo Tan George, Donald Gregory, Ishmael Hope, Lily Hope, Janice Hotch, Trish Macaily, the late Emma Marks, the late Johnny Marks, Charlotte McConnell, Helen McNeil, Larry and Debi McNeil, Patty McNeil, Catrina Mitchell, the late Clarissa Rizal, Sandy Samaniego, Tanis S’eiltin, Florence Marks Sheakley, and Rosita Worl. In order to express my gratitude and to sustain future generations of artists, I will donate royalties earned through the sale of this book to arts programs in Southeast Alaska. The knowledge of many others has been invaluable to bringing additional aspects of these histories of beadwork to light, particularly those that have been less understood due to the imposed national borders that have shaped inter­cultural histories along the Northwest Coast: Judith Berman, Andy Everson, Aaron Glass, Trevor Isaac, Ingrid Johnson, Jean Kline, Emily L. Moore, and Mari­ anne Nicolson. Many thanks as well to my two peer reviewers whose insightful comments strengthened important aspects of this work. My deep gratitude goes to my colleague, writing partner, and good friend, Kathryn Bunn-­Marcuse, who provided a home for Painful Beauty in the Bill Holm Center for the Study of Native Northwest Art series. The staff of the University of Washington Press has had unending patience as I slowly transformed my dissertation into this book. My thanks to the editors, past and present, who have given me excellent feedback and encouragement along the way: Regan Huff, Catherine Cocks, and Larin McLaughlin. Hanni Jalil and Jason Alley kept me on task in terms of obtaining the best illustrations possible. Thank you to Ben Pease for the map and Kris Fulsaas for excellent copyediting. I wish to also

xi

thank Jennifer L. Webb, whose editorial input smoothed the rough edges of the final revisions, and Karen Duffek who recommended her to me. Aldona Jonaitis has been among my most important mentors from the very beginning of this project. She initially encouraged me to learn more about the octopus bags in the University of Alaska Museum of the North’s collections. With the unprecedented support of then Director Mark Haxthausen of the Williams College Graduate Program in the History of Art, she acted as an external supervisor for my master’s qualifying paper. I took Aldona’s subsequent advice to work with Ruth B. Phillips, then director of the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, to obtain my doctorate. My work there was adeptly cosupervised by Ruth and Charlotte Townsend-­Gault. Both shared their rich intellectual perspectives and supported finding a work-­life balance when my daughter arrived on the scene. In recent years, Aldona gave me excellent editorial advice and feedback on this project. Special thanks to Mique’l Dangeli, my good friend and longtime writing partner, whose rigorous and constructive critique of my ideas over many years have had an important influence on the shape of this work. I cannot thank Mique’l without also thanking her husband, Mike Dangeli, for many years of friendship, thoughtful conversations, and good food! The initial research for this project could not have been completed without the financial support of many institutions. I am grateful for the funding provided by University Graduate Fellowships from the University of British Columbia; the Luce Fellowship in American Art; the Chester Dale Fellowship from the Center for Advanced Studies in the Visual Arts, National Gallery of Art; and the College Art Association. A research fellowship from the Canadian Museum of History supported postdoctoral work that enriched the manuscript, particularly the epilogue. The Bill Holm Center’s Visiting Research Award enabled me to pursue additional threads related to beadwork in the collections of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture. Travel awards, which provided opportunities to present aspects of this work at several conferences, include a travel scholarship from UBC’s Department of Art History, Visual Art & Theory; a travel stipend for Sharing Our Knowledge: A Conference of Tsimshian, Haida, and Tlingit Clans; the Eleanor Leacock Travel Award for the American Anthropological Association Conference; and a travel award to attend the Native American Art Studies Association conference. A grant from the Wyeth Foundation assisted with the images and Capilano University provided funding for indexing. As my deadline rapidly approached for manuscript submission, I received invaluable assistance with my requests for images and permissions—a task greatly compromised by Covid-­19 and the shutting down of just about every xii Acknowledgments

archive and museum collection across North America. Nonetheless, the following individuals, many initially working from home, came through and I am immensely grateful for their support. In Alaska: Sandra Johnston, Alaska State Library; Steve Henrikson, Alaska State Museum; Emily Pastore and Amy Fletcher, Sealaska Heritage Institute; Zack James, Sheldon Museum, Haines; Jacqueline Fernandez-­Hamberg, Sheldon Jackson Museum, Sitka; Tracy Lacqua and Thomas Espe, Sitka National Historical Park; Fawn Carter, Alaska and Polar Regions Collections and Archives, University of Alaska–Fairbanks; Angela Linn, University of Alaska Museum of the North; Angela Demma and Walter Van Stone, Wells Fargo Museum, Anchorage. In Canada: Kiriko Watanabe, Audain Art Museum; Beth Carter, Bill Reid Gallery; Kaitlin McCormick, Vincent Lafond, Tanya Anderson, and Erin Wilson, Canadian Museum of History; Brian Seymour, Kelli-­Ann Turkington, and India Young, Royal BC Archives and Museum; Thomas Stark, Out of the Mist Gallery; Ron Forrest; Juanita Johnson and Trevor Isaac, U’mista Cultural Centre. In the Lower 48: Barry Landau, American Museum of Natural History; Becky Andrews, Desiree Gross, Sven Haakanson, and Ashley Verplank, Burke Museum; Linda Cook and Carrie Wassemiller, David Cook Galleries, Denver; John Lukavic and Meghan Shaw, Denver Art Museum; Dominique Alhambra and Rene O’Connell, Denver Museum of Nature and Science; David Penney and Maria Martinez, National Museum of the American Indian; Felicia Pickering, National Museum of Natural History; Karen Kramer, Peabody Essex Museum; Kathleen Ash-­Milby and Anne Crouchley, Portland Art Museum, Oregon; Barbara Brotherton and Ashley Mead, Seattle Art Museum; Scott Miles, the Scientific Photographer, Ventura, California; Alessandro Pezzati and Lucy Fowler Williams, University of Pennsylvania Museum; Adrienne Sharp-­Weseman, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University; and Roger Colten, Peabody Museum of Natural History, Yale University. Finally, I owe my biggest thanks to my patient family. My partner, Vance Williams, and our daughter, Lily, have been living with this project as long as they have known me. I would not have finished it without their unflagging enthusiasm and encouragement to keep going. My mom, Mary Beth, taught me to listen with an open mind and share stories with compassion and warmth. Her longtime wish to see this work take book form has kept me focused on that goal. My dad, Jerry, provided air miles when I needed them and always gave me a place to stay in Juneau. His support enabled me to attend many important events and conduct research far more frequently than I would have been able to on my own. Thank you to everyone who contributed their time, effort, thoughtful commentary, and advice in bringing this project to fruition—any mistakes are my own. Acknowledgments

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PAINFUL

BEAUT Y

Introduction Innovating Adornment

M

ore than one hundred years ago, an accomplished Tlingit woman cut an octopus bag (náaḵw gwéil) from blue wool that may have been acquired through trade, gifted for witnessing cultural protocols, or perhaps purchased from a local store. Using tiny seed beads (kawóot) in an array of matte and sparkling colors, she stitched delicate seaweed (ge̱ esh) patterns across its surface to reference the social, economic, and cultural properties of this nutritious food. The pop of the pink and glow of the green were carefully chosen to balance the flowing lines of the slightly asymmetrical pattern, creatively applying generations of design knowledge into new materials. The patience and perfection taught to her by her foremothers carry through the extravagantly adorned surface. She masked her bead stitching by lining the pouch and four pairs of “legs” with a calico embellished with delicate red roses. She finished the bag’s edges using contrasting beige binding tape, creating additional definition with single rows of clear beads sewn along its inner and outer edges. She strung pairs of bead and yarn tassels from each set of legs, likely anticipating the movement they would provide when the bag was draped by its strap over its intended wearer’s shoulder and danced for the first time, bringing it to life. These delicate details indicate both her own desire and the expectations of her clan to produce an item embodying the prestige of its commissioner, a person of equal rank from an opposite clan. The sparkle and sway of this octopus bag (figure I.1)—like the eighty or so others attributed to Tlingit makers in museum collections across North America—has remained in stasis, protected from insects and light, wear and tear for more than a century. Despite the bag’s removal from its original purpose and context, the maker’s fine work and attention to detail sustained its potential for activation through time and space—an activation achieved within an important exhibition of Northwest Coast art in 2014.



3

Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Stikine region, octopus bag, late nineteenth century. Wool cloth and glass beads, 21 × 12 in. Collected by George T. Emmons for the Alaska-YukonPacific Exposition. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 964) I.1. 

4

Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired In 2014 Kathryn Bunn-­Marcuse, then associate director of the Bill Holm Center for the Study of Northwest Native Art, curated Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired for the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture in Seattle. Drawing from the impressive pool of artists who had been awarded grants to undertake research in the Burke’s collections in previous years, Bunn-­Marcuse asked individuals to exhibit a recent work that had been inspired by a historical piece from the collection.1 The fifteen participants, including a heretofore unheard-­of ratio of women (six) to men (nine), expressed diverse ways in which the historical pieces informed their new work. They acknowledged connections to the land and subsistence, to ancestors and ancestral stories, to cultural and economic wealth, to historical and contemporary innovation in terms of materials and ideas, and, above all, to their own lived experiences and artistic practices. Among the talented artists in Here & Now, the works of Alison Bremner and Shgen Doo Tan George speak directly to the complex history of Tlingit beadwork as an expression of the resilience of Tlingit women’s cultural practices despite the pervasive social, cultural, and economic pressures of settler colonialism. Beading gave Tlingit women freedom to innovate aesthetically, as beads and cloth were easily obtainable year-­round and designs were not bound by the inherent constraints of materials or specific methods of weaving. Both artists reference octopus bags, a form that traveled to coastal Tlingit territory through Indigenous trade routes from the interior in the late nineteenth century. Bremner’s Raven’s Cloak (figure I.2) drew inspiration from the richly beaded octopus bag described above, which was collected by former US naval officer and amateur ethnographer George Thornton Emmons in Wrangell, Alaska, in 1909. Bremner noted in her artist statement how the older bag caught her attention: “The craftsmanship was fantastic and I was hit by the energy I got from the piece. I think the artist who made it would be proud to know that it still carries that feeling all these years later.” Bremner describes her own appliquéd large-­scale black-­and-­red wool garment—a beaded robe in the shape of a raven’s wings and tail—as an “interpretation of the evolution of regalia.”2 She draws a line between herself and the innovation and creativity of her foremothers, who incorporated introduced materials and forms to express living cultural practices—a direct counter to the weight museums have historically given to women’s work, situating their cultural expressions as skilled and unchanging, as opposed to artistic and imaginative.

INTRODUCTION

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Alison Bremner, Raven’s Cloak, 2014. Wool and glass beads, 66 × 56 in. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 2015-20/1) I.2. 

Shgen Doo Tan George took the materials and methods of weaving to innovate a new form through the creation of an octopus bag called Kéet Oox̱ú (Killer Whale’s Tooth), which references her clan house in Angoon, Alaska. This woven bag (figure I.3)—a form normally executed in sewn fabrics and beads—was inspired by a nineteenth-­century sleeveless Chilkat tunic (naaxein k’oodás’socke) woven from cedar bark and mountain goat wool, which she studied in the Burke’s collection. Given the long history of octopus bags in Tlingit territory, George found it surprising that no one had tried to weave this form. “I’ve seen robes cut up and made into bags. But I haven’t seen this weaving technique used directly to create an octopus bag.”3 George’s work also speaks eloquently to the resilience of Tlingit women in relation to weaving, once considered an endangered art form. In recent years naaxein, or Chilkat-­style weaving, which translates northern Northwest Coast formline design into wool, has undergone a revival. This resurgence is due in part to the continuation of intergenerational practices of making enabled through beading and also to the persistence of a few women who passed on the knowledge and techniques of this art form through a long period of cultural repression and enforced assimilation.

6 INTRODUCTION

I.3.  Shgen Doo Tan George, Kéet Oox̱ú, 2014. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, sea otter fur, and spruce root. 21.5 in. The shoulder strap, lined with cotton fabric depicting blueberries, is visible beneath the lower edge of the bag. (Collection of the Sealaska Heritage Institute, Juneau)

Both Raven’s Cloak and Kéet Oox̱ú (Killer Whale’s Tooth) embody the significant shifts that are beginning to take place in regard to women’s cultural expressions along the Northwest Coast. These shifts exist within communities, in artists’ practices, and also in terms of the scholarly methodology and literature that address them.4 The powerful cultural expressions created by Bremner and George tie together several threads woven throughout Painful Beauty, including the ways in which museums and archives have become sites of activation as well

INTRODUCTION

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as preservation over the past thirty years; the privileging of the continuities of Indigenous exchange, through shifting economies rather than the externally imposed values assigned to materials and design; and the generational persistence of community-­based knowledge and the contemporary work being done to enrich it. All of these contribute to a more nuanced understanding of how the power and resilience of Tlingit women and their artistic practices have upheld cultural knowledge throughout the complex history and continued ramifications of settler colonialism in Southeast Alaska and beyond.5 Tlingit Women—Power and Resilience One of the most significant aspects of Here & Now was that more than one-­ third of the artists included were women. Among group exhibitions of Northwest Coast art over the past several decades, this was a notable departure; most have featured the work of multiple male artists with a token female or two. This bias, which is not limited to exhibitions from the Northwest Coast, reflects the ways in which women’s cultural expressions have been categorized and discussed as museum collecting practices expanded in the nineteenth century.6 This recent shift toward gender parity relates directly to the activation of museum collections and archives by improving access for Indigenous scholars and artists. This has been particularly important for women, as the lack of publications on women’s cultural expressions has meant that one of the only ways to study historical work has been in museum collections. By shifting the focus to women and their cultural expressions through the past 150 years of colonialism in Alaska, it becomes possible to understand how central their resilience has been to the broad range of Tlingit cultural expressions being created today. As embodied by the work of Bremner and George, the rich dialogue around Northwest Coast art practices expands dramatically when women and their cultural expressions are considered in terms of Indigenous perspectives on gender as being complementary and balanced rather than hierarchical. Contemporary community-­based dialogues, in Tlingit territory and beyond, also recognize and affirm two-­spirited and non–gender binary individuals whose culturally expressive work, including beadwork and weaving, moves through and beyond the gendered conventions introduced and hardened by the institutions of settler colonialism in the nineteenth century.7 Métis art historian Sherry Farrell Racette powerfully states, “The fact that women became a focused target of colonial campaigns of control and denigration is perhaps the greatest evidence for considering women’s critical importance in constructing strong and resistant societies.”8 Refocusing on women illuminates how they

8 INTRODUCTION

persisted even as patriarchal structures and institutions became entangled in Tlingit communities and social practices, resulting in enduring gendered inequities. Nearly one hundred years ago, in his discussion of basketry, Tlingit ethnographer Louis Shotridge (Stuwuḵáa) (1882–1937) recognized the importance of women and their cultural expressions in maintaining Tlingit ways of knowing: “The life of the white man came over the Tlingit people like a great thunder storm, and in the wake of this the man found that all his old occupations in which he had excelled had been destroyed; thus all hopes within him began to disappear; the pride of excellence remained, however, with the woman.”9 Through basket weaving and, even more broadly, beading, women maintained important practices and values by adapting to new markets and materials— creating souvenirs for the tourist trade that developed during Shotridge’s own lifetime, as just one example. Shotridge himself understood the multiple significances of beading, as he acquired many pieces of beaded regalia for the University of Pennsylvania Museum in the 1910s and ’20s and later attempted to establish a market for beaded souvenirs at the height of the Great Depression.10 Resilience has become an increasingly powerful conceptual tool for thinking through the effects of settler colonialism on Indigenous peoples, especially women and their cultural expressions. Mohawk curator Lee-­Ann Martin argues for a more expansive understanding of the usual interpretation of resilience as recovery from trauma. Rather, she sees resilience as “embodied by endurance, adaptability and sovereignty in relation to historical practices and contemporary identities of . . . Indigenous women artists.”11 It is worthwhile to consider Tlingit beaders and the beadwork they produced in this way as they adapted introduced materials and ideas into a wide range of contexts. They created tangible pieces that articulated intangible Tlingit worldviews and an understanding of shifting market forces. Their beadwork expressed physical and spiritual connections to clan and community as well as to local geographies and resources during an era of intense pressure to assimilate into western worldviews. Martin’s use of the concept of “sovereignty” in her description of resilience builds on an ongoing discussion around the need for understanding the term beyond its western legal interpretations, especially as it relates to Indigenous art and criticism. Tuscarora artist and scholar Jolene Rickard writes, “Sovereignty could serve as an overarching concept for interpreting the interconnected space of the colonial gaze, deconstruction of the colonizing image or text, and Indigeneity.”12 As museum and archival research are significant sources for this book, it is crucial to engage with the critique of these colonial institutions, as they have heavily influenced the ways in which Indigenous peoples have been

INTRODUCTION

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situated for the general public. In a related discussion on visual sovereignty, Seminole-­Muskogee-­Diné photographer and scholar Hulleah J. Tsinhnahjinnie cautions, “Do not misinterpret visual sovereignty as a constant fixation on the effects of colonialism. It is also the total submersion of one’s mind into the fluidness of Aboriginal/Indigenous beauty and technology.”13 For this reason, Painful Beauty foregrounds community-­based knowledge whenever possible. Beaded Aesthetics and Intergenerational Transmission Like naaxein weaving and spruce root basketry, the practice of beading is meaningful beyond the aesthetic considerations of design, pattern, and color— formal qualities that have defined the majority of art historical inquiry along the Northwest Coast. As Chickasaw-­Choctaw art historian heather ahtone indicates, unlike western philosophical worldviews that often express the domination of humanity over the physical world, for Indigenous peoples, ancient worldviews have been shaped through relationships and responsibilities with all the elements of earthly and supernatural realms. ahtone argues that holistic perspectives have been maintained through the depredations of settler colonialism primarily through artistic expression because they have not been as strictly regulated as other aspects of Indigenous life. Indigenous aesthetics, therefore, are complex, diverse, and distinct due to thousands of years of relationships to local geographies and the flora and fauna found there.14 Within Tlingit territories, occupied for at least ten thousand years, life experiences shared by contemporary beaders illuminate that the criteria of comfort, skill, and quality are not only integral to their beadwork aesthetic but also are inherently connected to Tlingit worldviews. The passing on of cultural knowledge and oral histories from grandmother to granddaughter, mother to daughter, or aunt to niece and the teaching of patience and hard work as well as the expression of relationships to clan histories and the environment through the use of specific patterns are embodied in the beaded items produced, all of which are touched on in greater detail in subsequent chapters. Tlingit aesthetics are linked to judgments of technical quality as well as customary practices. Shgen Doo Tan George states that well-­executed beaded designs are flat and even, with beaded rows equal in length. Design elements should be uncrowded and fill the embellished area.15 Beader and elder Florence Marks Sheakley (Ḵaakal.aat), Lukaax̱.ádi (Sockeye) clan of the G̱ eisán Hít, also mentions flatness as an important quality. When she was a young girl, her mother, renowned beader Emma Marks (Seige̱ igé̱ i) (1913–2006), would run her hand over Sheakley’s work, and if it was not good enough, she would cut it up

10 INTRODUCTION

and Sheakley would begin again. In 2002 Sheakley shared that although her mother could no longer see well enough to bead, she still ran her hands over her daughter’s work to gauge its smoothness.16 More recently, Sheakley stated that her mother always made her use red and black as background colors. According to Marks, red was the first color she ever saw because it was traditional. When Sheakley wanted to make a dance collar using a blue background as her mother had done once in the past, Marks replied that she could not. Sheakley asked why, and Marks replied, “I made a mistake.”17 As in many other regions of North America, contemporary beaders recollect learning their skills from grandmothers and, in some cases, mothers.18 Within Tlingit social structures this is standard practice, as the relationships between grandparents and grandchildren have always been understood as special and, in many cases, even closer than with parents.19 Catrina Mitchell remembered her sister being called to watch their grandmother Fannie James bead or weave. Mitchell’s sister was not interested, but Mitchell recalled sitting on the bed and watching intently.20 Florence Sheakley started asking her mother to teach her when she was nine years old.21 As is discussed further in chapter 4, many contemporary beaders/artists count several generations of makers within their own families, passing down tangible skills, intangible knowledge, and battered tins filled with cherished paper beading patterns. Contemporary aesthetics are informed by the ways in which these techniques have been passed through the generations. Both of these considerations are shaped by important cultural teachings around women’s roles within Tlingit worldviews. In her 1913 description of female puberty rituals, Florence Shotridge (Ḵaatkwaax̱snéi), Lukaax̱.ádi (Sockeye) clan, Shaa Hít (Mountain House), discussed why Tlingit girls were taught in specific ways: “Neatness in everything is practiced. Her experience in handwork when a child helps her to become proficient at this time. After she has acquired neatness in everything, she is given some important thing to make, such as a ceremonial costume for a famed dancer, or something for a person holding a high office; this is to have her understand what it is to do things for the public.”22 Shotridge reinforces the inherent value of aesthetics, skill, and intergenerational transmission. Even more importantly, she acknowledges the significance of women’s contributions to Tlingit cultural practices. Community-­based knowledge is crucial to understanding beadwork and related materials held in museum collections and archives. Combining this knowledge with close looking and methods of viewing and reading against the grain are central to reframing the discussion around beadwork. To this point, when beadwork has been addressed in the scholarly literature, it has often been

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considered inauthentic or derivative, seen as a loss of tradition rather than a means for Tlingit women to express their Indigeneity in the past and through to the present. The intention of this book, in concert with shifts occurring in museums and scholarship more broadly, is to contribute to a needed reframing and balancing of the dialogue around Northwest Coast art and its history.23

Indigenizing Museums Here & Now challenged many of the received narratives of Northwest Coast art that have constrained its creation, understanding, and display. The original intentions of the Burke’s founders, as for most museums with significant collections of Indigenous material, were to preserve the cultural expressions of “vanishing” people alongside the flora, fauna, and natural resources of the Pacific Northwest. The Burke is typical of other natural and cultural history museums that emerged from the patriarchal institutional structures of settler colonialism. The late-­nineteenth-­ and early-­twentieth-­century collecting and display practices of museums both situated Indigenous peoples in the past and reinforced western hierarchies of value in terms of ethnicity and gender. These were often visually represented by distinctions between what was considered art (male) or craft (female) and authentic (traditional) or inauthentic (nontraditional). These distinctions were further reinforced through anthropological and art historical literature, which focused predominantly on the carved and painted work of men over the woven and sewn work of women. Work that did not fit neatly into any category of value, such as beadwork, especially that made for sale, was completely overlooked. On the Northwest Coast until quite recently, this has meant that the work of northern male carvers (Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian) has been highlighted over the woven and sewn work of northern women, and both have been prioritized over the work of southern coast artists (Salish). These hierarchies were reinforced in the mid-­twentieth century through a renewed interest in nineteenth-­century carved and painted work, perceived by many in that era to be the pinnacle of Northwest Coast art. In 1965 art historian and former Burke Museum curator Bill Holm coined the term “formline,” describing it as “the characteristic swelling and diminishing linelike figure delineating design units. These formlines merge and divide to make a continuous flowing grid over the whole decorated area, establishing the principal forms of the design.”24 While it may not have been Holm’s intention to frame subsequent explorations of Northwest Coast art and art history so narrowly, his publication contributed to the narrative of a Northwest Coast “renaissance” that has shaped the perceptions of generations of artists, scholars, collectors,

12 INTRODUCTION

and the general public.25 In order to alleviate the burden of this perspective, many museums, including the Burke, have begun to build and/or strengthen relationships with Indigenous communities over the past thirty years. Collections and archives access, collaborative curatorial projects, and the hiring of Indigenous curators and staff support a diversity of perspectives, which has greatly enriched museum practices, both in the exhibition galleries and behind the scenes. However, as Ho-­chunk historian Amy Lonetree cautions, the focus on successful collaborations that pervades the literature often masks ongoing inequities between Indigenous communities and cultural institutions, as well as the deep social and economic disparities that exist within society as a whole.26 Here & Now laid bare the work of the Bill Holm Center by turning inside out the oppressive weight of its early institutional history. The museum, rather than remaining a repository of the history of settler colonialism, became a space activated by Indigenous artists and researchers, familiar with the problematics of museums but also aware of the wealth of knowledge they contain. Artists took the opportunity to learn from historical pieces, as well as archival photographs and documents, and in turn shared community-­based knowledge with the institution. This ongoing exchange served as the basis for the Burke’s power­ful contemporary exhibition and has been central to the development of the Northwest Native Art Gallery in the new Burke Museum building that opened in November 2019. In this inaugural exhibit, Bunn-­Marcuse, now director of the Bill Holm Center, facilitated six Indigenous women artists from the Northwest Coast to serve as cocurators, bringing their expertise to the display of historical and contemporary artists from across the region, centered on the question “What is your artistic heritage?”27 Fittingly, Alison Bremner, the curator for the Tlingit case, included the beaded octopus bag described above, alongside Raven’s Cloak, the work it inspired. Bremner also selected a beaded tunic (see figure 2.4), worn at the 1904 Sitka potlatch, a significant event that is discussed in chapter 2. Here & Now ably demonstrated how to successfully activate historical collections and make them meaningful, both to Indigenous community members and to the wider public. As Lonetree notes, “Sites of oppression have the potential to transform into sites of revitalization and autonomy.”28 Though museums across North America are increasingly making their collections and archives accessible to artists and researchers, few provide examples of how that access can be transformative, especially for artists. By inviting artists to illuminate how their experiences in the collections influenced their own work, Bunn-­Marcuse and the Burke staff enabled a dialogue that confounded the “colonial gaze” by giving artists a platform to foreground meaningful perspectives of Indigeneity

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in relation to their work, as opposed to the hierarchal and patriarchal categories of collecting, upon which the Burke Museum and others of its era were founded. As art historian Ruth B. Phillips argues, the often-­experimental work done in museums can bring about fundamental societal changes more widely.29 Tlingit Beadwork in Museums This shift from preservation to activation, which has gathered momentum in the two decades since I began exploring histories of Tlingit beadwork, has been central to my own experience. The privileging of men’s knowledge and understanding of the world in terms of ethnographic collecting has made it difficult, and in many cases impossible, to ascertain specific narratives associated with historical pieces made by women. With careful contextualization, however, women’s work can be activated to reveal a rich and underappreciated history; as noted by Racette, museum shelves are filled with the work of women, work that she views as “objects encoded with knowledge.”30 Speaking about any garment developed through diverse histories of contact, Phillips argues that it should be considered both an example of “self-­imaging” in relation to the colonial gaze and also the “materialization of negotiation and inventions that occurred in the process of its fabrication.”31 In her introduction to the groundbreaking 2019 exhibition Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists, curator Jill Ahlberg Yohe highlighted the gendered injustice at the heart of museum collections: “Native women’s contributions to the art world have largely gone unrecognized by outsiders, despite the fact that women are responsible for most of the Native artwork in collections.”32 The multifaceted process of contextualizing women’s cultural expressions has been crucial to my own approach for understanding historical Tlingit beadwork, as little has been published specifically on this practice. When I completed my dissertation in 2007, I had compiled a database of more than eleven hundred beaded items in museum collections. Over the years, this number has slowly grown as individuals contact me about Tlingit beadwork they own or send me photographs of beaded pieces they have come across. To find the stories associated with a piece of beadwork in a museum collection, I scoured archival documents and photographs, combining those traces across repositories with family histories and knowledge generously shared by artists and descendants. The reciprocal nature of this exchange is an important facet of Painful Beauty, as connecting families with archival materials about their forebears has often stimulated memories or created new understandings of past histories.33

14 INTRODUCTION

Beadwork continues to be underrepresented in the ever-­increasing literature of the region, yet it seems to have been a part of the experience of most Tlingit people at some point in their life. The majority of women I have spoken with have memories of assisting their mothers, grandmothers, and aunties with sewn and beaded work made for sale through the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House (later Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative; hereafter referred to as ANAC) in the mid-­twentieth century or learning beading in the classroom or after school from the 1960s onward. Some continue to bead, making regalia for family and on commission, while others have also incorporated weaving and other cultural expressions into their practices. As is discussed in chapter 4, contemporary artists often indirectly reference beading in works made for fashion shows and art exhibitions. As Peabody Essex Museum curator Karen Kramer points out in her groundbreaking exhibition catalog Native Fashion Now, “Native communities have always had couturiers—specialized artists commissioned to create one-­of-­a-­kind objects, often spectacular regalia or ceremonial accoutrements.”34 New contexts, relationships, and materials have always led to creative innovations in adornment fabricated by generations of women. Many pieces of beadwork, whether a doll or pair of moccasins made by a relative or an item of regalia that continues to express relationships to their own clan and their opposites or to the natural and supernatural worlds, remain in the hands of community members. In order to ground these contemporary experiences of beading, it is crucial to reframe women’s roles more broadly and through a historical lens. Painful Beauty acknowledges and brings forward multiple ways in which Tlingit women have contributed to the cultural, social, and economic survival of their families, clans, and nation as the legacies of nineteenth-­ and twentieth-­century institutionalized inequality and marginalization continue to be felt today.

Reframing to Rebalance In 1805 German naturalist, explorer, and Russian diplomat George Heinrich von Langsdorff made the observation that trading delegations to Novo-­Arkangl’sk (Sitka) consisted of both genders, and during the “entertainment” portion of the visit, Tlingit men danced and women sang.35 Though Langsdorff’s words offer only a tiny window into a complex context, they illustrate that high-­ ranked women and men in Tlingit communities had complementary roles in both economic and social practices. Several decades later, after the 1867 transfer of Alaska from Russia to the United States, Navy Ensign Alfred P. Niblack

INTRODUCTION

15

made a similar observation: “As between the sexes, the rights of the women are respected and the terms of equality on which men and women live are very striking for most visitors of this region.”36 As anthropologist Sergei Kan notes, “The power and prestige of the Tlingit woman was based on her crucial social role as the household’s treasurer.”37 Besides controlling the wealth of a clan, women were also central to trading practices prior to and through colonialism. These were just two of their many abilities, including expertise in handling canoes and guns, that took explorers and settlers by surprise. Many historical examples indicate that gendered distinctions, though not rigidly enforced, also applied to the production of tangible cultural expressions: men constructed houses as well as carved and painted wood containers, poles, and masks, while women sewed and wove garments and containers.38 Women skilled at weaving robes and baskets were held in high esteem, and historically only high-­ranked women (aanyádi) received this training.39 Kan argues that prior to the changes wrought by settler colonialism, distinctions of rank were more important than those of gender, explaining that a high-­ranked woman held far more status than a low-­ranked man.40 The impact of the Russian American Company and subsequent Russian Orthodox Church, first established in Sitka in the 1820s, did little to shift the balance and reciprocity inherent in Tlingit gender relations, though marriage with Russian American Company men altered the roles of some Tlingit women in ways both constraining (domestic duties) and expansive (interpreters).41 Langsdorff, for example, discusses an unnamed high-­ranked Tlingit woman who acted as his translator as he traveled through Tlingit territory. The daughter of a chief, she had been living with a Russian prior to the first battle of Sitka in 1802 and was essential to maintaining good relations with the Tlingit clans that Langsdorff encountered on the journey.42 The arrival of Presbyterian missionaries and the establishment of industrial training schools in the 1870s had a much greater impact, as those converting to this form of Christianity were expected to live and work within the strict conventions of late-­Victorian-­era gender roles. Girls were trained for domestic service and boys for manual labor. Though the race-­based discrimination built into these roles envisioned Tlingit people as second-­class citizens, in some ways the gendered aspects of material production overlapped. As is discussed further in chapter 1, Tlingit girls continued to produce items that had domestic uses, but they also, in contravention of Victorian ideals of a woman’s place centered in the home, utilized their skills for economic gain within the souvenir market while maintaining Tlingit worldviews.

16 INTRODUCTION

Even as Tlingit women were expanding their economic opportunities through souvenir making and selling, the customary balance between Tlingit women and men was being increasingly eroded. Within Tlingit perspectives, wooch yáx̱—social and spiritual balance—is a key cultural value. Yet this balance shifted as the patriarchal structures of religious and governmental institutions gave Tlingit men visible roles in the church (both Russian Orthodox and Presbyterian), hired them as community policemen, and introduced patrilineal inheritance laws that contravened thousands of years of matrilineal descent and associated rights and privileges.43 The external validation of men and their material production over women in terms of generations of museum collecting compounded this increasing disparity. For these reasons, women’s gender roles and their cultural expressions have been less examined in the literature, reinforcing the biases and necessitating a close examination in order to better understand how women were critical to cultural and economic resilience. Even as patriarchal structures became “rooted” in Tlingit territory, upsetting the balance and reciprocity between women and men, women maintained cultural practices in forms not always recognized as Indigenous from the nineteenth century onward. Bringing these hidden histories to the forefront connects to the important work being done by Indigenous feminist theorists who situate women at the center of historical and ongoing resistance to settler colonialism.44 While scholars have infrequently considered Northwest Coast beadwork worth examining, Tlingit people have used and valued it in a variety of ways since incorporating it into different kinds of social and ceremonial practices during the nineteenth century. Through the critical analysis of a wide range of sources, both Indigenous and settler, Painful Beauty considers some of the ways in which Tlingit women and their beading practices embody their resilience within the intercultural histories of colonialism. Their work, made for ceremonial use and for sale, both accommodated and resisted aspects of these complex and often difficult circumstances. Because of beadwork’s ubiquity in historical photographs, museum collections, and contemporary contexts, in combination with the lack of scholarship, beadwork occupies a unique position as a tangible expression of Tlingit cultural practices. The study of some of its uses within Tlingit communities, both past and present, and its discursive positioning by outsiders reveals the complex interactions among the Indigenous peoples of the region, both interior and coastal, with the fur traders, missionaries, ethnographers, settlers, and tourists who both rejected and embraced beadwork in myriad ways.

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Tlingit Social Organization and Core Cultural Values A deep exploration of the complex and evolving aspects of Tlingit social organization is beyond the scope of this book.45 Yet to understand how beadwork has circulated within Tlingit social and economic practices over the past 150 years, a brief overview is needed. Tlingit people are broadly divided into two moieties or groups, Raven (Yéil) and Eagle/Wolf (Ch’áak’)/(G̱ ooch), which are further divided into clans (naa) and houses (hít). Tlingit people are matrilineal, meaning children receive rights and privileges from their mother’s side. The father’s side is also important, as many formal interactions are directed toward the opposite moiety. Moieties serve to regulate marriage and provide structures within which significant reciprocal ceremonial activities are implemented. Because individuals within a moiety consider themselves brothers and sisters, for instance, a Raven can only marry an equally ranked Eagle. Nineteenth-­ century government officials and missionaries attempted to reconfigure the existing matrilineal system into one of paternal descent and inheritance. The repercussions of this interference continue to be felt to this day.46 Many other aspects of this social division, however, have retained their vitality, particularly the deeply held notion of reciprocity, discussed further below. Within each moiety there are numerous clans, subclans, and lineages. Animals such as a kéet (killer whale), xíxch’ (frog), or xóots (brown bear) or a feature of the landscape such as a mountain represent each clan. Supernatural encounters between ancestors and one of these animals or landscape elements often resulted in its adoption as a clan crest. Songs and stories associated with each crest are part of a rich oral history that has been passed down through countless generations. Clan membership grants the right to create representations of that crest for regalia and other items used ceremonially. In the nineteenth century, clans from the same moiety were often rivals and sometimes disputed one another over the right to own or display certain crests.47 Within each clan there are several lineages or house groups, a term that originally encompassed both a physical dwelling as well as kinship. Through the nineteenth century, Tlingit clan and lineage hierarchies comprised high-­ranked chiefs, commoners (who were the less prestigious relatives of the chiefs), and enslaved peoples, often captured during raids or warfare from rivals such as the Haida. Originally, these extended groups lived in large communal houses that accommodated sixty or more individuals. These social distinctions succumbed to pressures from missionaries to conform to settler concepts of marriage and the single-­family home. The practice of enslaving people captured in battle or raids was eventually abolished through pressures initially exerted by

18 INTRODUCTION

the Russians and later by the Americans. Though altered, many of the values central to Tlingit moieties and clans survived the twentieth century in subtle ways, some of which are discussed in subsequent chapters.48 In recent years, the Sealaska Heritage Institute (SHI), the nonprofit arm of the Sealaska Corporation formed to perpetuate and preserve Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian art, language, and culture, has begun utilizing four core values that have contributed to Tlingit worldviews since time immemorial: “Haa Aaní— Honoring and Utilizing Our Land,” a concept that relates both to subsistence and sovereignty; “Haa Latseen—Strength of Body, Mind, and Spirit,” indicating the warrior spirit of Tlingit people historically, as well as the need to connect to Tlingit cultural practices for personal and social well-­being; “Haa Shuká— Honoring our Ancestors and Future Generations,” perhaps the most complex cultural value, as it is both forward-­ and backward-­looking and encompasses people as well as tangible and intangible expressions of Tlingit relationships and worldviews; and “Wooch Yáx̱—Maintaining Social and Spiritual Balance and Harmony,” emphasizing respect for and relationships with all things and indicating the work being done to reconnect with the social and cultural practices that have been damaged through colonialism.49 As is discussed throughout Painful Beauty, beadwork and beading practices have contributed in different ways to the maintenance of these four core values during the eras when they were being actively suppressed. Women, Rank, and Beadwork Beading within Tlingit communities elaborates a long history of embellishment, beaded and otherwise. Archaeological sites dating from 1000 CE include beads made from copper, shell, coal, and bone.50 Prior to European contact, dentalium shells were harvested off the coast of Vancouver Island and traveled thousands of miles along Indigenous trade routes to adorn regalia and other significant material expressions. Contemporary artists indicate that beads were also made from perishable materials such as the stems of devil’s club, a ubiquitous spiny plant known for its medicinal properties.51 Though trade beads likely entered Tlingit territory through Indigenous trade routes from the east before direct European contact,52 beading practices rapidly transformed and spread in the early nineteenth century as trade beads, buttons, and cloth from around the world became increasingly available through the fur trade. Large Russian trade beads were highly desirable and used throughout Southeast Alaska to embellish the edges and fringes of hide and cloth garments, supplementing the dentalia and paint used to outline crest figures on regalia. Buttons eventually surpassed

INTRODUCTION

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shells in popularity, and woolen cloth was substituted for hide, mountain goat wool, and cedar bark, leading to the development of button robes and tunics, both increasingly common forms of regalia from the early nineteenth century onward and worthy of much greater study than has been undertaken.53 This book considers a wide range of objects constructed from hide, fur, and/ or commercially made wool and cotton cloth that have been embroidered with glass seed beads in patterns derived from natural and supernatural worlds. In many ways, seed beading practices can be viewed as an extension of certain aspects of spruce root basketry, particularly in terms of the application of designs onto a surface. As Emmons noted in his description of “false embroidery” on baskets, “the characteristic ornamentation of Tlingit basketry is executed on the weave rather than in the weave, and is thus considered by the people themselves as an embroidery.”54 The parallel between basketry and beadwork lies in the fact that wherever beadwork appears on a Tlingit garment, the back is fully lined to hide the stitches holding the beads in place, rendering the reverse as neat and finished as the front. English fur trader Emil Teichmann may have made the earliest mention of seed beadwork during his 1868 visit to Southeast Alaska. These uniformly sized small beads were sewn in great quantities onto cloth or tanned hide in characteristic patterns.55 Teichmann described picking up an Indigenous pilot from Fort Tongass, the short-­lived US Army base, in Taant’á Ḵwáan (Sea Lion people) territory who was needed to direct his boat crew to Sitka: “Charley’s luggage was very simple, it was brought on board to him by his ‘Klootschman’ [wife], and consisted of a tanned deerskin for him to sleep on and a small pouch quite prettily embroidered with beads containing a small wooden pipe, flint and steel and some ammunition.”56 Though the specific style of pouch and beaded design described by Teichmann are unknown, museum collections and historical photographs provide additional evidence that items embroidered with seed beads were circulating in Tlingit territory by the late 1860s or early 1870s. As well, Tlingit women were incorporating new forms, such as octopus bags, made from introduced materials into important cultural practices around this time. The early integration of trade beads into Tlingit cultural practices appears to have been by individuals of rank; the earliest trade beads, known as s’eiḵ kawóot (“smoke [colored] beads”), could only be worn by “owners of slaves.”57 They also appear to have been gendered, as high-­ranked women, both old and young, wore specific items of adornment that utilized trade and, later, seed beads. In 1894 Emmons purchased a loom-­woven necklace, displaying geometric designs made from red, white, black, yellow, and blue seed beads, that was worn by a high-­ranked older woman. Emmons’s accompanying notes indicate the

20 INTRODUCTION

I.4.  Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sitka, ch’een (hairpiece), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, glass beads, and wood, 17.2 × 4.5 in. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 1994-114/1: acquired from Mrs. Gertrude M. Reith, PhD)

INTRODUCTION

significance of her role within the clan: “String of bead work ‘K. . . . [illegible]’ from Sitka, ‘Sitka-­qwan’ worn around the neck of an old woman to carry the keys of the chests containing the wealth of the family in blankets, furs, ceremonial dress, etc. The keys were hung and secured to the string. For with the Tlingits the mistress of the house kept all the keys and was better informed as to the family possessions than the man himself, and nothing was acquired through purchase or trade or disposed of without her consent.”58 The association of rank and gender are also well illustrated through the incorporation of seed beads, usually applied in the geometric patterns associated with basketry, on high-­ranked young women’s ch’een (hair ornament). A ch’een now in the collection of the Burke Museum (figure I.4) is unusual in that the larger lower portion is asymmetrical. The maker created what appears to be the yéil koowú (tail of the raven) design in yellow, light blue, red, and white beads. Using the same color palette with the addition of amber-­colored beads, she wove a series of concentric diamond shapes, possibly a variation on a kas’ál’jaa (raindrop) design.59 Originally constructed from deer hide and embellished with rows of dentalium shells and goat wool fringes, and later with large trade beads, ch’een signified a young woman’s place in Tlingit society and also embodied some of the qualities valued in women. Elder Johnny Marks (who had two Tlingit names, K’óok and Ḵooteix̱’téek) (1943– 2009), formerly a language consultant for SHI, shared that a man’s aunt would make this type of hairpiece for the girl he intended to marry in order to show that she was spoken

21

for. According to Marks, the hairpiece is heavy to make the wearer’s hair grow longer and to keep her head movements slow.60 One of anthropologist Frederica de Laguna’s informants provides a related interpretation: “When you move, it’s like the wind is waving the bushes. It makes you grow.”61 She also remarked that a girl’s father’s sister would provide the ch’een and would receive a gift for making it,62 thus maintaining balance between clan opposites. The weight of the ch’een may also have reminded the wearer to weigh her words carefully before speaking, as heaviness is a signifying concept within Tlingit worldviews. Highly esteemed individuals wore weighty garments and jewelry to express their privilege and wealth.63 Emmons noted that ch’een had, at one time, the same value as one to two slaves.64 This association of early beadwork as an expression of rank is supported by the examination of some of the earliest photographs taken in Southeast Alaska. Beadwork, Kaa Yahaay’í (Photography), and High Rank In recent years, photographs of Indigenous people and Indigenous uses of photography have been critically analyzed to expose the complexity of the circulation of imagery within Indigenous communities and between them and settler communities from the late nineteenth century onward.65 Non-­Indigenous photographers, including government surveyors, ethnographers, missionaries, and tourists, used photographs in myriad ways to situate Indigenous people within the confines of settler colonialism. Photographs were used as evidence of the need for assimilation and Christianization or, conversely, of it; as resources for identifying and acquiring important clan items for museum collections; and as proof of an encounter with an “exotic other” in a remote region. Indigenous people depicted within the borders of these images also utilized these photographs, but did so in ways that resisted their being contained by these images.66 Framing historical images through the lens of photographic sovereignty is critical to illuminating Indigenous counternarratives to settler histories. Hulleah Tsinhnahjinnie writes, “It was a beautiful day when the scales fell from my eyes and I first encountered photographic sovereignty. A beautiful day when I decided that I would take responsibility to reinterpret images of Native peoples. My mind was ready, primed with stories of resistance and resilience, stories of survival. My views of these images are aboriginally based—an indigenous perspective—not a scientific godly order but philosophically Native.”67 Tsinhnahjinnie’s words reverse the ways in which historical photographs had typically been received, transforming them from imposed visions of an imaginary past to Indigenous beacons of yet-­to-­be-­imagined futures. Photographic

22 INTRODUCTION

sovereignty enriches understandings of the histories captured in a moment of time, the complexities of its original context, as well as contemporary translations. As Tlingit-­Nisga’a photographer Larry McNeil asserts, “What is interesting is how photography became such a seamless part of our existing culture. . . . Our earliest uses of photography in the nineteenth century were paid for by our own people, and as such, became the property of our own people, as opposed to any outside entity that wanted to come in and photograph for their own ends.”68 Photography and seed beading became significant forms of expression within Tlingit cultural and economic practices around the same time and were used in similar ways to express prestige within cultural hierarchies and subtly resist colonial impositions. Through an examination of the strategic uses of photography by Tlingit people, it becomes possible to better understand beading in this era. As references to beadwork in the literature are few and far between and beadwork in museum collections lacks detailed provenance, carefully scrutinizing these images and considering how they circulated and were understood transculturally makes it possible to more closely pinpoint the origins of and values attributed to historical Tlingit beadwork by Indigenous and non-­Indigenous people alike. The Tlingit word for photograph, kaa yahaay’í, meaning “a person’s shadow, departed soul, reflection, or picture,” resonates with the 1878 image of Tseináakw (Chief Shéiksh [Shakes] V) lying in state.69 This image is the earliest known photograph documenting beaded items in Tlingit territory, specifically that of the Shx’at’ Ḵwáan (Stikine people) of the region surrounding what is now known as Wrangell. The beadwork visible in this photograph includes woolen tunics with plackets and pockets beaded in floral designs, displayed on either side of Chief Shéiksh.70 A beaded knife sheath rests just to the right of his left arm, and an embellished octopus bag hangs in the upper right-­hand corner of the image. The inclusion of beadwork along with naaxein, frontlets, woolen tunics with crests outlined in dentalia, and clan hats is noteworthy as it suggests that these beaded items were among the most highly prized at.óow (“an owned or purchased thing or object”)71 of the Naanyaa.aayí clan. Funerary displays were a significant part of the Tlingit mortuary complex in the nineteenth century. After a high-­ranked clan leader passed away, the body was clothed in regalia and surrounded by important clan at.óow, which refers both to tangibles, such as articles of clothing, and intangibles, such as features of the landscape, a personal name, a song or a story. As scholars Nora and Richard Dauenhauer note, “This fundamental concept underlies all dimensions of Tlingit social structure, oral literature, iconography and ceremonial life.”72 In terms of the tangible, a commissioned work, such as an item of regalia, does

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not immediately become at.óow, but must be brought out at a special occasion, named, spoken about, and then paid for. Once the belonging becomes at.óow, it gains additional monetary and spiritual value each time it is witnessed. Thus, the clan leader surrounded with the clan’s belongings being viewed by relatives and members of clans from the opposite moiety contributed to the increasing prestige of both the clan and the at.óow. Shortly after photography’s introduction to the region, clans incorporated it into this practice, as it visually connected a clan to its important at.óow at a time when it was being purchased and/or stolen for museum collections. At the same time, photography may also have contributed to the prestige of the at.óow through the circulation of these images to an audience of witnesses outside of the community. Beadwork, Photography, and Increasing Rank By the late nineteenth century, as potlatch practices were outlawed in Canada and suppressed in Alaska, the tenets of salvage anthropology increased museum collecting, and the tourist trade expanded along the Northwest Coast, bead embroidery and the circulation of beaded items gained increasingly complex meaning within and beyond Tlingit communities. Within twenty-­five years of its introduction to Tlingit territory, seed beads as embellishment moved from the periphery to the center of Tlingit cultural practices, both literally and figuratively. Two photographs taken in Klukwan, Alaska, by Juneau-­based photographers Lloyd Winter and Percy Pond (figures I.5 and I.6) illustrate the expansion of beading practices as well as the increasingly widespread use of photography. The integration of beadwork and photography into ongoing cultural practices likely increased due to the destabilization of Tlingit hierarchies from epidemic diseases, conversion to Christianity, and the pervasiveness of the cash economy. Some Tlingit people with less access to customary markers of status, but with wealth gained through employment as guides, cannery workers, and souvenir makers and sellers, began using beadwork and photography to further social agendas within their own communities. Art historian Victoria Wyatt notes that these photographs were taken in front of the Xíxch’í Hít (Frog House), one of the newest G̱ aanax̱teidí (Frog) clan houses in Klukwan at the time.73 Although frogs and frog crests are found throughout Tlingit stories, histories, and communities, fieldwork conducted in the early 1930s by Ronald Olson and Kalervo Oberg pinpointed the late-­ nineteenth-­century origins of the Xíxch’í Hít. In Klukwan at that time, there were three groups of Wolf moiety houses, the Kaagwaantaan, Daḵl’aweidí, and Dagi̱ sdinaa, and only one group of Raven moiety houses, all of the G̱ aanax̱teidí

24 INTRODUCTION

Lloyd V. Winter (1866–1945) and E. Percy Pond (1872–1943), “Indian Dancers at Pot­ latch, Chilkat, Alaska,” ca. 1895. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Winter & Pond Photo Collection, P87-20) I.5. 

Lloyd V. Winter (1866–1945) and E. Percy Pond (1872–1943), “Dancers at Klukwan,” ca. 1895. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Winter & Pond Photo Collection, P87-35)

I.6. 



25

clan. The most respected of these was the Yáay Hít (Whale House). Oberg wrote that conflicts over rank induced members of the Yáay Hít to leave in order to form two new houses, the Yéil (Raven) Hít and the Xíxch’í Hít. According to Olson, this split occurred around 1875 when five men left the Yéil Hít to build the Xíxch’í Hít.74 Oberg noted that the Xíxch’í Hít was, and at the time of his research in the 1930s continued to be, the lowest-­ranked of the three G̱ aanax̱teidí clan houses.75 Despite their accumulated wealth, lower-­ranked Tlingit clans had less prestige or access to tangible symbols of rank, including naaxein robes and woven tunics, frontlets, and clan hats (such as those depicted in photographs of the interior of the Yáay Hít taken by the same photographers around the same time), and therefore would have had to produce or commission new items of regalia that were considered less valuable as they had yet to become at.óow. At the same time, these regalia, much of which was beaded, may have been commissioned by clans because beaded regalia would have been bypassed by museum collectors due to its perceived inauthenticity. In this context, beadwork gained an increasingly significant role as it maintained the potential to become clan at.óow. The prominence of beaded regalia in these two images in addition to the relatively recent formation of the Xíxch’í Hít, suggests that these photographs were commissioned both to validate the hierarchical repositioning of the house and, through the circulation of these images, to increase the prestige not only of the house but also of their new regalia, including the beaded tunics and octopus bags. The dynamic poses of the dancers in these photographs certainly indicate a willingness to have their participation in a ḵu.éex’ (potlatch) recorded. The photographs also illustrate the range of beaded regalia, designs, and motifs that were being utilized by the end of the nineteenth century, including items of regalia that suggest trade and other ties to interior peoples.

Interior Connections Though there is a rich history of beading among interior communities (such as the Tahltan, Inland Tlingit, Tagish, and Southern Tuchone peoples) with long-­standing trading relationships with coastal Tlingit people,76 this book focuses on beadwork produced and acquired in coastal communities. The trade and marriage relationships central to seed beadwork arriving on the coast are touched on briefly here and in chapter 2, though they deserve a closer examination than is possible here. My hope is that the research on coastal beading practices in Painful Beauty will contribute to future work on these important

26 INTRODUCTION

connections disrupted by the imposition and policing of colonial borders from the late nineteenth century onward. Returning to the photograph of Chief Shéiksh V, beadwork as at.óow in this context points to and publicizes the significance of the long-­standing trade relationship between the Naanyaa.aayí clan and the interior Tahltan people who congregated seasonally near what is now known as Telegraph Creek, located 160 miles up the Stikine River. These partnerships were often formalized through marriage between a high-­ranked Tlingit man and an interior woman, underlining the ongoing significance of women in trade.77 In the mid-­nineteenth century, beaded items made by interior women would have been difficult to acquire except through trade relations and, thus, highly valued as a marker of status, as they were available only to those of high rank. The incorporation of beadwork into the mortuary display visually confirmed Chief Shéiksh V’s control over the interior trade route and highlighted his privileged access to new and unusual items. The Stikine River trade route as one entry point into Tlingit territory for early beaded items is supported by Teichmann’s description of the ammunition pouch used by Charley from Fort Tongass, as well as three octopus bags (figures I.1, I.7, I.8) collected in Wrangell by Emmons in 1909 for Seattle’s Alaska-­Yukon-­ Pacific Exposition. The bags display diverse beading styles, indicating several different makers. The provenance of a bag with a rare five pairs of legs (figure I.8) includes an additional statement indicating that it was “procured in trade from the Tahltan people of the upper river.”78 The nineteenth-­century version of this bag type appears to have been developed by Métis women in the Lake Winnipeg area of Manitoba, making its way through Indigenous trade routes to the Northwest Coast by the late 1860s–early 1870s.79 Though there are few octopus bags with Tahltan provenance, the presence of a Hudson Bay Company (HBC) trading post established at Glenora in 1874 (moved upstream to Telegraph Creek around 1900) gave visiting Tlingit traders an opportunity to see a variety of beadwork and bag forms as the HBC employed men from across Canada.80 Many HBC traders were married to Indigenous women who brought distinctive beading traditions with them and likely exchanged ideas and designs with local Tahltan and visiting Tlingit women. Moreover, as is discussed in chapter 2, it is notable that octopus bags, as opposed to other beaded forms popular among the Tahltan, such as fire bags used to carry fire-­making materials (figure I.9), gained significance within Tlingit cultural practices.81 As the photograph of Chief Shéiksh V illustrates, regalia embellished with seed beads were associated with rank and prestige and initially only available to those with exclusive trade relations strengthened

INTRODUCTION

27

I.7.  (Left) Unrecorded artist, Stikine region, octopus bag, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Wool cloth, glass beads, and yarn. Collected by George T. Emmons for the AlaskaYukon-Pacific Exposition. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 2223)

(Right) Unrecorded artist, Stikine region, octopus bag, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Trade cloth and glass beads. Collected by George T. Emmons for the AlaskaYukon-Pacific Exposition. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 2364: purchased with funds donated by Thomas Burke)

I.8. 

through marriage. By the time the century came to a close, access to beading techniques and beaded items had expanded beyond the most respected clans and into the souvenir market. By the early twentieth century, but likely much earlier, beads and beadwork traveled in both directions between the interior and the coast. James Teit, an ethnologist who worked with the Tahltan people and collected materials from them, indicated that “colored glass beads, large and small,” were acquired from coastal trading partners. Some beads were retained for use in the community, while others were significantly marked up and sent farther inland to the Kaska

28 INTRODUCTION

Unrecorded Tahltan artist, fire bag, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Wool cloth, beads, and leather, 29.5 × 6.5 in. Collected by George T. Emmons. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 2765) I.9. 



29

Dena, via just one of the many Indigenous trade networks that extended across North America. Teit indicated that the Tahltan also acquired regalia, often beaded, from their Tlingit trading partners.82 Beads and beaded items have always connected Tlingit people to others across borders and through time.

Beadwork and Its Representation Across Time and Through Diverse Media Painful Beauty explores continuity and change in the art and history of Tlingit beadwork, with each chapter taking as its starting point a piece of beadwork, a photograph, a fine art print, or a garment inspired by historical beading patterns and illuminating issues surrounding beading practices within specific historical and contemporary contexts. As the majority of my research draws from beadwork in museum collections (in addition to photographs, archival collections, and interviews with beaders and elders), the bulk of the text examines late-­nineteenth-­ to mid-­twentieth-­century practices. A final chapter illustrates how some contemporary artists use or reference beaded forms in their work destined for display in art galleries and fashion shows. The epilogue traces the movement of one relatively well-­known Tlingit woman to suggest the nineteenth-­century expansion of coastal beading practices and how bringing these histories to light enriches the ways in which contemporary artists across North America use beads and beading practices to critique and resist the ongoing impacts of settler colonialism. Chapters 1 and 2 examine museum collections and collecting practices, photographs, and archival materials in order to consider the shifting values of beaded objects as they circulated into and out of Tlingit hands in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The pain of the suppression of ceremonial practices and the population losses due to epidemics and other devastating aspects of settler colonialism were modulated by the economic and cultural aspects of beading beautiful work. Women were able to feed their families through the production of souvenirs and clothe them in regalia that empowered them within the clan system. Because the physical characteristics of beadwork and beaded patterns did not fit into the perceived Tlingit “aesthetic” identified by ethnographers, it was rendered all but invisible to outsiders. This very invisibility allowed Tlingit people to express, with their hands or on their bodies, significant connections to one another and to the land in ways not fully recognized and therefore misunderstood by settlers and visitors. Chapter 1 centers on the economic realities of Tlingit women active in the nineteenth-­century tourist trade and considers how issues of rank may have

30 INTRODUCTION

informed the lives of two very different women: an unnamed Tlingit beader whose story remained hidden in a small archive for nearly a century, and Gadji’nt, the most celebrated Tlingit woman of the era, sought out by waves of summer tourists.83 Chapter 2 focuses on the nearly three dozen photographs from the so-­called last potlatch held in Sitka in 1904. These photographs contain within their frames a rich array of beaded regalia that embody complex relationships between clans and beyond borders. Chapter 3, framed by Larry McNeil’s poignant 2012 print, Once Upon a Time in America, featuring his mother and grandmother, balances the archives of the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House (ANAC; later, Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative), founded in the mid-­twentieth century, with the reminiscences of Tlingit beaders and elders and their descendants. Though few beaded items from this era were acquired by museums, more than five hundred Tlingit women sewed, beaded, and sold their work through ANAC as a means of economic survival at a time when there were few opportunities for Indigenous women. They also fought for quality education for their children, reinforced their identity as Tlingit people, and maintained cultural knowledge in an era of rampant discrimination. Chapter 4 examines the creations of four artists: Tanis S’eiltin, Chloe French, Shgen Doo Tan George, and Lily Hope. Their diverse artworks, all of which reference historical beaded designs and forms, are informed in part by the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act as well as the opportunities developed by the Sealaska Heritage Institute over the past forty years. Celebration, the biannual gathering of dance groups, begun in 1982; the 2014 Tináa Art Auction to raise funds for the Walter Soboleff Building, which opened in 2015; and the incorporation and promotion of Northwest Coast fashion shows since 2016 have provided inspiration and opportunity for the expansion of beading practices alongside the revitalization and strengthening of customary weaving practices. The artists participating in these public events recognize the power and possibility of reversing the ongoing repercussions of colonialism by foregrounding Tlingit values in ways that speak to contemporary audiences. The epilogue returns to a historical narrative of a high-­ranked Tlingit woman whose life history crosses both cultural and national borders through her marriage to a non-­Indigenous man and her relocation to Tsax̱is (Fort Rupert) in what is now British Columbia. The consideration of the beadwork associated with Anisalaga (Mary Ebbetts Hunt) brings to light one of the ways in which beading took hold outside of Southeast Alaska, expressing related but distinct worldviews. Nineteenth-­century beading practices in Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw territory inspired contemporary Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw artist Marianne Nicolson to create

INTRODUCTION

31

paintings referencing this history of beadwork as a means to engage with the realities and repercussions of colonialism and at the same time recenter the significance of Indigenous women within Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw cultural practices. Contemporary beading practices, once dismissed as stereotypical, have now become an important method of critique across North America.

Women’s Roles and the Work of Women: Why Tlingit Beadwork? Cultural belongings made from beads and other nonlocal materials ensured continuity at a time when cultural practices were actively being repressed. Because beadwork was seen at times as evidence of cultural degeneration, it became a subtly subversive means to express Tlingit values and worldviews. Beaded souvenirs and regalia have had diverse economic and cultural functions over time both within Tlingit communities and between them and outsiders. Because women combined significant aspects of long-­standing Tlingit cultural practices with newer ideas and materials, beaded items embody these shifting interactions at specific moments. In this sense, beaded objects can be considered sites of historical negotiations that carry information into the present regarding producers and consumers of beadwork, as they were situated within specific cultural practices and in terms of contemporaneous art historical and anthropological discourses. Each chapter of Painful Beauty brings these histories into focus. The artistic works of Alison Bremner and Shgen Doo Tan George in Here & Now embody the legacy of the resilience and resistance of Tlingit women through the past 150 years of settler colonialism on the Northwest Coast. Their innovative designs and transformations of old and new materials encompass the core cultural value of haa shuká by honoring the achievements of their ancestors, creating a dynamic present, and providing a future filled with opportunities for their descendants.

32 INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

“They Are Both Plain and Fancy” Souvenirs and Status within the Alaskan Tourist Trade

A

mid sounds of  ravens croaking overhead and the gentle lapping of water, the sight of rocky islands and steep hillsides covered in tall ever-­ greens, the wafting scents of drying fish and rotting seaweed, a row of Tlingit women sporting multicolored head scarves rest against the sun-­ warmed south-­facing wall of the former Russian Trading Post in Sitka, Alaska. Wrapped in woolen blankets, they wear the sleeves of their calico dresses rolled up, revealing arms laden with delicately carved silver bracelets. The woven cedar-­bark mats spread before them display a profusion of beaded moccasins, wall pockets, spruce root baskets, carved and painted miniature paddles and totem poles. Having spent untold winter hours preparing their goods for sale, the women laugh and joke among themselves, waiting for the inquisitive and often rude tourists wending their way via steamship through the Inside Passage. Wielding Kodaks and preconceived notions, the tourists arrive, launching the negotiations almost immediately. How much for a bracelet? A photograph? A visit to a home in the Tlingit village or the Presbyterian Cottages? Impressions are formed, souvenirs are chosen, and shortly thereafter the steamship departs for its next destination. Though some of these encounters taking place from the 1880s to the early twentieth century are recorded and disseminated by tourists in lively prose or black-­and-­white photographs and postcards to entertain their friends and



33

neighbors, the rich experiences of the Tlingit women’s lives, just like the images, are simplified and reduced to a story, a memory, a pair of moccasins forgotten on a museum shelf. This account seeks a counternarrative, one that places Tlingit women and the beadwork they produced for sale at the center of this era. To give some sense of the women’s diversity of experience, I focus on two individuals, the first an unnamed maker of a pair of beaded moccasins gifted to a visitor. Her romanticized story, hidden in an unpublished manuscript for decades, serves to situate beading practices within and between Tlingit worldviews and the increasing pressures to assimilate brought about by the military, missionaries, and others. The second, the renowned Gadji’nt, also known as Mrs. Tom, was a flamboyant personality whose trading abilities were sought out and described in exaggerated detail by multiple individuals. Her story serves to elucidate western worldviews brought to Southeast Alaska by visitors. Both of these women were active at the height of the tourist trade in the late nineteenth century, yet the variations in their narratives suggest that issues of status may have shaped their experiences of and responses to the many significant social and economic changes that occurred in the region during that time. The beadwork that was produced and/or sold by these two women and many others also functioned in myriad ways, serving as tangible expressions of both resilience and resistance.

Early Tourism in Alaska Tlingit leaders protested the 1867 sale of Alaska by Russia to the United States, as they were neither consulted nor gave consent to the sale.1 Americans themselves were divided on the purchase. Some felt there were strategic and economic benefits, while others believed the territory, disparagingly described as “Seward’s Icebox” (in reference to William H. Seward, the US Secretary of State who approved it), was a wasteful expenditure of money by the federal government.2 Visiting artist Frederick Whymper wrote in 1869, “It cannot be denied that we look rather coldly upon our new acquisition. We knew almost nothing of the value of what we had bought; and the Russians knew little more of the worth of what they had sold.”3 Nearly twenty years of social and economic turbulence followed the purchase, doing little to improve relationships between Tlingit people and the US government. Often reliant upon Tlingit guides for information and access, Scottish naturalist John Muir (1838–1914) traveled to Alaska five times between 1879 and 1899. His articles extolling the beauty, magnificence, and economic potential of the territory are perhaps the best known of the many writers whose prose

34 Chapter 1

contributed to changing attitudes toward Alaska.4 By the early 1880s, enough interest had been generated for the Pacific Coast Steamship Company, followed quickly by others, to begin offering round-­trip excursions through the Inside Passage of Southeast Alaska. By the summer of 1890, the number of visitors traveling to the remote territory with the Pacific Coast Steamship Company reached 5,007.5 In many ways, nineteenth-­century Southeast Alaska was a unique tourist destination. Its remoteness appealed to wealthy people looking for an escape from the pressures of civilization, industrialization, and the “low-­brow” tourists who were increasingly able to access formerly exclusive locales as train networks expanded across North America.6 The costly two-­to four-­week-­long journey departed from San Francisco, Seattle, or Victoria, British Columbia, and incorporated many scheduled, and sometimes a few unscheduled, stops along the way. The ports of call varied, but Wrangell, Juneau, and Sitka, where there were larger populations of Tlingit and settlers, were nearly always included on the itinerary. Other stopovers included Glacier Bay and the salmon canneries located up and down the coast. The vast travel literature from this era provided detailed descriptions of the land, history, and people and also manifested conflicting perspectives about race, gender, and social class. In 1890 Septima Collis, one of the most evocative and opinionated visitors of the era, wrote, “To me Sitka was the vestige of a departed empire; the home of a decaying race of aborigines; a depot for the sale of Russo-­Indian relics and curios; a pretty little town timidly hiding away in among the mountains; and for that I had come to see it and had been amply repaid.”7 Collis’s words reflected the touristic desire to experience the mountains, glaciers, and wildlife of Alaska, to encounter Indigenous peoples before it was “too late,” and to bring home souvenirs and stories that illustrated their exotic interactions for those who stayed at home. Drawing upon ancient trading practices, Tlingit people engaged with these short-­term visitors in multiple ways, some of which were likely to have been shaped by their status within Tlingit clan hierarchies. The creation and sale of souvenirs thus offered opportunities for important cultural expression while also catering to the desires of tourists.

Moccasins and Manuscripts Constructed from light-­colored tanned deer hide, ornamented with now moth-­eaten red wool vamps and blue silk trim, the pair of Tlingit-­made moccasins shown in figure 1.1 currently resides in the collection of the University

“The y Ar e Both Plain and Fancy ”

35

of Pennsylvania Museum. On each vamp, a double row of turquoise-­blue and jet-­black beads outlines a three-­lobed seaweed motif. One moccasin displays a double row of black beads in the shape of the letter S applied directly to the pointed hide toe. Though the name of the Tlingit maker remains unknown, the careful stitches and elegant design of these well-­made moccasins showcase her cultural knowledge, creativity, and skills as a sewer and beader. Though typical of their era in terms of style, these moccasins are unusual because of the rare documentation that accompanies them. Among the thousands of beaded items made for sale depicted in photographs and discussed in travelers’ accounts, only a very few ended up on museum shelves. Among those, only a tiny fraction has related documentation, as items made for sale were primarily acquired as souvenirs by tourists and dismissed by anthropologists seeking “authentic” and “uncontaminated” representations of material culture. Details that accompanied souvenirs entering museum collections were generally more about the collector’s experience acquiring them than those of the maker. The information associated with these moccasins, however, opens a small but significant window to the past. The museum catalog indicates Mary (Sharpless) Schaeffer [Schäffer] acquired the moccasins in 1888 and donated them to the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia in 1904. They were transferred to the University of Pennsylvania Museum in 1944. A label associated with the footwear states “Moccasins made by Indian Woman of Sitka, Alaska.” Cramped handwriting in the academy’s accession book records, “The sailing of the vessel prevented the maker & donor from completing the second S.” When these invaluable scraps of information are woven together, they evoke an important encounter that, while constrained by tides and steamer schedules, clearly remained a touchstone for the collector. Though more than fifteen years had passed between the acquisition and donation of the moccasins, those details were deemed significant enough to add to the permanent record. As a well-­educated upper-­middle-­class Quaker woman from Philadelphia, Mary Sharpless (later Schäffer, then Warren) (1861–1939) was a fairly typical visitor to Alaska.8 In other ways, she was quite unusual, as her 1888 journey was among the first of many she took to the West, primarily to the Canadian Rockies, the latter of which were with her husband, the botanist Charles Schäffer. Some years after his passing in 1903, she moved permanently to Banff, Alberta, and continued to explore, photograph, and write about the region throughout the last decades of her life. Only one of her undated and unpublished manuscripts now located in the archives of the Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies in Banff discusses her trip to Alaska.

36 Chapter 1

Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sitka, moccasins, ca. 1888. Buckskin, wool, glass beads, and silk (uncertain), 9 × 4 in. (Courtesy of the Penn Museum Archives, Philadelphia, object no. 97-84-386a, b: gift of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1997) 1.1. 



37

Though highly romanticized and fictionalized like many of her narratives,9 “Heart of a Child” incorporates specific elements that resonate just enough with the historical record to suggest that the meeting between the moccasin maker and the collector is drawn from an actual experience. The story, which recounts how eighteen-­year-­old Mary (who in reality would have been twenty-­seven or twenty-­eight at the time of her 1888 trip) obtained her moccasins, provides rare insight to the life of a specific Tlingit woman in the midst of the burgeoning tourist trade.10 According to the manuscript, “Mary” met the young moccasin maker living alone in a tiny home with carefully tended flower beds. The young woman explained to her visitor that her non-­Tlingit sailor husband, whom she had married “in the little church,” had left two years earlier to earn money seal hunting and had yet to return.11 Presuming his death, she was being pressured to “take a better man.” She explained that she had chosen to wait for her husband. In a wildly romantic vein, Mary supported the young woman’s decision to wait, stating that if he did not return to her on earth, they would meet again in heaven. Apparently comforted by these words, the young woman asked Mary to write her name on a piece of paper, emphasizing the “big letters,” and said, “I make you moccasins and bring them to the ship for you.” The next morning, just as the steamship was about to pull away from the dock, the young woman ran to the boat and, in giving the moccasins to a sailor to pass to Mary, stated, “I up all night but had no time for the last letter, the other moccasin no letter, ‘all love’.”12 Notwithstanding its melodramatic tone, several aspects of this story do in fact resonate with the realities of a Tlingit woman’s life in Sitka at this time, and when considered together with the moccasins themselves, it becomes possible to better understand how some Tlingit women navigated the social, cultural, and economic pressures of this era. A Young Moccasin Maker Despite the romance of “Heart of a Child,” enough points in the story parallel the actual historical record to suggest the possibility of eventually identifying the moccasin maker. In the meantime, she can be situated fairly specifically in time and place. In 1888, when the young Tlingit woman gifted Mary Sharpless the moccasins, Sitka was a community in transition, yet it lacked the rapid growth of settlers in mining towns such as Juneau and Wrangell. The 1890 census indicated that Sitka’s population stood at 1,190, of whom 861 were identified as Tlingit. After the handover of Alaska in 1867, the Russian American Company departed, though the Russian Orthodox Church remained, due in part to its large high-­ranked Tlingit congregation. Presbyterian missionaries established

38 Chapter 1

a school in Sitka in 1878 that initially attracted high-­ranked Tlingit clans, but as the church developed school buildings and grounds over the next few years, they made greater inroads among young and lower-­ranked Tlingit people. After a decade and a half of intermittent and indifferent military rule, the federal Alaska Organic Act of 1884 established a skeletal judicial and civil government, including provisions for education, which played a part in the rapid expansion of extractive resource-­based industries and intense missionization.13 Expanded means of transportation also contributed to the increase of tourists from 1882 onward; by 1890 there were at least four dedicated steamer visits per month during the three-­month summer season.14 Through it all, Tlingit women adjusted to these shifting circumstances, creating tangible items expressing intangible cultural values that circulated within and beyond Tlingit communities. Details in the narrative suggest that the young Tlingit woman converted to Christianity and attended school, known by 1884 as the Sitka Industrial and Training School. As her request for Sharpless to spell her name denotes, she would have been among the first generation of Tlingit youth to become fluent in English as the Presbyterian missionaries worked tirelessly to eradicate the Tlingit spoken by their students as a means to alienate them from their sociocultural underpinnings grounded in the language. The “little church” in which she was married likely references the first Presbyterian Church, built in 1884, as opposed to Saint Michael’s, the much larger Russian Orthodox cathedral established in 1844. Matrilineally, she was more likely to have been from a less prestigious clan. As Kan points out, though there was a small group of boys from high-­ranked Sitka clans at the school, the majority were orphans, formerly enslaved people, or from lower-­ranked clans. In 1883, after the Presbyterian boarding school for girls located near Wrangell burned down, the Sitka school became coeducational, with girls outnumbering boys.15 Many Tlingit youth perceived education, particularly written and oral language skills, within this imposed system as a means for gaining access to better economic and social opportunities, both within clan structures and the expanding cash economy.16 Taking full advantage of the local concern for acquiring western education, the Presbyterian Church separated Tlingit students from their families and clans using multiple strategies, including the creation of housing for young married graduates of the school. The house described in the story may have been one of the first three “Cottages” built by the church in 1888 with the intention to create a Christian Tlingit community separate from the Tlingit village. More likely, as she had married a non-­Tlingit man apparently against her family’s wishes, she lived in the town of Sitka, often referred to as “Russian town,” between the Cottages to the east and the village to the west. Marriage between

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39

Tlingit women and non-­Indigenous men was not uncommon, particularly in the Russian-­American period, and was often perceived by Tlingit clans as a means to access other forms of wealth and opportunity. Given the increasing race-­based discrimination in the late nineteenth century, particularly around educational policies that relegated Indigenous students to second-­class citizenship, the Presbyterian Church was far less likely to approve marriages that crossed ethnic boundaries. Within the tenets of cultural evolutionism, however, the young moccasin maker may have married a man descended from a Russian father and an Indigenous mother. In the eyes of the church, this would have been an acceptable union, as these individuals occupied a racial middle ground between the Tlingit and Euro-­American settlers. Wooch Yáx̱ The expressions of love in the narrative are key to understanding the ambivalence of Tlingit women’s lives at this time. Sharpless likely perceived the gifting of the moccasins through the lens of Christian values both she and the young maker would have been inculcated in by their respective churches. While this explains one layer of meaning, a more complex analysis indicates the maker’s words and gesture also highlight important Tlingit cultural values. Expressions of comfort and love, particularly as they relate to a deceased family member, are vital to relationships between clans of opposite moieties. Sharpless most likely did not recognize how her consoling words would have been understood within the young woman’s Tlingit worldview, but the gifting of the moccasins and her articulation of love suggest a desire to achieve wooch yáx̱, as described in the introduction. As Tlingit scholar Nancy Furlow points out, “Words have power when directed at the opposite moiety, both to delineate or highlight the duality and to balance it at the same time. Love songs directed at the opposite moiety strengthen this sense of balance and reciprocity between the clans.”17 Though these moccasins were a gift in this particular encounter, there is little doubt that the maker derived at least part of her income from the sale of beadwork to tourists. The design and skill of her handiwork suggests she had been sewing and beading for many years, whether for gifts, souvenirs, or perhaps even ceremonial use.

Tlingit Women and the Souvenir Trade The ever-­increasing number of visitors to Alaska by the end of the nineteenth century spurred the seasonal production of goods made specifically for touristic

40 Chapter 1

consumption. Both men and women participated in the production of curios, though women were the primary sellers, a new iteration of their participation in long-­standing Indigenous trading practices. High-­ranked Lukaax̱.ádi (Sockeye) clan weaver, beader, and scholar Florence Shotridge (Ḵaatkwaax̱snéi) noted, “If a child wanted to earn something she would give part of her stores to a brother or an uncle who would pay twice the value for encouragement.”18 In this way, girls were trained from a young age to expect and attain a good return on their hard work. In addition, during the summer months Tlingit men were usually away from the centers of tourist activity, providing for their families through a combination of subsistence practices and participation in other aspects of the cash economy, such as guiding, mining, and cannery work, leaving it to the women to sell souvenirs. The need to engage in the cash economy became crucial as settlers encroached farther into Tlingit territory, particularly after the passage of the Alaska Organic Act. Non-­Indigenous individuals and corporations interpreted the act in their own favor, taking vast swathes of Tlingit land to establish mines and salmon canneries. Losing access to seasonal subsistence hunting, trapping, and fishing grounds compelled enterprising Tlingit people to develop additional means for supporting their families, clans, and communities. Government officials and missionaries also pressured Tlingit individuals to join the cash economy, as moving away from a subsistence lifestyle was seen as a step toward Christian assimilation and “civilization.” John G. Brady arrived in Alaska as a Presbyterian missionary in 1878, eventually becoming a businessman and later the fifth territorial governor (1897–1906). He spent much of his career advocating for economic and political rights for Alaska Native people within settler frameworks. As Kan points out, “Honest money-­making and Christian devotion were seen by many late nineteenth-­ century American Protestants as interconnected.”19 Brady admired Tlingit carving and wrote, “This talent could be cultivated and made a source of income to them.”20 General Agent of Education Sheldon Jackson agreed and, in 1887, began offering arts and crafts classes for Tlingit students in the Sitka Training School with the intention they could earn a living from such skills.21 Brady and Jackson capitalized on knowledge that already existed within the Tlingit community as well as the demand for goods manufactured by Tlingit people, who had been making items specifically for sale since the arrival of newcomers in their territory. By codifying it within an institutional framework, the missionaries appealed both to potential donors to their cause and to actual visitors such as Abby Woodman, who wrote, “At Sitka we saw many specimens of work which the mission girls and boys had done under the training influence

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of the school, showing that the native Alaskans are susceptible of great advancement in every desirable way. The women and girls do very fine needle-­work; the boys make good carpenters.”22 The irony, of course, was that Tlingit individuals had honed their manufacturing and trading skills over thousands of years and were quite capable of identifying and incorporating the possibilities of this new economy whether they attended the training school or not. Beaded Souvenirs as Evidence of Resilience and Resistance In part because of the contradictory attitudes espoused by missionaries and others, the making and selling of beaded souvenirs—including moccasins, wall pockets, pouches and bags, and picture frames, as well as glass bottles and lightbulbs covered in netted beadwork—provided Tlingit women a measure of economic and social success both within Indigenous communities and with settler communities. The materials and patterns used to construct beaded souvenirs aesthetically—using seaweed and floral patterns instead of crests—expressed aspects of Tlingit sovereignty in ways not recognized by outsiders and, at the same time, appeared to fulfill missionary goals in terms of shifting from a subsistence to a cash economy. The late Ellen Hope Hays (Ḵaakaltín) acknowledged the duality of Tlingit lives in her discussion of the Christian cottage community at the turn of the twentieth century. She states that, while Christianized, many Tlingit people continued to do things, such as marrying a person from the opposite moiety, “according to the rules, sort of in camouflage.”23 By “the rules,” she means following Tlingit practices in ways that might be considered a form of resistance, as they were not easily recognized by settlers. Beadwork, as a tangible, adaptable expression of cultural continuity, functioned in similar ways to express Tlingit worldviews and also conform to imposed Christian ideals around productivity and assimilation.

The Economics of Beaded Souvenirs Turn-­of-­the-­twentieth-­century photographs of souvenir shop interiors (as in figure 1.2) depict dozens of moccasins hanging from the rafters, postcards and touristic Kodak images of Tlingit women show rows of moccasins alongside baskets and other curios for sale (figure 1.3), and the inventory of museum collections across North America suggests moccasins similar to those gifted to Mary Sharpless were the most widely produced beaded objects made for sale in this era. And for good reason: selling moccasins was highly lucrative and likely

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appealed to those tourists who associated moccasins with all Indigenous people regardless of local needs. In most of Southeast Alaska, footwear was rarely required, as the climate was relatively mild and hide moccasins quickly rotted in the damp. Before European settlement, footwear would have been worn for travel to the interior or as regalia when songs and dances acquired from interior people were shared within ceremonial contexts. Given the limited use of moccasins within Tlingit daily life, Tlingit women clearly recognized the desires of tourists and developed their work accordingly. In May 1890, during a visit to Klukwan, newspaper correspondent E. J. Glave noted, “Moccasins, fancy bead and leather-­work also are hung about and will be sent down to the coast, there to be exchanged to the summer tourists for silver dollars, an element of wealth which they well know the value.”24 Russian Orthodox priest Anatolii Kamenskii, who lived in Sitka from 1895 to 1898, also commented on the production and sale of beadwork: The art of embroidery flourishes among them as well. One of the favorite types of embroidery involves the use of beads and pearl buttons on

cloth and tanned hide. Elegant little things, such as purses, slippers, etc., are eagerly bought up by tourist-­travelers visiting Alaska. This causes

Tlingit women in some places to engage in a special trade—preparing

these objects for the summer tourist season. It is not uncommon for a single woman to prepare many artifacts during the winter and to sell them during the summer for as much as 300 dollars.25

The economic significance of producing work for the souvenir trade becomes even more apparent when compared to summer cannery work. In the 1890s, Tlingit women could earn only up to $100 working in a cannery and men $200.26 More broadly, travel writer Eliza Scidmore noted that in 1891 the governor of Alaska estimated the curio trade at $25,000. She felt this number was far too little given the 5,000 yearly visitors, “the majority of whom are well-­to-­do and anxious to secure mementos of their trip to the far northwest.”27 With the exception of basketry, which has its own rich history in this context, other curios developed during this era share some of the same traits as beadwork. Miniature totem poles and canoe paddles, silver bracelets and spoons, all primarily made by men, were also derived from long-­standing cultural practices.28 The difference in beaded items made for sale stems directly from the combination of local and introduced materials, as well as the mainly seaweed and floral patterns that were utilized instead of the crest designs carved or painted onto most curios manufactured by men.29

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44

Materials: Hide and Cloth All moccasins and many other beaded souvenirs combined both Indigenous and introduced materials. Changing economic realities, including the decline of the land-­based fur trade, contributed to the extensive use of tanned hide and fur for souvenirs. Tlingit monopolies over trade routes to the interior known as “grease trails,” referencing the demand for fermented eulachon oil produced on the coast, were being broken as more fortune seekers, backed by the US government, sought resourced-­based opportunities on Tlingit lands and those of their trading partners in the interior. Furs and hides quickly lost value as clan leaders could no longer set prices for or control the flow of goods. In 1890 Emmons noted the cost of furs in the Chilkat River region. The lowest prices were for hair seal at $.08 to $.10 per hide and deerskin at $.15 to $.20. Black bear commanded the highest price, at $1.50 to $3.50. By comparison, the price for woolen blankets, which were deeply enmeshed in ceremonial practices by this time, ranged from $3.00 to $6.00.30 Despite the lack of return on fur and hide, Tlingit men continued to subsistence hunt to feed their families, creating a stockpile of raw materials. As missionary Livingston F. Jones wrote in 1914, “All kinds of land animals are sought by native hunters, but chiefly the deer, bear and fox. They first are killed mainly for food. Their pelts are not now marketable, and when they were they brought only fifty or seventy-­five cents apiece. The skin is largely made into moccasins and pouches, adorned with beads, by the native women. Aside from this, little use is made of it.”31 Though Jones casually dismisses this use of fur and hide, his statement reveals the creativity of Tlingit women. By incorporating fur and hide into tourist curios, women transformed something with little economic value into a viable and lucrative enterprise.

(Facing page, top) Lloyd V. Winter (1866–1945) and E. Percy Pond (1872–1943), interior of the Old Russian Trading Post Curio Store in Sitka, early twentieth century. Note the beaded sealskin moccasins hanging along the center beam and the unusual octopus bag with beaded crest figures on the wall to the right. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Winter & Pond Photo Collection, P87-179; the National Museum of the American Indian acquired the bag in 1918)

1.2. 

(Facing page, bottom) W & S photographers, “The Moccasin Maker” (postcard), late nineteenth–early twentieth century. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Clarence L. Andrews Photo Collection, P45-1283)

1.3. 

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An 1890s price list circulated by the Sitka-­based Society of Natural History and Ethnology of Alaska indicates that moccasins were sold for $1.50 for a plain pair and from $2.00 to $5.00 for “beaded or ornamented” pairs. These prices were on par with highly sought spruce root baskets, which cost between $.50 and $4.00 apiece.32 Many women both wove baskets and sewed moccasins, but the time and labor women invested in harvesting and processing the materials for baskets as opposed to doing beadwork suggests one reason why basket making began to decline in the early twentieth century despite the “basket craze”33 that filled tourist’s homes and museum shelves. Prices for moccasins remained relatively stable between the 1890s and 1910s, as Jones’s account indicates: “They are both plain and fancy, ranging in price from fifty cents a pair to five dollars. The fancy ones are ornamented with beads, and are fleece or fur lined.”34 Like the moccasins gifted to Sharpless, the majority were constructed primarily from deer hide and embellished with small pieces of woolen cloth beaded with seaweed designs. Fancier pairs from this era included beaded floral embellishment applied directly to the hide on either side of the vamp (figure 1.4) or had an additional beaded collar around the opening. Sealskin moccasins made with a woolen vamp and embellished with seaweed or floral designs appear in greater numbers beginning in the early twentieth century and continue to be made to this day (figure 1.5). In addition to creatively utilizing undervalued materials, Tlingit women were also appealing to a specific segment of the market, as male tourists—or female tourists purchasing curios intended to decorate a male-­oriented space such as a smoking room or den—favored curios made from hide and fur. As in other regions of North America, Tlingit women developed a range of hide and fur curios embellished with beadwork, including different types of wall pockets to hold items such as scissors or matches.35 Though very much a Victorian-­era invention, wall pockets could be understood as an extension of preexisting Tlingit cultural practices, as women had already developed a range of basket types specifically for items such as mountain goat horn spoons. Tlingit-­made hide and fur wall pockets featured a front panel cut from sealskin, the dewclaw portion of a deer leg (figure 1.6), or the feathered breast or head of ducks (figure 1.7) or eagles. Some had simple bead embellishment along the edges or above the pocket opening. More elaborate multipocketed panels (figure 1.8) also incorporated fur and occasionally included the beaded name of the town from which the maker originated. The widespread desire for curios made of hide and fur intersected with Alaska’s growing reputation for big-­game hunting and fishing. An 1886 account highlights this vision of Alaska: “The rich fauna and flora, and the great abundance

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1.4.  (Top) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, possibly Juneau region, moccasins, ca. 1880–1906. Hide and glass beads. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, Earl Cahoon Collection, 98.8.8 a, b. Photo by Angela J. Linn)

(Bottom) Tillie Paul Tamaree (1863–1952), sealskin moccasins, n.d. Sealskin, wool cloth, and glass beads, 9.75 × 3.5 in. (Denver Art Museum, 1938.99; purchased from J. Thorburn Ross. Photo courtesy of Denver Art Museum) 1.5. 



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1.6.  (Left) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Haines, wall pocket, ca. 1890. Deer dewclaw, flannel cloth, and glass beads, 9 in. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, Alexander Ross Mackintosh Collection, 65-39-55. Photo by Angela J. Linn)

(Right) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sitka, wall pocket, 1909. Mallard duck, wool cloth, and glass beads, 11.5 × 6.5 in. (Collection of the Sealaska Heritage Institute, Juneau, 2010.019.015). 1.7. 

of game of all kinds . . . makes the country a veritable paradise for sportsmen.”36 The passing of almost three decades witnessed unabated attraction to the area for hunters. “With the exception of the South African veldts, it is the greatest hunting country extant.”37 A curio made of fur or hide would have signified the touristic ideals of Alaska’s abundant natural resources. The dominance of fur and hide curios may also be attributed to the value of commercially produced cloth within Tlingit ceremonial practices. Introduced in the early fur trade, cloth quickly became a measure of wealth and was used within the ḵu.éex’ (potlatch) and other ceremonies as payment to the opposite moiety for services rendered on behalf of the hosts. Bolts of cloth were torn up and distributed, supplementing the long-­held practice of tearing up and distributing naaxein to important guests. The distribution of blankets and cotton cloth

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(Left) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sitka, wall pocket, ca. 1907. Fur, hide, wool, and glass beads, 21 in. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, Dr. George & Beatrice Gasser Collection, 900-42. Photo by Angela J. Linn)

1.8. 

(Right) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Haines, wall pocket, ca. 1890. Wool cloth and glass beads, 9.3 in. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, Alexander Ross Mackintosh Collection, 65-39-58. Photo by Angela J. Linn)

1.9. 

also replaced the practice of killing enslaved people to show wealth and rank, a shift that occurred due to pressures from Russian Orthodox priests and Presbyterian missionaries. After the distribution, Knapp and Childe note, “The tiniest scrap of cloth is utilized. Directly after a potlatch numbers of small boys appear in new suits, perfect patchworks of color and variety.”38 According to one early Tlingit source, garments such as those described above “are considered quite honorable indeed as they show that the wearer has been to many feasts and has received many presents.”39 By the 1880s, cloth was tightly woven into the fabric of ceremonial practices and women were likely reluctant to use much of it for souvenir production, as it had significant internal value. Many wall pockets made entirely from cloth and adorned with beads (as in figure 1.9) were either used by

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Tlingit families to hold important documents or were given as gifts to long-­term residents who had developed a good relationship with an individual or clan.40 There may not have been much of a tourist market for souvenirs made entirely from cloth, as textile production was one of the first occupations to be mechanized and had strong associations with the Industrial Revolution. Tlingit souvenirs made from commercial cloth would not have fit into a tourist’s preconceived notions about the authentic and the handmade, as is discussed below. While souvenirs made from cloth did not appeal to Alaskan visitors, the use of seed beads embroidered in distinctive patterns was appealing, and Tlingit women capitalized on this interest. Materials: Seed Beads The use of tanned hide and fur in curio production may have grown out of economic necessity, but the application of seed beads in specific patterns developed from the long-­standing practice of incorporating materials and ideas from other Indigenous groups as well as from successive waves of settlers in the region. New materials and ideas could both signal the acquisition of symbolic power (as is discussed in chapter 2) and assert specific and sometimes gendered connections to the land and its resources through the development of patterns. Beads could also express an individual desire to experiment and innovate in terms of form, color, and materials. At the same time, Tlingit women used beadwork on souvenirs in ways that made the most of the ambivalence of touristic desires, as some associated beadwork with a generalized or even stereotypical Indigeneity and others associated it with the success of missionization and assimilationist policies. Pattern: Seaweed and Floral Designs Though the practice of seed beadwork was obtained from their interior trading partners, Tlingit women developed their own designs inspired by the natural environment around them and also from motifs found on a variety of goods brought into Tlingit territories by traders and settlers, such as sewing machines, furniture, and china. These patterns expressed Tlingit worldviews and also appealed to nineteenth-­century tourists whose insatiable appetite for floral motifs stimulated the production of thousands of items embellished accordingly. Understood through the lens of visual sovereignty, bead patterns applied to souvenirs and regalia became a tangible yet subtle means for Tlingit women to assert long-­standing and specific connections to the land and its resources

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through the development of motifs that had local meanings. Contemporary beaders as well as a handful of archival documents identify some of these designs still in use today. Patterns such as those found on Mary Sharpless’s moccasins, previously identified in the academic literature as “foliate,” are known locally as geesh—seaweed or kelp. Rich in nutrients, seaweed was and continues to be a significant food source and medicine gathered and processed by women. In 1938 Axel Rasmussen, then superintendent of Skagway Public Schools, noted that “The floral design on one of my pouches was interpreted as the ‘lichens on rocks’ by a Tlingit Indian. A meander line of beaded work on a shirt was said to represent the pattern left on the sandy beach by the water of the receding tide.”41 This description likely refers to the single or double row of beads used to connect larger seaweed motifs often found along the bottom panel of woolen tunics (see figure 2.3, a tunic in the Burke Museum). The intertidal zone embodied by this pattern was crucial to Tlingit health and well-­being, as it provided access to a variety of foods including shellfish, crustaceans, and several types of seaweed. Floral patterns were also widely utilized, and inspiration was drawn from local flora as well as introduced sources from the era of earliest settlement onward. The Russian American Company brought a wide range of cloth to Tlingit territory beginning in the 1810s. Many of these fabrics from China, England, the Netherlands, and elsewhere would have been embellished with woven and printed floral designs.42 Nearly a century later, Livingston F. Jones noted that designs “are taken from fashion plates, catalogues, wall-­paper and other places.”43 Tlingit beaders and artists note local connections for floral patterns. Florence Marks Sheakley, for example, associated an eight-­lobed daisy-­like flower motif with the Raven moiety Kwaashk’i Ḵwáan, Tsisk’w Hít (Humpback Salmon Clan, Owl House) from the Yakutat area.44 Bead colors also acquired local meanings. “Four seasons” describes the use of four colors in the same motif, often identified as green for spring, yellow for summer, red for fall, and white for winter. Four seasons has also been identified as four rows of different-­colored beads used to outline a motif.45 When applied to specific garments, colors take on additional meaning. Haida weaver Dolores Churchill commented on a pair of nineteenth-­century child’s moccasins in the collection of the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC (figure 1.10), indicating that the black beads used as part of a leaf outline meant that the child was born in winter. Green would indicate a spring birth.46 The diversity of designs evident in turn-­of-­the-­twentieth-­century moccasins and other beadwork showcases Tlingit women’s desire to experiment with color and form as a means to express their creativity, to embody important

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, child’s moccasins, late nineteenth century. Hide, cloth, and glass beads, 5 × 2.5 in. (National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, Department of Anthropology, E411790) 1.10. 

connections to the land, and to engage with the developing market for floral imagery. Within the processes of colonialism, the utilization of floral imagery was perceived as “positive evidence of progress toward Christianization, civilization, and assimilation,”47 qualities that were sought out by some visitors to Alaska.

Beadwork and Settler Education The education of Tlingit girls within settler systems is deeply embedded in the history of beadwork, particularly in Sitka. As suggested through the narrative of the moccasin maker, education within settler institutions was a means for some girls—primarily low-­ranked or orphaned girls, formerly enslaved people, or, in the Russian era, daughters of Russian men and Indigenous women—to attain skills that gave them access to opportunities they may not have had within Tlingit communities, as these were often limited to high-­ranked girls. Many girls were taught embroidery and sewing at the Russian American Company school set up in Sitka in the 1840s. One early Russian visitor wrote, “There is an educational home for girls, whose welfare is under the benevolent care of the wife of Chief Manager Etolin, the intention of which is to prepare the pupils for marriage to respectable men, with a dowry of money, which the orphans earn from needlework, to which Mrs. Etolin herself introduced them.”48 Finnish by birth and an educator by profession, Margaretha Etholén ran her school for only a few years but likely had ongoing influence among the girls who attended

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in terms of expanding the repertoire of garment design and embellishment, whether beaded or not. The Presbyterian Industrial and Training School in Sitka expanded beyond training good wives to also training good workers. Like Etholén’s school, the Industrial School focused on teaching girls sewing and other domestic skills as a means to obtain employment from settlers and to run a household once they were married. Many Alaskan travelers, such as Horace Briggs, visited the Industrial School to admire the results of a Christian education: “Within five years, the average time the pupils spend in school, they acquire a fair knowledge of the English language, and show proficiency in reading, writing, and in mathematics. The girls learn to cook, sew, knit, make garments, and do laundry-­work; the boys, to build houses, make furniture, to do work in the lathe, in the shoe and blacksmith’s shop, and are quite as expert in carving as the girls are in embroidery,—both do excellent work.”49 Through their handiwork, some Tlingit women gained a measure of acceptance within settler institutions by being perceived as progressing toward assimilation through the fulfillment of the aesthetic desires of tourists. At the same time, perfecting sewing skills enabled them to accumulate the wealth and create the regalia, often embellished with seaweed and floral patterns in addition to crest designs, needed to contribute to their clan’s participation in ḵu.éex’ and other significant cultural practices. This duality was sometimes on display. Ellen Hope Hays recollected that Presbyterian Cottage resident Jennie Willard had both an “Indian Corner” where she displayed “beadwork, moccasins, canoes, pincushions  .  .  . all curiosities . . . for sale,” as well as a “Christian corner” where she had “an organ and Christian music” as representations of her faith.50 The Cottages were well located, as many early-­twentieth-­century visitors passed through the area on their way to the Sheldon Jackson Museum, which opened in 1897, and the Sitka National Historical Park established in 1910. There, tourists could see the totem poles gathered from across Southeast Alaska and displayed at the Saint Louis Exposition in 1904. They were returned to Sitka in 1905 by Governor Brady shortly after the “last” potlatch discussed in chapter 2. The story of the low-­ranked, unnamed Tlingit woman and the gifted moccasins foregrounds one way in which a relatively powerless woman drew on long-­standing cultural practices to engage with a rapidly evolving social and economic context. The second woman under discussion here embodies an entirely different way of navigating this era, one enabled by high rank, social relations, and a strong personality.

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Gadji’nt, aka Mrs. Tom Unlike her unnamed contemporary, whose romanticized story remained hidden in a small archive, Gadji’nt (n.d.–1900) appeared in references in newspaper accounts, tourist journals, and settler publications, as well as in drawings, photographs, and subsequent ethnographic and historical texts.51 The reasons for her popularity are numerous and linked to her position as a high-­ranked Tlingit woman trained from childhood in trade practices. In addition, her ability to recognize and exploit the needs and desires of tourists and settlers resulted in economic and social success, which in turn enabled her to maintain status within clan relations and settler expectations. Based on travel writer Eliza Scidmore’s florid description, Gadji’nt had cultivated a reputation among visitors long before the publication of this 1884 account: “Mrs. Tom is a character, a celebrity, and a person of great authority among her Siwash neighbors, and wields a greater power and influence among her people, than all the war chiefs and medicine-­men put together . . . Mrs. Tom is the reputed possessor of $10,000, accumulated by her own energy and shrewdness  .  .  . She is a plump matron, fat, fair, and forty in fact, and her house is a model of neatness and order.”52 Scidmore’s tongue-­in-­cheek narrative inadvertently situates Gadji’nt within Tlingit social hierarchies by pointing to her power as a matriarch and ability to accumulate wealth. High-­ranked older Tlingit women were central to trading relationships, whether with Indigenous trading partners or subsequent waves of newcomers. The many accounts of Gadji’nt’s husbands, wealth, and social status range as widely as her names. In the literature, she is called Emaline/Emeline Baker, the Christian name displayed on the exterior of her Sitka home; Mrs. Tom, the name of her first husband; and Gadji’nt, her Tlingit name recorded by ethnologists. Settler and tourist sources assert that she had anywhere from two to seventeen husbands, that her wealth was estimated at between $4,000 and $100,000, and that she was either “from commonest Yakutat stock”53 or a “Princess.”54 Born into a high-­ranked Yakutat Raven clan, Gadji’nt had moved to Sitka by the 1880s. Ethnologist James Swanton, who conducted interviews with Tlingit individuals in 1904, indicates that Gadji’nt’s first husband, Tom, was “the Sitka chief,” suggesting she married a man of equal status.55 In clarifying Swanton’s statement, Frederica de Laguna states that Tom was the “ranking Wolf leader of the Kagwantaan.”56 She also suggests that Tom might have been Anaxóots, a Tlingit leader who also appeared frequently in the literature of this era.57 Gadji’nt eventually also married Tom’s younger brother; according to one

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newspaper account, this occurred because none of the children she bore survived.58 Within Tlingit cultural practices, though it was more common for men to have more than one wife, some high-­ranked women had more than one husband as a means to strengthen clan relations.59 According to de Laguna, “What was stressed was the necessity or propriety for perpetuating the previously established marriage arrangements. ‘A man has to marry his older brother’s widow . . . It’s a disgrace if they don’t.’ ”60 When her second husband died, Gadji’nt hosted a large memorial ḵu.éex’ in January 1891: “This has been a gay week at the Indian village. Princess Tom’s potlatch in memory of her deceased husband was very largely attended.”61 At some point thereafter, she married a young chief’s son from Hoonah, suggesting that Tom had no more brothers to marry. “If there was no brother, the widow goes free to marry someone else.”62 The contrast between the sensationalized tourist accounts of Gadji’nt’s life and those of more informed sources indicates that Gadji’nt deliberately created a specific, flamboyant persona that enabled her to accumulate wealth and prestige regardless of how she was perceived by either settlers or tourists. Visitor accounts support this perspective: “Extensive advertising has made her famous and raised the prices of her goods.”63 Her success may also be attributed to her willingness to utilize her access to remote communities, to sell on Sitka’s waterfront and from her own home, and to make use of photography for marketing purposes. Her wide range of interactions with visitors also exposed her to the kinds of expectations they brought with them on their journeys north.

Touristic Perspectives The thousands of visitors to Alaska in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries often brought with them naive and paternalistic ideals regarding the circumstances of Indigenous peoples. These included a romanticism about the “disappearing Indian,” which grew out of notions of social evolutionism; a fascination with the “primitive” that developed as the antithesis to modernism; and a desire for the handmade, influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement. Every tourist who traveled to Alaska and wrote about her or his experience had an opinion about the Indigenous people she or he interacted with or observed. This proclivity was noted as early as 1885 by Rev. J. A. Zahm, who gave a lecture on Alaska at Notre Dame University: “It is the people the tourist wishes to see when he visits a new country; and their peculiarities attract probably more attention than the country’s scenery, however beautiful or grand it

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may be.”64 Upon meeting Tlingit individuals, however, some tourists expressed disenchantment with the lack of difference, revealing an expectation of an encounter with “primitive” people: “As for the inhabitants of these rancheries [villages], they were most disappointingly European in their dress . . . they were far indeed from realizing any romantic ideas of ‘nature’s gentleman,’ or even from presenting the appearance ordinarily connected with Red Indians; no arrangement of feathers in their hair, and even no moccasins on their feet.”65 Others associated the acquisition of settler accoutrements and the disappearance of signifiers of Indigeneity as a positive sign of social evolutionism and assimilation. Abby Johnson Woodman noted in 1889, “The days of totem poles are over; for as the Alaskans advance in civilization, the old-­time customs of their tribes are abandoned.”66 Mrs. James Edwin Morris wrote even more plainly of this perceived shift in 1901: “The civilized races of antiquity all passed through the totem period . . . These people [Tlingit] were evolutionists long before Darwin.”67 And, as Kan points out, Sitka was the perfect place for tourists to reaffirm their evolutionary beliefs: “Thus a visitor to Sitka could literally make a journey from ‘savagery’ (i.e., the old Indian Village) to ‘civilization’ (the Industrial School and the ‘Cottages’) in less than half an hour.”68 Purchasing Curios Visitors to Southeast Alaskan communities had the opportunity to access a wide range of tourist settings, purchasing curios with as much or as little contact with Tlingit individuals as they desired—a range of interactions exploited by Gadji’nt in Sitka. Tlingit-­made souvenirs were sold in shops run primarily by settlers, alongside postcards and relics from the Russian-­America period. Knapp and Childe discuss this aspect of Gadji’nt’s business: “She is at present sole owner of the little schooner ‘Active’ which she keeps running between Sitka and Yakutat, sending up to Yakutat bales of cotton, blankets, tobacco, sugar, and flour, and exchanging them for the furs and curios of the interior, which she sells in turn to the Sitka merchants at a smart profit.”69 Other souvenirs were available to steamship passengers for purchase directly from Tlingit women lined up along the wharves with their wares spread before them or from a canoe pulled up to their boat (figure 1.11). Gadji’nt also took a face-­to-­face approach to sales: “When she came to the ship to be photographed by an admiring amateur, she had, besides her ordinary regalia, a dozen or more pairs of bracelets tied up in a handkerchief and we began to believe her wealth as boundless as her neighbors say it is.”70

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Unrecorded photographer, Tlingit women selling souvenirs to steamship passengers, late nineteenth century. (University of Alaska–Fairbanks Archives, John Wesley White Collection, 76-2-236)

1.11. 

The most audacious travelers could obtain souvenirs during a visit to a Sitka home in either the Tlingit village or Presbyterian Cottages, depending on their sense of adventure. Gadji’nt seemed to have appealed most to these travelers, as many accounts discuss visiting her home, and a published photograph of its interior suggests how she positioned herself to attract the broadest market for her wares. William Seward Webb wrote in 1890, “We made her a visit, and found her not only willing to exhibit to us her large collection of curiosities, but anxious to part with many of them for a pecuniary consideration.”71 Gadji’nt and Photography Many Tlingit individuals, including Gadji’nt, quickly grasped the power of photography and used it to their advantage. Visitors to Southeast Alaska noted that most Tlingit women were reluctant to have their photos taken. Septima Collis wrote, “It is wonderful what a superstitious aversion they have to the camera.

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When we tried our Kodaks on them they instantly enveloped themselves in their blankets, and would not uncover until some old crone who had an eye through a hole of her hood gave a signal . . . The superstition simply consisted in the belief that it was not healthy to do anything without being paid for it.”72 Although innumerable photographs in archival collections depicting rows of seated Tlingit women covering their faces or turning away from the camera support Collis’s condescending assertion, her dismissal of their “aversion” as purely a ploy to acquire money overlooks a more complex context. Through their actions, these women retained a measure of control over the consumption and circulation of their likenesses. The economic dimension can also be read as an entrepreneurial strategy and another facet of the souvenir trade unrecognized by tourists.73 As nineteenth-­century ethnographies and travel accounts repeat over and over, Tlingit women and men were quite aware of the value of the dollar and negotiated high fees for any service they provided. As with everything she undertook, Gadji’nt also harnessed the power of photography. Several images as well as numerous tourist accounts indicate that Gadji’nt responded differently than most in these circumstances and posed for photographs in both formal and informal settings. The most widely circulated image of Gadji’nt appears in Knapp and Childe’s 1896 book and also exists in several archival collections. The photograph is unusual in that it is a visual marker of Gadji’nt’s interactions within and between Tlingit and settler communities, perfectly encapsulating the reality within which Gadji’nt and many of her contemporaries lived. Most photographs depicting the interior of Tlingit homes emphasized the differences rather than the similarities with settler homes. In this photograph (figure 1.12) Gadji’nt, the woman on the left, and her companion, identified as Mrs. Mausbauer or “Sitka belle,” are seated in a parlor that exhibits familiarity with Victorian notions of decor. A mirror, wallpaper, a cane chair, a cane rocking chair, photographs, and a whisk-­broom holder decorate the room. Gadji’nt’s residence is described in the text accompanying the picture: “As for Princess Thom, she is an aristocrat of aristocrats. Only recently she tore down her old house, which we thought quite palatial, and has built a much larger and finer one. The old one had red and blue glass in the front door, oilcloth on the floors, center-­tables, cane-­seated chairs, and a hanging-­lamp with glass pendants in the parlor.”74 Although seated in a Victorian-­style parlor, the two women wear regalia and are surrounded by other Tlingit markers of identity and status such as the naaxein, button robe, and silver nose rings worn by the women. The high-­ranked shadakóox̱’ (ceremonial hat) to the left is identifiable by the four concentric basketry rings that top it. A nearly illegible sign behind Gadji’nt’s head reads “Chief

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1.12.  Unrecorded photographer, Sitka, “Mrs. Thom [Gadji’nt] and Mrs. Mausbauer,” late nineteenth century. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Case & Draper Collection, P39-402)

Tom Sitka Policeman,” referencing the intercultural status achieved by her husband. Gadji’nt’s exposed left forearm reveals several silver or gold bracelets, and baskets and a x̱aat s’áaxw (basketry hat) are displayed on the chair and rocking chair. Given Gadji’nt’s familial and trade ties with Yakutat, in conjunction with Yakutat’s reputation among tourists for superior baskets, the two baskets may have originated there. Writer Frances Lackey Paul identified this type of basket as a shal daakeit (spoon bag). She stated that this type “was found hanging on the walls of every household. This was a rather large bag made in alternate bands of open and close weave, used to hold the family horn eating spoons.”75 In addition, the pattern in the first and third registers of the basket on the right is likely that known as ga̱ lakú (wave). Paul described the pattern as having ancient linguistic ties to the Yakutat region.76 The inclusion of these baskets, the bracelets, and perhaps even the miniature octopus bag on the wall indicate Gadji’nt’s deep involvement in the curio trade and the source of her wealth. This photograph functioned in different ways for visitors and settlers. Gadji’nt, aware that the image would circulate, likely commissioned it in order

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, possibly Gadji’nt, octopus bag, ca. 1880s. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads, 19.5 × 11.5 in. (Sheldon Jackson Museum, Sitka, 1.A.844. Photo by Jacqueline R. FernandezHamberg) 1.13. 

to promote herself and her access to a wide range of Tlingit-­made goods. Its subsequent inclusion in a book about the Tlingit geared toward visitors to Alaska would have worked well to publicize her image far and wide. In a sense, through this photograph, Gadji’nt became the living embodiment of the Victorian curio corner, displayed among other signs and symbols of a “primitive” past and “disappearing race.” Gadji’nt’s response to photography indicates her agency in utilizing this new medium to market herself and her wares. This photograph in particular may have suggested to potential collectors that she had access to items that were not ordinarily part of the curio trade, but were used and valued by Tlingit people. Travel narratives indicate that Gadji’nt did occasionally sell ceremonial regalia. Webb documented his acquisitions from Mrs. Tom during the 1890 summer

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tourist season: “We made a number of purchases including some very fine otter skins and a Chilcot [sic] blanket.”77 In terms of the settler community, the photograph may have served as a visual confirmation of her movement up the scale of evolution and assimilation. The naaxein, baskets, and other markers of a “heathen” past transform into markers of her success within the cash economy as substantiated by her Victorian parlor and accoutrements. Gadji’nt clearly had an impact on settlers in the region, who documented some of the important events in her life. Although Knapp and Childe seemed to find Gadji’nt amusing, they discuss her three times in their book and comment on her singularity. As newspaper accounts indicate, Gadji’nt did more than participate in the cash economy as a means to establishing a foothold among settlers. The press reported Gadji’nt’s third marriage, which took place in the Presbyterian Church, followed by a large potlatch shortly thereafter. By marrying in the church, Gadji’nt fulfilled settler expectations, and by organizing a feast after the wedding, she fulfilled Tlingit obligations. Though settlers were fully aware that events such as ḵu.éex’ continued, they, like many anthropologists of the era, may have seen them as losing their influence in the face of assimilation. The perceived shift from a gift economy to one centered on cash would have reinforced this perspective.

Transitions Gadji’nt was actively involved in the sale of Tlingit souvenirs and, according to one mid-­twentieth-­century writer, also noted for her basket-­weaving skills.78 Although it remains unknown whether Gadji’nt was one of the many Tlingit women producing beadwork for sale, she appears to have sold it. In 2000 the Sheldon Jackson Museum acquired a fine octopus bag (figure 1.13) linked to Gadji’nt. The accompanying documentation, an unsigned handwritten note, states: “Bag—bought of Princess Thom of Sitka, Alaska in 1882 by Mrs. Schwatka & Admiral Benson who was with her.” Subsequent research by the museum curator suggests the bag was actually purchased in 1883 when Ada Schwatka accompanied her explorer husband, Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka, to Alaska.79 The anecdotal information accompanying this beaded bag stands in stark opposition to that of the unnamed moccasin maker who opened the chapter. Here, a finely beaded piece of regalia has the names of historical figures as part of its provenance. Highly ranked, highly engaging Gadji’nt, whose name and lifestyle appeared frequently in the literature of the era, overshadows the previously hidden, but equally significant, narrative of a low-­ranked young woman whose interaction with another was “all love.”

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CHAPTER 2

Regalia and Resilience Beadwork at the 1904 “Last Potlatch”

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ndividuals arrayed in formal rows before the commissioned photographer, a moment of stillness obscuring the months of preparation leading up to the weeks of oratory, dance, and feasting that transform the sleepy gray months of a Sitka winter into a riot of color, sound, and movement. The black-­ and-­white photograph (figure 2.1) mutes the rich yellow, cream, and black of the naaxein robes worn by high-­ranked men from Yakutat and Sitka. It dulls the glint of silver nose rings and Chinese coins sewn to button robes. It diminishes the bold hues of the pink, yellow, red, and white beads embellishing the woolen and ermine tunics, the dance collars displaying diverse crests, and octopus bags embroidered with floral and seaweed designs adorning the seated women and men. The clan wealth on display will intrigue tourists visiting Alaska in the summer months that follow—their only glimpse of a rich and complex ceremonial event believed to be disappearing before their eyes. Unbeknown to those short-­term visitors, these tangible cultural belongings in fact encompass thousands of years of intangible relationships between ancestors, both human and supernatural, to embody balance and reciprocity among hosting and invited clans, as well as to subtly express resilience and resistance to an increasingly difficult reality in preparation for the generations yet to come. Once the photographer finishes his work, the participants disperse, perhaps entering the clan house beyond for the next event determined by protocol or returning to their lodgings to rest, repair regalia, and visit with family and friends. This photograph refutes the terminal rhetoric surrounding this



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Elbridge W. Merrill (1868–1929), Sitka hosts, Yakutat guests, 1904. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, E. W. Merrill Photo Collection, P57-021)

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so-­called last potlatch. Instead, the regalia—specifically, the beaded work— contained within its frame reveals a powerful and subtle commitment to perpetuating Tlingit ways of knowing despite the pressures to assimilate brought to bear by the individuals and institutions of settler colonialism in Alaska.

The 1904 Potlatch (K _u.éex’) The 1904 potlatch was the culmination of negotiations that took place between four Sitka clan leaders—Anaxóots (James Jackson), K’alyaan Eesh (Augustus Bean), Yaanaxnahoo (Paddy Parker), and Xeitx̱ut’ch (Jacob Yarkon)—and John G. Brady, a former Presbyterian missionary and the territorial governor of Alaska at this time. In contrast to the externally imposed prohibition of the potlatch in Canada in 1885, these leaders had agreed upon a ban, which was to take effect upon the completion of what was labeled the “last potlatch.” For Brady and other settlers, the event symbolized the end of the last great impediment to full assimilation of Tlingit people as law-­abiding Christian citizens of the Alaskan territory. For the four Tlingit leaders, the ḵu.éex’ likely had similar connotations, as they recognized that working within colonial institutions had the potential to be an effective means for attaining their own goals, which included land claims, fishing rights, access to quality education, and citizenship. At the same time, it provided an opportunity to fulfill commitments between and within Tlingit clans and communities. As Kan explains, important aspects of nineteenth-­ century Tlingit ḵu.éex’ include validating clan hierarchy through competition and emphasizing “equality, unity, and cooperation . . . as well as balanced reciprocity between members.”1 According to newspaper reports, one purpose of this potlatch was to repay Chilkat Tlingit people for hosting a large ḵu.éex’ earlier in the year at Klukwan. In a speech given by Anaxóots, he promised to give up the old ways, but also stated the purpose of the event: “Mrs. Brady & Capt. Kilgore are my witnesses. First I was invited by a chief to Angoon or Killisnoo. Then another chief’s son Geo. Shotrich Chilcat invited me to a feast again. After that the chiefs Ya Duan Dick, Kooksee invited me to their feast. There everybody learns that I have been invited to all these feasts and have been treated well. I felt thankful for it but they did so I thought I return the feast as they had feasted me.”2 Anaxóots’s speech indicated his responsibility to pay back George Shotridge, the leader of the Yáay Hít (Whale House) in Klukwan, in addition to leaders from several other communities. News stories indicate the potlatch began around mid-­November and finished up in early January 1905. Skagway’s Daily Alaskan reported on December  29:

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“Among the visitors at Sitka, the Chilkats are most numerous though there are representatives of the Killisnoo, Hoonah, Yakutat and other tribes there.”3 An estimated eight hundred to one thousand Tlingit participated in the event, which included daily feasts as well as eating and dancing competitions. “The program is one of alternating feasts and dancing. Every morning and afternoon there is a great feast and only one article is served. One day it is one kind of food that is consumed and the next day is another.”4 In addition, an event on such a large scale meant that clans brought out important at.óow, commissioned new items such as the Kaawashákhee G̱ ooch Gaas’ (Panting Wolf House Post), and created regalia to be worn and witnessed as a means to enhance power and prestige.5

Beaded Regalia and Competing Colonialisms The diversity and complexity of beaded regalia shown in the nearly three dozen photographs from this event are notable in light of the history of potlatch suppression along the entire Northwest Coast. The twenty-­year span between the outlawing of potlatch activities in Canada in 1885 and its banning in Alaska in 1904 contributed to the divergence in beading practices in coastal communities on both sides of the international border. For Indigenous people in this region, the potlatch, known in Tlingit territory as a ḵu.éex’, was and continues to be central to social, economic, and cultural ways of being. These complex ceremonial practices have undergone many changes due to increasing colonial pressures throughout the nineteenth century and ongoing economic and social realities into the present. Although potlatches continued to be held by Indigenous people in British Columbia through 1951, when the 1885 amendment of the 1876 Canadian Indian Act to outlaw them was dropped, the gatherings took place in remote and relatively inaccessible areas in order to avoid discovery and punishment by Indian Agents. The harsh penalties for hosting illegal potlatches, which sometimes included the forced relinquishment of regalia as well as jail time, likely had an impact on the dearth of beadwork in the majority of coastal communities in British Columbia. Creating new regalia may have been a risk most individuals were unwilling to take. The proliferation of beaded regalia in Tlingit territory, on the other hand, occurred in part because of long-­standing relationships with interior peoples. Perhaps more significantly, the practice was allowed to continue because settlers and museum collectors did not value beadwork as an authentic expression of Tlingit material culture. Newcomers interpreted beaded items as colorful and acculturated, using it as evidence that long-­standing cultural practices were

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disappearing. This perception rendered beadwork a vital means for transmitting Tlingit ways of knowing, as it was misunderstood by settlers and rarely collected by ethnographers due to its “contamination from European wares.”6 Though Tlingit clans were increasingly pressured to give up the practice, they also had more opportunities to host ḵu.éex’ for a longer period of time than their Canadian counterparts, allowing for experimentation and the incorporation of new forms of regalia throughout Southeast Alaska. These competing colonialisms also altered relationships between coastal and interior peoples. The border dividing Alaska and Canada was in dispute for most of the nineteenth century, beginning with the Anglo-­Russian Convention of 1825, which attempted to define a boundary between Russian and British colonial lands. This treaty had few effects on Indigenous trade routes, as Tlingit clans retained primary control over the “grease trails” to the interior (so named for the eulachon oil processed on the coast and traded for furs) despite the presence of the Hudson Bay Company and the Russian American Company. Though the purchase of Alaska in 1867 caused the Russian American Company to leave Alaska and the US military to move in, the discovery of gold in northwestern British Columbia’s Cassiar region and the Klondike area of the Yukon Territory in 1872 and 1897–98, respectively, brought thousands of fortune hunters to Southeast Alaska and shifted the balance of power. This dramatic influx of outsiders took an enormous toll on centuries-­old Indigenous relationships built through trade and marriage. Though Tlingit men were able to enter the cash economy as guides and packers, the central position of women in developing and maintaining these important relationships was diminished. The signing of the Herbert-­Hay Treaty between the United States and Britain in 1903 led to increased policing and control of this border, further complicating and sometimes severing clan connections. Despite the imposition, some Tlingit clans wore regalia at the 1904 potlatch that expressed the ongoing importance of these dynamic relationships forged over millennia.

Regalia and Northern Trade Relationships Photographs taken in Sitka by Elbridge W. Merrill (figure 2.2) and William Howard Case depicting the G̱ aanax̱teidí (Frog) clan participants from Klu­kwan, illustrate a wide range of richly beaded regalia that embody long-­standing trade relationships with Southern Tuchone, Tagish, and Inland Tlingit people. Wearing this type of regalia in the context of the 1904 potlatch both highlighted specific clan privileges and relationships not accessible to other Tlingit communities and visually reinforced those ties in the face of the externally

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2.2.  Elbridge W. Merrill (1868–1929), Klukwan guests in their regalia, 1904. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, E. W. Merrill Photo Collection, P57-27)

imposed pressures and restrictions on northern Tlingit routes to the interior through river valleys and over mountain passes. The v-­yoke tunics, leggings, and contoured dance collars worn in these images illustrate the virtuosity of Tlingit beaders and suggest the freedom they had to innovate in terms of color and design. V-­Yoke Tunics V-­yoke tunics are the most overt representation of relationships between coastal and interior peoples. Initially made by interior women from tanned caribou hide, embellished with yokes made from porcupine quills in geometric designs and sporting pointed and fringed hems, early tunics were acquired by Tlingit individuals through trade and marriage. Tunics with pointed hems were generally worn by men, so the acquisition of such an item by a Tlingit man might indicate marriage with an interior woman to secure and enhance an important trading relationship. In Tlingit territory, tunics such as these would be worn for

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ceremonial occasions, brought to life through songs and dances that expressed the intangible elements of these significant connections.7 Tlingit clans incorporated dances into ceremonial practices that emulated those of interior peoples, who were referred to as gunana (stranger or foreigner). Though the term centered Tlingit authority, the inclusion of an interior dance and associated regalia also suggested the importance of those connections and, according to George T. Emmons, were considered “fun” dances.8 The man seated at the center of the photograph in figure 2.2, with his legs and arms outspread to display his embodiment of a bird through carved mask and painted wings, also wears a tunic likely constructed in the interior. The tunic may have been part of that individual’s personal regalia or that of the clan’s at.óow more broadly. At some point in the late nineteenth century, northern Tlingit women made these tunics their own by cutting them from woolen cloth, omitting the pointed hem, and substituting beadwork representing natural resources and geographies in their own territories for the porcupine-­quilled yoke. The man standing at the top center-­right of the door frame in figure 2.2 wears one variation on this theme. Constructed from red wool and beaded with seaweed designs at the cuffs and along the bottom hem, the tunic in figure 2.3 is somewhat unusual: the maker sewed the beadwork directly to the tunic, rather than to a separate panel attached at the hem and wrists. The beader used an ancient design on the yoke, one often found on spruce root basketry known as ga̱ lakú (waves). Frances Lackey Paul describes the pattern: “This name is a word from the tongue of an older race (Eyak) that descended the Copper River before the Tlingit. This design is as old, as popular and as widely distributed as the shaman’s hat pattern. It is variously described as representing the flow of the tide in its wave-­like motion, the rise and fall of a floating object, or the winding line left by seaweed and spume on the shore.”9 Paul’s final definition of the word ties in beautifully with the seaweed patterns at the cuffs and hem, uniting two distinct beading designs that foreground Tlingit connections to the intertidal zone and the natural resources available there, the majority of which were gathered and processed by women. Though the linguistic connections stem from the Copper River area of central Alaska closer to Yakutat, the number of similar tunics being worn in the two images in figures 2.1 and 2.2 visually reaffirms the historical ties between interior Eyak and Na-­Dene speaking people and coastal Tlingit communities, despite border enforcement by both Canadian and American officials in this era. It also indicates the close relationships between Yakutat and Klukwan clans, as community members from both places indicate that this style of tunic originated in their own community and traveled to the other.

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Klukwan region, tunic, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, glass beads, yarn, and ribbon, 37 × 21 in. (Courtesy of the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, catalog no. 2015-152/1; acquired from Mr. David P. Phillips) 2.3. 

Florence Marks Sheakley shared that this particular style of tunic was traded to Yakutat from the interior and eventually went to Klukwan.10 However, provenance attached to a moose-­hide tunic with a fringed yoke and pointed hem owned by Johnny Weise suggests this style of tunic traveled in the opposite direction.11 Either way, the strong trade and marriage relationships between Yakutat and Klukwan with interior peoples as well as with one another are embodied in Tlingit translations of the v-­yoke tunic. Leggings Similar to v-­yoke tunics, Tlingit leggings are a representation of relationships between coastal and interior peoples. One form of leggings, usually made from hide, originated among interior groups as protection from winter weather, while another hide form known as x̱’uskeit (foot shield) was worn by Tlingit warriors.12 Eventually used for ceremonial purposes, Tlingit leggings are diverse in

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Klukwan region, beaded leggings, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Wool cloth and glass beads. Reproduced in Form & Freedom: A Dialogue on Northwest Coast Art (Houston: Institute for the Arts, Rice University, 1975). (Courtesy of Woodson Research Center, Fondren Library, Rice University, Houston)

2.4. 

terms of materials, ranging from hide embellished with geometric porcupine quill patterns, fringes, and deer hooves to naaxein fragments repurposed from gifts distributed by ḵu.éex’ hosts to their guests, to the richly beaded examples illustrated in figures 2.4 and 2.5. Two sets of leggings incorporate images of frogs, an important crest of the G̱ aanax̱teidí clan houses in Klukwan. Both pairs of leggings appear to reference the same clan histories in wildly divergent ways. Though they share a similar wide range of bead color, their designs suggest two very talented but different artists. The late Haida artist Bill Reid described the pair of leggings worn by the Klukwan man just to the right of center in figure 2.2 as colorful and costumey, but “when you try to do this kind of thing within the conventions of Northwest Coast art, you lose all that gives this art validity—its crispness of line, its subtlety of form.” In the same discussion, the late art historian Bill Holm stated that pieces of this sort grew on him over time, yet “I still have trouble with it. I want to see that frog—if it is a frog—with nice formlines and ovoids and U-­forms, all working together as they should.”13 When freed from the rigid formline categories defined by artists and art historians in the 1960s that were based on early-­nineteenth-­century pieces carved and painted by men, the incredible creativity and skill of the unrecorded female artist becomes apparent.

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Emerging frogs, identifiable by the depiction of only the head and forelegs, are fully beaded in a multitude of colors along the bottom edges of both leggings in figure 2.4. Above each, a gantutl’úk’x̱u (woodworm) curls around a circular geometric motif that likely represents the Ḵákw Tláa (Mother Basket). Both the woodworm and Ḵákw Tláa are important at.óow of the G̱ aanax̱teidí. The histories associated with both crests center on young women and how their relationships with supernatural beings brought wealth and prestige to the clan. One version of the woodworm story tells how a young girl finds a woodworm just as she begins the transition from girl to woman. While in seclusion, she secretly cares for the woodworm as she would her own child, feeding it and composing songs for it. The woodworm quickly grows to enormous size and when it is discovered, her relatives kill it. The girl mourns its loss until her own premature death, causing her G̱ aanax̱teidí relatives to feel so much shame they move to Klukwan.14 As this move enabled the clan to become powerful and wealthy, the woodworm became one of the most important of their crests. The history of the Ḵákw Tláa (Mother Basket) begins when two high-­ranked girls run away from home due to their own mother’s abuse. They make their way into the forest, where they meet Mountain Dweller. Meanwhile, at home the girls are presumed dead and the community goes into mourning. The elder sister marries Mountain Dweller, and while he is away on a hunting trip, the girls ignore his directive to not look behind a curtain in his house, precipitating a series of events that eventually cause them to return home. The girls bring with them a tiny basket that, before they left, Mountain Dweller had expanded, filled with the best foods, and then reshrunk. The villagers rejoice at their return, and in celebration the girls expand the basket and share the bounty with the community.15 At its most fundamental level, this history indicates the centrality of women to trade with interior peoples. Though the formlines used in these leggings may not conform to the narrow, gendered standards set by Reid and Holm, the dramatic use of color, the detail of the design, and the skilled application of beads indicate the maker’s talent and her deliberate divergence from both the formline of her male counterparts and the floral work of interior women. By selecting crests that foreground the important roles of women in this clan’s histories, the unnamed maker suggested a subtle resistance to the privileging of men within the imposed religious and municipal structures becoming embedded in Tlingit communities due to settler expectations. The second set of leggings (figure 2.5) also depict a frog, with its face and forelegs along the bottom hem, and include its rear legs at the top. Whereas the first pair of leggings are fully beaded, the maker here utilized beads in a similarly

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Klukwan region, one of a pair of beaded leggings, ca. 1880. Wool cloth, leather, glass beads, and porcupine quills, 17 × 14.5 in. (Portland Art Museum, Oregon, Elizabeth Cole Butler Collection, 1997.216.4b) 2.5. 

wide range of colors to outline her subject matter. The central imagery is difficult to read but suggests either a moment of transformation or a reference to the four posts from the Xíxch’í Hít (Frog House) in Klukwan, which depict downward-­ facing frogs with bird and animal faces appearing between their rear legs.16 Another possible reading of this imagery suggests they are an abstracted rendering of the Tl’úk’x̱ Aas Gáas’ (Woodworm Girl House Post) that originally stood to the left of the Rain Screen of the Yáay Hít in Klukwan (figure 2.6), the most prestigious of the three G̱ aanax̱teidí houses. The post depicts a girl known as X̱ ’akat.ahán17 wearing a woodworm headdress and gently clasping a woodworm to her breast. Below, a crane wraps its wings around a downward-­facing spotted frog, representing the branches and roots of a tree where a woodworm would be found in nature.18 Like the frog carved into the house post, the limbs of the beaded frog are spotted, and what appears to be a long beak, similar to that of a crane, is split above the hind legs of the frog and sewn in red and white beads. The two elongated sections on either side of the frog’s spine and between its bent legs suggest both the body of the frog and that of a segmented woodworm. The wrapping of the leggings around the wearer’s lower appendages evoke a similar dimensionality to the deeply carved house post.

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2.6.  Lloyd V. Winter (1866–1945) and E. Percy Pond (1872–1943), “Interior of Whale House of Chief Klart-Reech [X̱ aak Eesh],” ca. 1895. (Alaska Historical Library, Juneau, Winter & Pond Photo Collection, P87-13)

In reference to this pair of leggings, Wolfgang Haberland admired the “flamboyant quality” of Tlingit beadwork, but also considered it a product of an era when “traditional art systems were breaking down.” Like his counterparts Holm and Reid, Haberland believed that beadwork was a “completely new tradition,” rather than perceiving the multiple ways in which it was deeply embedded in significant clan histories and practices.19 As art historian Emily L. Moore points out in her discussion of the relationship of “configurative” naaxein tunic designs to house posts, what seemed like a “degenerative” design to nineteenth-­ century ethnographers Emmons and Franz Boas should actually be considered an “innovative translation” of a three-­dimensional form into two dimensions.20 Contoured Dance Collar As is further noted below, dance collars come in several different shapes, including those that are contoured—a strong example of which is worn by the man at the far right of the G̱ aanax̱teidí clan photograph (see figure 2.2). I situate the

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Klukwan region, beaded dance collar, ca. 1900. Wool cloth, glass beads, and metal clasp, 2 × 14.75 × 15.75 in. (Portland Art Museum, Oregon, Elizabeth Cole Butler Collection, 1997.216.3) 2.7. 

collar in figure 2.7 here as it expresses important ties between this clan and interior peoples generally, but also in terms of specific rights and privileges. As with the first pair of leggings (fig. 2.4) discussed above, the maker of this collar fully beaded the white raven crest 21 as opposed to outlining the designs, as on the second pair of leggings (fig. 2.5). This style of beadwork is usually associated with work from the interior, another subtle connection that illustrates those important relationships. The few fully beaded and contoured collars that were collected and are currently held in museums are primarily associated with Klukwan.22 Among all dance collars from this era, this one (fig. 2.7) is unusual in that it shares both design elements and a color palette with naaxein weaving. Created from white, black, yellow, and blue beads sewn to red wool, the collar depicts a downward-­facing raven with striped wings and tail feathers, with eye shapes at the joints and floating above each wing. The history of how naaxein weaving came to the Chilkat valley is well known. A G̱ aanax̱teidí man married a Tsimshian woman, who brought this style of weaving with her in the form

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of an apron with a Beaver crest known as the S’ageidi K’ideit. It remained in the community for some time before a young woman named Hayuwáas Tláa reverse-­engineered it during her puberty seclusion.23 Although made and worn in communities throughout the Northwest Coast, naaxein weaving has been most strongly associated with the Chilkat region generally and the G̱ aanax̱teidí specifically since that time. Translating the color and designs of naaxein into a beaded item claims that history using materials that were not esteemed by ethnographers. As woven naaxein robes were being sold and stolen out of Tlingit communities, this beaded collar visually strengthened the connection to the lineage of both the weaving form and the first Tlingit clan to integrate it. The G̱ aanax̱teidí clan wear a wider range of regalia than the specific pieces discussed here. Other types of beaded regalia such as octopus bags, bib-­shaped dance collars, and crest tunics were used throughout Tlingit territory as tangible expressions of relationships with interior peoples, clan histories, and geographies. At the same time, these regalia also reference materials and ideas introduced through the individuals and institutions of settler colonialism, such as the Russian Orthodox Church prior to 1867 and the US military subsequent to Alaska’s purchase in that year. Octopus Bags (Náaḵ w Gwéil) and Tlingit Worldviews Octopus, or “devilfish finger” bags (figure 2.8), such as the one worn by Yakutat Teiḵweidí (Brown Bear) clan member Teet Milton (Deitxun or Ka’u), shown seated at the far right in the Sitka hosts and Yakutat guests photograph (see fig. 2.1), were introduced through Indigenous trade routes from the interior as early as 1869, based on the provenance of a Seattle Art Museum bag collected in Sitka (figure 2.9).24 As discussed in the introduction, the 1878 photograph of Tseináakw (Chief Shéiksh [Shakes] V) lying in state provides visual evidence of their incorporation into Tlingit cultural practices by that time. Octopus bags initially indicated the prestige of the clan leader who first acquired them, but their rapid incorporation into regalia throughout the region by the early twentieth century suggests these bags had become deeply meaningful on multiple levels. Worn singly or in pairs by both women and men over tunics and under button robes and naaxein, their unusual shape and lack of crest designs set them apart from other types of regalia popular at this time. It is these very characteristics that suggest Tlingit women made these bags as a means to subtly express significant Tlingit worldviews at the same time they were Indigenizing aspects of settler colonialism.

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(Left) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, possibly Yakutat region, octopus bag, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Wool cloth and glass beads, 20.8 × 14 in. (Wells Fargo Corporate Archives, San Francisco, photo 190129, used with permission) 2.8. 

(Right) Unrecorded artist, náaḵw gwéil (octopus bag), ca. 1869. Commercial plainweave wool cloth, imported beads, yarn, and natural and synthetic dyes, 28.3 × 10 in. Though this bag was acquired in Sitka, it likely originated in the interior, as both sides are beaded, and beaded triangle designs often associated with Tahltan work are used on the reverse. (Seattle Art Museum, 91.1.122: gift of John H. Hauberg. Photo by Elizabeth Mann) 2.9. 

Octopus bags resonated strongly within Tlingit worldviews, as the numbers four and eight are culturally significant. These numbers have meaning in the context of death rites, house-­building potlatches, anatomy, magic, female seclusion, and shamanism. “Here, [regarding number of potlatches hosted] as in so many instances, eight times represents completion and fulfillment because of an analogy with the ‘eight bones’ of the body.”25 “The eight arms of the devil­ fish [octopus] gave it a special status among the Tlingit, who regarded this number as auspicious.”26 Octopus are also considered powerful and dangerous supernatural creatures able to destroy entire villages, as several clan histories indicate.27 For these reasons, in addition to those discussed below, the form of the octopus bag was seamlessly integrated into Tlingit regalia.

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The Russian Orthodox Church in Nineteenth-­Century Tlingit Alaska There were external reasons for the widespread embrace of the octopus form as well. Nineteenth-­century photographs of the interior of Saint Michael’s (figure 2.10), the Russian Orthodox church in Sitka, reveal a striking similarity between octopus bags and processional banners.28 These banners, made from fine fabrics and often decorated with a central religious motif, have three tabs hanging beneath a large rectangular panel. These were carried on long staffs in ceremonial contexts and were otherwise displayed within the confines of the church. The Russian Orthodox Church was the most influential aspect of the Russian presence in Tlingit territory during the mid-­nineteenth century. Although a church representative was stationed at Novo-­Arkangl’sk (Sitka) from 1816 onward, it was not until Father Ivan Veniaminov, later Bishop Innokentii, arrived in 1834 that the influence of the church strengthened. As Kan points out, the church appealed to some Tlingit because masses were held in Tlingit

2.10.  Elbridge W. Merrill (1868–1929), “Altar in St. Michael Cathedral, Sitka,” late nineteenth century. A processional banner is visible on the right side of the photo. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Michael Z. Vinokouroff Photo Collection, P243-1-033)

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and the ceremony and rich regalia paralleled aspects of Tlingit ceremonialism. Acceptance of the church may also have stemmed from the Russian American Company’s (RAC) ability to vaccinate against smallpox, a disease that decimated communities along the coast throughout the nineteenth century. Veniaminov believed that vaccines provided during the 1834–37 outbreak lessened the animosity between the Russians and Sitka Tlingit clans and contributed to the Christianization of many Tlingit in the region.29 In the mid-­1840s, Veniaminov established a school and seminary in Sitka for Tlingit boys and the children of Russian fathers and Tlingit mothers. There they learned navigation, medicine, trigonometry, Latin, and other languages in preparation for participation in Russian trading enterprises. As noted in chapter 1, girls received less formal education, instead learning domestic skills meant to make them into good housekeepers and wives. Despite the continued, albeit small, presence of fur traders and Orthodox priests of Russian America in Southeast Alaska, it appears that they did not significantly alter Tlingit social structures, although the lifestyles of some Tlingit, primarily high-­ranking individuals, were modified through education and greater economic opportunities. Over the next two decades, relations between the Tlingit and the Russian Orthodox Church remained ambivalent as the number of new converts stayed small. When Alaska was purchased by the United States in 1867, the RAC left while a diminished Church remained. This ambivalence toward the Russian presence slowly shifted as increasing numbers of Tlingit joined the Russian Orthodox Church out of frustration that they did not gain greater access to American wealth by joining the Presbyterian Church. Kan also attributes this shift to Presbyterianism’s attempt to suppress most Tlingit social and cultural practices. He argues that many older, more conservative Tlingit, realizing the negative impact of the Presbyterian Church on their own culture, chose to join the less repressive Russian Orthodox Church. In Sitka, for example, “In 1882 there were 117 Tlingit members in the church, their numbers rose to 320 (or 330) in 1886, 700 in 1887, and between 800 and 900 in 1892.”30 Russian Orthodox priests also had less power than the Presbyterians to enforce change due to their altered status as guests in American territory. By adopting Russian Orthodoxy, some Tlingit resisted radical change, while others, as Kan notes, appropriated Christian rituals “to add a new source of spiritual power to their own arsenal.”31 Aspects of both Indigenous and settler culture perceived to have power were chosen by some Tlingit in order to strengthen their own belief systems, while those considered threatening were rejected. This selective adoption of ideas had an impact on the incorporation of specific types of beaded regalia such as octopus bags.

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The role of women in relation to the Russian Orthodox Church seems relevant in light of the resonance between processional banners and octopus bags. Throughout the Russian occupation of Southeast Alaska, more Tlingit women than men were admitted to the church, the majority of whom were in relationships with Russian men working for the RAC.32 Tlingit women, therefore, would have had frequent visual access to the banners described above at the same time that they were incorporating Russian-­style sewing skills, which they used in diverse ways to support their Tlingit relations and sometimes even their Russian husbands.33 Although octopus bags were acquired through trade with interior peoples, they quickly spread throughout Southeast Alaska and were embellished with floral and seaweed designs that connected to local resources and geographies and deflected the assimilative gaze of the Presbyterian Church as discussed in chapter 1.

Dance Collars, Crest Tunics, and the Connections to Tlingit Armor While octopus bags incorporated powerful aspects of introduced colonial cultural practices in subtle ways, some beaded regalia conveyed powerful aspects of Tlingit cultural practices more overtly. Beaded dance collars and crest tunics, both developed in the late nineteenth century, shared not only a physical resemblance but also a metaphorical link with eighteenth-­century neck armor, painted wood-­slat breastplates, and painted hide armor. As such, they became a significant representation of haa latseen (strength of body, mind, and spirit) in the era subsequent to the often-­violent repression of Tlingit warfare carried out through the first three-­quarters of the nineteenth century. As curator Steve Henrikson writes, warfare and, importantly, peacemaking had been an integral part of Tlingit cultural practices, dating back thousands of years, as evidenced by archaeological sites and clan histories.34 Though there have long been parallels between regalia worn at potlatches and armor worn during warfare, the metaphorical connection is particularly significant within the context of the 1904 potlatch, which took place almost exactly one hundred years after a significant battle between the Sitka Kiks.ádi clan and the Russians in 1804. The years of provocation and tension brought to a head in this battle were resolved the following summer with a Peace/Deer ceremony between the Kiks.ádi and Russians that enabled the Russians to remain in the region to trade.35 That this historical connection was intentional is made clear at the end of the potlatch. The event concluded after Governor Brady returned to Sitka from the Saint Louis Exposition, where he had delivered fifteen totem poles

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for display near the Alaska building. Though there are multiple versions of the subsequent proceedings, it is agreed that the Sheey Káa Sh K’ut Yéil (Raven Helmet) played a significant symbolic role in the supposed end to Tlingit potlatching.36 Ḵ’alyáan, a Sitka Kiks.ádi clan leader, wore the helmet in the battle against the Russians in 1804. Throughout the next one hundred years, the helmet remained in clan hands as a significant at.óow. At the end of the 1904 potlatch, the current holder of the name Ḵ’alyáan handed the helmet to Governor Brady, who put it on display in the Sheldon Jackson Museum.37 Though the helmet may have been reduced to a curiosity in the eyes of Governor Brady and other settlers and visitors, to Tlingit people, especially the Kiks.ádi, this may have been a way to permanently keep this meaningful at.óow in Sitka at a time when at.óow was being sold and stolen out of clan hands. In the same way, we might consider the development of beaded regalia that references armor as a means to display important clan knowledge and worldviews in ways not necessarily understood by settlers. Dance Collars Dismissed in the literature as merely a means to conceal European-­style shirt collars, beaded dance collars developed from deeply significant Tlingit cultural expressions. On a purely material level, some dance collars resonate with the past in terms of design. This is true of the bib-­shaped collar adorned with an intricately beaded frog crest, similar to the one depicted in figure 2.11 and worn by carver Ned James (Sdagwáan; L’uknax̱.ádi clan, Xíxch’í Hít), who stands second from left in the second row, in the Sitka hosts and Yakutat guests photograph (see fig. 2.1).38 The collar parallels the shape of a type of early armor first sketched by artist Tomás de Suría in 1791 during the Spanish scientific expedition to the Pacific commanded by Alessandro Malaspina and José de Bustamante y Guerra (1789–1794). Though the bow in the warrior’s hand slightly obscures it, a bib-­ shaped piece of thick hide, presumably sea lion, hangs below a wooden collar that protected the lower face, neck, and upper chest during warfare (figure 2.12). In Suria’s drawing the collar appears to be unadorned, but in many cases the crest of the wearer was carved into, painted on the collar, or delineated through abalone shell—a highly valued and reflective material acquired through Indigenous trade routes—embedded in the collar’s surface. Beaded dance collars combine elements of both the protective hide and the embellished collar. Following Kan’s suggestion, the incorporation of cultural items from non-­Tlingit people, such as abalone, into Tlingit cultural practices was a means to express

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, dance collar, late nineteenth– early twentieth century. Wool cloth and glass beads, 14.25 ×  2 in. (Photo courtesy of the National Park Service, Sitka National Historical Park, SITK 791: on loan from the heirs of Frank Kitka) 2.11. 

power and wealth. Far more than a concealing accessory, a bib-­shaped dance collar subtly reinforced Tlingit warrior practices at a time when they were ostensibly giving them up. Beaded Tunics and Wood and Hide Armor In the 1904 potlatch photographs, two styles of beaded tunic also make a connection between historical wood and hide armor. The first is worn by Mrs. Situk Ned, shown on the left in a Case & Draper photograph titled “Yakutat Potlatch Dancers” (figure 2.13). Ned James, wearing a frog collar, stands at the center of

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2.12.  Tomás de Suría, “Sketch of a Tlingit Warrior, 1791.” In “Quaderno Que Contiene el Ramo de Historia Natural” (unpublished diary, late 1700s). (Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Western Americana Collection, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut)

the image and Fannie Bremner stands to his right.39 The garment worn by Mrs. Ned depicts an unidentified bird with a face on its chest beaded onto a dark fabric panel sewn to the long-­sleeve tunic. The garment also features additional panels beaded with seaweed motifs at the hem and cuffs and on the shoulders. This style of tunic with a centralized crest emulates wood-­slat armor embellished with the wearer’s clan crest design and worn over a hide garment to provide protection, radiate strength, and promote fear in one’s enemies during the heat of battle. Like the armor, the tunic’s purpose signals at its most basic level the clan identity of the wearer, but the tunic also becomes a tangible representation of the intangible rights and privileges associated with that clan. Worn

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2.13.  Howard Case (1868–1920) and Horace H. Draper (1855–1913), “Yakutat Potlatch Dancers,” 1904. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Case & Draper Photo Collection, P39-791)

in the context of the 1904 potlatch, this style of tunic also suggests the ongoing battle to maintain Tlingit cultural practices in the face of assimilative pressures. Another example of this type of tunic appears in a second image of G̱ aanax̱teidí clan members (figure 2.14). They stand in front of the G̱ ooch Hít (Wolf House) of the Kaagwaantaan clan displaying the Kaawashákhee G̱ ooch Gaas’ (Panting Wolf House Post). A man, standing directly below the house post in the doorway, holds a dance staff and wears a collar depicting a beaver over a tunic embellished with the Xíxch’í Hít emerging frog crest. Xíxch’í Hít was described above as the newest of the three G̱ aanax̱teidí clan houses, so it seems significant that Klukwan artists, both male and female, utilized this distinctive form of the crest in beading, weaving, and carving. This striking tunic (figure 2.15), constructed from red wool and embellished with white, light and dark blue, yellow, green, and pink seed beads, was photographed at an earlier Klukwan potlatch in 1894–95 by Winter & Pond, worn again at the 1904 potlatch, and eventually collected by Louis Shotridge in 1923. The tunic, when

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2.14.  Howard Case (1868–1920) and Horace H. Draper (1855–1913), “Chilkats in Dancing Customs [Costumes] at Sitka Potlatch,” December 23, 1904. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Case & Draper Photo Collection, P39-401)

considered in relation to the many other representations of this crest, suggests that Xíxch’í Hít members were working to attain greater prestige through the representation of the crest in multiple media, attendance at significant ḵu.éex’ throughout Southeast Alaska, the circulation of commissioned photographs, and the utilization of a form of regalia that references historical armor.

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Klukwan region, tunic, late nineteenth century. Wool cloth and glass beads, 37 × 23.7 in. Collected by Louis Shotridge on the Wannamaker Expedition to the Northwest Coast, 1923. (Courtesy of the Penn Museum Archives, Philadelphia, object no. NA9483) 2.15. 

The second, and seemingly less widespread, style of beaded tunic relates closely to the painted hide armor worn independently or in combination with wooden slats as additional protection. Worn by Mrs. Jenny Kardetoo, seated at the center of the Sitka hosts and Yakutat guests photograph (see fig.2.1), the beaded raven tunic relates to naaxein-­style woven tunics, as it depicts a crest design that extends from the shoulders to the hem, which in turn connects it to eighteenth-­century armor. Emmons writes, “The long sleeveless shirt, hanging from the shoulders and reaching below the knees, is in shape a replica of the primitive hide armor, from which it derives its name, qeka (‘cover’ or ‘protector’).”40 More than a mere replica, regalia in this form clearly demonstrates an ongoing identification with the power of Tlingit warriors despite the shift from a physical battleground to a metaphorical one in terms of asserting Tlingit rights and cultural values in the face of suppression. As Emily Moore has pointed out, woven tunics also suggest interior house posts through their design,41 a connection that may be shared by tunics beaded in this style in a way

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similar to the pair of beaded leggings discussed above (see figure 2.5). Tlingit women were creating new tangible forms as a means to further reinforce intangible rights and privileges in ways unintelligible to outsiders.

Beaded Tunics and Hats and the Relationship to Uniforms The shape and some details on beaded tunics, with or without crests, also emulate the nineteenth-­century Tlingit acquisition of Russian and American naval uniforms. This indicates both specific clan histories and broader access to new sources of wealth and power. The Dauenhauers relate the history of the Yanwaa Sháa (sailor women) of the Kaagwaantaan: “Presumably at one point in its [Kaagwaantaan] history, the clan was not compensated by the U.S. Navy for the death of a member or ancestor. Following Tlingit tradition, the clan (in this case for some reason only the women) took over the offender’s crest and regalia in partial payment. At ceremonials, the Yanwaa Sháa dress in various parts of navy uniforms—sailor hats and blouses, black scarves. The ‘commodore’ wears an officer’s uniform.”42 Though no women in the 1904 photographs appear to be wearing the items described above, several women, and a couple men, wear a style of hat that was acquired from the Russians. Three of the four women seated at the front of the Sitka hosts and Yakutat guests photograph (see fig. 2.1) wear headgear based on Russian sailor caps. According to one of Frederica de Laguna’s Yakutat sources, this unusual style of hat had been “captured from the Russians.”43 Another version of this history suggests that this kind of hat was captured from the Alutiiq people who fought for the Russians in the 1804 battle. By defeating the Alutiiq, the Tlingit acquired several dances, one of which incorporated this type of hat. In order to have their dances back, the Alutiiq “must defeat the Tlingit to get them.”44 Yet another version attributes these hats to a fight with Dutch sailors who had killed Tlingit people in Klukwan and were themselves pursued and captured by the Klu­kwan Kaagwaantaan near Hoonah.45 Clarissa Rizal indicated that Tlingit women began making their own version of these hats after the Russians left Alaska in 1867.46 Often embellished with geometric beadwork, the lower part of the hat fits snugly around the head, while the flat and wide upper part extends beyond the cap and has dangling strings of beads ending in tassels or pom-­poms along the outer edge (figure 2.16). Tlingit men had greater access to actual uniforms, as they sometimes received them as gifts during trade negotiations with the Russians, British, and Americans, signaling their participation in exclusive trading partnerships. Once the Americans came to power, some Tlingit men joined the Native police force,

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Russian sailor–style hat, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Wool cloth, glass beads, and yarn, 11 × 1.5 in. (Sheldon Jackson Museum, Sitka, 1.A.423. Photo by Jacqueline R. Fernandez-Hamberg) 2.16. 

which was seen as another means to attain symbolic and real power, as these positions were scarce. Photographs of men wearing police uniforms in front of their homes, or as in this image of Kichnáalx̱ (Saginaw Jake or Killisnoo Jake) and his wife and child surrounded by uniforms and other at.óow (figure 2.17), point to the importance of acquiring these tangible representations of power. As Kan notes, Kichnáalx̱ and other Tlingit leaders “collected and displayed [uniforms] to demonstrate [their] wide network of ties with powerful newcomers.”47 Although the US government legitimated and paid a small wage for these positions, residents of and travelers to Southeast Alaska often condescendingly attributed the wearing of uniforms to the Tlingit love of display and vanity. Kichnáalx̱ was often used as an example: “What tourist does not remember Saginaw Jake of Killisnoo, and the half-­dozen different garbs in which he paraded the wharf during the summer’s stay in port? Self-­satisfied under all circumstances, he is especially important in his policeman’s uniform.”48 Settler writers interpreted Kichnáalx̱’s actions as egotistical, when instead he was likely demonstrating the prestige of his position within settler structures while at the same time taking advantage of a new audience for the display of his access to authority and exclusive status as a sanctioned wage earner within his

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Vincent Soboleff, “Killisnoo Jake, wife & daughter [Kichnáalx̱ (also known as Saginaw Jake), his wife Kaachuks (Maria) and their daughter],” ca. 1900. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Vincent Soboleff Photo Collection, P1-009)

2.17. 

own community. Like the adoption of Russian Orthodox practices that signify power, the wearing of actual military uniforms as well as the translated versions discussed below, both within and outside of the context of a ḵu.éex’, embodied the acquisition of perceived power and strengthened Tlingit resilience and identity as powerful people. At some point in the nineteenth century, Tlingit women began sewing woolen tunics to be worn as regalia that utilized aspects of these uniforms. The most common translation includes a beaded placket at the front of a tunic, beaded epaulets at the shoulders, and beaded panels at the wrists and hem, examples of which are worn by three G̱ aanax̱teidí individuals in the E. W. Merrill photograph in figure 2.2. With few exceptions, women beaded these elements using seaweed and floral patterns. Often combined with beaded v-­yokes or crests on woolen tunics, these militaristic features suggest a type of shorthand to indicate clan relationships with the powerful aspects of Russian and American naval forces. The most prestigious types of tunic in this style were those constructed from ermine pelts, a powerful symbol of access to wealth through trade. These tunics were worn only by highly ranked clan members, as shown in one of the 1904 photographs depicting several members of two Sitka L’uknax̱.ádi clan

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2.18.  Elbridge W. Merrill (1870–1929), clan leaders in ermine tunics, 1904. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, E. W. Merrill Photo Collection, P57-31)

houses, the Yáay Hít (Whale House) and the Taan Hít (Sea Lion House).49 The ermine tunics worn by the men at the center of the photograph (figure 2.18) were collected by Louis Shotridge. Partially obscured by a bib-­shaped beaded collar (figure 2.19) depicting “Raven that went into the whale,”50 the placket on the tunic worn by the man on the left incorporates representations of an eagle flanked above and below by killer whales (figure 2.20).

Beadwork and Photography at the 1904 Potlatch The rich photographic documentation of this so-­called last potlatch clearly indicates that beaded items had become an integral part of the wide array of regalia worn to express prestige and power by clan members from across Tlingit territory. As references to beading and beadwork were rarely recorded within settler literature, photographs such as these become a crucial means for understanding the full range of Tlingit women’s beading practices and the ways in which beadwork expressed Tlingit resilience and resistance in troubled times.

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(Above) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sitka, Raven that went into the Whale dance collar, Sitka Whale House, late nineteenth century. Wool, glass, silk, cotton, and metal, 16 × 11.5 × 1.4 in. Collected by Louis Shotridge, 1925. (Courtesy of the Penn Museum Archives, Philadelphia, object no. NA10515) 2.19. 

2.20.  (Left) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sitka, ermine tunic, Sitka Whale House, late nineteenth–early twentieth century. Ermine, wool, glass beads, and yarn, 38.8 × 23.5 in. Collected by Louis Shotridge, 1925. (Courtesy of the Penn Museum Archives, Philadelphia, object no. NA10516)



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Tlingit people incorporated seed beads and photography at around the same time to express Indigenous hierarchies of status and power. Within a few years, both became deeply entwined with Tlingit cultural practices more broadly throughout the region. As noted in the introduction, photography was incorporated into mortuary practices both to record deceased clan leaders surrounded by clan at.óow as a means of witnessing and to document clan ownership, as museum collecting increased the pressure to sell. The depiction of Tlingit people and associated beadwork within photographs illustrates the ways in which transcultural materials and processes were utilized in the articulation of Indigenous ways of knowing, both within and between communities as well as for outsiders. Both beadwork and photography also became a means of resistance to settler policies and institutions that were gaining strength in the last decades of the nineteenth century. As Tlingit women were the makers of beaded regalia as well as wearers of it, they were central to the negotiation of this increasingly complex era. The images discussed throughout this chapter are among nearly three dozen photographs taken by E. W. Merrill of Sitka and William Howard Case of Skagway. The photographs consist of large and small groups of Tlingit participants from the clans of Killisnoo and Angoon, Sitka, Yakutat, and Klukwan formally posed in front of Victorian-­style Kaagwaantaan clan houses in the Tlingit section of Sitka. Other images depict canoes filled with potlatch participants, as well as a small number of individual portraits. Merrill, believed to have been commissioned by the Sitka clan leaders to document the event, took the majority of the photographs. His relationship with the Sitka Tlingit community enabled photographs documenting canoe arrivals, formally posed groupings, and captions on some photos that only an insider would know. Case took a few others, combining his attendance at the potlatch with a curio-­collecting trip to restock his shop.51 Many of his images appear to be quickly set up and poorly framed, suggesting he had to work hard to get participants to stop long enough to take the photograph. All of these photographs, like the beadwork contained within them, articulated specific and ongoing worldviews that were illegible to or dismissed by the colonial authorities who witnessed them in practice. Tangible and Intangible Outcomes of the 1904 ḵu.éex’ The Sitka ḵu.éex’ of 1904 was the last of its kind at that scale for decades after, but there were many outcomes of this event that undermined the multifaceted pressures being placed on Tlingit people to assimilate. Though church groups threatened to remove the names of Christianized Tlingit from the church rolls

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if they had participated in the potlatch, it appears that for many Tlingit, familial obligations took precedence: “[W]hen the ‘show down’ came, a large majority of the Sitka Indians participated with their tribal chiefs in the potlatch, and all the ancient customs and legends have been acted out and explained anew to the rising generations. The old Indians who never took kindly to the white man’s religion are happy, and they are using the opportunity to impress upon the younger members of their tribe what they regard as the necessity of maintaining their old customs and traditions.”52 This report points out the overt resistance to the imposition of settler colonial institutions through the opportunity to immerse their children in cultural knowledge. Other tangible outcomes were the many items made specifically to be witnessed as at.óow at this potlatch. As is typical for a major ḵu.éex’, planning began years in advance, so hosts and guests had time to gather food, practice old songs and dances, and create new songs, regalia, and potential at.óow. A well-­known aspect of this ḵu.éex’ was the commissioning of house posts for some of the Kaagwaantaan clan houses. One in particular, the Kaawashákhee G̱ ooch Gaas’ (Panting Wolf House Post), which appears in several photographs, was carved by Jim Jacobs (who went by two names, Yéilnaawú and Kíchxaak) and displayed on the exterior of the G̱ ooch Hít to be witnessed by potlatch guests. There is little doubt that much of the beaded regalia worn by participants was also made specifically for this potlatch, though records do not exist to confirm this claim.53 Tlingit women who had been beading for the souvenir trade throughout this era would also have been creating regalia expressing clan connections and histories in subtle ways, indicating their ongoing resilience and ability to adapt economically and socially to ever-­changing circumstances in an era when they were not encouraged to do so. Despite the rhetoric of finality in regard to this ḵu.éex’, Tlingit clans and houses throughout Southeast Alaska continued to host similar events on a smaller scale and in more remote locations. At the same time, clans developed new ways to maintain important Tlingit values of reciprocity and balance using settler frameworks, such as the Russian Orthodox “forty-­day party” or the distribution of gifts along clan lines at Christmas celebrations. Beading as Haa Latseen Through the wearing of beaded regalia and the circulation of photographs, Tlingit hosts and guests at the 1904 potlatch were able to engage with the settler rhetoric of the “last potlatch” and also to speak from beyond it. Settler

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discourses regarding authenticity and cultural degeneration caused a kind of blindness toward Indigenous uses of beadwork and photography. Participants’ rich regalia may have incorporated aspects of settler dress, but more importantly, it continued to demonstrate Tlingit people’s still-­vital relationships to their own clans and the ancestors and landscapes that sustained them. Likewise, the commissioning of photography served more than one purpose, documenting important aspects of the ḵu.éex’ while also reaffirming clan ties and disseminating Tlingit values and the at.óow on display beyond the borders of Sitka. The following quote by K’alyaan Éesh (Augustus Bean), one of the Kaagwaantaan clan leaders, suggests this duality. I feel bad when I think I am giving this in a right way, they think I am

doing wrong and take my name from the church book. I feel this way/

I thank you guests all for coming/ you have honored me as your grandfather honored my grandfathers/ I want to make you understand that these three houses make a totem which we hang as a picture/ it will

stand as long as the house stands/ we have called you to see it. After I die my nephews still keep it as a picture in his house.54

Through his description of the Kaawashákhee G̱ ooch Gaas’, he fulfills his clan obligations to thank the witnessing of at.óow by his guests. Simultaneously, his suggestion that “the totem” is nothing more than “a picture” obscures its significance to the settlers in the audience, who might assume his reference is to equate it to a photograph—an introduced technology signaling assimilation. The wide range of regalia worn by the participants documented in these photographs embodied a variety of relationships developed over time. Some regalia indicated long-­standing trade and marriage connections between Indigenous peoples of the coast and the interior, while other regalia represented more recent interactions with Russians traders and American settlers. The 1904 photographs illustrate the ubiquity of beaded regalia at this time and indicate that it had come to embody cultural continuity and power in new ways. Beaded dance collars, tunics, and Russian-­style sailor hats, among many other items embellished with beads, contributed to subtle expressions of haa latseen. Under the strictures of settler colonialism, Tlingit were not waging overt war, but through the creation of new types of ceremonial regalia that linked to a powerful warrior past, they utilized multiple strategies to strengthen their own identities and resist the changes being forced upon them.

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CHAPTER 3

Co-­Opting the Cooperative Making Moccasins in the Mid-­Twentieth Century

O

nce Upon a Time in America  (2002) is Larry McNeil’s (x̱’e.d’e) homage to the perseverance and strength of Tlingit women in an era of rampant discrimination and ongoing cultural suppression. Focused on a 1943 color photograph of his mother, Anita McNeil (kaajee seidee), and grandmother Mary Brown Betts (kah saa nák), this digital print (figure 3.1) attests to the complexities of Tlingit women’s lives in the mid-­twentieth century. McNeil’s image encompasses the customary balance between men and women, the ongoing identification with house and clan, the warrior history of Tlingit men, the fight for equal rights and access to education, and the passing on of cultural knowledge and artistic practice from one generation to the next, all of which occurred while the women were engaging with new economic opportunities. As McNeil makes clear in this profoundly personal work, beadwork made for sale bound these disparate threads together not only for his matrilineal line but for many Tlingit women throughout Southeast Alaska in this time period. I utilize the powerful iconography of McNeil’s print to reevaluate the complexities of this era and counter the persistent “renaissance” discourse that claims the first two-­thirds of the twentieth century were a period of little or no art making. To do so, I balance the experiences and ways of knowing expressed by Tlingit beaders over time with a close reading of the rich archival record of the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House (ANAC, later Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative).1 This archive reveals that from the late 1930s to the early 1970s, thousands of pieces of beadwork were produced and sold by nearly



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3.1.  Larry McNeil, Once Upon a Time in America (from Fly by Night Mythology series), 2002. Digital print. (Photo courtesy of the artist)

five hundred Tlingit women, including McNeil’s mother and grandmother, from almost every community in Southeast Alaska. Despite this extensive production, which far outsold the carved and painted souvenirs made by Tlingit men, little of this work appears in museum collections due to the entrenched settler categories of authenticity, tradition, and aesthetics. The disconnect between this large production and the lack of institutional collecting parallels the way that beadwork and other items are represented in both the scholarly and the popular literature of the period. Although many mid-­ twentieth-­century authors mention the presence of beaders, carvers, and weavers, they consistently maintain that the practices they witnessed were alienated from traditional knowledge and, particularly in the case of beadwork, inauthentic as these makers’ works were produced for the souvenir market. This separation between what was believed to be happening and the reality is articulated through the oral histories and artwork of Tlingit people, the evolving history of ANAC, and the increasing power of Indigenous Alaskans to define themselves and their cultural practices within and beyond the confines of settler institutions and organizations. Beadwork, primarily on souvenirs, was central to the ways in which Tlingit women navigated the realities of economic and social

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discrimination in this era, providing an essential thread of continuity for the contemporary reemergence of weaving and regalia making, as well as the development of new artistic practices.

House and Clan Across the top half of McNeil’s print are images of a naturalistic raven in flight across a blue sky and a representation of a copper-­colored killer whale’s head and fin emerging from a carved totem pole. The raven, as trickster, connects this work to other prints in McNeil’s Fly by Night Mythology series, all of which humorously yet pointedly address the intercultural world we share. It also balances the killer whale, which represents the Kéet Gooshi Hít (Killer Whale Dorsal Fin House) of the Daḵl’aweidí (Killer Whale) clan of the Wolf/Eagle moiety from Klukwan, Alaska. This is the ancestral clan house of McNeil, his mother, and his grandmother, one of the few still standing in the community.2 The large scale of the figures on either side of the print foregrounds the Tlingit worldview of wooch yáx̱ (maintaining social and spiritual balance and harmony). Through his print, McNeil affirms the need to reestablish the customary balance and reciprocity between moieties and clans, distorted by the patriarchal values imposed through Christianity and settler laws of inheritance.3 These clan representations, along with the mountainous landscape, suggest cultural sovereignty, as well as the strength and persistence of clan connections to the land through the mid-­twentieth century despite ongoing pressures to assimilate. These pressures were brought to bear by federal and territorial institutions and, in a slightly different way, the Alaska Native Brotherhood (ANB) and Alaska Native Sisterhood (ANS), two important Indigenous organizations that emerged in the first quarter of the twentieth century.

Alaska Native Brotherhood and Sisterhood In 1912 a group of twelve Tlingit and Tsimshian men and one Tlingit woman founded the Alaska Native Brotherhood.4 Because the majority of the founders had attended the Sitka Industrial and Training School, the members of the ANB and the subsequent Alaska Native Sisterhood (reorganized from the “Alaska Daughters” and other all-­women’s groups by 1915) were strongly influenced by Presbyterian aims for “civilizing,” while at the same time fighting for equal rights and preserving their “history, lore, art and virtues.”5 Although this statement favors preservation over perpetuation, it suggests a specific resistance to complete assimilation as desired by the church and government. By fighting for

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equal treatment under the law, the ANB and ANS worked to create a space of resilience within which cultural practices could be perpetuated, whether recognized by outsiders or not. During the early years of the ANB, this perspective was reinforced by its recognition of women as the “backbone” of the organization— a reference to the strength of Tlingit matriliny—despite the organization’s patriarchal origins.6 Many members of the Alaska Native Sisterhood produced beadwork for sale through the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative. Though any relationship between the ANS and ANAC appears to have been informal, the fact that the women of the ANS served as the major fund-­raisers for the work done by the ANB suggests that the sale of beadwork through ANAC and elsewhere enabled Tlingit women to make donations and pay dues to these organizations. Bessie Visaya (Ḵaachgun), L’eeneidí clan of the Téel’ Hít (Dog Salmon House), for example, was one of the founders of the Juneau ANS camp in 1926, who sold work through ANAC from 1948 to 1974 and also worked for ANAC.7 Her daughter, Rosa Miller, recollects that Visaya “sewed dolls, moccasins, handbags, and caps and koogéinaas [caps and sashes worn by ANB and ANS members],”8 perfectly encapsulating the overlap between these two organizations. A brief introduction to the ANB and ANS is vital, as they were among the most significant North American Indigenous organizations to counter settler colonialism in the first half of the twentieth century. Their successes in gaining rights for Alaska Native people by working within institutional structures likely contributed to the belief often expressed that Tlingit women and men were disconnected from their traditional cultural practices. But, as more recent publications indicate, these histories were far more complex.9 The founding of the ANB and ANS heralded a new era for Alaska Native peoples, characterized by the sustained and often successful fight for civil rights. These powerful political and social groups were among the first of their kind in North America and became the model for similar groups in Canada and other parts of the United States. By capitalizing on the institutional structures imposed upon them, they fought hard for the right to obtain citizenship, won in 1915, and began the fight for the right to vote in 1922, two years before that right was granted to all Native Americans (and fully four decades before Canadian First Nations, Métis, and Inuit gained the same right). In 1928 they obtained the right for Alaska Native children to attend public schools, although federal law did not require fully integrated schools until 1949. They also lobbied the territory of Alaska for the enactment of the Antidiscrimination Act in 1945, nearly two decades before similar legislation was proposed in the rest of the United States. The ANB also initiated the 1936 amendment of the 1934 Indian

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Reorganization Act (IRA) to include Alaska and enable incorporated communities to receive federal loans for fishing equipment and canneries.10 As is discussed further below, this amendment also led to the development of ANAC. By the 1960s, the ANB and ANS had begun to reverse some of their assimilationist policies to support the reemergence of more customary cultural practices. Significantly, one of the most enduring visual aspects of the ANB and ANS is the koogéinaa, a sash worn diagonally across the chest that physically resembles an arrow pouch or a dress sash worn by military personnel and “serves as a reminder of the battles to come.”11 The original thirteen sashes, made by women from the Haines ANS and distributed at the 1929 ANB & ANS Grand Camp Convention held there, were made from moose hide. The letters ANB pierced with an arrow were cut from red cloth and appliquéd to the hide.12 Shortly thereafter, the ANS developed a similar sash made from royal blue velvet with an arrow appliquéd from white cloth. The intention for the koogéinaa was to create a sense of unity between diverse clans as they worked together in their fight to obtain rights for Indigenous Alaskans. At the same time progress for reconciliation between clans was being made, a new battle for sovereignty began in 1929, when the ANB determined to sue the federal government for their land. Although warfare between Tlingit communities and with newcomers was often violently suppressed through the fur trade and early colonial eras, Tlingit women and men continued to reference their warrior history in subtle ways, such as creating and wearing beaded regalia in the nineteenth century that evoked eighteenth-­century wood and hide armor as discussed in chapter 2 and, as shown here, in the mid-­twentieth century with koogéinaa.

Warriors In the twenty-­first century, Larry McNeil also acknowledges the warrior history of Tlingit men and women, writing, “You always hear about Tlingit warriors and how fiercely they defend their homeland. Guess what? Their mothers, sisters, daughters, aunties and grandmothers are where that fierceness and intelligence originates. They are the true ones that make us Tlingit who we are.”13 McNeil visually reinforces this statement by underlining the impact of World War II on his own family through the repetition of the Service Flag hanging in the window at the center of his image (see fig. 3.1). Displaying blue or gold stars, this flag, purchased at Juneau’s Ben Franklin store, indicated to passersby how many men in the household were currently serving in the military (blue) or had been killed (gold).14 To the left of the family photograph, McNeil enlarges

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the flag to indicate that his family had two men, his uncles Roy and Austin, serving in the military.15 Below the flag, a ghostly image of eighteenth-­century wooden-­slat armor appears, reinforcing the continuity of Tlingit warriors and their shifting battlegrounds. Contemporary Tlingit individuals ironically recall the racist contradictions of this era. On the one hand, some businesses hung signs barring “Natives” from entering, but on the other, all men, regardless of their ethnicity, had to sign up at age eighteen for the Selective Service. Edward Kunz Jr. recollected a story his mother told him: “So the ANS picketed the Selective Service and said, ‘Where are your signs? Where are your “No Indians allowed” signs?’ ”16 As Kunz’s memory suggests, Tlingit women had always participated in the battle for equal treatment under the law, while at the same time taking responsibility for the economic survival of their families, particularly during the Depression, when men’s livelihoods were drastically diminished, and during the war years, when so many men were away. Though the lucrative tourist trade declined in part due to the Depression followed by the onset of war, the rapid influx of military men created a new market for souvenirs. Tlingit women, like their mothers before them, embodied resilience as they engaged with emerging economic opportunities to provide a better life for themselves and their children. In this era, one of the most significant opportunities was the development of the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House.

Tlingit Women and the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House According to archival records, Larry McNeil’s grandmother and mother beaded for ANAC for at least thirty years. Mary Brown Betts was known for her high-­ quality moccasins embellished with both “totem” and tourist designs, as well as bags and gloves made from deer and moose hides.17 She delivered finished products to ANAC as often as two to three times per week and also sold to other local outlets. McNeil’s recollection of his grandmother’s work ethic brings this history to life: “I was raised by my grandma for a while and quite naturally followed how she lived her life. Her work, which was beaded moccasins, gloves and purses, became the foundation for the whole family. That’s how she put her children through school and paid the bills.”18 Anita McNeil also produced well-­made moccasins throughout this time period, though McNeil notes that her productivity took a dip in the months following his birth in May 1955, illuminating yet another layer of complexity in these working women’s lives.19 Mary Brown Betts and Anita McNeil were among the hundreds who

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utilized the institutional structures of ANAC to provide for their families and, in many cases, improve the lives of their children by enabling them to gain a better education than was available in the government-­run schools geared to Indigenous students. Moreover, as is shown through specific examples in this chapter, these women utilized ANAC to express and circulate their distinctive identities as Tlingit people in ways that complicated the concerns around art and craft, economics, and authenticity as understood by those who initially ran the organization. As the history of ANAC in Southeast Alaska, and the women who sold souvenirs through it, is all but unknown, a brief introduction to its development on both federal and local levels is necessary.

Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Indian Reorganization Act On the federal level, the appointment of John Collier as commissioner of the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) in 1933 marked a shift in US policy toward Native Americans, which had primarily been focused on expediting assimilation. From 1907 to 1909, Collier had been a social worker in New York City, where he tried to establish organizations promoting community involvement for social change. In 1919 he moved to California and was again employed as a social worker. In 1920 he visited socialite Mabel Dodge Luhan in Taos and learned about the local Pueblo people, whom he believed should be a model for industrialized society due to their deep sense of community. He returned to California and began fighting for the reform of US Indian policy. He was particularly interested in Native American arts and crafts, believing that while they had become too commercial, they had immense potential for preserving Indigenous cultures and providing much-­needed economic support. He argued that remote communities would reap the greatest benefits with proper training and marketing.20 Recognized for his work with Native Americans over the previous decade, Collier was unanimously appointed as BIA Commissioner by Congress. Along with Felix Cohen, a New York City attorney hired specifically for the job, Collier quickly set to work writing the Indian Reorganization Act (IRA), which was enacted by Congress in 1934. The IRA repealed the 1887 Dawes Allotment Act, which aimed to shift land ownership from tribal reservations to individuals in order to promote farming and private land ownership. The Dawes Allotment Act had devastating effects for many Indigenous communities, as it undermined their rights and allowed for the sale of so-­called surplus land to settlers. The heavily modified IRA, however, rather awkwardly attempted both to encourage assimilation and to preserve traditional ways of life through the development

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of businesses intended to contribute to the wider economy.21 Collier’s goals for a New Deal Indian policy included “economic rehabilitation of the Indians, organization of the Indian tribes for managing their own affairs, and civic and cultural freedom and opportunity for the Indians.”22 Alaska Native people did not feel the IRA applied to them because the majority did not live on reservations. Furthermore, many were already working within the cash economy and had begun to achieve some social rights utilizing the institutional systems already in place. In 1936, after two years of legal wrangling in which the ANB was involved, the IRA was amended to allow nonreservation Alaska Natives to start businesses. Despite this change, Collier still felt it was in the Alaska Natives’ best interests to have reservations in order to protect existing resources for use by Indigenous peoples only.

The Indian Arts and Crafts Board In 1935 Congress created the Indian Arts and Crafts Board (IACB), which allowed Collier, after a prolonged struggle, to establish a five-­member board and obtain the necessary funding to begin working toward his goals. The main purpose of the IACB was to contribute to the economic welfare of Native Americans by assisting in the development and marketing of arts and crafts. The board’s powers included the ability to provide market and technical research and assistance, to support private and government endeavors in the field, to create and regulate trademarks of genuineness, and to prosecute those who falsely advertised and sold arts and crafts as Native-­made.23 After meeting John Collier at a conference in Mexico, René d’Harnoncourt took on the job of assistant manager of the IACB. Viennese by birth, d’Harnoncourt began his professional career in Mexico City working as a freelance designer, decorator of shop windows, and gallery assistant collecting pre-­Columbian and Mexican folk art. He put this knowledge to use in New York City developing exhibitions and radio shows and teaching about fine and applied arts in the Americas. D’Harnoncourt’s years of experience working with individuals, communities, and organizations appealed to Collier and led to his appointment. In 1937 Collier promoted him to general manager of the IACB. As head of the board, d’Harnoncourt felt his responsibilities were “(a) Stimulation and organization of production, and (b) Assistance in merchandising of arts and crafts.”24 He believed in direct contact with artists and local organizers in order to better understand the needs of particular areas. Accordingly, he, along with three field representatives and an assistant manager, made information-­gathering trips to different parts of the United States, including Southeast Alaska.

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IACB in Alaska The resources of the IACB did not reach Alaska until 1938, in part because Alaska had not been initially included in the Indian Reorganization Act. The field representative for the Office of Indian Affairs, Oscar Lipps, undertook a survey of Alaska Native communities in the late summer of 1936 with the intention of assessing the ways in which the recently extended IRA should be implemented, particularly through the incorporation of Native communities and making federal loans available for the development of Native-­owned and -­operated businesses.25 Accompanied by William L. Paul (1885–1977), a Tlingit lawyer and early leader of the ANB who played an important role in achieving rights for Alaska Native peoples through his involvement in the territorial government, Lipps spent several weeks in Southeast Alaska and embarked upon a four-­week journey north to visit “Eskimo” communities. Among his many recommendations for potential businesses, the establishment of reservations, and the incorporation of specific communities, Lipps concluded that Southeast Alaska Natives were well positioned for assistance in creating arts and crafts programs. Lipps described continuing Tlingit involvement in the curio trade: “Their income from the sale of their fur trimmed moccasins, baskets, miniature totem poles, beadwork, etc., amounts annually to several thousand dollars and it is believed it could be increased many fold if the industry were properly organized and managed.”26 His recommendations included starting up cooperative arts and crafts shops in Ketchikan, Juneau, and Wrangell. Shortly after Lipps’s report, the IACB in conjunction with the Alaska Indian Service, an agency of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, established an Arts and Crafts Division in Juneau. The division’s purpose was to develop the arts and crafts of Alaska’s Native peoples in order to support economic growth within their communities. The division sought to achieve its aims through developing and administering programs in schools and villages across Alaska. It used Indian Service teachers to supervise community projects and sent teachers to help develop suitable arts and crafts in interested communities. The Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House was just one of several government programs initiated under the auspices of the Office of Indian Affairs that affected Alaska Native communities, primarily in more remote regions. Other programs dealt with gardening, reindeer herding in the Arctic, Native-­run stores across the territory, and fish canneries in Southeast Alaska. In the early months of 1938, Virgil R. Farrell, a Nome BIA teacher, became the first supervisor of arts and crafts for Alaska, a position created for him

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because of his detailed reports on arts and crafts in the territory.27 In this role, Farrell accompanied d’Harnoncourt on his ten-­day trip through Southeast Alaska in May 1938. They visited Ketchikan, Wrangell, Haines, Klukwan, Sitka, Hydaburg, and Saxman, spending only a few hours in each place. Based on these visits and reports from northern Alaskan communities, d’Harnoncourt assessed the state of arts and crafts in Alaska in a seven-­page report, making distinctions between work created for the tourist market and that made for internal use in each community:28 “At present Indian arts and crafts work in Southeastern Alaska is almost entirely made for the tourist trade with exception of a few items, such as Chilkat blankets, dug-­out canoes, and occasional garments or moccasins. Here again, as on most reservations in the States these pieces that are made for home consumption are, as a rule, of the finest quality and in no way inferior to the work produced by former generations.”29 He also made distinctions in quality based on the remoteness of the community from the centers of tourism. In d’Harnoncourt’s view, the greater the tourist trade, the lesser the quality and vice versa. Klukwan, being the most remote, therefore produced the highest-­quality work and, according to his report, was the best positioned to develop a strong arts and crafts program. Though d’Harnoncourt’s distinction supported the discourses of degeneration and disappearance surrounding early-­ to mid-­twentieth-­century Tlingit visual and cultural production, the reality suggests otherwise. In Klukwan alone, d’Harnoncourt interacted with three Chilkat weavers, two canoe builders, a silversmith, and an unrecorded number of beaders. After visiting six clan houses and noting the preservation of house screens and posts, he wrote, “The importance of quality work along traditional lines in Klukwan became evident not only from the careful preservation of the old pieces and from the high standards of the present production, but showed clearly in the conversations held with different villagers. Almost everybody spoken to emphasized the importance of doing work the ‘right’ way, and the fear of people that the old arts may deteriorate or disappear was heard everywhere.”30 This quote may be read in multiple ways. It indicates that there was a high level of continuity in the production of tangible cultural expressions, refuting the alleged disconnect between cultural knowledge and artistic production suggested by many authors from the era. It also indicates the very real concerns of community members around the pressures being exerted by the institutions of settler colonialism to assimilate. In addition, d’Harnoncourt’s emphasis on the fear of disappearance may have been a deliberate attempt to strengthen his case for obtaining higher levels of funding for local arts and crafts programs, a constant struggle throughout his tenure as general manager of the IACB.

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In terms of the actual work to be produced and promoted, d’Harnoncourt felt that there were two complementary directions to pursue. One was to continue to support Indigenous artists and their production of souvenirs for the tourist trade that would be labeled as “hand-­made Alaskan Indian.” The second was to develop a range of “high class merchandise” that met an agreed-­upon standard of quality and would be labeled with the maker’s name, community of origin, and so forth.31 Although d’Harnoncourt did not explicitly make a distinction between craft and art in relation to the type of work described above, the binary is implicit. The items identified by d’Harnoncourt that had “good possibilities for development in an Eastern exclusive market” fell neatly into the category of “art,” as they consisted of carved and painted work made by men such as silver and gold bracelets, painted panels, and bentwood boxes.32 D’Harnoncourt’s renowned exhibitions at the San Francisco Golden Gate International Exposition in 1939 and the Museum of Modern Art in 1941 underlined this distinction as he showcased contemporary Native American objects in settings that drew attention to their “modern” qualities rather than their “ethnographic” ones. D’Harnoncourt also explicitly refers to wood carving and silversmithing as “art” done by men and weaving as “craft” done by women. As will become apparent, this strongly drawn distinction between art and craft did not fully develop in Alaska, despite d’Harnoncourt’s recommendations. The 1940 Catalog The attempt to utilize d’Harnoncourt’s suggestions to develop the two avenues of production is on full display in the glossy catalog issued in 1940. Although reference is made to a catalog of “Native Arts and Crafts” in 1938, the earliest archivally available publication is a “Catalogue of Alaskan Native Craft Products.”33 Published by the Arts and Crafts Division of the Office of Indian Affairs, this illustrated catalog was distributed to Indian Service stations in Alaska, as well as to dealers across the United States and throughout the territory of Alaska.34 In the Handbook of Native Arts and Crafts sent to Indian Service teachers in October 1940, the limitations of both publications were set out: “We realize that these catalogues do not cover the entire field of Alaskan craft products. However, an attempt was made to picture and quote prices on those articles having the greatest commercial appeal.”35 Before analyzing the cover and content of this catalog, it is important to note that the role of the IACB in pricing for the local market was not universally accepted by Tlingit people. At the 1939 ANB & ANS Grand Camp Convention, the ANB submitted a resolution that read as follows:

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Whereas everywhere Natives turn to sell their goods, either moccasins or totem poles, tourists and other buyers point to that certain price list published and distributed by Mr. Virgil Farrell, Supervisor of the Arts

and Crafts Department of the Indian Office, wherein the price of these articles are fixed at a minimum price . . . whereas these minimum

prices in effect become maximum prices to such an extent that . . . the

Natives [all across Southeast Alaska and the Yukon] testify that they are now getting less for their goods than before the time when the Arts and Crafts Department was established [emphasis in original] . . .36

The resolution was passed with the hoped-­for outcome that the Office of Indian Affairs should “either abolish the entire department called the Arts and Crafts Department” or at least change its policies so as not to undercut artist prices. Despite this formal protest, the status quo remained. The cover of the 1940 catalog (figure 3.2), depicting three model totem poles, suggested that these were highly popular and salable items. All three poles are simply carved and painted, the center pole with outstretched wings standing about one-­third taller than the two flanking poles. Regardless of the limitations expressed in the Handbook of Native Arts and Crafts, several points need to be made in reference to this catalog. First, in terms of revenue, miniature pole carving, when compared with the revenue produced by ivory carving and skin sewing, was far less lucrative. For example, a 1943 report on Native arts and crafts, which listed the number of goods marked with the Official Government Stamp of Genuineness from the previous five years, showed a clear-­cut difference in the numbers. In 1939 9,742 fur and leather goods were stamped, 13,856 ivory carvings were stamped, and only 3,223 wood carvings were stamped.37 As is clear from a 1950 price list, the cost of the items may have had little to do with the matter, as the price ranges overlap: ivory items were offered for $2.00 to $20.00, Tlingit baskets for $9.00 to $20.00, moccasins for $5.00 to $8.00, dolls for $4.00 to $12.00, and model poles for $1.80 to $17.00. The most expensive piece of work was a carved wood box listed at $26.00.38 The considerable difference in production numbers brings into question the prominent placement of totem poles rather than moccasins or ivory carvings on the cover. This question is reinforced by the order in which the items are listed within the catalog. The first section is ivory carving, followed by wood carving, Chilkat blankets, basketry, and finally fur and leather products. Tlingit-­ made moccasins make their first appearance in the catalog on pages 53 and 54 (out of 58). Beyond the era’s cultural biases and hierarchies of value in relation to Indigenous women and their cultural expressions, in the decades prior

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to the publication of the 1940 catalog totem poles had become representative of Alaska to those living outside of the territory. Specifically, they were associated with notions of authenticity and understood as timeless and disappearing traditions in terms of Indigenous peoples throughout the Pacific Northwest.39 The poles’ prominent placement on the cover was likely meant to encourage further perusal of the catalog, leading to the potential purchase of other items. Second, as is apparent from both d’Harnoncourt’s report and from his 1941 catalog for the landmark Museum of Modern Art exhibition Indian Art of the United States, carved and painted works were considered more appealing to a wider range of people because of the gendered hierarchy that existed between art and craft. Carving and painting were associated with men, art, 3.2.  Catalog published by the Alaska Native Arts and and public display and therefore were Crafts Clearinghouse (ANAC), 1940. privileged, while sewing, weaving, and beading were associated with women, handicraft, and utility. This perspective is substantiated in d’Harnoncourt’s catalog: “The finest and almost only true sculpture is that of the Northwest Coast. This school of sculpture is one of the high spots in Indian art.”40 He visually reinforced his perspective through the exhibition of a thirty-­foot-­tall totem pole, carved by Kaigani Haida artist John Wallace at MoMA’s main entrance for the duration of the show. Objects such as totem poles and ivory carvings, and to some extent baskets and weaving, could also be defined in terms of the affinity between so-­called primitivism and modernism that d’Harnoncourt argued for in his exhibitions. Although d’Harnoncourt did not like the term “primitive,” he felt that traditional art practices shared aesthetic similarities with modernity. As art historian Jackson Rushing points out, d’Harnoncourt’s attempts to decontextualize, recontextualize, and aestheticize these kinds of objects in museum

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displays tied directly into his role as general manager of the IACB and his mandate to develop markets for Native American art and craft.41

World War II The goals for the development of Alaska Native arts and crafts proposed by d’Harnoncourt and beginning to be implemented by ANAC were derailed by the advent of World War II. The Alaskan tourist trade declined significantly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941. Yet the potentially devastating economic impact was eased by the rapidly expanding military presence in Alaska, considered a strategic location in terms of the war in the Pacific. Military spending on arts and crafts in Alaska increased steadily from 1941 to 1945 despite the rising costs of materials. Traces of this history exist in the provenance of some objects produced at that time, such as a pair of sealskin moccasins beaded with an eagle design (figure 3.3) circa 1941 by Mr[s]. B. A. Jack “in commemoration of the arrival of the 807th Engineers, who came to build the Yakutat airfield.”42 Tlingit women took these changes in stride and produced work that appealed to this new market. During the war years and beyond, ANAC’s focus never returned to developing fine art for sale in an upscale market as noted above. Rather, efforts 3.3.  B. A. Jack, Yakutat, moccasins, ca. 1941. Sealskin, wool, flannel, and glass beads, 11 in. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, Lois G. Baum Collection, 77.28.2 a, b)

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went toward the marketing of souvenir items as “genuine” products by Alaska Natives. In many ways, this focus on the makers of souvenirs as being genuine rather than the materials enabled Tlingit women to continue passing on cultural knowledge, advocate for their own ideas and designs, and utilize the market to engage with long-­standing cultural practices.

Continuity of Cultural Knowledge As noted in the introduction, Florence Shotridge describes female puberty rituals and the ways in which sewing skills and aesthetics are deeply connected to important cultural teachings.43 “The Life of a Chilkat Indian Girl” reinforces the value of aesthetics, skill, and generational transmission of knowledge and abilities, but most importantly acknowledges the significance of women’s work within Tlingit cultural practices. Though seclusion at the onset of a girl’s first menstrual cycle had been vilified by missionaries, who essentially ended the practice, the image of Mary Brown Betts and Anita McNeil in Larry McNeil’s print, the oral histories and memories of contemporary Tlingit people, and the archival history of ANAC make clear that many Tlingit women continued to educate their children, particularly their daughters, in ways that perpetuated Tlingit ways of knowing. This knowledge was not just about the process of making a tangible item, but also included the social, cultural, and economic values that were and continue to be attached to its creation. Mabel Pike (1920–2012), the late master beader from Douglas and later Anchorage, recalled how she first learned to bead: I started doing beadwork when I was 6 years old. I remember my grandmother putting a white cloth over a bench and spilling beads onto the cloth. Then she gave me a piece of felt in the shape of a moccasin top

and a needle and thread. She placed a lighted candle on the bench so I could see better. At first I thought maybe I was being disruptive and

she was trying to keep me quiet, but then I knew she was teaching me

her skill. The grandmothers were always the ones who taught the girls whatever their expertise was.44

Pike’s recollection illustrates the qualities of patience and persistence that were considered important attributes of Tlingit womanhood. The ability to make something well, both technically and aesthetically, was also highly valued, as noted by Dorothy Coronell:

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My Grandma gave me some money for helping her, not much, but I

helped her out. She made me sew, I liked to sew but I was trying to sew the moccasins. I thought I did real good but she ripped it all up. I don’t want to sew any more because she ripped it up for me. She said it’s got to be strong, you know. The girls sit by her, around the table when she sewed. I liked to sew the moccasins because that’s what helped me. I always finished it and I’d sell it to the people in the village.45

Coronell’s recollection shows how the acquisition of a skill, the value of quality, and the ability to support oneself within an economic system were fundamental teachings of elders to younger generations of Tlingit girls. Florence Shotridge noted that women were trained for trade from a young age: “If a child wanted to earn something she would give part of her stores [food she prepared or preserved] to her brother or uncle, who would pay twice the value for encouragement.”46 This concept is reinforced in the discussion of beading specifically for ANAC as related by the late Emma Marks. As with Pike and Coronell, Marks’s grandmother taught her how to bead as a child. Later, she helped her mother make moccasins for sale by beading the tops. Eventually she was employed by other moccasin makers to make the beaded tops, which led to making her own moccasins for sale. Once Marks began working for ANAC, she recalled competitions with friends to see who could make the most moccasins in the shortest time. She also remembered that a certain level of quality was enforced by ANAC: “Some moccasin sewers tried to sell cheaper than the next person. Others hurried to make them cheaper, only to have their work returned for improvement when ANAC workers would examine the amount of beads and quality of the work.”47 Marks continued this tradition with her daughter Florence Sheakley, who recalled beading moccasin tops for her mother and being paid $0.50 per top. She also used to sew the moccasin heels and add the trim. Sheakley stated that it took her about ten days to make $26.00. Pamlea Bogda’s memory of her grandmother’s beading is typical of the era. As a child, she would visit her grandmother Annie White, L’uknax̱.ádi (Coho) clan from Sitka, who lived in Hoonah at the time. She remembered that her grandmother worked constantly and that her whole dining table would be covered with beadwork such as moccasins, dolls, and pincushions, which would be packed into boxes and shipped to ANAC and other stores in Juneau. Bogda also recalled that she and her siblings helped her grandmother by making beaded daisy chains for pendants, for which they would be paid $.50 per chain.48

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During the early years of ANAC, most objects produced for sale were sold through local channels rather than through the clearing house. Jessie Starr Dalton’s biography in Haa Ḵusteeyí provides an example: The full schedule of Jessie’s domestic and community life left her little time for personal pursuits, but she still managed to become a successful beadworker, selling moccasins and other beaded items for cash

from time to time, often to Goldstein’s Store and George’s Gift Shop in Juneau. She still winces at the memory of the large pile of her finished

beadwork and moccasins that was lost in the great Hoonah fire of June 14, 1944. She has given away much of her art as gifts: every son and adopted son proudly wears a beaded vest she has made.49

Florence Sheakley also remembers selling to George’s Gift Shop but felt that the best outlet was Belle Simpson, the proprietor of the Nugget Shop, as she was the only person to pay a fair price.50 Others preferred to sell to Charles Goldstein as he spoke the Tlingit language very well.51 The extensive collection of the Sheldon Museum in Haines provides further evidence of this period. Several drawers filled with moccasins of all sizes are accompanied by the statement “Moccasins by local beadworkers 1920–1940s. Most collected in trade by Mrs. Steve (Elisabeth) Sheldon.” Steve Sheldon came to Alaska as a surveyor and eventually purchased a drugstore in Haines. According to the Sheldons’ daughter Elisabeth, “My mother collected baskets and beadwork, and dad collected anything else he could find of interest—and he was interested in everything.”52 The ability to sell beadwork in a wide range of venues was significant for many Tlingit women both young and old. Florence Sheakley recalled that when she was eleven or twelve, she wanted to buy a $13.00 doll from the store. In order to raise the money, she made several dolls from sealskin and rabbit fur, filled them with stuffing from an old mattress, and appliquéd their faces. ANAC purchased the dolls for $1.50 each, so after making ten, she was able to buy the doll she wanted. She also remembered that if she brought things into ANAC on a Friday morning, she would be paid by that afternoon.53 In addition to sewing and beading for ANAC, some women were hired to teach skin sewing to children in the BIA schools. A 1943 report indicated that instructors were hired to teach in Angoon, Juneau-­Douglas, Ketchikan, and Wrangell. According to Jean Kline, daughter of ANAC’s general manager Don Burrus, by the 1950s ANAC hired local Tlingit women to work in the retail shop known as the ANAC Cache (figure 3.4). She remembered that Mrs. Visaya and

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3.4.  Unrecorded photographer, “Interior of ANAC Cache with Mary Lon Jorgenson,” ca. 1954. (Alaska State Library and Archives, Juneau, Donald Bur­rus Photograph Collection, ca. 1917–1975, P466-06-020)

others would repair moccasins that were damaged or needed some finishing. They would also unpack moccasins, which arrived tucked inside one another, then sew a thread between them and size them on a board.54 Florence Sheakley remembered that her mother Emma was hired to do repairs for ANAC Cache as well.55 ANAC files indicate that moccasin making in particular was a seasonal occupation. In a 1948 letter to dealers, Don Burrus noted, “Relatively few moccasins are received during the summer while the women are busy with the season’s occupations or during reestablishment of their homes in the fall.”56 A letter from the following year indicated a shift in ANAC’s practice in order to accommodate this trend: “We hope that you can anticipate your needs for this summer, fill out the attached moccasin check list, and mail it immediately. We can then contact the many Native sewers of the Southeastern villages and place definite orders as to size and type. To assure procurement and replenishment of our stock we must give such orders in time for their completion before the

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fishing season begins.”57 Though the materials may have changed, the cycle of production continued to be tied to the seasons. Handwork, such as beading, took place during the slower winter months and was sold during the summer months as a supplement to engagement in the fishing and other resource extraction industries.

A Dual System of Education At the same time that these women were continuing to transmit Tlingit ways of knowing, they were also attempting to gain education in the deeply racist school system. Since the passage of the 1905 Nelson Act, Alaska Native children had been subjected to a “dual system of education,” meaning separate schools for Alaska Native children and white children (as well as so-­called civilized Native children).58 Larry McNeil brings attention to the inequities of this system by incorporating his mother’s experience of it in his work. On the right side of his print are the words “Once upon a time in America during World War II. My mom was among the first Tlingits to attend the Juneau schools and she dominated her classmates academically. Her white teacher told her that she was not pure enough.” This type of discrimination was insidious, and a battle was fought against it on individual, family, community, and institutional levels. It was well known in the Juneau Tlingit community that government-­run schools gave their children an inferior education; for this reason women such as Mary Brown Betts fought for their children’s right to attend better schools. She beaded moccasins so her daughter did not have to drop out of school and work at the menial jobs available at this time. The value, economic and otherwise, of this history is embodied by the centrality of the snapshot in this print. McNeil writes, “Their mother/daughter bond was special; even I could see that as a young boy.” Anita McNeil, wearing a red dress, stands next to her seated apron-­clad mother, proudly holding a completed pair of moccasins as Betts, the tireless worker, bends over her work, taking another stitch toward her quest to provide her children a better life. Anita McNeil’s intelligence and the discrimination she faced are still remembered today. The late revered elder Walter Soboleff recalled that many settlers were against the integration of schools because they felt it would lower the standards overall. Ironically, shortly after the height of this debate, McNeil was elected May Queen (an academic honor) because she had the highest grades in the school. “She set the pace for the others who complained it would bring down the grades in the school. She became the queen, Chris McNeil’s mother, Anita Brown. She became the May queen [laughter].”59

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Mary Brown Betts was far from the only woman who beaded to improve her child’s chances for a good education at both secondary and postsecondary levels, though settlers often characterized the efforts of these women as a loss of cultural knowledge. The sentiments expressed in Polly Miller’s 1967 book, Lost Heritage of Alaska, encapsulate the beliefs of many outside observers of the era: Even here [Klukwan], the process of acculturation, assimilation and

absorption, goes on. Jennie Warren, last of the weavers of the renowned Chilkat chieftain’s robe, who learned the art from her mother, who in

turn learned it from hers, says, ‘One of my sons is a doctor in Seattle.’ In a box inside her house were moccasins made of hide and some

small, sealskin bags on which Alaska was stitched in tiny beads. Mrs.

Warren pointed to them. ‘That’s way I raise my children. I make moccasin. Make jelly. My son in Chicago ten year to be doctor.’60

Miller creates an evocative contrast between the apparent disappearance of authentic naaxein weaving and the beadwork made for sale by Jennie Warren through ANAC from 1950 to 1973.61 Even in the most remote and reputedly conservative community, Miller uses beadwork as a means to highlight her perspective that Tlingit people were no longer connected to their cultural practices. Miller clearly felt that modernity had replaced tradition and was unable to see Warren’s work as transformative and empowering through her incorporation of new materials and ideas as well as her engagement with new opportunities. The author overlooks the obvious pride Warren expressed in regard to her son becoming a doctor. Her ability to bead helped him obtain that goal. Florence Sheakley echoes this story, explaining that in the sixties and early seventies she produced a lot of beadwork, which she referred to as her “bread and butter line.” These items, particularly hairpieces, were made expressly for sale so that she could pay for school.62 The experiences of these individual women were supported in part by the efforts of the ANB and ANS to integrate the school system and ensure that Tlingit children had access to the same education provided to the children of settlers.

“Genuineness/Authenticity” As described in earlier chapters, notions of authenticity have concerned the consumers of Tlingit cultural expressions far more than the producers. The need to determine what was genuine about Alaska Native art preoccupied many

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people involved in ANAC through the course of several decades. On December 18, 1937, Claude M. Hirst, director of education for the Department of the Interior, Office of Indian Affairs, Field Service, issued a circular to Alaska School Service teachers addressing the production of “Eskimo Slippers” in western and northern Alaskan communities. In the memo, Hirst enumerated nine directives on the proper construction, cleaning, embellishment, packing, and invoicing of slippers made for sale. Of particular note in regard to issues of authenticity are numbers 4 and 9: 4. Line your slippers with fur, squirrel, or reindeer; outing flannel lined

slippers are not characteristic of Eskimo work. Keep up a high standard article and they will be easily sold.

9. Use of Native Designs. The word ‘Alaska’ in beads as a decoration

should be eliminated. Masonic Emblems, etc. should be discouraged as means of decoration. Bead work itself is not of native origin. Porcupine quills, embroidery work with reindeer hair, walrus esophagus lacing, etc., should be encouraged as means of decoration.63

Concerns around authenticity of this sort were a remnant of late-­Victorian-­ era ethnographic collecting practices. Although these moccasins were made for sale, they had to appear otherwise to maintain the illusion of an unadulterated culture. This ambivalence is striking in light of the fact that the sale of these moccasins was mediated both by the Office of Indian Affairs and by dealers, from whom many of these objects were purchased. Without direct contact with the makers, and with no obvious transcultural signs, the consumer was free to imagine a woman, unaffected by modernity, sewing moccasins for her family without thought of financial remuneration. This was double-­edged, however, as the lack of direct contact between producer and consumer also removed the work’s aura, rendering it less valuable and less likely to end up in a museum collection—an important consideration for dealers in particular. Although Tlingit women were the primary producers of moccasins for sale through ANAC, no similar instructions for the manufacture of these items or the use of Tlingit imagery appear to exist.64 This absence may stem from the long and well-­documented history of contact between Euro-­Americans and Tlingit people, resulting in different expectations in terms of authenticity; also, totem poles, not beaded moccasins, had come to represent the Northwest Coast. Yup’ik and Inupiat peoples, on the other hand, despite years of contact with Euro-­American whalers, traders, and missionaries, may have seemed more

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remote and untouched to the average souvenir buyer, hence the focus on eradicating traces of contact to encourage sales. Later correspondence between Hirst and d’Harnoncourt reveals the latter’s somewhat more progressive attitude about issues of “genuineness.” In January 1938, Virgil Farrell put together a three-­page recommendation for how to label Alaska Native–made products as genuine, which Hirst was to present to John Collier. In February d’Harnoncourt wrote back with suggestions on ways to improve the language of the recommendation. His most interesting suggestion was made in response to “The product is hand-­made of native design.” D’Harnoncourt wrote, “In our past experience, we have found that the opinion of authorities on arts and crafts differ widely when it comes to judging the genuineness of native design. Indian and Eskimo art, like all other art, is steadily acquiring new forms from outside and adapting them until they become truly native. The difficulty in judging the genuineness is to decide when the design becomes native.”65 Unlike many of his contemporaries, d’Harnoncourt recognized that Indigenous peoples were not static and bound by imposed ideas of tradition, but drew inspiration from a wide range of current influences and incorporated new ideas into their own artistic sensibilities that continued to express long-­ standing cultural practices. Rather than focusing on the issue of what was or was not genuine, d’Harnoncourt gave three recommendations for objects with potential for labeling:

(a) The product is made by an Alaskan Indian, an Eskimo, or an Aleut.



(b) The product is hand-­made under conditions not resembling a workshop



(c) All raw materials used in the making of the product are of native origin

or factory system.

except commercial fasteners, special trimming, etc. (This list to be enlarged in detail.)66

This more inclusive set of requirements provided the means for beadwork to be judged authentic by outside authorities. Another aspect of the authenticity issue addressed by ANAC was the effort to create a distinction between objects made by Alaska Native peoples and objects made by outsiders and sold as Native-­made. The market for these kinds of objects likely began early in the twentieth century, perhaps shortly after the 1909 Alaska-­Yukon-­Pacific Exposition in Seattle, which introduced “Eskimo” ivory carving to a wide audience.67

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ANAC appealed to the Indian Arts and Crafts Board for assistance in labeling objects as authentic, combating the market for fakes through education of the public, and making laws against the manufacture of goods in the United States as well as restricting the importation of goods from other countries. Correspondence between Farrell and various bureaucrats, including Hirst and d’Harnoncourt, throughout 1938 outlined his concerns and documented the development of federal regulations addressing issues of “genuineness” in terms of Alaska Native products.68 A repentant Seattle dealer, Dell W. Thomas, also attempted to assist in this endeavor by writing letters to various government officials in the late 1930s, encouraging them to pass legislation prohibiting the import of non-­Native-­ made objects, particularly from Japan.69 This anxiety concerning imports wound down during World War II as trade relationships with Japan stopped. The issue was raised again shortly after the war’s end in regard to shops set up in Seattle and elsewhere to produce “Alaska Native” souvenirs. These early concerns resulted in federal legislation and the issuing of rubber stamps to mark genuine Alaska Native–made products.70 In 1949 ANAC developed its own label to indicate objects made by Alaska Native people. The label depicted a loosely interpreted Northwest Coast–style eye shape with a person in a kayak in the foreground. A later development initiated by the state of Alaska in 1974 and administered by the Alaska State Council of the Arts (ASCA) was the Silver Hand logo, represented by a stylized silver hand and the words “authentic native handicraft from Alaska.”71 The use of this logo required a permit and that the maker was at least one-­quarter Alaska Native, a deeply problematic measurement of “authenticity” that continues to be contested today. These developments must also be understood in terms of gender. Records from the 1950s revealed that ivory carving and moccasins remained the most lucrative products for ANAC. And, as discussed previously, carving was easily classified as art within the art-­vs.-­craft hierarchy, as ivory had long been a fine-­ art medium used in Europe and because men were the primary producers. In addition, ivory was the medium reproduced most often by non–Alaska Natives and therefore received a great deal of attention from ANAC managers attempting to combat fraudulent advertising practices. Moreover, some of these male producers were known, and marketed, by name. George Ahgupuk, for example, an Inupiat from Shishmaref, produced carvings and works on paper, both of which were considered art. Moccasins, on the other hand, fit neatly into the crafts side of the equation, as they were utilitarian and made by women, and

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they incorporated beads, which were not “authentic” as they were not from the land. No Tlingit women’s names were ever mentioned in ANAC catalogs or price lists, even in relation to weaving and basket making. Discussions about authenticity, which encompassed both cultural expressions and Tlingit cultural practices more broadly at this time, were fraught with ambivalence. On the one hand, many of those writing about this region recognized that weaving, carving, beading, and painting were being produced; yet on the other hand, these tangible expressions were granted different measures of value depending on how disconnected from settler notions of tradition and authenticity they were perceived to be.

From “Alaska” Dolls to Tlingit Dolls The issue of authenticity was also a concern for Tlingit women, but from an entirely different perspective. As Larry McNeil’s print indicates (see fig. 3.1), issues of clan and house identity continued to have significance during the middle of the twentieth century despite publications to the contrary. The changing appearance of dolls from the 1920s to the 1960s suggests ways in which Tlingit women utilized the market to strengthen and reinforce their own identity as Tlingit people. Although museum collections include Tlingit-­made souvenir dolls dated to the late 1920s, they appear in ANAC-­related archival photographs from the 1940s but are not mentioned in ANAC price lists until 1950.72 The October 1951 ANAC report indicated that dolls were the second-­largest category of items received for sale. In that month alone, ANAC received 1,796 dolls.73 By the 1960s, Tlingit-­made dolls are illustrated in the yearly ANAC catalogs. Museum collections and archival records suggest that dolls with beaded embellishment were not popular tourist items during the late Victorian era. Play dolls, on the other hand, had an important role in Tlingit cultural practices, as they were integral to clarifying the distinction between a female’s childhood and adulthood. Upon a girl’s emerging from the required period of isolation following her first menstruation, her family held a feast during which her dolls were given away. The dolls could go only to prepubescent female cousins on her father’s side. Tlingit play dolls, made from a variety of materials including wood, hide, fur, and cloth, and often with a head carved from ivory or stone (figure 3.5), were supplemented and eventually replaced by wax and china dolls when they became available in the second half of the nineteenth century.74 Though there are few Tlingit dolls with beaded embellishment from the late Victorian era, a large group of dolls dated from the late 1920s to the 1960s

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displaying similar characteristics seem to represent a generic “Alaska” doll. Although many of these dolls are attributed to Tlingit communities and have specific features that mark them out as Tlingit, such as collars beaded with crest or floral designs, they also exhibit fur ruffs around their faces, which are generalized references to garments associated with Yup’ik or Inupiat peoples.75 In the ANAC catalogs, dolls such as these (figure 3.6) are referred to as “Hairseal and felt, souvenir type, Alaska beaded” or “ ‘Shotkeedon’ (‘pretty little girl’ in Tlingit).”76 It is likely that the Arts and Crafts Division of the BIA and later ANAC marketed these dolls in part because the general public was becoming increasingly familiar with other regions of Alaska. The Arctic in particular would have seemed more remote, barren, and 3.5.  Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Chilkat, play doll, exotic. During this era, fur clothing and late nineteenth century. Stone, cotton cloth, hair, and ruffs were becoming as associated with thread, 8 × 5.5 × 0.75 in. Collected by George Thornton Alaska as Southeastern crests and totem Emmons between 1869 and 1890. (Courtesy of the poles. Pseudodocumentaries such as American Museum of Natural History, New York, Nanook of the North, which was released in Division of Anthropology, 19/246) 1922, in addition to a wide range of other films, both documentary and produced in Hollywood, assisted in this process. Although this sensibility was not specific to Alaskan Yup’ik or Inupiat groups, one of the recommendations of a 1949 ANAC report tied into it by suggesting that a “book on good Alaskan Arts and Crafts” should be written to “exploit the glamour of the north.”77 As Ruth B. Phillips has theorized, success in the souvenir market often hinged on women’s abilities to see themselves through settler eyes and produce work that brought to the forefront specific ideas about Indigenous peoples.78 Tlingit women likely recognized this need and created generic Alaska dolls to make the most of this new market. A doll collected in the 1930s, for example, incorporates a double-­headed-­eagle motif (figure 3.7), which could indicate specific clan histories but also references the century-­long history of Russian trade

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(Left) Unrecorded Tlingit artist, doll with killer whale dance collar, mid-twentieth century. Fur, wool cloth, and glass beads, 10.8 × 6 in. (Courtesy of the Sheldon Museum and Cultural Center, Haines, 1985.001.0078) 3.6. 

3.7.  (Right) Mrs. Johnson, Ketchikan, doll with beaver, salmon, and double-headed eagle, ca. 1931–33. Hide, wool cloth, fur, glass beads, and paint, 13 in. (Peabody Museum of Natural History, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut, Division of Anthropology, 209515)

and missionization in Southeast Alaska. Another fur-ruffed doll (not shown), made in Hoonah and acquired in the 1960s, incorporates less overt references to Tlingit cultural practices and intercultural histories. A flower beaded onto a bib-shaped felt patch at the doll’s neck, however, could allude to the nineteenth-­ century beaded dance collars discussed in chapter 2, which reference eighteenth-­ century wooden neck armor. This tiny piece of beadwork once again reinforces visual connections to warrior histories in subtle but powerful ways.79

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By the 1950s, ANAC files indicate that Tlingit women wanted to produce dolls that were more representative of Southeast Alaska. Their shift in focus was likely in response to some of the changes brought about by the ANB and ANS, in terms of Alaska Native rights, as well as the growing interest in the artistic output of the Northwest Coast as a whole. Undated notes likely from the 1950s give some insight as to what Tlingit women thought about dolls such as the ones described above. “Our craftspeople are much interested in what craft comes from what locale. They do not like tourist dolls—the kind the tourists want to find!”80 In 1952 Donald Burrus’s Fifteenth Annual Report records this shift in doll-­making practices: A need has existed for an additional type of authentic Southeastern

Indian doll with fewer of the typical souvenir features. This Fall ‘Wun-­ wah-­shah’ (Tlingit pet name given by the father to his little girl and

meaning ‘little sailor girl’) was brought to the clearing house by one of

the women who had been encouraged to work out some doll ideas that she had in mind. This Tlingit doll wears a reversible skin jacket and

skirt, has a felt body, and yarn hair. The amount of work required in the production of this doll places it in a price range that is about two dol-

lars beyond the popularly selling Southeastern dolls. It will have to go through a summer season before the success can be estimated.81

These statements make clear that some Tlingit women wanted to represent themselves in a way that was more meaningful, despite what the tourist market clamored for. The name of the doll discussed above, rather than its description, alludes to a specific clan history. As discussed in chapter 2 (see figure 2.16), in the nineteenth century women of the Kaagwaantaan (Wolf) clan acquired the right to wear Russian sailor hats, as worn by the doll in figures 3.8a and b. Burrus supported this increased attention to detail as it no doubt appealed to ANAC’s ongoing quest for authenticity. By 1962 dolls wearing ceremonial regalia also became available for purchase through ANAC. The catalog from that year included a photograph of a doll similar to that shown in figure 3.9a and b and the description “Tlingit Indian Costume, Hoonah, hairseal & felt, 6"–8".”82 These dolls came in a range of sizes but shared an attention to detail in terms of representing Tlingit regalia, a sharp contrast to dolls that had been exclusively produced a decade or two earlier. Although only a couple of the regalia-­clad dolls in museum collections are documented as having been sold through ANAC, there is little doubt that many of the women making them were selling them through ANAC and elsewhere.

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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Hoonah, doll in Russian-style sailor hat, mid-twentieth century. Sealskin, wool cloth, and glass beads, 10.75 × 6 in. (Denver Museum of Nature and Science, AC5102) 3.8 a, b. 

Threaded Through Time Once Upon a Time in America centers on the strength and resilience of Tlingit women in the middle of the twentieth century, an important component of the intercultural history of the Northwest Coast that is almost completely overlooked in the literature. Mother and daughter represent the continuity and change experienced by Indigenous people in an era characterized by rampant discrimination and pressures to conform, to assimilate, and yet to remain second-­class citizens. The beaded moccasins being made and held by this pair of women highlights one of the means through which Tlingit families survived, and in some cases thrived, as they navigated the positive changes being brought about by the Alaska Native Brotherhood and Sisterhood. The making of moccasins such as these supported the passing on of Tlingit worldviews in ways that also worked within the new economic structures introduced through the federal policies of the Indian Arts and Crafts Board. It is these slender threads that laid

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Attributed to Annie Lawrence, Hoonah, doll in regalia, ca. 1960. Wool cloth, hide, beads, and yarn, 11 in. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, Ethel Ross Oliver Collection, 84-22-6 a, b)

3.9a, b. 

the groundwork for contemporary beading and regalia-­making practices, displayed both in ceremonial contexts and at Celebration events; they are also the reason for the recent focus of the Sealaska Heritage Institute on making Juneau the center of Northwest Coast art. The lives and work of women such as Mary Brown Betts and Anita McNeil are central to understanding contemporary practices. As Larry McNeil eloquently states, Mary Brown Betts “could do things like intricate spruce root baskets, but the money was making moccasins for tourists. So it was a craft rather than an art. I think she took the craft to an art. Since I spent so much time with her, my grandmother was my role model too.”83

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CHAPTER 4

Gifts from Their Grandmothers Contemporary Artists and Beaded Legacies

T

he increasingly rich array of cultural expressions created by contemporary women artists for use in communities as well as for museums and galleries results directly from the resilience of previous generations of Tlingit women. The mothers, grandmothers, great-­grandmothers, and aunties of these artists persisted through the darkest years of settler colonialism, making and selling beadwork and other items that set the stage for the revival or expansion of weaving, carving, painting, installation, and other cultural and artistic practices. Though the work of revitalization is far from over, Tlingit women are, as they have always been, the backbone of this cultural shift— making tangible haa aaní (honoring and utilizing their land), acknowledging and representing haa latseen (strength of body, mind, and spirit) and haa shuká (honoring ancestors and future generations), all of which contribute to the reassertion of wooch yáx̱ (maintaining social and spiritual balance and harmony). An examination of the work of Tanis S’eiltin, Chloe French, Shgen Doo Tan George, and Lily Hope against the backdrop of wider changes that have taken place in Alaska since the early 1970s underlines the wealth of knowledge on which they have been able to draw. Each of these artists acknowledges the beaded legacies of the women that came before them and, in some cases, directly reference their matrilineal line within their own artistic practices.



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Matrilineal Matters Of the four artists’ work discussed here, the powerful lines and subtle details of Tanis S’eiltin’s untitled coat (2017) in figure 4.1 demonstrates most comprehensively the themes explored throughout this book. This coat embodies historical strength, illustrating Tlingit women’s innovation with the incorporation of new materials and ideas to express long-­standing cultural practices; their resilience expressed through their adaptation to the new markets and contexts arising from settler colonialism; and their skill in highlighting Indigenous sovereignty in critical relationships to the land and waters of the region. This coat is S’eiltin’s homage to the cultural wealth of Tlingit people, a means to honor Tlingit women, especially her matrilineal L’uknax.ádi (Coho) clan from Yakutat, and to express her desire to challenge the boundaries of design and personal aesthetics. First shown in an exhibition curated by and devoted to Indigenous women artists in 2017, this work embodies the larger societal shifts discussed in the introduction of this book that are working to recenter Indigenous women’s contributions to the understanding of resistance and resilience through the ongoing processes of settler colonialism.1 Based on a late 1940s–early 1950s Vogue dress pattern that emphasized a feminine silhouette, the imposing structure of the floor-­length coat and weight of the materials used to construct it reference Tlingit armor as well as the US military uniforms incorporated into nineteenth-­century regalia.2 The seemingly counterintuitive combination of these disparate design sources deliberately invokes the ambivalence of this era for many Tlingit women, whose lived experiences complicated the idealized social and economic vision of post–World War II America. Sewn from imposing pieces of black and red industrial felt attached to thick black cotton webbing tape, the construction creates a cinched, corset-­like waist balanced by flexibility at the elbow joints and a dramatically flared skirt. As a contemporary and gendered iteration of haa latseen, this wearable work of art visually represents the core cultural value of “strength of body, mind, and spirit” and also subtly expresses resistance to expectations of ethnic assimilation and female conformity. Vogue’s pattern for home sewing, likely inspired by French designer Christian Dior’s “New Look” that launched in 1947, intentionally countered the physically liberating clothing that dominated women’s wear from the 1920s to the 1940s.3 Initially resulting from women taking on factory work and other traditionally male jobs during World War I, this shift in clothing design freed them from the confinement of corsets. The social, cultural, and economic constraints of the Depression and the return of women to the factories during World

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Tanis S’eiltin, Untitled [coat], 2017. Industrial merino wool felt, metal grommets and snaps, seed pearls, and abalone, 6 ft. high × 36 in. diameter. (Photo courtesy of the artist) 4.1. 



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War II amplified the trend toward clothing that featured easy-­to-­care-­for fabrics and designs that wasted fewer materials and increased ease of movement. At war’s end, societal pressures encouraged middle-­class women to leave the workforce in order to create harmonious domestic spheres for their husbands and children in newly constructed suburban enclaves. The fitted bodice and narrow waist of this design embodies the sartorial return to the structure and containment of women’s roles. The era’s “New Look” deliberately evokes a silhouette reminiscent of the extreme femininity favored in the Victorian era, when gendered spaces were strictly enforced. Women were being compelled through fashion to conform to retrograde cultural ideals, a repositioning favored by the expectation that men would replace women in the labor market as they returned from global theaters of war. The initial impact of S’eiltin’s coat suggests a type of uniform embodying the conformity and constriction felt by women as men shed their own uniforms and displaced the women. Unlike the white middle-­class ideal, however, Tlingit women, including S’eiltin’s great-­grandmother, were deeply involved in the cash economy throughout the mid-­twentieth century, selling moccasins and other goods to support their families. These women contributed to the economy during the two postwar eras, when all women were encouraged to stay home, and during the Depression, when so many were out of work. Through it all they continued to express Tlingit worldviews with creativity and innovation. S’eiltin incorporates subtle details into the coat to acknowledge this underappreciated women’s history. She expresses the centrality of women to trade and exchange between Indigenous communities and with newcomers by using red and black to reference the blankets acquired through the fur trade and transformed into button robes. She represents octopus bags, a form constructed from introduced materials and acquired from interior peoples, by incorporating grommets that stand in for octopus tentacle suckers at the waist and lapels. An abalone shell at the nape of the collar and seed pearls sewn at intervals along the seams and edges of the collar and front opening signify ties to the natural world and the wealth acquired through Indigenous trade networks from time immemorial. Thousands of years of haa aaní are made tangible through the sea-­star shape of the coat’s flared hem, the grommets representing suckers, and the octopus pattern sewn to the nape of the high collar (figure 4.2) powerfully suggesting the carved and painted neck armor worn by Tlingit warriors in battle. The design itself, cut from gray felt and sewn onto a black denim brocade using red thread, is deeply significant to S’eiltin, as it was a beading pattern for moccasin vamps created by her great-­grandmother Mary Barries (or Barros) (ca. 1865– 1935). S’eiltin keeps the pattern for this design and hundreds of others, including

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Tanis S’eiltin, Untitled [coat, octopus pattern detail], 2017. Industrial merino wool felt, metal grommets and snaps, seed pearls, and abalone. (Photo courtesy of the artist)

4.2. 

floral patterns, which are subtly referenced by the black brocade background, in a battered red fruitcake tin handed down to her through the generations (figure 4.3).4 Cut from assorted pieces of paper including envelopes and cookbook pages, the patterns were made primarily by Barries, but also by S’eiltin’s mother, Maria Ackerman Miller; by using them, S’eiltin lovingly references the strength and creativity of her foremothers. Before World War II, Barries, originally from Dry Bay, and her husband, Wilson, the caretaker of Xeitl Hít (Thunderbird House) in Klukwan, moved to Juneau in order to better support their family, as so many did in this era. Sewing and selling enough beaded moccasin vamps to earn a few dollars per day enabled Barries to keep her family fed and clothed. By taking the fragile small paper pattern of an octopus and transforming it into a substantial and multilayered design element, S’eiltin honors the gifts of her great-­grandmother. A narrow strip of teal felt suspended from the coat’s left wrist pays homage to S’eiltin’s mother, Maria Ackerman Miller (1927–1995). Well-­known in the Tlingit community, Miller was a prolific beader and naaxein weaver. A complicated family life, including the early death of her mother, Daisy, at age twenty-­ four from tuberculosis, led to her being sent to the Pius X mission school in

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Tanis S’eiltin’s fruitcake tin holding three generations of beading patterns, including the original octopus pattern that adorns the nape of S’eiltin’s coat and the emerging frog pattern beaded onto moccasins illustrated in the 1940 ANAC catalog. (Photo courtesy of the artist)

4.3. 

Skagway as a child. After four years her maternal aunt, Jessie Jacobs, brought Miller to Haines and taught her weaving, beading, and sewing in addition to subsistence skills and the Tlingit language through oral histories and stories. As with so many women of her era, Miller conveyed the tradition of intergenerational teaching of sewing and beading skills to her own children. Growing up learning how to work diverse materials has been central to S’eiltin’s art practice, beginning with her evocative 2004 series Savage Apparel, which uses a range of natural materials to create abstracted, sculptural works that reference functional objects such as bait boxes.5 The series was meant to critique stereotypes of Indigenous cultural expressions and, to some extent, the rigidity of perfectionism learned from her mother. Just over a decade and a half later, S’eiltin honors the gifts of her mother’s teachings. The teal felt, a strong contrast to the bold red vertical panels on either side of the coat’s zippered front, references Miller’s naaxein signature—three wide wefts of teal yarn woven into three warps of the fringe where it meets the body of the robe. This coat serves as a framework for situating S’eiltin’s other pieces featured in this chapter, as well as the work of Chloe French, Shgen George, and Lily Hope. The work of these artists illuminates their shared, as well as their divergent, perspectives in terms of their art practices. Through their embrace

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of materials and forms both customary and introduced, they create nuanced expressions that explore contemporary experiences and understandings of ancestral and matrilineal histories. With varying degrees of engagement, each artist’s body of work has been shaped by the shifting relationships between Alaska Native people and state and federal governments, most notably since the implementation of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA) in 1971.

ANCSA and the Arts in Southeast Alaska Tlingit art production in the last fifty years has been directly impacted by the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act. Because ANCSA restructured traditional land-­use values and reshaped tribal governments, it has had enormous political, economic, and cultural ramifications. Tlingit artists, who for generations have created works to indicate clan identities and relationships to the land, as well to embody resilience through the changes brought about by settler colonialism, have continued to adapt in order to express Tlingit worldviews. Though these artists are of different generations—S’eiltin and French were born prior to the implementation of ANCSA and Hope and George were born after—it is necessary to spend some time examining the act’s regional impact in Southeast Alaska. ANCSA divided 44 million acres of land and nearly one billion dollars between thirteen regional and two hundred village corporations throughout the state. In return, aboriginal title to the land was extinguished, as were subsistence hunting and fishing rights on state and federal lands. The overt goals of the act included settling land ownership issues and enabling communities to develop far-­flung natural resources, with the intention of providing wage-­ based income to residents in rural communities, potentially alleviating the need for expensive government programs. The unstated goal of ANCSA was assimilation. According to one person involved in the architecture of ANCSA, “The act was  .  .  . a very radical effort at social engineering and it was done on a very, very calculated basis.”6 As noted by the Dauenhauers, “ANCSA has much to say about natural resources and dividends; ANCSA is frighteningly silent on human, cultural, and spiritual resources of the native people. ANCSA eliminates all claims to ownership of land based on aboriginal rights. As a by-­ product, there is a danger of also eliminating all aboriginal spiritual and social values regarding land, including land as the basis of culture and identity.”7 Within a few short years of of the implementation of ANCSA, Indigenous community leaders began to attend to some of the myriad issues that had been displaced by corporate structures. Regional corporations such as Southeast

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Alaska’s Sealaska Corporation created new nonprofit entities committed to asserting Indigenous cultural practices and values in ways that worked within and outside of the corporate structures implemented by the act.8 The Sealaska Heritage Foundation (now Institute, hereafter SHI) was created in 1980 “to perpetuate and enhance Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian cultures of Southeast Alaska.” This mandate has led to the development of and advocacy for diverse programs and events related to education, language, and the arts. Celebration Perhaps the most successful and expansive of SHI’s early initiatives is Celebration, a four-­day biannual gathering featuring song, dance, oratory, and art. First held in 1982 with one hundred and fifty participants in twelve dance groups, it has grown to more than two thousand individuals in more than forty-­five dance groups from Alaska to British Columbia, Yukon Territory, and beyond. Celebration began focusing on the arts in 2002, signaled by the theme of “Haa At.óow, Our Treasures,” as well as the introduction of the first juried art show and an art seminar given by internationally renowned Haida artist Robert Davidson. Another important year for the visual arts at Celebration was 2006, with the addition of the Toddler Regalia Review, intended to stimulate the creation of new regalia. A related event held the day before Celebration 2006—the Northwest Coast Artists’ Gathering—was organized as a forum for artists working in all media to share ideas on the level of design, but more broadly to discuss ways to raise the profile of Northwest Coast art. Nora Dauenhauer made a provocative point at the gathering, stating that the only real Tlingit art is that which has become at.óow, and everything else is tourist art.9 This remark captured some of the anxiety surrounding the state of “art” in Southeast Alaska. Questions were raised about who should be working in Northwest Coast style(s), where it should be sold, what media are appropriate to use, and who should be the intended audience. Though there were no immediate answers to those questions in 2006, the issues continue to be worked out as SHI’s arts initiatives have intensified. In 2014 SHI held the first Tináa Art Auction to raise funds to finish the Walter Soboleff Building, the institute’s state-­of-­the-­art cultural and resource center in Juneau. This event showcased art and fashion, as did the second auction, held in 2017, to create an endowment fund for SHI’s diverse arts and cultural programs. Other additions to the expanding definition of Northwest Coast art at Celebration were Indigenous fashion shows held in 2016 and 2018. To accommodate the growing demand for Indigenous art and fashion, SHI supports emerging artists

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through formline design and skin sewing workshops, including some specifically for moccasin making.10 Partnerships have been developed between SHI and the University of Alaska–Southeast and the Institute of American Indian Art in Santa Fe, New Mexico, to support students pursuing degrees in Northwest Coast arts. The ten years that elapsed between the first Toddler Regalia Review and the first Indigenous fashion show are noteworthy in terms of not only the diversification of regalia specifically and fashion more broadly, but also the larger revitalization of practices around language, protocol, and the reassertion of Tlingit core values.11 Walter Soboleff Building The opening of the Walter Soboleff Building in downtown Juneau, Alaska, served as the largest tangible example of SHI’s efforts over the past several decades. The building was dedicated on May 15, 2015, and the center’s focus on the arts is represented in the three monumental works that adorn the interior and exterior of the building. Robert Davidson designed the two sculptural metalworks affixed to the exterior: based on his painting Greatest Echo, donated to the Tináa Art Auction, his abstracted red formline metalwork serves as a dramatic frame to the main entrance (figure 4.4a). Just inside the foyer, the immense yet intricate Tsimshian house front, designed, carved, and painted by David A. Boxley and his son David R. Boxley, provides a striking formal contrast (figure 4.4b). The interior of the clan house features a large glass panel designed by Tlingit artist Preston Singletary. Additional work includes exterior glass awnings engraved with formlines by non-­Indigenous (adopted Tlingit) artist Steve Brown. Tlingit artist Wayne Price adzed all of the cedar boards used in the building. Conspicuously missing from this impressive effort and public investment by SHI into the core artistic and cultural expressions of the northern Northwest Coast was the work of contemporary female artists, whether established or emerging. The only permanent references to cultural expressions associated with women were the tiled basketry designs 0n the floor, in the bathrooms, and along the exterior back alley wall. This omission is startling, given the large number of women who have been building on the legacies of their ancestors by creating works of great beauty and significance from diverse media, and considering the essential role that women’s artwork takes in expressing Tlingit identity. Though one or two women served as apprentices to David A. Boxley and Preston Singletary, the focus on two-­dimensional formline design continues to reify the imposed hierarchies between fine and applied arts that have marginalized women’s cultural expressions since the nineteenth century.12 This

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4.4a.  (Top) Exterior of the Walter Soboleff Building in downtown Juneau, featuring red metal formline panels by Haida master artist Robert Davidson. (Photo by Brian Wallace) 4.4b.  (Bottom) Lobby of the Walter Soboleff Building in downtown Juneau, featuring a carved and painted formline house front by Tsimshian master artist David A. Boxley and his son, David R. Boxley. Note the tiled basketry designs on the floor. (Photo by Brian Wallace)

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ongoing disparity became even more evident in 2018 when SHI commissioned cast-­bronze house posts from emerging Tsimshian artist David R. Boxley, Tlingit artist Steven Jackson, and Haida artist T. J. Young and prominently installed them in front of the building. The gendered inequities on display in the Soboleff building are perhaps symptomatic of some of the larger critiques of Celebration and SHI. Some community members, especially those disenfranchised by the structures of ANCSA, view Celebration as a deeply compromised event due to its corporate and government ties that mask pressing social and economic issues throughout Southeast Alaska.13 The Dauenhauers provide a thoughtful consideration of the slow shift away from clan-­based social organization, the speed of which increased after the implementation of ANCSA. As they note, events such as Celebration have both negative and positive aspects as “the emblems and concepts of the clan-­based system are being replaced, reshaped, and reinvented on a broader, ‘national’ base, with new concepts of individuality, community, membership, and interaction.”14 In large part, these concepts develop from the patrilineal and patriarchal structures of settler colonialism, which have been in conflict with the matrilineal clan system for more than one hundred years. In 2019 SHI announced an ambitious plan to create an arts campus in the heart of downtown Juneau, stating its intention to “make Juneau the Northwest Coast arts capital of the world and to designate Northwest Coast art a national treasure.”15 In many ways this institutional emphasis on the arts might be considered a contemporary iteration of the mid-­twentieth-­century aims of the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative (ANAC) to develop new skills and markets to create a self-­supporting industry for people in Southeast Alaska. Unlike ANAC, however, which received its initial funding and support from the federal government, Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian people are now identifying their own economic and cultural needs and defining the programs intended to address them. Perhaps SHI’s vision for the future will support women artists in pursuit of large-­scale public commissions such as those that adorn the interior and exterior of the Soboleff building. Despite SHI’s shortcomings, the institute’s focus on the arts has brought much-­needed attention to cultural expressions such as weaving, which have been categorized as “endangered.” Beading does not fall under this category, as it is and has been widely practiced; however, as noted by Tlingit writer Ishmael Hope in a recent blog post, it is deeply deserving of attention: “Tlingit beadworking needs a wholesale reappraisal for its artistic fineness, and beadworkers need to be recognized for their accomplishments. Their artistic lineage is possibly the strongest among the Tlingit arts, and Tlingit women beadworkers

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should be celebrated for maintaining such a vital artistic community.”16 It is the strength of this artistic community comprised of generations of beaders that has contributed to the rich and diverse work created by Tanis Maria S’eiltin, Chloe French, Shgen Doo Tan George, and Lily Hope. Among many of the Tlingit women artists at work today, these four, whose work spans generations and geography, engage specifically with the complex history of dance collars and octopus bags in Tlingit territory, taking them in new directions. Like their foremothers, they continue the long-­standing practice of incorporating new materials and ideas from a wide range of sources both local and global to create tangible forms that express the intangible. In the twenty-­first century, these originating sources are inextricably entwined, yet each artist affirms her unique interpretation by weaving the threads of her lived experience through the gifts received from her grandmother. Their work, though locally inflected, expresses practices of making shared by Indigenous artists and designers across North America.17

Contemporary Beaded Collars Both Tanis S’eiltin and Chloe French have dramatically transformed the concept of the beaded dance collar. From the form’s beginnings in the late nineteenth century as a means to express clan ties as well as to subtly express resistance to settler colonialism through the evocation of Tlingit armor, beaded dance collars continued to be used almost exclusively within ceremonial contexts.18 At some point, possibly during the mid-­twentieth century, when access to better education became the new Tlingit battleground, women stopped making dance collars. Tlingit elder and beader Florence Sheakley (Ḵaakal.aat) identifies her mother, Emma Marks (Sege̱ igé̱ i), as the most likely to have begun making them again in the 1970s for ceremonial use. Sheakley believes she herself may have been the first person to make a collar for use outside of a Tlingit ceremonial context, when she was commissioned to sew one to be worn over an academic gown for a graduation ceremony in the 1990s.19 The use of beaded and appliquéd collars and other markers of Indigeneity, including button robes and cedar-­bark graduation caps, on such occasions is now fairly standard practice as graduates wish to situate themselves within and beyond the conventions and conformity of western educational systems and traditions.20 In this way, graduates, their families, and even the larger community signify a battle won, overcoming the devastating and intentional cultural destruction suffered by previous generations.

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Dance collars have also been used as a means to introduce Tlingit youth to cultural practices through the creation of regalia in after-­school and other programs. Often using an appliqué technique instead of more time-­consuming beading, many children have learned how to sew at the same time they learn about the eagle or raven crest that represents their matrilineal moiety. Though speaking about button robes, artist Linda Carroll explained that creating regalia has a profound effect on the children who make it. Carroll noted that, upon wearing their regalia for the first time, the children stood up straighter and exuded a strong sense of identity and pride.21 Through their own unique explorations of the dance collar form, S’eiltin and French delve deeply into their matrilineal histories, making strong claims to ancient histories that encompass multiple meanings and transcend imposed boundaries. Tanis S’eiltin In 2017, in an exhibition at the Missoula Art Museum, Tanis S’eiltin displayed two beaded collars: Some People of the Tide: Raven, Coho, and Octopus and Steampunk Raven Flies to the North Star. Here, S’eiltin dramatically transformed the concept of the dance collar, moving the form off the body and into the gallery. Like dance collars developed in the nineteenth century, these innovative works reference eighteenth-­century Tlingit armor: S’eiltin’s heavy industrial felt echoes the thick hide used to protect a warrior’s throat and chest, and she also incorporates references to clan crests, though they are highly abstracted. These collars are an extension of the intercultural concerns S’eiltin has explored throughout her career as both a practicing artist and art professor at Western Washington University. These collars also intersect with the wider transformation of haa latseen in terms of both tangible and intangible cultural expressions discussed in previous chapters. As S’eiltin notes in regard to her 2002 installation Resisting Acts of Distillation, “I am interested in war regalia because it is an expression of resistance. Even though I don’t approve of war I can see how important it is to tell stories of resistance, especially those that took place during contact. It’s important for all to know that we weren’t passive by-­standers or helpless victims, that we were active participants and aggressors, which is rarely taught in academia. Everyone respected hunting, fishing and trade territories, and we fought to protect those boundaries and maintain political boundaries.”22 The structured and geometric form of S’eiltin’s collars contrasts with the still-­dominant bib shape used for contemporary regalia. In Some People of the Tide (“People of the Tide” being a direct translation of the word Tlingit), the

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tripartite wedge-­shaped collar mimics a raven’s tail in flight (figure 4.5), subtly expressing S’eiltin’s Yéil (Raven) moiety and resonating with the wooden slats of eighteenth-­century armor. Unlike the naturalistic or formline crest designs found on most historical and contemporary collars, S’eiltin’s are abstract—an asymmetrical swirl of shimmering black bugle beads emulates the waves of a specific L’uknax̱.ádi crest design while also suggesting the life cycle of coho salmon from river to ocean and back again. The beads themselves belonged originally to S’eiltin’s mother, a tangible demonstration of the matrilineal passage of knowledge from one generation to the next. The unusual closure at the nape of the neck—sharply angled pieces of felt evoking the fins and tails of salmon (figure 4.6)—also denotes the coho. Two matte black grommets signifying the suckers found on octopus tentacles reference the many oral histories of the power of this transformational being as well as offering a subtle acknowledgment of the Indigenous trade relationships and exchanges that brought octopus bags to Tlingit territory. S’eiltin’s second collar, Steampunk Raven Flies to the North Star, almost did not survive its creation. S’eiltin felt the design was too innovative and had strayed too far from her source material. She rescued the piece by recognizing the humor in the situation, combining the reference to her Yéil moiety through the collar’s unique wedge shape (figure 4.7) with the distinctive title.23 Both naming and humor are important aspects of Tlingit worldviews. Receiving a name links an individual both to those who previously carried the responsibility of the name and to those who will be given it in future. Humor balances the responsibilities of naming, as many oral histories revolve around Raven’s notorious reputation as a trickster. S’eiltin recollects how intriguing she found the oratory at the ceremonial events she attended as a child, as humor was a central means for expressing competition and one-­upmanship. Humor is also considered a strategy of Indigenous resistance and resilience. As Larry McNeil has eloquently written, “They say humor and tragedy go hand and hand . . . humor heals.”24 The reference to steampunk—a design choice that combines the historical with the anachronistic—acknowledges the creative combination of materials and design. In addition to referencing neck armor, the layering of black over red felt suggests the wooden slats worn over hide tunics in Tlingit body armor. The formidable structural elements seamlessly fuse with the industrial art deco feel of the sharply pointed edges, the dull sheen of the four grommets, and the parallel lines of shimmering black beads that took thirty hours to sew onto the felt. As with the Some People of the Tide collar, the grommets reference the octopus and the octopus bag, while the beads provide an aesthetic counterpoint and might also hint at how much Raven enjoys collecting shiny things. As

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(Left) Tanis S’eiltin, Some People of the Tide: Raven, Coho, and Octopus [dance collar], 2017. Industrial merino wool felt, leather, metal grommets, and glass bugle beads, 18 × 9 × 3 in. (Photo courtesy of the artist) 4.5. 

(Below) Tanis S’eiltin, Some People of the Tide [detail], 2017. Industrial merino wool felt, leather, metal grommets, and glass bugle beads, 18 × 9 × 3 in. (Photo courtesy of the artist) 4.6. 



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Tanis S’eiltin, Steampunk Raven Flies to the North Star [dance collar], 2017. Industrial felt, metal grommets, and glass beads,18 × 9 × 3 in. (Photo courtesy of the artist) 4.7. 

Tahltan artist-­curator Peter Morin points out, Indigenous humor in art is “an act that questions the structures of power.”25 Throughout her career, S’eiltin has engaged with the themes of power and resistance, so it seems appropriate that she has recently incorporated humor into her tool kit, serving as metaphorical armor for the battles yet to come. Chloe French Like S’eiltin, Chloe French (Sk.wein) was drawn to the concept of the dance collar, though her exploration of the form tends toward more literal representations of Tlingit origin stories. French’s dance collars bring together her childhood experiences in a home filled with art and art making with her love of teaching. From the Ch’áak’ [Eagle] moiety, Tsaagweidí (Killer Whale Seal) clan,

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4.8.  Chloe French, Sitka Petroglyph, 2013. Wool cloth and glass beads, 13.4 × 13.4 in. (University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks, 2014001-0001: Art Endowment Fund, courtesy of the artist. Photo by Angela J. Linn)

and Yaax Aan Kowtl Tsexi Hít (The House that Anchors the Village) in Kake, French’s grandmother, Jennie Williams Holst, moved to Juneau to raise French’s mother. French herself grew up in California, but summer trips to Alaska and visits to the Alaska State Museum in Juneau throughout her life inspired her to revisit the visual expressions of Tlingit cultural practices upon her retirement from teaching. Her ever-­expanding repertoire includes beaded and appliquéd collars, whimsical bead and button necklaces, naaxein, and button robes. The beaded collars in particular express the ways in which French creatively adapts ideas from global art practices to tell Tlingit histories in new ways. In the creation of her dance collar titled Sitka Petroglyph (figure 4.8), French reaches back to time immemorial for inspiration, acknowledging and celebrating the physical and spiritual ties Tlingit people have maintained with the land. Donated to SHI’s 2014 Tináa Art Auction, the collar was featured on the cover of the auction catalog and acquired by the University of Alaska Museum of the North (UAMN) for its ethnology collections. Based on ancient carved petroglyphs located near Sitka, French’s work builds on the long tradition of beaded collars serving as regalia but, as with most of her practice, is intended to break through externally and internally imposed barriers that limit social and cultural access to diverse inspirations, materials, and methods.

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The abstracted figures, spirals, and dots cut from red woolen cloth are appliquéd to a black ground and outlined in shimmering tiny beads. Though the original stone carver’s name has been lost to the mists of time, Emmons recorded an interpretation of the petroglyph in 1907. According to his unnamed Kiks.ádi clan source, the images depict several important origin stories, including how Raven stole the sun and released its light to the world and how he stole freshwater to create rivers and lakes by letting drops fall from his beak during flight. Another motif carved into the rock was interpreted as the north wind, an important supernatural entity that brings winter.26 French’s elegantly curved collar vividly asserts haa aaní. It serves as a beautiful reminder of the more than 10,000 years of Tlingit history on the lands and waters of this region. As noted, the UAMN acquired this piece for its ethnology collection. At the same auction, the museum also purchased a small glass sculpture titled Copper Totem by Preston Singletary for the fine arts collection. The acquisition and subsequent classification of these two works, one to “ethnology” and one to “fine arts,” raise troubling questions about the ongoing hierarchization and privileging of cultural expressions by Indigenous women within settler institutions. Although Aldona Jonaitis, UAMN’s director at the time of the work’s acquisition, acknowledged the complexity and sensitivity of issues related to museological systems of classification, those systems seem to have outweighed her critique. While both pieces were created by contemporary artists and reference ancestral histories in new ways, the materials, weighted with historical gender associations, appear to have been the deciding factor in their classification.27 Ruth B. Phillips, former director of the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, acknowledges the “representational force” of classification systems: “They create domains of inclusion and exclusion that continue to inscribe colonial attitudes about race, patriarchal ideas about gender, and elitist notions about class.”28 In its public exhibition spaces, the UAMN admirably breaks down these sorts of distinctions by mixing works by Alaskan artists of all cultural backgrounds, eras, materials, and gender identifications across the museum’s diverse collections. The particular decision of classification described above, however, suggests that even in museums with the best practices of display, Indigenizing or decolonizing museums may never be fully attainable. More recently, French has created a series of nine beaded collars she titles Myth Bibs that make tangible several origin stories central to Tlingit histories. Like the petroglyph collar, the “myths” on these collars are known through oral histories that continue to be passed from one generation to the next through oratory, songs, and dances, in both clan-­based and public venues.29 French’s bibs are inspired by African American story quilts, comprised of multiple

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blocks depicting biblical and historical imagery using bold colors and strong silhouettes to convey their powerful messages. She initially used this format with her students to create story banners that explored aspects of their own lives. French’s elongated bibs, squared in a manner similar to quilt blocks, are the latest iteration of her desire to use handwork as a means to move beyond the intellectual understanding of the world in order to access the visceral connections that animate it. The bib titled Fog Woman and Creek Woman illustrates the story of why sal­mon spawn (figure 4.9). The rectangu­lar dark green collar features Fog Woman, whose hair halos about her disembodied head as she exhales fog from her wide-­open mouth in a manner evocative of Norwegian artist Edvard Munch’s famous 1893 painting The Scream. This potent statement about the raw power of women in the face of adversity depicts Fog Woman leaving her increasingly abusive husband (Raven), taking with her all the salmon she had provided to keep him from starv4.9.  Chloe French, Fog Woman and Creek Woman [myth ing. She dissolves into fog as he repeatedly bib], ca. 2015. Wool cloth, netting, and glass beads. tries and fails to catch her.30 Her daughter, (Courtesy of the artist. Photo by W. Scott Miles, the Creek Woman, cut from a cool blue felt, Scientific Photographer) radiates calm energy as her lower body liquifies into a stream rich with salmon. Creek Woman represents the more forgiving telling of the story, in which Fog Woman takes pity on Raven and sends her daughter to provide salmon each year when the fog returns. The combination of the two ancestral beings affirms the matrilineal and intergenerational knowledge associated with women. The bib also perceptively represents the centrality of women to the regenerative properties of nature (suggested by the salmon egg–like red beads that edge each figure) and the wealth represented by salmon—the most significant subsistence food for coastal Tlingit people.

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A second bib, How the Tlingit Came to the Coast, shares one version of how and why Tlingit people first journeyed by canoe between the interior and the coast under a glacier. French illustrates the story by indicating that two young men had initially been chosen to travel under the imposing wall of ice, but an older couple volunteered to replace them, as the men were needed to hunt for the hungry group. The composition of this bib is balanced by three background colors: green on the left side representing the land, both interior and coastal; white suggesting the glacier under which the old couple traveled; and blue indicating the river and ocean waters central to Tlingit trade, travel, and subsistence. The couple’s sacrifice is rewarded with a new homeland for all their relations, a place filled with fish and berries to eat and tall coniferous trees for shelter and clothing. The sharp angles of the canoe holding the gray-­haired couple and the points of the trees and ice create a sense of a circular movement around the bib, becoming a metaphor for the seasonal trade and travel that continued between the peoples of the interior and the coast, relationships that have become resurgent in recent years. Family members divided by the imposed border between Alaska and Canada in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries have worked hard to reconnect privately as well as publicly in biannual events such as Celebration in Juneau, the Inland Tlingit Haa Ḵusteeyí Celebration in Atlin, and Sharing Our Knowledge: A Conference of Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian Tribes & Clans held in either Sitka or Juneau. These gatherings are also becoming increasingly significant for drawing attention to Indigenous sovereignty issues that cross imposed national borders, such as inland resource extraction that threatens coastal salmon spawning streams. The collars made by both French and S’eiltin incorporate personal, cultural, and global references that fuse the ancient and the contemporary into forms that speak to the past and look to the future. Despite the concerted efforts of federal, state, and local governments to discourage Indigenous sovereignty, the aesthetic appeal of these works, displayed on bodies and in galleries, reinforces their metaphorical messages as statements of continuity and strength.

Contemporary Octopus Bags Unlike dance collars that have expressed intangible cultural values using a range of embellishment and design, octopus bags have changed very little since their incorporation into Tlingit cultural practices in the late nineteenth century. Many contemporary bags are beaded using similar seaweed and floral designs seen on the earliest bags and, as noted in chapter 2, crests remain rare. Tlingit

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beader Shirley Kendall has suggested one reason why. In her talk “The Anatomy of an Octopus Bag” at the 2015 Sharing Our Knowledge Conference, she noted that in order for an octopus bag to someday be considered at.óow, it is important to stick to customary patterns and avoid additional designs.31 The intangible value of octopus bags, however, has become far more complex, as they are deeply integrated into contemporary cultural practices. Kendall also shared a story situating octopus bags, a form found across North America, firmly within a Tlingit worldview. In recollecting a childhood experience of hunting for octopus with her brother, she stated that the octopus bag takes the form of an octopus standing on the tips of its tentacles before swimming away. This position is likely a defensive maneuver, which fits perfectly with the concept of haa latseen as it is expressed through regalia. Kendall further indicates that the positioning of floral designs on some bags suggest the eyes and beak of an octopus (a form like the points of an inverted triangle) and that small floral designs on the legs represent the suckers on octopus tentacles.32 In any gathering in Tlingit territory that incorporates the wearing of ceremonial clothing, octopus bags have become a ubiquitous form of regalia. In their own artistic practices, both Shgen George and Lily Hope transform the octopus bag for the twenty-­first century. Shgen Doo Tan George In her 2014 solo exhibition at the Juneau Arts and Culture Center, Shgen Doo Tan George exhibited an array of woven, beaded, and appliquéd octopus bags— the culmination of nearly two decades of experimentation and education. Originally from Angoon, George has been deeply engaged in the revitalization of Tlingit language and cultural practices with her children, with her elementary-­ school students, and, more broadly, as a trustee for SHI. A wall of miniature octopus bags created by her students and displayed alongside her regalia in the exhibition embodies the significant impact of her role as an educator. George uses octopus bags as a means to teach her students about intellectual property, a growing concern for Tlingit and other Indigenous artists and communities.33 George provides photographs of seaweed to her students, who trace the outlines onto paper. After cutting the designs from felt, they appliqué and bead the patterns onto small octopus bags. Through this process, George helps her students understand that they should not copy designs that they do not have permission to use; rather, they should make their own designs, taking inspiration from the world around them. To demonstrate how much these designs are

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cherished, George shares with her students the tin filled with beadwork designs given to her by her husband’s mother, who was in turn given it by her own grandmother—four generations, and counting, of family connection contained in one small tin. In her gentle way, using tiny octopus bags, George grounds her students in Tlingit ways of knowing, emphasizing the importance of the four core cultural values: haa aaní, haa latseen, haa shuká, and wooch yáx. Her role as a teacher, much like her diverse and culturally grounded artistic practice, can be understood as a gift from her paternal grandmother, the late Lydia George. Shgen George learned beading techniques as well as the cultural knowledge of her community through dance, song, and oratory shared by her grandmother. Her work ethic and love of teaching were also instilled through time spent with both of her grandparents. George shared that her grandmother was “always getting ready for a party” (ḵu.éex’) by sewing, making tunics and blankets, and crocheting. Lydia George taught Shgen George and her cousins singing and dancing in her home, as well as the wider community in the local school. Shgen George fondly relates that when she became a teacher, she was able to bring her own students to her grandmother’s class.34 These experiences laid the groundwork for a lifetime of learning from many sources, including her mother, wildlife artist JoAnn George, and her art and teaching degrees, as well as apprenticeships to learn yéil koowú (ravenstail) and naaxein weaving.35 George’s early practice focused on beadwork, creating fully beaded bags of various shapes and sizes embellished with crest designs (figure 4.10), as well as pieces translating clan histories into beads, such as Box of Daylight, which illustrates the story of how Raven stole the sun and moon. Her initial foray into regalia making occurred after the 2004 birth of her eldest daughter, GabbiKay, when she created several pieces of regalia to wear during the first Toddler Regalia Review, held during Celebration 2006. The ancient concept of haa shuká has always taken future generations into account, but more than a century of legislation and schooling intended to separate Tlingit people from their core cultural values seriously harmed intergenerational teaching practices. Recognition of the need to integrate children into cultural revitalization occurred during the first Sealaska Elders Conference, held in 1980. A performance by the newly formed Gajaa Heen Dancers, consisting of Tlingit children led by Sitka elder Charlie Joseph, served as a catalyst for the elders in attendance. As one stated, “And the way they used their words/these little grandchildren of mine/when I hear them from their lips/it is as if I can still see them [my ancestors]. That is how I feel. That is why my mind/soul gains much strength.”36 This emotional response prompted Sealaska board members to establish the Sealaska Heritage Foundation (later

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the Sealaska Heritage Institute, hereafter SHI). The first Celebration followed shortly thereafter and quickly became recognized as an effective means for engaging youth. By 2000 Ray Wilson, leader of the Sitka Kiks.ádi clan, remarked on the importance of Celebration for subsequent generations. “Celebration has started a big wave that is now cresting. It’s not going to stop, our culture will keep on going. Now, when we’re gone the children can take over and show the way for their children and grandchildren.”37 Having herself grown up with Celebration, George’s first set of regalia for her own daughter embodied the “wave” recognized by Wilson. The regalia represented both her long-­standing engagement with intangible aspects of Tlingit cultural practices, as learned from her grandparents, and her early interest in experimenting with materials and design. In addition, it highlighted one of the central aspects of her own artistic process: 4.10.  Shgen Doo Tan George, Frog Bag, ca. 2000. the dismantling and recombining of mateGlass beads, wool cloth, and hide, 6 × 4.5 in. rials, motifs, and techniques, an approach excluding strap. (Courtesy of the artist. Photo inspired by the work of the late artist Jim by Vance E. Williams) Schoppert (1947–1992). His innovative repurposing of Tlingit formline designs, original use of color, and belief that it was necessary to “learn the rules, then break them,”38 acknowledged the strength of ancestral form and practice, but also the need to engage with and challenge convention. In a manner similar to Schoppert’s, George’s first set of regalia combines distinct elements to make a complete whole (figure 4.11). GabbiKay’s button blanket, made by George’s uncle, is embellished with a killer whale beaded by Lydia George. The crest had originally been sewn to a vest worn by Charlie Joseph of Angoon. When Joseph passed away, George’s uncle received the vest and repurposed it, as often happens with worn regalia. He cut the floral beadwork out of the vest and sewed it to his own regalia and used the killer whale crest for GabbiKay’s blanket. The blanket fastener, originally beaded for George by her mother, holds the blanket in place. George

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Shgen Doo Tan George with daughter GabbiKay wearing her first set of regalia, 2006. (Courtesy of the artist. Photo by the author)

4.11. 

completed the outfit with a fully beaded killer-­whale dance collar on red felt, emulating interior beading techniques; a sleeveless black and red tunic edged with beaded orange flowers and embellished with buttons and an appliquéd killer whale; and fur and hide boots beaded with flowers.39 The diverse origins of the beaded motifs on this outfit give material form to cultural identities rooted in the past but projected into the future. By wearing the crest beaded by her great-­grandmother, GabbiKay literally wore her family history. And at the same time, by wearing the beadwork created by her mother, she represented the strength of her clan and the continuity of her family. Since 2006, George’s ongoing acquisition of beading and weaving techniques have manifested themselves in the diversity of regalia created for her daughters, referencing significant ancestral histories and personal events. George’s elder daughter has taken on many of these intergenerational teachings as she has been learning beading and weaving techniques from her mother, though she has gained the most attention for her original songs composed in Tlingit. Throughout her career, George has always been drawn to the octopus bag and has experimented with its creation and embellishment, the results of

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which were on full display at her 2014 solo show but also are part of the woven ensembles worn by herself and her elder daughter during the first Indigenous Fashion Show held during Celebration 2016, ten years after her initial foray into regalia. George and her two daughters opened the 2016 fashion show wearing clothing identified by the commentator, Lance Twitchell, as examples of contemporary traditional regalia.40 She and GabbiKay wore woven robes and octopus bags, while two-­year-­old Lizzy had on tiny woven toddler regalia (see fig. 4.14). The virtuosity of this work highlights George’s transformation into a talented weaver whose textiles literally wrap her daughters in the power of cultural revitalization. The robes and bags displayed on mannequins for her 2014 exhibition were brought to life for an international audience through the live broadcasting of the show and ongoing YouTube access. This new media serves perhaps as a contemporary parallel to the circulation of nineteenth-­century photography as a means for witnessing clan at.óow, as noted in the introduction— in this case, however, more broadly in terms of Indigenous sovereignty and cultural strength. Though difficult to glimpse under the swaying fringe of the robes, the two octopus bags showcase George’s ability to translate weaving techniques into richly meaningful new regalia forms. The inclusion of George’s work in this venue acknowledges the concept of haa shuká both at a familial level in terms of utilizing ancient techniques to create regalia for the next generation as well as on a wider level by recognizing that central Tlingit values can be accessed through diverse adornment. During the fashion show, George’s elder daughter, GabbiKay, wore a ravenstail robe with a glacier design referencing ancestral clan histories (figure 4.12) as well as the experimental precursor to the woven bag Kéet Oox̱ú (Killer Whale’s Tooth) discussed in the Introduction. Through the creation of this unnamed bag woven with a Chilkat face in profile from yellow, black, and white yarn, George worked out how to manipulate the warps to create the separate legs of the bag (figure 4.13). She also tested a curved top edge (embellished with sea otter fur), which enables the bag to lie flat against the body rather than gape open as those with straight top edges have the tendency to do. The experimental bag ended up being smaller than anticipated and became part of GabbiKay’s personal regalia. George took these lessons and used them to weave Kéet Oox̱ú, which was subsequently acquired by SHI for its collection. George herself wears a ravenstail bag she named Sit’ (Glacier), which is partially obscured by younger daughter Lizzy in figure 4.14. Three parallel horizontal zigzag lines, two woven from bright blue yarn situated above and below a white one, are centered on a black ground (figure 4.15). The composition suggests mountain peaks framing a deep river valley bisected by an icy white

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(Left) Design by Tlingit artist Shgen Doo Tan George, modeled by GabbiKay during Sealaska Heritage’s Indigenous Fashion Show held during Celebration 2016 in the Walter Soboleff Building clan house in Juneau. (Photo by Brian Wallace)

4.12. 

(Right) Shgen Doo Tan George, Untitled [octopus bag], n.d. Wool and fur. (Photo courtesy of the artist)

4.13. 

glacier. The bottom edge of the body and top quarter of the primarily black “legs” are woven in a blue, white, and black checkerboard pattern known as dtah-­wah-­tah-­yee-­dtah-­yee,41 similar to that found on older spruce root baskets and occasionally on nineteenth-­century beaded ch’een, the hairpieces worn by high-­ranked girls. The inclusion of this design highlights both ancient sources and the innovative transformation and application of ideas and patterns over time. Three buttons of increasing size are sewn to each of the legs as well as to each end of the woven black strap, sea otter fur embellishes the opening, and a swirling blue, black, and green batik fabric serves as a lining. Three pieces of copper cut into designs based on beaded seaweed patterns are sewn across the body of the bag.

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4.14.  (Left) Design by Tlingit artist Shgen Doo Tan George, modeled by Shgen and daughter Lizzy during Sealaska Heritage’s Indigenous Fashion Show held during Celebration 2016 in the Walter Soboleff Building clan house in Juneau. (Photo by Brian Wallace) 4.15.  (Right) Shgen Doo Tan George, Sít (Glacier) [octopus bag], 2014. Wool, fur, and copper. (Photo courtesy of the artist)

This bag references the history of how the Daḵl’aweidí (Killer Whale) clan traveled down the Stikine River under a glacier to return to the coast after the great flood. There are several versions of this history told by different clans, including the one illustrated on Chloe French’s dance collar. The difference likely stems in part from when the Tsaagweidí (Killer Whale Seal) clan split off from the Daḵl’aweidí clan after the return to the coast. The Daḵl’aweidí telling indicates that two old women, Aawastéi and Ḵoowasíkx̱, took a canoe under the glacier to see if this was a safe route for the entire clan to travel to the coast. Once the clan realized they could safely pass under the glacier, they made the journey and settled the area around Angoon.42 George shared that she has known this story her entire life, as she had heard it from a very young age from her grandparents.43

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George’s translation of this history into the form of an octopus bag is a complex layering of ancient, near, and contemporary histories. The ancestral story of the two old women connects the interior and coast through the Stikine River, which is also one of the original trade connections that introduced octopus bags to the coast in the nineteenth century. The historical form being retranslated through a once-­dormant weaving technique by a contemporary descendant of one of those women brings the history full circle. As I discuss in my essay “Copper Seaweed and Woven Octopus Bags,” George’s use of copper seaweed for embellishment works as a metaphor for women’s wealth in terms of their gathering and processing of subsistence foods, their central roles in trading relationships (often with interior peoples), and—perhaps most importantly—their intergenerational passage of important cultural knowledge and abilities, which enhances this cyclical nature of this history.44 George’s octopus bags and their woven, beaded, and copper designs represent the tangible wealth of specific family lineages and relationships as well as the intangible wealth passed through the generations in terms of land stewardship and sovereignty. Lily Hope During the Indigenous Fashion Show held in conjunction with Celebration 2018 in Juneau’s Centennial Hall, the capacity crowd cheered and clapped as three young girls crossed the stage wearing brightly colored dresses in the shape of octopus bags embellished with button flowers and beaded seaweed designs. These whimsical creations by Lily Hope and her maternal aunt Deanne Lampe were directly inspired by the many octopus bags they had made in the past, as well as a woven octopus bag made by Hope’s late mother, the renowned weaver Clarissa Rizal.45 Though primarily known for weaving and teaching both naaxein and yéil koowú (ravenstail), Hope has a long-­standing connection to beading that links the three octopus-­bag dresses directly to her maternal T’aḵdeintaan (Black-­ legged Kittiwake) clan from Hoonah. Hope’s grandmother, Irene Loling Sarabia Lampe (Latseenk’i Tláa), learned how to bead from her own mother, Mary Wilson Sarabia, who sold moccasins through ANAC from 1948 to 1974 and was noted as a prolific producer.46 Irene Lampe began learning how to bead at five years of age when she started threading needles for Sarabia, later graduating to producing moccasin tops for her, which contributed to the family’s income. After retirement, Irene Lampe returned to beading, creating many pieces of regalia for her family, including a collaboration with her own daughter, Clarissa

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Rizal, on a button robe that served as one inspiration for Hope’s octopus-­bag dresses. In a blog post in honor of her late mother, Rizal explained that after twenty years of making all sorts of robes, she did not have one for herself. She decided to design her own and ask her mother to bead it. The red and blue melton wool blanket is unusual for Tlingit button robes, as it has beaded seaweed designs along the outer borders—embellished edges being more customary to Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw design. The central beaded crest illustrates two inward-­ facing black-­legged kittiwakes representing the T’aḵdeintaan clan. To balance the debt to her mother for her work on this robe, Rizal came up with the idea of using the two decades’ worth of floral, crest, and seaweed beadwork created by Lampe to make regalia—robes and octopus bags—for Lampe’s children and grandchildren. As Rizal notes, “This project ended up being a collaboration between mother, daughter, and granddaughter; I sewed the robes, daughter Lily sewed the buttons, and we sewed down Mom’s bead work on each robe.”47 A photograph of three colorful and heavily beaded octopus bags made during this 2005 collaboration show their strong affinity with Hope’s dresses made in 2018. Hope’s own practice emulates that of her late mother by including a diverse array of media, collaborations with family and friends, and enthusiastic engagement with a wide range of opportunities to develop and challenge her own formidable talents. Hope has been exploring clothing design since she and her aunt first collaborated on work for the inaugural Celebration fashion show in 2016. She describes her approach as inspired by the traditional but a take on it. The three dresses worn by her eldest child and the eldest children—all girls— of Hope’s two siblings do exactly that. Constructed from yellow, red, and blue material, each dress is embellished on its front with buttons in different flower designs on the body and geometric patterns on the legs. At Hope’s request, each girl chose her favorite flower. The yellow dress with blue edging, worn by Hope’s daughter Elizabeth, shows a spray of forget-­me-­nots, the Alaska state flower (figure 4.16a); the red dress with yellow edging worn by her niece Amelie depicts an Alaskan dogwood (figure 4.16b); the blue dress with violet edging, worn by her niece Violet, displays an African violet (figure 4.16c). Hope and Lampe had initially planned to bead the designs, but with only three months to prepare, they chose a less time-­consuming method of embellishment.48 On the back of each dress, Deanna Lampe beaded the seaweed motif used by Rizal on the edges of her robe—a motif, Hope speculates, possibly acquired from Rizal’s own mother, Irene Sarabia Lampe.49 Though its placement on each dress was not the original intention, the distinctive seaweed design embodies

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4.16a.  (Top left) Octopus bag dress design by Tlingit artist Lily Hope, modeled by daughter Elizabeth during Sealaska Heritage’s Indigenous Fashion Show held during Celebration 2018 at Centennial Hall in Juneau. (Photo by Brian Wallace) 4.16b.  (Top right) Octopus bag dress design by Tlingit artist Lily Hope, modeled by niece Amelie during Sealaska Heritage’s Indigenous Fashion Show held during Celebration 2018 at Centennial Hall in Juneau. (Photo by Brian Wallace)

(Bottom right) Octopus bag dress design by Tlingit artist Lily Hope, modeled by niece Violet during Sealaska Heritage’s Indigenous Fashion Show held during Celebration 2018 at Centennial Hall in Juneau. (Photo by Brian Wallace)

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the ongoing connections and gifts of beading and creativity passed through the maternal line for at least four generations. According to Rizal’s blog, Hope’s earliest introduction to beading was threading needles for her grandmother at age five.50 Hope herself noted that she was very familiar with the seaweed pattern, as she beaded it many times while assisting her mother on a multimedia installation for the Alaska Marine Highway’s MV Kennicott when she was seventeen years old.51 Titled Going to the Potlatch, the 4-­foot-­by-­15-­foot blue panel depicts a wooden canoe filled with land-­based clan animals paddling to shore surrounded by ocean-­based clan animals. The scene is framed by red wool strips adorned with a row of white buttons and beaded with the seaweed pattern. The transformation of bags into dresses suggests a metaphorical consideration of them as containers, in a manner similar to late weaver Teri Rofkar’s proposition that ravenstail robes are “big baskets out of wool  .  .  . that hold people.”52 Art historian Nadia Jackinsky-­Sethi expands on this concept, stating, “Beyond their physicality, art forms hold stories, memories, and associations with subsistence practices, cultural events, and individual people who may have used, made or owned a given piece.”53 One of the keys to this concept, which aligns with haa shuká, is that these dresses enfold what is most valued—in Hope’s case, the next generation of weavers and beaders, who will carry the teachings of their ancestral maternal line into the future. Some teachings about octopus bags support this perspective in that they should only hold those items that have meaning and ceremonial use. The emphasis on textile adornment from regalia to fashion has grown significantly since Celebration’s beginnings. SHI’s longtime president, Rosita Worl, noted in 2000 that “the need to dance in ceremonial regalia also spurred the creation and production of new dance clothing and objects. Rather than commissioning members of the opposite moiety as is the custom, grandmothers and mothers more often took on the task of sewing regalia for their grandchildren and children. . . . The new regalia also came to be held as private property of the individuals rather than communally owned by the clan which is the traditional practice.”54 By 2006 Worl stated that she felt regalia-­making activities related to Celebration were increasing even more rapidly, due in part to the addition of the Toddler Regalia Review, an event that continues to grow and diversify in terms of the regalia created for children. This range is well illustrated by the innovative dresses created by Lily Hope and the expansion of Shgen George’s artistic practice. George shared that while the first regalia made for GabbiKay was almost entirely beaded, the first regalia she made for her younger daughter Lizzy was almost entirely woven.55 Fashion shows have become a means to educate the general public about wearing Indigenous designs; they also create

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new opportunities for Indigenous artists and connect younger generations to customary cultural practices expressed through textiles and embellishment. SHI’s relatively recent engagement with fashion shows is part of a larger movement that recognizes Indigenous adornment and fashion as fundamental to decolonization and Indigenization both locally and globally.56

Wrapping Up The regalia produced for and worn with pride at Celebration and other public events perhaps mitigate some of the earlier critique of the Soboleff building. At this building’s ceremonial opening, the majority of attendees were richly adorned in an array of beaded, woven, and sewn regalia, made almost exclusively by women. In some ways, this dichotomy reflects the customary balance between women and men in terms of social and political roles. Indigenous women from the region have been almost universally acknowledged as the decision makers, organizers, and planners for their clans and communities, whereas men have been the orators and speakers—the public faces for that behind-­the-­ scenes work. But how much of our contemporary understanding of customary roles has been shaped by the patriarchal pressures of colonialism over the past 150 years, particularly in terms of the tangible cultural expressions produced for ceremonial and other uses? As Kathryn Bunn-­Marcuse and I explored in our essay “Working to Change the Tide: Women Artists on the Northwest Coast,” women have always participated in the creation of carved and painted items—the type of work that has been almost exclusively attributed to men.57 The corporate structures imposed on Alaska Native peoples through ANCSA has contributed to the calcification of the gendered hierarchization of art, a process clearly observed in the Soboleff building’s architecture and the artworks displayed outside and within it. As communities work to decolonize and Indigenize, perhaps the complex matrilineal histories explored in the work of Tanis S’eiltin, Chloe French, Shgen Doo Tan George, and Lily Hope will contribute to the much-­needed shift in hierarchical values imposed and absorbed. The expansive artistic practices of these four artists make meaning on multiple levels. They look back several generations for inspiration but also to the future, in consideration of the tangible and intangible contributions they are producing for generations yet to come. Dance collars and octopus bags were new ideas in the nineteenth century—today, they are inextricable from Tlingit cultural practices, equally at home at a ḵu.éex’, a graduation ceremony, a gallery, or a catwalk. The complexity of each piece discussed here acknowledges the

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intertwined histories of Tlingit people and others, both Indigenous and settler. By celebrating the resistance of their foremothers as they persevered through difficult times, drawing on their resilience to create beautiful works that supported their survival, these women are using their own artistry, creativity, and perseverance to create a legacy for the future, literally wrapping their descendants in cultural vitality.

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Epilogue Beading beyond Borders

L

abeled as “Tlingit”  in the catalog records, but displaying Kwakwa̱ ­ ka̱ ’wakw iconography, a nineteenth-­century beaded hat in the Canadian Museum of History (CMH) in Gatineau, Quebec, exemplifies the ongoing need to foreground Indigenous women’s histories, as they so often reveal intercultural connections obscured by the imposed borders and biases of settler colonialism. Acquired from a Victoria, British Columbia–based pawn-­shop owner in 1899, the hat (figure E.1) is described as follows: “Beaded hat worn by the Chief of the Tungas tribe, the centre is a crest, specie [sic] of duck and the two at the side are the hooked nose salmon, the back with the horned head, represents the mountain demon in Indian Language (Slalicum). Fort Rupert.”1 This evocative description of individual elements suggests certain cultural connections but masks the meaning of the larger figure encircling the brim of the hat,2 which is beaded onto red wool using alternating diagonal stripes of white and dark blue beads for the body, with yellow, pink, light blue, and amber beads for the faces. The orientation of wear reverses the catalog entry: when holistically understood, the imaginatively imposed iconography of duck, salmon, and mountain demon are clearly recognizable as Sisiyuł, a double-­ headed serpent that acts as a formidable supernatural helper for Winalagilis, the Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw war spirit. In addition to being powerful, Sisiyuł was pervasive in nineteenth-­century Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw representations, appearing on carved wooden headdresses, belts, button robes, aprons, and other carved and sewn ceremonial accoutrements.3 Though the inaccuracy of the museum’s physical description of the hat throws into doubt its remaining information, the link made between the “Tungas tribe” and “Fort Rupert” indicates a specific connection: namely, that of a high-­ranking Tlingit woman, Anisalaga (Mary



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Unrecorded Tlingit artist, Sisiyuł hat, late nineteenth century. Wool cloth and glass beads, 4.7 in. × 7.5 in. diameter. (Canadian Museum of History, Gatineau, Quebec, VII-A75, S92-4145) E.1. 

Ebbetts Hunt), her husband, Robert Hunt, a Hudson Bay Company factor, and the family they raised in the Kwagu’ł village of Tsax̱is (Fort Rupert). The intercultural connections elaborated through a consideration of the historical context of this hat serve both to bring this book to a close and to open up rich avenues for further exploration into the ramifications of the distinct settler regimes on either side of the Canada-­Alaska border. The effects of settler colonialism along the Northwest Coast are not monolithic, though there are broad similarities. Tracing individual women’s histories and relationships through imposed colonial borders asserts Indigenous worldviews, acknowledges long histories of resilience, and points to the hard work being undertaken to bring Indigenous women’s histories, cultural practices, and perspectives back into balance. By following the clues found in the collections record of this beaded hat, cross-­border coastal histories and relations are illuminated in new and vital ways. The nineteenth-­century expansion of beading practices linked to Anisalaga make tangible important and ongoing connections between Tlingit and Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw communities.

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Anisalaga (Mary Ebbetts Hunt) Anisalaga (1823–1919) was a high-­ranked member of the Yéil (Raven) moiety, G̱ aanax̱.ádi (Frog) clan, from the Yan Wulihashi Hít (Drifted Ashore House) of the Taant’á Ḵwáan (Tongass Tlingit), located near present-­day Ketchikan, Alaska.4 Anisalaga met her future husband, Robert Hunt, a Hudson Bay Company (HBC) factor of English descent, in 1850 while on a trading trip to Victoria with her chiefly family. Shortly thereafter, they married, living primarily at Tsax̱is (Fort Rupert) in Kwagu’ł territory, though they spent 1868 to 1871 at the HBC’s Fort Simpson post just south of the border from Anisalaga’s home territory.5 As noted by anthropologist Judith Berman, Anisalaga’s marriage to an outsider was typical for members of the Taant’á Ḵwáan, a small but well-­connected group who often sought marriages with other Indigenous peoples, both coastal and inland, as a means to expand their trading networks.6 Marrying a non-­ Indigenous person involved in trade was a natural extension of this long-­held practice, which also worked in reverse. Anisalaga’s daughter Elizabeth Wilson recounts, “It was the policy of the chief factors of the Hudson’s Bay Company to marry chief’s daughters, so as to establish peace between the natives and the Company.”7 Anisalaga is perhaps best known for introducing naaxein weaving to Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw territory and specifically for establishing the right to weave and wear naaxein for her descendants. As noted in chapter 2, after its introduction to Tlingit territory, naaxein weaving became a privilege accessible only to high-­ranking women, who were trained from a young age in its methods and meanings. Within the scholarly literature, mention of Anisalaga’s significant privilege has been rarely more than a footnote to the career of her son George Hunt, anthropologist Franz Boas’s longtime collaborator on Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw ethnology.8 Though Anisalaga and her rights and privileges in relationship to weaving have been well known to her descendants for generations, additional aspects of her historical significance are coming to light as methods and methodologies of research become increasingly Indigenized. Gloria Cranmer-­ Webster, noted scholar and a descendant of Anisalaga, remarked in regard to women’s involvement in ceremonial practices: “Other stories told by our old people confirm that women were powerful in their society. Their authority was dependent on their position in the community. . . . Anisalaga, although a foreigner, was accepted as a respected member of the community, recognized for her contributions to the Kwagu’ł and other tribes in the area.”9 Over the past many years, community members and descendants have been examining the history and circulation of Anisalaga’s woven work. The robes and aprons she

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created during her lifetime are slowly being virtually and physically repatriated to Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw territory.10

Border Crossings The exploration of the complexities of Indigenous relationships along the Northwest Coast has been hindered by the colonial border separating Alaska and British Columbia, and women’s roles in particular have remained overlooked. Historian Paige Raibmon notes, “In the decades following British Columbia’s entrance into Confederation [1871], Aboriginal mobility became a marker of both colonial oppression and Indigenous resistance.”11 She points out that colonials viewed Indigenous travel as uncivilized, oblivious to the irony of that position in light of their own mobility. The different porosities of cultural and territorial borders in terms of this narrative, however, become apparent when we follow the spread of naaxein robes along the coast. While Anisalaga had little trouble crossing and recrossing the increasingly policed border between Alaska and Canada in the second half of the nineteenth century, the borders around rank-­based cultural knowledge were not so easily traversed. Elizabeth Wilson, one of Anisalaga’s daughters, recollected, “She wove many other blankets, until she was quite old. . . . She stopped weaving only when the Fort Rupert people walked in on her to learn how to weave like her. She refused to teach them, as Tongas [naaxein] blanket-­making was a right of her own tribe.”12 As a high-­ranked Tlingit woman, Anisalaga’s actions reinforced the rank-­based border around the knowledge she acquired over many years of study. In her lifetime, Anisalaga wove at least fifteen robes, including one each for her seven daughters and four sons.13 To this day, the privilege of weaving and wearing naaxein in Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw territory has been limited primarily to Anisalaga’s descendants.14

Anisalaga and Beadwork The documentation accompanying the CMH hat, as well as that related to several others, indicates that Anisalaga likely also introduced beadwork to Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw territory through her clan connections. Her extended family, including her maternal grandfather, Keishíshk’ (Chief Shéiksh [Shakes]  IV), and his successor, Tseináakw (Chief Shéiksh [Shakes] V), had exclusive access to interior trade routes via the Stikine River.15 As noted in the Introduction, this trade connection allowed for the acquisition of unique items, such as octopus bags, and new practices of making, such as seed beading. Though Anisalaga left

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Alaska during Chief Shéiksh V’s era of leadership (1840–78), she is known to have traveled between Alaska and Fort Rupert throughout her lifetime. Beading traveled with her in some form, either as items she made or acquired or, as mentioned by some descendants, sewn by an Athapaskan slave or slaves.16 Though it may be impossible to fully determine and name the original makers, differences in beading styles indicate that at least two but up to five beaders made the hats connected to Anisalaga and her family. I would cautiously suggest that stylistic similarities, collections information, and archival photographs and films also indicate a tentative chronology for the hats. Beader #1 This individual may have created the hat that inspired all subsequent hats; based on catalog information, it is the earliest hat known to exist. Now located in the Ethnological Museum in Berlin, the hat (figure E.2) differs from the rest as it has representations of two bears facing one another and utilizes formline motifs around the eyes, at the joints, and in the ears. The body of each bear, sewn primarily from yellow beads, is further embellished with a bear face picked out in contrasting colors, the majority being translucent amber-­colored beads. Though bears were not one of Anisalaga’s matrilineal crests, they were associated with her father’s Shaanax̱ Hít (Valley House) of the Teiḵweidí (Brown Bear) clan lineage.17 Creating regalia for a clan opposite to one’s own was a standard practice for maintaining balance and reciprocity, and as a high-­ranking young woman, Anisalaga would have been raised in this tradition. Given Tlingit social practices, it is highly likely, though no evidence currently exists to prove it, that Anisalaga’s husband may have been adopted into an equally prestigious clan to reinforce the balance and reciprocity befitting her status.18 Regardless of whether or not the hat and associated regalia—a dance apron and leggings depicting bears—were created for this reason, they are linked, tenuously, to the Hunt family. Ethnographer Adrian Jacobsen collected the hat in 1882 and described it as a “Celebration-­ and dance cap, used when no religious dance is being performed.”19 Though the attribution is simply “Kwakiutl,” Jacobsen may have acquired it from the Hunts, as Anisalaga’s husband, Robert, and their sons George and William assisted Jacobsen as he collected ethnographic material in Tsax̱ is and around Vancouver Island. Jacobsen also noted that one of George Hunt’s sisters “got together a group of Indian girls who performed in their costumes,”20 raising the possibility that he purchased or otherwise acquired this hat and related beaded items from one of these young women.

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Unrecorded artist, bear hat, ca. 1880. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (Berlin Ethnographic Museum, 1VA1851. U’mista Cultural Society photo by Sharon Eva Granger)

E.2. 

Beader #2 Three other hats, including the CMH hat described at the beginning of this epilogue, use similar bead colors to that of the bear hat, though they depict Sisiyuł.21 Despite small differences in the interpretation of teeth, length of snout, and eye shapes, the handling of the design suggests a single beader created these hats around the same time. The CMH hat also includes a bald eagle in profile between the serpent faces. A second hat (not shown), believed to be in the collections of the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) in Washington, DC, has a front-­facing double-­headed eagle, a crest associated with some Tlingit clans, positioned between the serpent faces. A third hat (figure E.3) for sale through the David Cook Galleries in Denver, Colorado, appears to be missing the section that would have included a beaded figure.22 The NMAI hat is unusual in that it is attached to woven rings of cedar bark dyed red. Red-­dyed cedar bark is a fundamental part of regalia created for the

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Unrecorded artist, Sisiyuł hat, late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (Courtesy of David Cook Galleries, Denver)

E.3. 

Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw Tseḵa, the main winter ceremonial. The combination of the hat with the cedar-­bark ring strongly suggests that it may have been worn by someone with Sisiyuł privileges. Beaders #3 and #4 Two Sisiyuł hats in the Royal BC Museum (RBCM) collection acquired from the family of one of Anisalaga’s descendants are also specifically attributed to her in the catalog record. The designs and bead colors are quite different from those described above, as they do not utilize formlines and are primarily embroidered from pink, blue, green, and translucent white beads. The Sisiyuł designs themselves indicate two different makers (beaders #3 and #4), though the identical bead colors suggest they could have been made around the same time. The first RBCM hat (figures E.4a and b) by beader #3 is almost identical to one worn by a man identified as Nuxalk in an 1885 photograph taken in Berlin.23 Both of these hats lack an additional figure between the serpent faces.

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E.4a.  Attributed to Anisalaga, Sisiyuł hat (front), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (Courtesy of the Royal BC Archives and Museum, Victoria, image 13453)

E.4b.  Attributed to Anisalaga, Sisiyuł hat (side), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (Courtesy of the Royal BC Archives and Museum, Victoria, image 13453)

The second RBCM hat by beader #4, with an eagle positioned between the serpent heads (figures E.5a and b), is similar to two others, indicating the same maker for all three. A hat located in a private collection shows a similarly positioned eagle in profile with a heart on its breast (figures E.6a and b). A related hat, now in the collection of the U’mista Cultural Centre (figures E.7a and b), has a beaded copper in place of an eagle.24 The crowns of all four hats are similarly constructed using alternating triangles of wool or velvet. Though variation

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(Top) Attributed to Anisalaga, Sisiyuł hat (front), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads, 4 in. × 7 in. diameter. (Courtesy of the Royal BC Archives and Museum, Victoria, image 13452 E.5a. 

(Bottom) Attributed to Anisalaga, Sisiyuł hat (side), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads, 4 in. × 7 in. diameter. (Courtesy of the Royal BC Archives and Museum, Victoria, image 13452) E.5b. 



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E.6a.  (Top) Unrecorded artist, Sisiyuł hat (front), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (Private collection of Ron Forrest) E.6b.  (Bottom) Unrecorded artist, Sisiyuł hat (back), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (Private collection of Ron Forrest)

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Unrecorded artist, Sisiyuł hat (front), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (U’mista Cultural Society, Alert Bay, Alaska, 95.04.007. Photo by Trevor Isaac)

E.7a. 

Unrecorded artist, Sisiyuł hat (back), late nineteenth century. Wool cloth, cotton cloth, and glass beads. (U’mista Cultural Society, Alert Bay, Alaska, 95.04.007. Photo by Trevor Isaac)

E.7b. 

exists between these hats due to the placement of different colored beads, their prescribed forms and similarities in materials and construction suggest a strong familial connection or relationship. Beader #5 A final hat (now headband) depicting a Sisiyuł remains in the hands of a Hunt descendant and appears to be the work of yet another beader, due to the differences in bead colors and design from those discussed above. This hat shares

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T. Burroughes Norgate, “Fort Rupert Indians, in sun dance costumes; probably members of the Hunt family,” 1894. Province Exploring Expedition (see MS 2777). (Courtesy of the Royal BC Archives and Museum, Victoria, image H-05541)

E.8. 

similarities to those created by beader #2 in terms of the use of color—primarily yellow and blue beads—yet the handling of the face and body of the Sisiyuł are distinct from the other hats. This hat/headband also includes a copper, partially obscured by the serpent tongues. This hat has been linked to the Hunt family since at least 1894, as illustrated in a photograph taken during the Province Exploring Expedition. An unnamed man dressed in a naaxein robe and brandishing a knife at two masked, blanket-­wrapped kneeling figures wears the hat (figure E.8). The related newspaper article discusses the expedition’s visit to Fort Rupert: “The Hunts, who own and conduct the store, dressed up in full war costume and showed us the skins they had secured from trading.”25 The hat appears again in a 1927 film called Totem Land, produced in conjunction with the exhibition West Coast Art: Native and Modern, held at the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa.26 Several scenes in the film depict George Hunt, his second wife Francine, and three of his nieces, identified as the Cadwallader girls (the daughters of Jane Hunt, George’s youngest sister).27 In this film still, these three

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Three Cadwallader girls (one partially obscured) wearing beaded Sisiyuł hats and seated with Canadian soprano Juliette Gaultier at the feet of Francine Hunt, 1927. (Still from film Totem Land, © Library and Archives Canada. Reproduced with permission of Library and Archives Canada, Ottawa. Source: Library and Archives Canada/Astral Bellevue Pathe fonds/IDCISN: 102188)

E.9. 

young women wear this hat (figure E.9) as well as the two now located in the RBCM (see figs. E.4 and E.5). Anisalaga’s biography, in combination with her making practices, contributes to a greater understanding of the complex histories among Northwest Coast and interior Indigenous communities. Though there are no easy answers regarding the makers of these beaded hats, their existence expresses ongoing rights and privileges that continue to persist across imposed national borders and despite the pressures of settler colonialism from the mid-­nineteenth century to the present.

Kwakwaka’wakw Beadwork Broadly As happened in Tlingit territory, beading spread to other communities and began to adorn other types of regalia through the early part of the twentieth century. The use of beadwork within Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw communities, however,

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Charles Newcombe (1851–1924), Chief Lagiyus (center) and his wife Hayugwis, their daughter Ruth, and her husband Charles Nowell (1870–1956) wearing a richly beaded tunic, at Alert Bay, ca. 1899. (Courtesy of the Royal BC Archives and Museum, Victoria, image PN00993)

E.10. 

illustrates the different aesthetic choices made by local beaders. Photographs indicate the development of elaborately beaded tunics, such as the one worn by Charles Nowell pictured in a photograph (figure E.10) with his wife, Ruth, and in-­laws—’Na̱ mgi̱ s Chief Lagiyus and his wife, Hayugwis. The maker of this tunic included multiple crest figures such as eagles, whales, and bears on the body, coppers on the sleeves, floral designs throughout, and a fully beaded Sisiyuł at hip level. Elements of the tunic relate directly to the hats described above, specifically the eagle in profile on one of the RBCM hats (see fig. E.5) and the herringbone striped body of the Sisiyuł that is similar to the other RBCM hat I attribute to beader #3 (see fig. E.4). Many additional photographs taken throughout Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw territory in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries indicate that button robes and dance aprons (tsepa) often incorporated beadwork. Unlike most Tlingit beaded regalia, however, aprons used a range of additional adornment such as buttons, embroidery thread, and rows of bird beaks, thimbles, or tiny coppers as noisemakers. The divergent aesthetics of Tlingit and Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw beading

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practices embody in part different histories of beading along the Northwest Coast, a split facilitated by the hardening of the imposed border between Alaska and Canada and the disparity in potlatch persecution on either side of it.

Borders and Beadwork As discussed in greater detail in chapter 2, the Tlingit ḵu.éex’ (potlatch) was never outlawed in Alaska, though they became smaller and less frequent after the 1904 ḵu.éex’ in Sitka. In Canada, however, they were outlawed in 1885 under the infamous revisions to the Indian Act. The law was enforced intermittently until 1921 when the Indian Agent, William Halliday, chose to prosecute participants in Dan Cranmer’s potlatch, which had been held in secret on Village Island near Alert Bay. Forty-­five participants were forced to make the choice between going to jail or giving up their potlatch paraphernalia. The majority of the potlatch goods that were relinquished ended up in eastern museum collections and remained there until they began to be repatriated to purpose-­built cultural centers at Alert Bay and Quadra Island in the late 1970s. It seems significant that along the Northwest Coast, beadwork was produced in the greatest quantities in Tlingit communities, where the potlatch was not outlawed, and in those Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw communities that continued to potlatch throughout this era. The intense pressure on Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw communities after Dan Cranmer’s potlatch, however, led to a period of dormancy in terms of regalia making until the law was quietly dropped from the Indian Act in 1951. Contemporary artists continue to grapple with this history, among them Marianne Nicolson, whose commitment to historical research deeply informs her wide-­ranging practice. Several of her paintings connect in important ways with the history of Anisalaga and beadwork and also foreground the centrality of women in Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw social and ceremonial practices who were sidelined, as they were in Tlingit territory, by the patriarchal institutions of settler colonialism.

Marianne Nicolson and Her Commitment to History As Jolene Rickard has expressed, contemporary artists have a responsibility to “migrate traditional knowledge into the present.”28 Marianne Nicolson has put this principle into practice throughout her career, stating that “given the interrelation of art and story, and the extension of identity beyond the individual self, contemporary Pacific Northwest Coast Native artists are faced with the imperative to be knowledgeable.”29 Nicolson further explains that one must

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know oral histories and genealogies before making art; otherwise, “innovation remains limited to formal executions.”30 Her painted representations of richly beaded tunics beautifully illustrate this approach as they evoke specific ancestral histories, ties to other coastal peoples, and, more recently, ties to her own foremothers. Nicolson’s series of diptych paintings titled Tunics of the Changing Tide reference the histories of the Dzawada̱ ’enux̱w peoples from Gwa’yi (Kingcome Inlet) (figures E11.a and b) and Kwiḵwa̱ su’tinux̱w from Gilford Island (figures E.12a and b). Displayed with sleeves outstretched as though on display in glass museum cases, the tunics, like many of her other works, critique the museumification of culture and the gender inequalities created by the hierarchies of value imposed and reinforced through the institutions of settler colonialism. While these tunics share a similar shape to those produced in Tlingit communities—they were also inspired by military uniforms—Nicolson’s representations of beadwork are noticeably different. Tlingit crest tunics tend to represent a single centrally placed figure and are embellished with floral and seaweed motifs along the cuffs and lower edges, but Nicolson’s painted tunics are rich with representations of significant ancestors, their helpers, and symbols of wealth. Her paintings echo the elaborate beading on nineteenth-­century Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw wool tunics as illustrated in the photograph of Charles Nowell (figure E.10). On one of her paintings (figure E.12a), she includes the date 1929, representing “the year that the Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw population reached its lowest point after contact due to epidemics and wars. It is also the year our population started to recover.”31 In addition, each panel is framed with a series of circles to illustrate the cycle of life. Scholar Charlotte Townsend-­Gault points out that the painted frame is a recurring visual device used by Nicolson because many of her canvases emulate the size and shape of button robes: “The robes, or blankets are embodiments of the transformative human/animal connection that is one of the foundational beliefs of all Northwest Coast cultures. It animates both specific ancestral histories and shared community stories.”32 The protective framing of the button robe, another form of regalia sewn by women, doubles the significance of the histories depicted on the tunics. Though more than a century has passed since beading traditions began to flourish on the Northwest Coast, they continue to have resonance today, albeit in different ways in Alaska and British Columbia. As Nicolson discusses in the catalog accompanying her 2007 solo exhibition at the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria, the tunics came from Tlingit territory in the late nineteenth century and were incorporated into still-­strong ceremonial practices. By the early twentieth century, however, the tunics were no longer made in Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw communities due to ongoing pressure from colonial authorities to end potlatch

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Marianne Nicolson, Tunics of the Changing Tide, Dzawada̱ ’enux̱w Histories (front), 2007. Acrylic on wood, with brass, copper, abalone, and silver, 58.5 × 64.6 in. (Courtesy of the artist. Photo by Bob Matheson)

E.11a. 

Marianne Nicolson, Tunics of the Changing Tide, Dzawada̱ ’enux̱w Histories (back), 2007. Acrylic on wood, with brass, copper, abalone, and silver, 58.5 × 64.6 in. (Courtesy of the artist. Photo by Bob Matheson)

E.11b. 



175

E.12a.  Marianne Nicolson, Tunics of the Changing Tide, Kwiḵwa̱ su’tinux̱w Histories (front), 2007. Acrylic on wood, with brass, copper, abalone, and silver, 58.5 × 64.6 in. (Courtesy of the artist. Photo by Bob Matheson)

Marianne Nicolson, Tunics of the Changing Tide, Kwiḵwa̱ su’tinux̱w Histories (back), 2007. Acrylic on wood, with brass, copper, abalone, and silver, 58.5 × 64.6 in. (Courtesy of the artist. Photo by Bob Matheson) E.12b. 

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practices. Nicolson states “The tunics, which the young men are starting to wear again at the beginning of the twenty-­first century, seem new when, in fact, they were originally introduced over a hundred years ago. They had just fallen out of use. My friend Maxine Matilpi has been influential in this contemporary reintroduction of the tunics. She has been sewing them for the young men.”33 This statement reveals two significant differences between the entwined visual and material histories of the Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw and Tlingit, related in part to their different histories of potlatch suppression. In Alaska, these tunics continued to be made and worn throughout the twentieth century, within ceremonial practices and for public events that were sometimes used as fund-­ raisers, often for the Alaska Native Brotherhood and Sisterhood. And, as discussed in chapter 3, Tlingit women were beading souvenirs for sale through the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative, contributing economically to their families and, in the case of souvenirs, transforming generic tourist dolls into those that asserted tangible Tlingit identity. Nicolson also points out that young Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw men wear the tunics today, whereas in Tlingit communities, both men and women have always worn them. During one conversation, Nicolson shared that she is trying to discover whether or not Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw women wore tunics in the past.34 A more recent pair of tunic paintings executed in remembrance of her grandmother, though very personal in nature, argues for the significance of that history and the right of women to wear tunics in the past and again in the present. Tunic for a Noblewoman: In Memory of ’Wadzidalag̱a (Emily Mary Scow/Willie), from 2008–9, illustrates the front and back of a tunic seemingly sewn from red and white wool and centered on a gray background embellished with representations of coppers (figure E.13). ’Wadzidalaga̱ was a high-­ranked woman, the daughter of a chief, and as Nicolson writes, “perhaps more importantly she was a kind, gracious loving woman who gave birth to sixteen children before her premature death at forty-­three.”35 Through the details of this work, Nicolson incorporates symbols that represent Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw values attributed to girls and women. In this context, the large Sisiyuł draped over the shoulders of the tunic represents the customary balance between men and women. The painted dentalium shells that create its form represent wealth, particularly that associated with girls, as the shells were an important aspect of precontact puberty rituals. The sixteen Canadian quarters attached to the surface of the painting represent the birth years of each of ’Wadzidalaga̱ ’s children, acknowledging women’s centrality to continuing the cycle of life and the great value attached to children in Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw communities. Pennies on the front (left painting) represent the birth date of Nicolson’s grandmother (1913); on the back (right

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Marianne Nicolson, Tunic for a Noblewoman: In Memory of ’Wadzidalag̱a (left, front; right, back), 2009. Acrylic on wood, with brass, copper, silver, and abalone, 49 × 51 in. (Audain Art Museum Collection, Whistler, British Columbia, 2017.021: gift of Michael Audain and Yoshiko Karasawa) E.13. 

painting), the birth dates of three other matriarchs “who exemplified pedigree, and also strength of character and wisdom.”36 Through her contemporary art practice, Nicolson seeks to hold up the women of her family, educate the public about the 10,000-­plus years of Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw history that acknowledges and honors women, and uproot the patriarchal structures that have more recently invalidated and obscured their importance. Nicolson’s work is also an excellent example of the limits of outsider knowledge and the possibilities of cross-­cultural translation through contemporary art. She expresses herself from a Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw perspective, accessible through an understanding of the language and a connection to a specific place and people. Her PhD from the departments of linguistics and anthropology at the University of Victoria increased her understanding of Kwak’wala, deepening and broadening her Indigenous worldview and adding layers of meaning to her artistic practice. At the same time, Nicolson works in spaces and media that illustrate her fluency with the language of the contemporary art market, rendering her pieces accessible to a non-­Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw audience. Nicolson comments, “Perhaps much of what I create remains somewhat obscure because much of the knowledge base it is derived from comes from inside

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Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw concepts. I believe, though, that not everything has to be understood in order to create a connection between myself, my artwork, and the viewers of my work. I like to provide clues, but I want the viewer to have some input into the reading.”37 As Townsend-­Gault writes, the obscurity that Nicolson refers to is a deliberate means to delineate boundaries because “a culture which is ‘under severe duress’ needs protecting from further encroachment. . . . for an artist, that means limiting disclosure and protecting borders.”38 Like the beaded work created and used by nineteenth-­century Tlingit women such as Anisalaga, Marianne Nicolson’s contemporary art practice embodies the complex realities of a specific time and place. By unpacking the overlapping histories of Tlingit and Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw individuals and communities in the past, we can better comprehend the stories and histories of the present. My research and analysis contribute to the understanding that intercultural artistic expressions should be considered in ways that reveal the complexities and the connections of the land, the people, and the materials through which these relationships are portrayed. The challenge, of course, is to examine these histories in a way that is sensitive to the limits of different kinds of knowledge, evocative of the complex and intertwined histories of Indigenous and non-­Indigenous peoples of this region and, at the same time, to engage in such a way as to provoke questions, ideas, and new ways of thinking about the diverse visual cultures of Indigenous people along the Northwest Coast and beyond. These intercultural transborder connections have continued to resonate since Nicolson traveled to Juneau to participate in a two-­day seminar (the Northwest Coast Artists’ Gathering, presented in conjunction with Celebration 2008) addressing contemporary Indigenous arts. As a successful artist who produces works for ceremonial use in her community as well as for exhibition and sale outside of it—an often difficult balancing act—Nicolson’s presence at this event might be considered as a kind of reciprocity, a return of contemporary art-­world knowledge in exchange for the materials and knowledge that traveled south in the nineteenth century from the Tlingit through long-­standing trade and marriage relationships. As Nicolson states in regard to her tunic paintings and the reemergence of tunics in her community, “I’m using them as a symbol of this cycle, the cycle of our history.”39

The Painful Beauty of Beadwork Beyond the Northwest Coast Anisalaga’s life history and her role in disseminating weaving and beading practices along the Northwest Coast, both during her own time and through to the present, as embodied by Marianne Nicolson’s painted tunics, resonates locally,

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regionally, and even globally. Her story, while unique, is part of a much wider undertaking to reposition women and their cultural expressions as central to recovering from the externally imposed and gendered discourses reinforced in part through the hierarchies of value imbedded in historical museum collecting and display practices. Jolene Rickard points out that “It is prudent to discuss tradition, art, and sovereignty based on a specific cultural location while reserving the right to connect these ideas to a broader discussion of aesthetic practice as colonial intervention.”40 The rich yet relatively unexplored history of beading along the Northwest Coast should be understood in relation to the painful beauty of beading across Indigenous North America. The use of or reference to this medium by contemporary artists takes into account the rapid dispersal of beads along Indigenous trade routes. The trade in beads often preceded the arrival of European fur traders into a region, with this new medium extending and acquiring intangible values and meanings within local communities. The marriages that took place between the earliest fur traders and local Indigenous women were often advantageous to both sides of the encounter. As missionaries followed the traders and racist ideas expressed through cultural evolutionism and gender hierarchies gained strength, Indigenous women became second-­class citizens and, in Canada, lost their status as Indigenous people through punitive colonial legislation. The recent exponential growth in the use of the beautiful medium of beadwork as a means to explore and critique painful intercultural histories is traceable through museum exhibitions and conferences devoted to beading practices,41 as well as the boundary-­pushing work of an extensive list of formidable contemporary artists. Drawing on beading traditions learned or witnessed in their home communities, their diverse expressions foreground Indigenous worldviews and challenge their audiences to confront the ongoing systemic effects of settler colonialism. Algonquin artist Nadia Myre highlights the power of community-­based creation over the western notion of the artist genius in her expansive critique of the Canadian Indian Act that has regulated and controlled relationships between Indigenous peoples and the federal government since 1876. Though the act has profoundly affected all Indigenous peoples in Canada, women have borne the brunt of its policies, as its patriarchal design erased their status through marriage and inheritance laws. From 2000 to 2002, Myre and two hundred volunteers worked together to negate the paternalistic words of the act by beading the lethal lettering in white and the document itself in blood red. Displayed in multiple museum exhibitions within and outside of Canada’s borders, the

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beaded pages, in various stages of completion, indicate that the work of decolonization is far from over. Métis artist Christi Belcourt also harnessed the power of the community through the powerful exhibition Walking with Our Sisters (2012–19).42 A call for participation to bead moccasin vamps commemorating the unfinished lives of murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls resulted in more than 1,800 pairs submitted from makers around the world. The exhibition, which traveled across Canada and into the United States, became a sacred space for healing and ceremony as local Indigenous protocols informed each installation. Belcourt’s large-­scale canvases also center healing in relation to local environments. Covered in thousands of paint dots emulating the rich colors and dramatic style of historical Cree and Métis floral beadwork, her paintings celebrate the diversity of the flora and fauna indigenous to subarctic regions of North America. In Water Song from 2011, for example, Belcourt emphasizes the beauty of the vast spiritual and medicinal knowledge held by Indigenous women developed over thousands of years. Other works executed in a similar style foreground the impact of humans on the web of life by depicting plants and animals considered endangered or extinct. Perhaps best known for transforming Air Jordans into Northwest Coast– style masks, Brian Jungen’s series of bright red plastic jerry cans pierced with designs depicting poisonous plants and insects also speaks to the deadly environmental impact of unchecked industrial activity. Drawing on the artistic excellence of his foremothers, he uses piercings that emulate bead patterns to make powerful statements about the vulnerability of the fragile environment in northeast British Columbia, the vital cultural practices of his Dunne-­za community endangered by the presence of “man-­camps,” and the threat posed to all living things through the ongoing extraction of resources with seemingly little thought given to the destructive nature of our reliance on fossil fuels.43 The complex and delicately rendered designs suggest a need for patience and a more thoughtful and engaged process for developing resources and their alternatives as we rush headlong toward cultural, social, and environmental oblivion. Ruth Cuthand, an artist of Plains Cree, Scottish, and Irish descent, also illustrates the complexities of survival in her work. In the bold colors, black backgrounds, and exquisite techniques visible in her beadwork series Trading, Dis-­eases, and Surviving, Cuthand references the elaborate floral beading traditions that developed among Métis, Anishinaabe, and Cree communities across central Canada. Though Cuthand’s work shares the aesthetic sensibility and innovation of these beading traditions, she also reveals the horrors that

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accompanied the introduction of these new materials and techniques. Utilizing a similarly diverse palette of color and emulating the intricate construction of her ancestors, Cuthand has created monstrous images of microscopic death. Her work points to both historical and contemporary plagues that have disproportionately affected Indigenous communities, such as smallpox and HIV. Her most recent additions to the series, Surviving, reference Covid-­19 by embellishing N-­95 masks with beaded representations of the virus. Her creations express the greater impact of disease on populations that have been compromised and marginalized by systemic racism. Cuthand’s combination of beauty and pain acts in a similar way to that of Rebecca Belmore’s Fringe, discussed in the preface (see fig. P.1). The bold colors and unusual design of Cuthand’s work draw the viewer close enough to feel the impact of the brutal reality and, ideally, to commit to taking tangible action to right the wrongs of settler colonialism. The artists so briefly discussed here are just a few of the many who use beads or reference historical beading practices to challenge and transform public comprehension of the ongoing effects of centuries of colonialism across North America, including along the Northwest Coast. Understanding the complex histories of beading in Southeast Alaska centers on the recognition of the multiple ways in which Tlingit women have used beads and beadworking as an expression of both resistance and resilience. The intergenerational practices of beading laid the foundation for the resurgence and expansion of cultural expressions such as weaving that were broadly believed to have degenerated to the point of near extinction. Uncovering past connections that have persisted contributes to the strengthening of Indigenous ways of knowing in the present. Beading practices in Tlingit territory have been expressions of both beauty and pain throughout the past 150 years. It is my hope and belief that the beauty of beading has the power to contribute to the healing of that pain.

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NOTES

Introduction: Innovating Adornment 1 For an in-­depth examination of this exhibition, see Bunn-­Marcuse, “From Behind-­the-­ Scenes to the Front of the House—Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired at the Burke Museum,” 195–217. 2 Alison Bremner, “Artist Statement,” exhibition ephemera, Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired, Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, 2014. 3 Shgen Doo Tan George, “Artist Statement,” exhibition ephemera, Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired, Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle, 2014. 4 See, for example, Bunn-­Marcuse and Smetzer, “Working to Change the Tide.” 5 Tuck and Yang, “Decolonization,” 5, provides a clear and concise overview of the concept of settler colonialism and its complexities, particularly in relationship to the land. 6 See, for example, Racette, “ ‘This Fierce Love’,” 49. 7 Bartholomew, “Weaving.” 8 Racette, “ ‘This Fierce Love’,” 34. 9 Louis Shotridge, “Tlingit Woman’s Root Basket,” 163. 10 Louis Shotridge to Mr. Horace H. F. Jayne, April 5, 1932. Louis Shotridge to Miss Jane M. McHugh, November 15, 1932. Letter to Louis Shotridge, March 1, 1933. Louis Shotridge to Miss Jane M. McHugh, May 7, 1933. Letter to Louis Shotridge, June 23, 1933. Louis Shotridge Papers, University of Pennsylvania Museum, Philadelphia. 11 Quoted in Zoratti, “Showing Resilience.” 12 Rickard, “Visualizing Sovereignty,” 471. 13 Tsinhnahjinnie, “Visual Sovereignty,” 18. 14 ahtone, “Considering Indigenous Aesthetics,” 3–4. 15 Shgen George in conversation with the author, Angoon, Alaska, July 30, 2001. 16 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 8, 2002. 17 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau Alaska, March 9, 2006. 18 See, for example, Poon, “Space, Memory, Landscape,” 60. 19 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 476. 20 Catrina Mitchell in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 17, 2006. According to an artist list in the Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, MS 136, box 3, folder 23, Fannie James was considered a prolific producer and sold her beading, basketry, and dolls through ANAC from 1947 through 1970. 21 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 8, 2002.



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22 Florence Shotridge, “Life of a Chilkat Indian Girl,” 102. 23 This important work is underway, most notably in Townsend-­Gault, Kramer, and Ḳi-­ḳe-­in, eds., Native Art of the Northwest Coast. A significant corrective to the aforementioned anthology, which neglected discussions around gender, is the recent publication edited by Bunn-­Marcuse and Jonaitis, Unsettling Native Art Histories, which includes four essays addressing Indigenous women and their artistic practices. 24 Holm, Northwest Coast Indian Art, 29. 25 For a critique of the renaissance narrative, see—for example—the essays by David Summers, Aldona Jonaitis, Doug Cranmer, Ḳi-­ḳe-­in (Ron Hamilton), and Aaron Glass in Duffek and Townsend-­Galt, Bill Reid and Beyond. Also see Glass, “History and Critique of the ‘Renaissance’ Discourse,” 487–517. 26 Lonetree, Decolonizing Museums, 24. 27 Alison Bremner (Tlingit), Evelyn VanderHoop (Haida), Lou-­Ann Neel (Kwakwa̱ ­ ka̱ ’wakw), Betty Pasco (Suquamish), Pat Courtney Gold (Wasco), and RYAN! Fed­ dersen (Okanogan and Lakes). 28 Lonetree, Decolonizing Museums, 173. 29 Phillips, Museum Pieces, 157. 30 Racette, “Looking for Stories and Unbroken Threads,” 285. 31 Phillips, “Making Sense Out/Of the Visual,” 606. 32 Yohe, “Introduction,” 15. 33 Smetzer, “Opening the Drawer,” 447–48. 34 Kramer, Native Fashion Now, 16. 35 Quoted in Dauenhauer, Dauenhauer, and Black, Russians in Tlingit America, 306. 36 Niblack, Coast Indians, 240. 37 Kan, “Clan Mothers and Godmothers,” 615. 38 Bunn-­Marcuse and Smetzer, “Working to Change the Tide,” 259–60. 39 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 466. See also Florence Shotridge, “Life of a Chilkat Indian Girl,” and Zachary Jones, “Haa Léelk’w Hás Ji.eetí.” 40 Kan, Memory Eternal, 8. Also Kan, “Clan Mothers and Godmothers,” 616. 41 For a detailed account of these early relationships see Grinev, “Interethnic Marriages,” 1340–60. 42 von Langsdorff, “The Natives of Norfolk Sound,” in Dauenhauer, Dauenhauer, and Black, Russians in Tlingit America, 308. The interpreter has been tentatively identified in Russians in Tlingit America, n. 36, 316. Other translators, both female and male, are named in Grinev, Tlingit Indians, 222. 43 Meissner and Whyte, “Theorizing Indigeneity,” 152–67. 44 Arvin, Tuck, and Morrill, “Decolonizing Feminism,” 8–34. 45 See, for example, Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí. 46 See for example: Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, “Evolving Concepts of Tlingit Identity and Clan,” 254. 47 See Raibmon, Authentic Indians, 169–72, for a discussion of the well-­known dispute between the Sitka Kiks.ádi and L’uknax̱.ádi clans that began in 1899 over a frog crest. 48 See Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer’s “Introduction” to Haa Ḵusteeyí for a detailed description of Tlingit social structures and the changes undergone over the past 150 years. 49 Sealaska Heritage Institute, Celebration 2018, 31. Ishmael Hope shared that these core

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concepts were originally defined by the Sealaska Corporation Elders Committee for the 2012 “Values in Action” campaign. While they express important values, they are contemporary interpretations. Moreover, Hope notes that the full phrase defining balance as a concept is “wooch yáx̱ kudidáal,” as was explained by Joe Hotch (Goox̱ Daakashú) during the elders’ discussions. Hope, e-­mail to the author, October 6, 2020. 50 Davis, “Prehistory of Southeastern Alaska,” 197. Also de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 444. 51 Linda Carroll in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 12, 2006. 52 Grover, “Glass Beads of Alaska,” 69–80. 53 See Jensen and Sargent, Robes of Power. 54 Emmons, “Basketry of the Tlingit,” 242. 55 The majority of glass seed beads used for Indigenous trade in this era were made in Venice and Bohemia (Czech Republic). For an overview of the types of beads used in Alaska from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, see Francis, “Beads and Bead Trade,” 341. 56 Teichmann, Journey to Alaska, 128. 57 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 445. 58 American Museum of Natural History, E/2279 collection catalog card. 59 Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 60, 62. This ch’een, though made in the nineteenth century, was likely acquired in Sitka between fall 1919 and summer 1921 by Herbert McKean, superintendent of the Sheldon Jackson School during that time. 60 Johnny Marks in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 15, 2006. 61 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 446. 62 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 446. 63 Kan, Symbolic Immortality, 89–91. 64 Emmons collection notes for American Museum of Natural History, E/231 collections catalog card, accessed December 16, 2019, www.bgc.bard.edu/objects-­exchange-­hair -­ornament. 65 Black, “Display and Captures,” 68–75; Williams, Framing the West; Kan, Russian American Photographer. As Juliana Pegues points out in “Picture Man,” Shoki Kayamori, a significant early-­twentieth-­century photographer of the Tlingit community in Yakutat, occupies a unique position in this history: Kayamori immigrated from Japan, and while he was accepted by the Tlingit community, he also endured discrimination by settlers. 66 Askren, “From Negative to Positive”; Blackman, “Copying People”; Wyatt “Interpreting the Balance of Power”; Gmelch, Tlingit Encounter with Photography. 67 Tsinhnahjinnie, “When Is a Photograph Worth a Thousand Words?” 41. 68 McNeil, “American Myths and Indigenous Photography,” 110. 69 George Davidson photograph, 1878, now located in an online exhibit, Objects of Exchange: Social and Material Transformation on the Late-­Nineteenth-­Century Northwest Coast, of the Bard Graduate Center Gallery, accessed September 19, 2019, www.bgc.bard.edu/objects-­exchange-­chief-­shakes. The title given to the image on the web page is “Chief Shakes Lying in State, Wrangell Alaska.” See also Aaron Glass, ed., Objects of Exchange, 2011. 70 See Berman, “Relating Deep Genealogies” for additional information on Shéiksh V and his relations. 71 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 15.

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72 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 15. 73 Wyatt, Images from the Inside Passage, 112. 74 Olson, Social Structure and Social Life, 7. 75 Oberg, Social Economy of the Tlingit Indians, 39–40. While Oberg categorized the Xíxchí Hít as the lowest-­ranked of the three G̱ aanax̱teidí clan houses in the 1930s, they were still highly respected among all the Klukwan clans. And, as Ishmael Hope points, the house had enough status to commission interior house posts from Naakushtáa, a well-­ regarded Daḵl’aweidí carver. In an e-­mail to the author, October 12, 2020, and in Hope, “Tlingit Art,” 287. 76 See, for example, Duncan, Northern Athapaskan Art; Ingrid Johnson, “Southern Yukon Beadwork Objects”; and Thompson, Women’s Work Women’s Art. 77 Teit, “Notes on the Tahltan Indians,” 340–41; Thompson, Recording Their Story, 33; Emmons, “The Tahltan Indians,” 20. 78 Object Report for 2364, Burke Museum, Seattle. 79 Duncan, “So Many Bags, So Little Known,” 65. 80 Kate Duncan, e-­mail to the author, January 20, 1998. 81 While the form of the octopus bag traveled from the interior to the coast, the name appears to have originated in Tlingit territory and eventually migrated back across the continent. In 1911 Emmons referred to several types of Tahltan beaded bags, including an octopus bag, as “ornamental bags.” Emmons, “The Tahltan Indians,” plate IX. On March 10, 1938, Superintendent of Skagway Public Schools Axel Rasmussen wrote to Frederic H. Douglas (at the time, curator of Indian art at the Denver Art Museum), “One of my Indian friends tells me that the Tlingit name for the ceremonial pouch is translated ‘devil fish finger pouch’ and that the name refers to the four double pendant parts which suggest the 8 tentacles of the octopus.” By the 1970s, bags of this type from across North America were being referred to as “octopus bags.” For example, in his 1973 survey of floral beadwork, writer Michael G. Johnson called these bags “four tab” or “octopus” pouches, indicating the name, coined in Southeast Alaska, had been subsequently applied to similar bags across North America. Johnson, “Floral Beadwork in North America,” 2–9. 82 Teit, “Field Notes, 1912–1915,” 97–98. 83 The modern orthography of Gadji’nt’s name is currently unknown. Ishmael Hope, e-­mail to the author, June 28, 2020.

hapter 1. “They Are Both Plain and Fancy”: C Souvenirs and Status within the Alaskan Tourist Trade



1 Kan, Memory Eternal, 184–85. 2 Welch, “American Public Opinion and the Purchase of Russian America,” 102–17. 3 Whymper, “An Artist in Alaska,” 589. 4 See, for example, Muir, Travels in Alaska, 1915, reprinted 1998; Muir, “Alaska via Northern Pacific Railroad,” Northern Pacific Railroad pamphlet, n.d.; and Muir, “The Alaska Trip,” Century Magazine, August 1897. 5 Scidmore, “The Commerce of Alaska,” 250. 6 Campbell, In Darkest Alaska, 49. 7 Collis, A Woman’s Trip to Alaska, 119. 8 Her names are variously spelled in different sources. She took her second husband’s last name (Warren) when she remarried in 1915.

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9 Colleen Skidmore in an e-­mail to the author, September 25, 2018. 10 Janice Sanford Beck in No Ordinary Woman suggests that this trip actually took place in 1879. I have yet to confirm that date with any hard evidence. Beck may have extrapolated from the age of the protagonist in the story rather than from any related documentation. The 1888 date is corroborated, however, by a letter dated June 19, 1900, from Mary’s husband, Charles Schäffer to a Mr. Stone, now in the collection of the Academy of Science of Philadelphia, which states that the trip happened that year (chapter 3, footnote 3), as noted in Skidmore, Searching for Mary Schäffer, 265. The year 1879 is intriguing, but Sitka would have been quite difficult, though not impossible, for a young female tourist to access (see the next note). 11 If the date of this encounter happened in 1879 instead of 1888, “the little church” would likely refer to the Lutheran church established by Scandinavians working for the Russian American Company. Abandoned after the sale of Alaska, the church was used from time to time by itinerant missionaries until it was demolished in 1888. Based on the 1879 date, the moccasin maker would likely have been married between 1875 and 1877, though I have yet to come across information about a “parson” in Sitka in those years. Another slim possibility is the Russian Orthodox Trinity “Kolosh” Church built for the Tlingit community but torn down in 1875. Few Tlingit people attended, as they preferred to attend services in the larger Saint Michael’s Church. 12 Schäffer, “Heart of a Child,” 16. 13 For more on this history, see Mitchell, Sold American. 14 Scidmore, “The Mines of Alaska,” 237. 15 Kan, Memory Eternal, 216. 16 Kan, Memory Eternal, 231. 17 Furlow, “Angoon Remembers,” 147. 18 Shotridge, “Chilkat Indian Girl,” 101. 19 Kan, Memory Eternal, 215. 20 Quoted in Hinckley, The Canoe Rocks, 152. 21 Carlton, Sheldon Jackson, 31. 22 Woodman, Picturesque Alaska, 191. 23 Ellen Hope Hays interview, Project Jukebox: Digital Branch of the University of Alaska–Fairbanks Oral History Program, accessed September 27, 2018, http://jukebox .uaf.edu/mp3s/Sitka/3902-­06.mp3. 24 Sherman, “The Village of Klukwan,” 84. 25 Kamenskii, Tlingit Indians, 50. 26 Arnold, “Work and Culture in Southeastern Alaska,” 165. 27 Scidmore, “The Commerce of Alaska,” 250. 28 See, for example, Bunn-­Marcuse, “Streams of Tourists,” and Hall, Alaska Souvenir Spoons. 29 There are parallels between some silver bracelets and beadwork made for sale in terms of the incorporation of introduced materials and floral embellishment. See, for example, Bunn-­Marcuse, “Northwest Coast Silver Bracelets,” 66–84. 30 Emmons, Tlingit Indians, 445. 31 Jones, Study of the Thlingets of Alaska, 74. 32 Carlton, Sheldon Jackson, 47. 33 Lee, “Tourism and Taste Cultures,” 267–81. 34 Jones, Study of the Thlingets, 76.

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35 See, for example, Phillips, Trading Identities. 36 Zahm, Alaska. The Country and Its Inhabitants, 14. 37 Underwood, Alaska: An Empire in the Making, 158. 38 Knapp and Childe, Thlinkets of Southeastern Alaska, 113. 39 Quoted in Kan, Symbolic Immortality, 210. 40 Smetzer, “From Bolts to Bags,” 59–73. 41 In a letter to Frederic H. Douglas, curator of Indian art, Denver Art Museum, March 10, 1938, 4, in the J. Thorburn Ross acquisition files, Denver Art Museum. 42 From “Colonial Russian America, Kyrill T. Khlebnikov’s Reports, 1817–1832,” in Middleton, Clothing in Colonial Russian America, 118. 43 Jones, A Study of the Thlingets, 78. 44 Florence Sheakley, in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 9, 2006. 45 Janice Hotch, in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 6, 2006. 46 Information for Department of Anthropology, E411790 a, b, for child’s moccasins (figure 1.10), National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. 47 Phillips, Trading Identities, 162. 48 Documents Concerning Alaska’s Native Cultures Series, 1783–1967, MS 166, folder 8; Markov, Russians on the Eastern Ocean, 9. 49 Briggs, Letters from Alaska, 684. 50 Ellen Hope Hays interview, Project Jukebox, accessed February 20, 2019, http://jukebox .uaf.edu/mp3s/Sitka/3902-­23.mp3. 51 See Koros, “Princess Tom,” for the first comprehensive exploration of Gadji’nt’s role in the tourist trade. 52 Scidmore, Alaska, Its Southern Coast and the Sitkan Archipelago, 176. 53 Scidmore, Appleton’s Guide-­Book to Alaska, 120. 54 Knapp and Childe, Thlinkets of Southeastern Alaska, 106. 55 In de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 192. 56 Noted in Emmons, Tlingit Indians, 190. 57 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 192. According to an article in the March 8, 1888, edition of The Alaskan, which is quoted later in this chapter, Tom may actually have been a Kaagwaantaan subchief. By the time Swanton wrote about Tom, he may have attained higher rank and perhaps a new name. 58 North Star, “True History of Princess Thom,” 8, no. 6 (June 1897). 59 Emmons, Tlingit Indians, 30. 60 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 490. 61 The Alaskan, January 24, 1891, 3. 62 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 490. 63 Collis, A Woman’s Trip, 120. 64 Zahm, Alaska, 15. 65 Egerton, “Alaska and Its Glaciers,” 290. 66 Woodman, Picturesque Alaska, 111. 67 Morris, A Pacific Coast Vacation, 65–66. 68 Kan, “ ‘It’s Only Half a Mile from Savagery to Civilization,’ ” 215. 69 Knapp and Childe, Thlinkets of Southeastern Alaska, 107. 70 Scidmore, Appleton’s Guide-­Book to Alaska, 177. 71 Webb, California and Alaska, 161.

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72 Collis, A Woman’s Trip, 120. 73 Williams, Framing the West, 146. 74 Knapp and Childe, Thlinkets of Southeastern Alaska, 192. 75 Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 37. 76 Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 63. 77 Webb, California and Alaska, 161. 78 Andrews, Sitka: The Chief Factory of the Russian American Company, 128. 79 Catalog information for 1.A.844, octopus bag, ca. 1880s (fig. 1.13), Sheldon Jackson Museum, Sitka, Alaska.

Chapter 2. Regalia and Resilience: Beadwork at the 1904 “Last Potlatch” 1 Kan, Symbolic Immortality, 10. 2 John G. Brady Papers, Series III, Writings, 1896–1917, box 11, folder 58, Miscellaneous Ams, TMs, n.d. 3 “Sitka Potlatch Great Success,” 3. 4 “Sitka Potlatch Great Success,” 3. 5 See Preucel and Williams, “Centennial Potlatch,” for a more detailed description of the 1904 event as well as its commemoration in 2004. 6 Boas, Primitive Art, 144. 7 Thompson, “Some Curious Dresses of the Natives,” 70–71. 8 Emmons, Tlingit Indians, 451. 9 Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 63. 10 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 9, 2006. 11 Notes in the file for object 80.14.1, Alaska State Museum, Juneau, indicate that the floral and geometric beaded yokes were added later. 12 Henrikson, “Appendix 3, Tlingit Warriors and Their Armor,” 392. 13 Holm and Reid, Form and Freedom, 159. I have not been able to track down the current location of this pair of leggings. 14 Ackerman, “The Girl and the Woodworm,” 16–21. See also Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 47–49. 15 Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 69–71. 16 Jonaitis, Art of the Northern Tlingit, figures 9 and 10. In discussing the Daḵl’aweidí carver, Naakushtáa, who carved these posts, Ishmael Hope relates that “Tlingit Elder Johnny Marks told me he thought these posts were so good because it looked like the frogs ‘were about to jump out at you.’ ” “Tlingit Art,” 287. 17 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 592. 18 Jonaitis, Art of the Northern Tlingit, 115. See also Hope, “Tlingit Art,” 277–82, for a discussion of Louis Shotridge’s narrative of how these posts were commissioned from Ḵaajisdu.áx̱ch of the Wrangell Kiks.ádi clan. 19 Haberland, “Aesthetics in Native American Art,” 117. 20 Moore, “Chilkat Tunics,” 3. Bill Holm developed the terms “configurative,” “expansive,” and “distributive” in order to distinguish relative “degrees of realism” in Northwest Coast formline design. Holm, Northwest Coast Indian Art. 21 Crest identified by Johnny Marks in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 6, 2006. 22 See, for example, 48.3.709 and 48.3.708, Portland Art Museum, Oregon. Other

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contoured collars are identified as having been collected in different communities but are very similar to those that appear in historical photographs associated with Klukwan. See, for example, NA8475, University of Pennsylvania Museum, Philadelphia, and catalog no. 1994-­114/2, Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, Seattle. 23 See Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, “Jennie Thlunaut/Shax’saani Kéek,’ ” 597, and Worl and Smythe, “Jennie Thlunaut,” 137–38. For a detailed history, see Louis Shotridge, “Notes on the Origin of the Ceremonial Robe Called ‘Chilkat Blanket,’ ” 179–86. 24 Octopus bag with collection date of 1869, 91.1.122, Seattle Art Museum. 25 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 635. 26 Wardwell, Tangible Visions, 96. 27 Smetzer, “Copper Seaweed and Woven Octopus Bags,” 117–32. Jonaitis, “The Devilfish in Tlingit Sacred Art.” 28 Smetzer, “Tlingit Dance Collars and Octopus Bags,” 64–73. 29 Kan, Memory Eternal, 99. 30 Sergei Kan’s Introduction in Anatolii Kamenskii, Tlingit Indians of Alaska, 8. 31 Kan, Memory Eternal, 36. 32 Kan, Memory Eternal, 83. 33 Kan, Memory Eternal, 112–13. 34 Henrikson, “Appendix 3, Tlingit Warriors,” in Russians in Tlingit America, 389. 35 For a comprehensive history of these events, see Dauenhauer, Dauenhauer, and Black, Russians in Tlingit America. 36 Multiple versions of this history are summed up in “Appendix 4, The Raven Helmet” in Russians in Tlingit America, 397–98. 37 “Appendix 4, The Raven Helmet” in Russians in Tlingit America, 397–98. 38 For more on Ned James as an artist, see Zachary Jones, “Ha Léelk’w Hás Ji.eetí,” 160–62. 39 The identification of Mrs. Situk Ned comes from the Alaska State Library. Her name may be incorrect, as the other two individuals in the photograph are called James Shotridge, which is incorrect, and “an unidentified woman.” These two individuals also appear in figure 2.1 and are identified as Ned James and Fannie Bremner in de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 1139. 40 Emmons, “The Chilkat Blanket,” 346. 41 Moore, “Chilkat Tunics.” 42 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 586–88. Worl and Smythe, “Jennie Thlunaut,” 134. 43 de Laguna, Under Mount Saint Elias, 440. 44 “Information from A. P. Johnson, and also practice seen at dances in Yakutat (July 26, 1973),” catalog information for 1.A.423, Sheldon Jackson Museum, Sitka. 45 Worl and Smythe, “Jennie Thlunaut,” 134. 46 “Tlingit-­ized Russian Navy Hats,” blog post accessed October 25, 2019, www.clarissarizal .com/blog/tlingit-­ized-­russian-­navy-­hats. 47 Kan, Vincent Soboleff, 82. 48 Knapp and Childe, Thlinkets of Southeastern Alaska, 102. 49 Milburn, “Politics of Possession,” 289. 50 Identified by Johnny Marks in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 15, 2006.

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51 The Daily Alaskan, December 19, 1904. 52 “Sitka Potlatch Great Success,” Daily Alaskan, December 29, 1904, 3. 53 A beaded tunic displaying a frog crest in the Alaska State Museum is a notable exception, as the related collections information indicates that it was “Made in Yakutat for Rudolph Walton for the 1904 potlatch.” Collections information for 93.29.1, Alaska State Museum, Juneau. 54 John G. Brady Papers, Series III, Writings, 1896–1917, box 11, folder 58, Miscellaneous Ams, TMs, n.d. My thanks to Dr. Paige Raibmon for bringing these speeches to my attention.

hapter 3. Co-­Opting the Cooperative: C Making Moccasins in the Mid-­Twentieth Century 1 The name change occurred in 1956 when the Clearing House became the Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative Association (ANAC), an Alaska Native–owned nonprofit with a board of governors and general manager. Though the organization was no longer administered by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, most of the policies and procedures remained the same. Archival records also indicate that “ANAC” was used to identify the organization pre-­and post-­1956. 2 Patty McNeil in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 12, 2018. 3 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, “Evolving Concepts of Tlingit Identity and Clan,” 255. 4 Founders of the ANB were George Field (1883–1926), William Hobson (1893–1958), James C. Johnson (1865–1949), Eli Katanook (1884–1934), Seward Kunz (1878–1934), Paul Liberty (1886–1920), Frank Mercer (1876–1931), Frank Price (1886–1946), Peter Simpson (1871–1947), James Watson (1881–1926), Chester Worthington (1870–1935), Ralph Young (1877–1956), and Marie Orsen (1886–1918). Orsen was educated at the Carlisle Indian School and served as the first recording secretary of the ANB. Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 655–57. 5 Quoted in Light, Brothers in Harmony, 9. 6 Patty McNeil in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 12, 2018. 7 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 3, folder 23. 8 Quoted in Metcalfe, The Sisterhood, 82. 9 See, for example, Metcalfe, The Sisterhood, and Moore, “American Flag and Alaska Native Brotherhood.” 10 Arnold, “Work and Culture,” 173. 11 Light, Brothers in Harmony, 13. 12 Anthropologist Tom Thornton shared additional information about the meaning behind the original sashes. Coastal Tlingit people acquired tanned moose hide from interior peoples, so creating the sashes from this desired trade item also highlighted those important relationships, discussed in chapter 3, that existed prior to and even through the imposed border between Alaska and Canada. Thornton, Klondike Gold Rush, 209–10. See also Moore, “American Flag and the Alaska Native Brotherhood,” 10–11, for an excellent discussion of the koogéinaa in terms of mid-­twentieth-­century Tlingit uses of symbolism. 13 McNeil, “Fly by Night Mythology,” 276. 14 Patty McNeil in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 12, 2018. 15 Larry McNeil in an e-­mail to the author, March 17, 2014. 16 Quoted in Metcalfe, The Sisterhood, 31.

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17 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 12. 18 McNeil, “Conversation with Curator Theresa Harlan,” 64. 19 Larry McNeil in an e-­mail to the author, March 17, 2014. 20 Meyn, More Than Curiosities. 21 Mitchell, Sold American, 257. 22 Schrader, Indian Arts and Crafts Board, 117. 23 See Schrader for the full text of the Indian Arts and Crafts Board Act, 299–302. 24 Rushing, “Marketing the Affinity of the Primitive and the Modern,” 197. 25 Lipps, Indian Tribes of Southeast Alaska, 1. 26 Mitchell, Sold American, 16. 27 Schrader, Indian Arts and Crafts Board, 199. 28 d’Harnoncourt, Report on Trip to Alaska. 29 d’Harnoncourt, Report on Trip to Alaska, 1. 30 d’Harnoncourt, Report on Trip to Alaska, 1. 31 d’Harnoncourt, Report on Trip to Alaska, 4–6. 32 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, Report on Field Trip of V. R. Farrell, Supervisor Arts and Crafts, with Mr. René D’Harnoncourt, Manager of Arts and Craft Board, Washington, D. C. May 1–May 10, 1938. May 27, 1938, University of Alaska–Anchorage/Alaska Pacific University Consortium Library. 33 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, J. O. Circular No. 249, December 5, 1938. A second reference to this publication appears in the Handbook of Native Arts and Crafts issued to teachers in October 1940. The handbook states, “Illustrated catalogue and price list of Eskimo handmade garments issued 10/7/38,” 16. University of Alaska–Anchorage/Alaska Pacific University Consortium Library. 34 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 2, folder 4. 35 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, US Department of the Interior, Office of Indian Affairs, Handbook of Native Arts and Crafts, 17. 36 Resolution No. 29 at the 26th Annual Convention of the ANB and ANS, Records of the Indian Arts and Crafts Board, Alaska Field Office, RG 435, box 2, folder 3. My deep appreciation to Dr. Emily L. Moore for bringing this resolution to my attention. 37 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, Sixth Annual Report, Native Arts and Crafts, 1943, 5. 38 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 2, folder 5. 39 See, for example, Jonaitis and Glass, The Totem Pole. 40 Douglas and d’Harnoncourt, Indian Art of the United States, 101–2. 41 Rushing, “Marketing the Affinity,” 195. 42 Letter from donor Lois Baum, accession file for object #77-­28-­2a, b, University of Alaska Museum of the North, Fairbanks. The letter also states, “The beads and lining were bought from Sears Roebuck with whom the Indians had a year long account. Of course, the fur is from the Alaskan seal.” 43 Shotridge, “Chilkat Indian Girl,” 102. 44 Bushell, “Beads and Beyond,” D3. 45 Quoted in Metcalfe, The Sisterhood, 72. 46 Shotridge, “Chilkat Indian Girl,” 101. 47 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 397. 48 Pamlea Bogda in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska,March 11 and 14, 2006.

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49 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyi, 155. 50 Florence Sheakley, in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 16, 2006. 51 Patty McNeil, in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 12, 2018. 52 Hakkinen, A Personal Look at the Sheldon Museum and Cultural Center, 3. 53 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 8, 2002. 54 Jean Kline in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 13, 2006. 55 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 9, 2006. 56 Letter from Don Burrus, March 1, 1948, Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934– 89, MS 136, box 2, folder 5. 57 Letter from Don Burrus, March 15, 1949, Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934– 89, MS 136, box 2, folder 5. 58 Barnhardt, “History of Schooling for Alaska Native People,” 11. 59 Quoted in Metcalfe, The Sisterhood, 42. 60 Miller, Lost Heritage of Alaska, 230. 61 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 3, folder 23. 62 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, June 8, 2002. 63 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, HMC-­0020. 64 Two decades later, a 1957 marketing write-­up indicates that authenticity of materials (beads) are less important than the authenticity of the design: “ANAC has encouraged renewed interest in the designs of the old Northwest coast totemic art. Resulting from this re-­application, as well as renewed search by the Native skin sewers, many beautiful and intriguing beadwork designs have been reproduced on the moccasins. Some of these patterns are from original old designs. Others are adaptations from the famed totemic arts with deviations according to the individual skin sewer’s interpretation.” Donald Burrus Papers, ca. 1917–1975, MS 229, folder 121. 65 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, memo to Hirst from d’Harnoncourt, 1. 66 Memo to Hirst from d’Harnoncourt, 2. 67 Duncan, 1001 Curious Things, 196. 68 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, letter from Farrell to Hirst, January 10, 1938; memorandum from d’Harnoncourt to Hirst, February 26, 1938; letter to René d’Harnoncourt from Farrell, March 23, 1938; letter from d’Harnoncourt to Hirst, June 25, 1938; IACB Regulations, December 12, 1938; administrative clerk to Farrell regarding rubber stamps, March 28, 1939; Circular 270 to Field Representatives from Farrell regarding rubber stamps, April 10, 1939. Also d’Harnoncourt, Report on Trip to Alaska, May 1938, Records of the Indian Arts and Crafts Board, RG 435, box 2, file 630. 69 Dell Thomas hired many Alaska Native people to mass-­produce carved and etched ivory and other items for sale to shops in Seattle and beyond. It is likely that Thomas’s concern was also with the economic impact of souvenirs manufactured in Japan on his own business. Morgan, Art and Eskimo Power, 118–22. 70 These issues were still being addressed in 1961 as indicated by comments on House Bill No. 4 in the Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers. The first page defines specific terms including “Authentic (Means exactly that which the thing in question is said to be, reliable, trustworthy, legitimate, authorized, of undisputable origin.).” Subsequent pages address the bill’s wording, specific problems facing Alaska Native craftspeople,

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reasons for the disappearance of “primitive arts,” and a list of producers outside of Alaska misrepresenting their imitations as genuine. Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 3, folder 19–“falsifications.” 71 The most recent attempt to combat the selling of fakes occurred in 1990 with the passage of the Indian Arts and Crafts Act. The IACB website (222.doi.gov/iacb/act.html), accessed February 7, 2006, describes the act as “a truth-­in-­advertising law that prohibits misrepresentation in marketing of Indian arts and crafts products within the United States. It is illegal to offer or display for sale or sell any art or craft product in a manner that falsely suggests it is Indian produced, an Indian product, or the product of a particular Indian or Indian Tribe or Indian arts and crafts organization, resident within the United States. For an initial violation of the Act, an individual can face civil or criminal penalties up to a $250,000 fine or a 5-­year prison term, or both. If a business violates the Act, it can face civil penalties or can be prosecuted and fined up to $1,000,000.” See Moore, “The Silver Hand,” for a good overview of the concept of “authenticity” in relation to Alaska Native arts. 72 The Donald Burrus Photograph Collection, ca. 1917–1975, PCA 466, box 2, includes photographs of dolls dated to the 1940s that are variably identified by maker, community of origin, and style of doll. Examples include “Southeast Dolls” by Elsie Jones from March 1, 1948, and “Tlingit Dress” with unnamed maker from Haines, dated September 1, 1946. 73 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, Monthly Report for October 1951, October 31, 1951. 74 Linn and Lee, “Intimates and Effigies,” 13. 75 Smetzer, “From Ruffs to Regalia,” 75–90. 76 Dixie Jones Hayes from Douglas, Alaska, and Elsie Jones from Juneau are specifically noted as makers of “Shotkeedon” dolls. Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934– 89, MS 136, box 3, folder 3. In contemporary orthography, “pretty little girl” is sháatk’i. Ishmael Hope in an e-­mail to the author, June 28, 2020. 77 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, Lippincott Report, 1949, 14. 78 Phillips, Trading Identities, 87. 79 Catalog number AC5101, Denver Museum of Nature and Science. 80 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 3, folder 9. 81 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Clearing House Records, 1938–56, Don Burrus, Fifteenth Annual Report, January 1 to December 31, 1952, 12. 82 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 2, folder 10. 83 McNeil, “Talking,” 64.

hapter 4. Gifts from Their Grandmothers: C Contemporary Artists and Beaded Legacies 1 First exhibited in the 2017–18 exhibition Our Side: Elisa Harkins, Tanya Lukin Link­ later, Marianne Nicolson, and Tanis S’eiltin, curated by Wendy Red Star, at the Missoula Art Museum. 2 Tanis S’eiltin in conversation with the author, Bellingham, Washington, November 19, 2018. 3 Hennessy, Fashion, 316–17.

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NOTES TO CHAPTER 4

4 Tanis S’eiltin in conversation with the author, Bellingham, November 19, 2018. 5 Passalacqua, “Tanis Maria S’eiltin,” 99. 6 William Van Ness, a staff assistant to the primary architect of ANCSA, US Senator Henry Jackson from Washington State, quoted in Berger, Village Journey, 21. 7 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 103. 8 See Huhndorf and Huhndorf, “Alaska Native Politics,” for a useful overview of the complicated legacy of ANCSA, which has had both negative and positive ramifications for Alaska Native people in terms of economics, political power, social issues, subsistence rights, and sovereignty. 9 My thanks to Aldona Jonaitis for bringing this statement to my attention. 10 Emily Miller, “Moccasin Sewing Class.” 11 Formulated by the Sealaska Corporation Elders committee, the core values discussed in the introduction framed the inaugural exhibition in the Walter Soboleff Building, which opened in May 2015. 12 For a more in-­depth discussion of this building and its gendered inequities, see Bunn-­ Marcuse and Smetzer, “Working to Change the Tide,” 272. 13 Dombrowski, “Praxis of Indigenism,” 1068. 14 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, Haa Ḵusteeyí, 277. 15 “Sealaska Heritage Arts Campus,” Sealaska Heritage Institute, accessed November 29, 2019, www.sealaskaheritage.org/institute/art/sealaska-­heritage-­arts-­campus. 16 Ishmael Hope, “Nora Dauenhauer’s Art History and Artistic Family,” Alaska Native Storyteller blog, December 2018, http://alaskanativestoryteller.com/2018/12/nora -­dauenhauers-­art-­history-­and-­artistic-­family/?fbclid= IwAR3YM47nFwkZ7CUh2OecO -­27kgw3U-­4Lh3sJ2SEj4JdbSJ92mbLmAD0qYQA. 17 Kramer, Native Fashion Now, 17. 18 Smetzer, “Tlingit Dance Collars.” 19 Florence Sheakley in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, March 16, 2006. 20 See, for example, Price, “History of the Graduation Button Blanket,” 396–97. 21 Linda Carroll in conversation with the author, Juneau, March 11, 2006. 22 Passalacqua, “Tanis Maria S’eiltin,” 100–101. 23 Tanis S’eiltin in conversation with the author, Bellingham, Washington, November 19, 2018. 24 McNeil, “Fly by Night Mythology,” 273. 25 Morin, “Another One Bites the Dust,” 12. 26 Emmons, “Petroglyphs in Southeast Alaska,” 224. 27 “Making Art from Cultural Traditions,” University of Alaska–Fairbanks, accessed November 5, 2018, https://news.uaf.edu/making-­art-­cultural-­traditions. 28 Phillips, Museum Pieces, 95. 29 French’s titles for the nine bibs are Fog Woman and Creek Woman, Naatsilanéi—Killer Whale Story, Why We Have Mosquitoes, Sitka Bay, Raven Steals the Sun, How the Tlingit Came to the Coast, Raven and the False Beak, Why Red-­Tailed Hawk Has a Short Beak, and Why Raven Is Black. 30 Swanton, Tlingit Myths and Texts, 108. 31 Shirley Kendall, “Sharing Our Knowledge,” 2016, accessed December 7, 2018, www .youtube.com/watch?v=jUsCQ1b0DKI. 32 Shirley Kendall, “Sharing Our Knowledge.”

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33 This important discussion relates locally as well as nationally in terms of clan ownership of crest designs. In April 2020, SHI filed a lawsuit against Neiman Marcus for copyright infringement related to the production of garments the retailer called “Ravenstail” that clearly appropriates from a robe woven in 1996 by Clarissa Rizal, called Discovering the Angles of an Electrified Heart. SHI post accessed May 17, 2020, www.sealaskaheritage.org/node/1211. 34 Shgen George in a phone call with the author, January 22, 2019. 35 Shgendootan.com, accessed May 2, 2014, http://shgendootan.com/shgendootan _creations/Bio.html; in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, April 2, 2014; Smetzer, “Copper Seaweed,” 117–32. 36 Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, “Because We Cherish You . . . ,” 59. 37 In Pardes, “The Return of Native Pride,” Juneau Empire Online, June 2, 2000, 3, www .juneauempire.com. 38 Shgen George in conversation with the author, Juneau, Alaska, April 2, 2014. For James Schoppert’s statement on art, see Dunham, “A Bridge Unfinished.” 39 Shgen George in conversation with the author, Juneau, March 12, 2006. 40 Native Fashion Show, 2016, accessed January 22, 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v =Hvt6vvTZN3E. 41 Paul, Spruce Root Basketry, 67. According to Ishmael Hope, in an e-­mail to the author, June 28, 2020, a modern orthography does not yet exist for this term. 42 Garfield, “Historical Aspects of Tlingit Clans,” 447. See also de Laguna, The Story of a Tlingit Community. 43 Shgen George in a phone conversation with the author, January 22, 2019. 44 Smetzer, “Copper Seaweed,” 121–23. 45 Lily Hope in a phone conversation with the author, November 8, 2018. In a blog post about Shgen George’s solo show, Clarissa Rizal shares that she herself wove one Chil­kat and one ravenstail octopus bag; “Shgen George: Tlingit Octopus Bags & Other Weavings,” accessed May 17, 2020, www.clarissarizal.com/blog/shgen-­george-­tlingit -­octopus-­bags-­other-­weavings. 46 Ethel M. (Clayton) Montgomery Papers, 1934–89, MS 136, box 3, folder 23. 47 Rizal, “A Lifelong Friendship with My Mamma,” accessed January 15, 2019, www .clarissarizal.com/blog/a-­lifelong-­friendship-­with-­my-­mamma. 48 Lily Hope in a phone conversation with the author, November 8, 2018. 49 Ktoo.org, “High Fashion Indigenized at Celebration,” accessed January 15, 2019, www.ktoo.org/2016/06/09/high-­fashion-­indigenized-­at-­celebration. 50 Rizal, “In Memory of Our Mother Irene Loling Sarabia Lampe,” accessed January 15, 2019, www.clarissarizal.com/blog/irene-­loling-­sarabia-­lampe/#respond. 51 Lily Hope in a phone conversation with the author, November 8, 2018. 52 “Teri Rofkar, Rasmuson Foundation Distinguished Artist 2013,” May 15, 2013, www .youtube.com/watch?time_continue=374&v=ys_hEhKjM_0. 53 Jackinsky-­Sethi, “Art as a Container for Culture,” 157. 54 Rosita Worl, “Celebration,” accessed February 2002 (link no longer active), http:// sealaskaheritage.org/lcdept/Celebration/tradit.htm. 55 Shgen George in a phone conversation with the author, January 22, 2019. 56 Kramer, Native Fashion Now. 57 Bunn-­Marcuse and Smetzer, “Working to Change the Tide,” 260.

196

NOTES TO CHAPTER 4

Epilogue. Beading Beyond Borders 1 Catalog information for VII-­A-­75, Canadian Museum of History, Gatineau, QC. 2 Trevor Isaac, a descendant of Anisalaga and the collections and education assistant at the U’mista Cultural Centre in Alert Bay, agreed the description was a bit odd. He noted, however, that the Sisiyuł is also considered a supernatural salmon and the bird could be a duck, but felt it looked more like an eagle. In an e-­mail to the author, October 21, 2015. 3 For an introduction to the complexities of Sisiyuł imagery, see Jonaitis, Chiefly Feasts, 61. 4 Her daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth (Hunt) Wilson, noted that Anisalaga was also known as Anain and Asnaq. In Barbeau, Totem Poles, 651. 5 Berman, “ ‘The Culture as it Appears to the Indian Himself,’ ” 226. 6 Berman, “Relating Deep Genealogies,” 229–30. 7 In Barbeau, Totem Poles, 651. 8 Berman, “ ‘The Culture as it Appears to the Indian Himself,’ ” 226. 9 Cranmer-­Webster, “Contemporary Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw Potlatches,” 196. 10 For information on the repatriation of one of Anisalaga’s robes, see “Rare First Nation Artifact Repatriated to British Columbia after Paris Auction,” The Globe and Mail, accessed December 4, 2019, www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/rare-­first -­nation-­artifact-­repatriated-­to-­bc-­after-­paris-­auction/article17911448/. 11 Raibmon, “Meanings of Mobility on the Northwest Coast,” 175. 12 Barbeau, Totem Poles, 654. 13 Trevor Isaac in an e-­mail to the author, June 23, 2020. 14 Trevor Isaac points out another historical connection to naaxein weaving through the Bell family from Village Island, which occurred around the same time that Anisalaga lived at Fort Rupert. More recent connections have occurred through marriages between families along the Northwest Coast who carry the associated rights and privileges to naaxein weaving. In an e-­mail to the author, June 23, 2020. Andy Everson indicates that the Assu family from Cape Mudge “acquired the right to chilkat blankets through a child’s betrothal, or ‘xwisa’ ”; in an e-­mail to the author, June 29, 2020. 15 Elizabeth Wilson stated that Anisalaga’s “people were born and had lived under the Russian flag; her grandfather was Shaiks, and her mother was of Stikine stock. Her mother was the daughter of the older wife (he had two) of the head-­chief of Wrangell—the younger used to wait on her.” In Barbeau, Totem Poles, 651. 16 Trevor Isaac in an e-­mail to the author, October 21, 2015. 17 Judith Berman in an e-­mail to the author, December 11, 2019. 18 Andy Everson notes that many of the robes woven by Anisalaga incorporate two bears in the central panel, flanked by ravens in the side panels. As these robes were woven for her children, Anisalaga could have been referencing clan privileges obtained from both lineages, if Robert Hunt had been adopted. In an e-­mail to the author, June 29, 2020. 19 Object number IVA1851, Berlin Ethnographic Museum. My thanks to Aaron Glass for sharing this information with me. 20 Jacobsen, Alaskan Voyage, 1881–1883, 29. 21 A fourth hat, currently in the Courtenay Museum, belonged to Chief Joe Nimnim in Comox. While it has a similar feel in terms of the handling of the Sisiyuł form, it is outlined in beads rather than fully beaded. My thanks to Andy Everson for bringing this headpiece to my attention in an e-­mail, June 29, 2020.

NOTES TO EPILOGUE

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22 My thanks to Marianne Nicolson for sharing photographs of this hat with me in an e-­mail, April 2009. Unfortunately, despite a concerted effort by curatorial staff, I have been unable to confirm the National Museum of the American Indian as the current location of this hat. 23 My thanks to Trevor Isaac for bringing my attention to this photograph and another of Bob Harris wearing a wig and a related hat. The Bob Harris hat also lacks the central bird crest and was likely made by yet another beader, given the differences in the beaded design. 24 This hat is almost identical to one published in 1944 and identified as Tsimshian; see Ravenhill, Corner Stone of Canadian Culture. Tiny details suggest that these are two different hats, though making these types of determinations between a poor photograph and the actual hat can be deceptive. The similarities are so striking, however, that it seems possible they could be the same hat, as U’mista’s was repatriated from Nisga’a territory. 25 Bolton, “Vancouver Island by Land and Water,” Province Newspaper, Friday, July 20, 1894 (published September 29, 1894). 26 Jessup, “Moving Pictures and Costume Songs,” 2–39. 27 Boas Collection, PPC B63, box 1 of 4, American Museum of Natural History Library, New York, NY. My thanks to Aaron Glass for bringing this still to my attention and to Judith Berman for additional genealogical information in e-­mails to the author, December 11, 2019. 28 In Berlo and Phillips, Native North American Art, 229. 29 Nicolson, “Starting from the Beginning,” 531. 30 Nicolson, “Starting from the Beginning,” 531. 31 Marianne Nicolson: The Return of Abundance, 38. 32 Townsend-­Gault, “Outside Galdas—and Inside?” 8. 33 Nicolson and Baldissera, “Marianne Nicolson in Conversation with Lisa Baldissera,” 26–28. 34 Marianne Nicolson in conversation with the author, Ottawa, Ontario, April 2009. 35 Nicolson, “Artist Statement,” 19. 36 Nicolson, “Artist Statement,” 19. 37 Townsend-­Gault, “Outside Galdas—and Inside?” 10. 38 Townsend-­Gault, “Outside Galdas—and Inside?” 5. 39 Nicolson and Baldissera, “Marianne Nicolson in Conversation,” 28. 40 Rickard, “Visualizing Sovereignty,” 472. 41 For example: Across Borders: Beadwork in Iroquois Life, 2000–2001, McCord Museum, Montreal; Travelling with the Ancestors: An Exploration of First Nations Beadwork, 2016, Art Gallery of Guelph, Guelph, Ontario; Beading Now! 2019, The L Project, Montreal; Beads, They’re Sewn So Tight, 2019, Textile Museum of Canada, Toronto; Their Breath in Beads, 2019, Thunder Bay Art Gallery, Thunder Bay, Ontario. Recent bead-­specific conferences include Beading Symposium: Manidoominesagemin [We Are Beading in Toronto], 2019, Toronto; Beadwork Symposium: Ziigimineshin, 2020, Winnipeg; and Bead, Hide and Fur Symposium, 2020, Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. 42 Walking with Our Sisters, “Our Sisters,” accessed June 11, 2020, http://walkingwith oursisters.ca/about/our-­sisters. 43 Candice Hopkins, “Brian Jungen: Cut-­Ups,” accessed June 11, 2020, https://american indian.si.edu/exhibitions/jungen/cutups.html.

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NOTES TO EPILOGUE

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Shotridge, Louis. “Notes on the Origin of the Ceremonial Robe Called ‘Chilkat Blanket.’ ” In Native Arts of the Northwest Coast: A History of Changing Ideas, edited by Charlotte Townsend-­Gault, Jennifer Kramer, and Ki-­ke-­in. 179–186. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2013. ——— . “Tlingit Woman’s Root Basket.” Museum Journal, University of Pennsylvania 12, no. 3 (1921): 162–78. Skidmore, Colleen Marie. Searching for Mary Schäffer: Women, Wilderness, Photography. Calgary: University of Alberta Press, 2017. Smetzer, Megan. “Copper Seaweed and Woven Octopus Bags: Shgen George and the Art of Resilience.” In Unsettling Native Art Histories of the Northwest Coast, edited by Kathryn Bunn-­Marcuse and Aldona Jonaitis, 117–32. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2020. ——— . “From Bolts to Bags: Transforming Cloth in 19th Century Tlingit Alaska.” Journal of Material Culture 19, no. 1 (2014): 59–73. ——— . “From Ruffs to Regalia: Tlingit Dolls and the Embodiment of Identity.” In Women and Things: Gendered Material Practices, 1750–1950, edited by Maureen Daly Goggin and Beth Fowkes Tobin, 75–90. Hampshire, England: Ashgate Publishing, 2009. ——— . “Opening the Drawer: Unpacking Tlingit Beadwork in Museum Collections and Beyond.” In Sharing Our Knowledge: The Tlingit and Their Coastal Neighbors, edited by Sergei Kan with Steve Henrikson, 441–60. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2015. ——— . “Tlingit Dance Collars and Octopus Bags: Embodying Power and Resistance.” American Indian Art Magazine 34, no. 1 (Winter 2008): 64–73. Swanton, John R. Tlingit Myths and Texts. Smithsonian Institution Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 39. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1909. Teichmann, Emil. A Journey to Alaska in the Year 1868: Being a Diary of the Late Emil Teichmann. New York: Argosy-­Antiquarian, 1963. Teit, James A. “Field Notes on the Tahltan and Kaska Indians: 1912–1915,” edited by June Helm MacNeish. Anthropologica 3 (1956): 39–171. ——— . “Notes on the Tahltan Indians of British Columbia.” In Boas Anniversary Volume: Anthropological Papers Written in Honor of Franz Boas, edited by Berthold Laufer, 337–49. New York: G. E. Stechert, 1906. Thompson, Judy. Recording Their Story: James Teit and the Tahltan. Vancouver, BC: Douglas & McIntyre, 2007. ——— . “Some Curious Dresses of the Natives: Pre-­Examination of Some Early Garments from the Alaska Coast.” American Indian Art Magazine 16, no. 3 (Summer 1991): 66–76. ——— . Women’s Work Women’s Art: Nineteenth-­Century Northern Athapaskan Clothing. Montreal: McGill-­Queen’s University Press, 2013. Thornton, Thomas F. Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park: Ethnographic Overview and Assessment. Washington, DC: National Park Service, 2004. Townsend-­Gault, Charlotte. “Outside Galdas—and Inside?” In Marianne Nicolson: The Return of Abundance. Victoria, BC: Art Gallery of Greater Victoria, 2007. Townsend-­Gault, Charlotte, Jennifer Kramer, and Ḳi-­ḳe-­in, eds. Native Art of the Northwest Coast: A History of Changing Ideas. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2013. Tsinhnahjinnie, Hulleah J. “Visual Sovereignty: A Continuous Aboriginal/Indigenous Landscape.” In Diversity and Dialogue: the Eiteljorg Fellowship for Native American Fine Art,

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INDEX Note: page numbers followed by “n” indicate endnotes. Aawastéi, 151 Ahgupuk, George, 117 ahtone, heather, 10 Alaska, sale of, 34, 79 Alaska-Canada border, 67, 144, 162, 173 Alaska Indian Service, 103 Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative (formerly Clearing House) (ANAC): Alaska Native Brotherhood and Sisterhood and, 97–99; ANAC Cache, 111–12, 112fig.; authenticity concerns and, 114–18; “Catalogue of Alaskan Native Craft Products,” 105–8, 107fig.; cultural knowledge continuity and, 109–13; dolls, 118–21, 119fig., 120fig., 122fig., 123fig.; dual system of education and, 113–14; IACB and origins of, 102–5; Indian Reorganization Act and, 101–2; intergenerational work and, 15; labeling, 117; name change, 191n1; pricing, 105–6; production numbers and lack of museum collecting, 95–96; SHI and, 135; Tlingit women and, 100–101; warrior history and, 99–100; WWII and, 108–9 Alaska Native Brotherhood and Sisterhood (ANB and ANS), viii–ix, 97–99, 100, 105–6, 177 Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA), 131–32, 156 Alaska Organic Act (1884), 39 Alaska State Museum, 141 Algonquin, 180–81 Alutiiq, 87



ANAC Cache, 111–12, 112fig. Anaxóots (James Jackson), 54, 65 Anisalaga (Mary Ebbetts Hunt), 159–63, 171, 179–80, 197n18. See also Kwakwa̱ ka̱ ’wakw beadwork Anishinaabe, vii, 182 armor related to regalia, 80–87, 83fig., 126, 128, 138 Art Gallery of Greater Victoria, 174 assimilation: 1904 potlatch and, 61, 65, 84, 92–93; Alaska Native Brotherhood/ Sisterhood and resistance to, 97–98, 99; ANCSA and, 131; beadwork and, 9, 42, 50; BIA and, 101; cash economy and, 41, 61; floral imagery and, 52; Indian Reorganization Act and, 101–2; outsider views of, 56, 114; photography and, 22, 61, 94; pressures for, 9, 34, 92–93, 97, 104, 122; resistance to, 100–101; schools and, 53; S’eiltin’s coat and resistance to, 126; Tlingit ways of knowing and, 65 at.óow: 1904 potlatch and, 66, 92–94; beadwork as, 26, 27; customary patterns and, 145; funerary displays and, 23–24; Sheey Káa Sh K’ut Yéil (Raven Helmet), 81; SHI Celebration and, 132; uniforms as, 88; woodworm and Mother Basket, 72; YouTube and, 149 authenticity: ANAC and, 114–18; beadwork viewed as inauthentic, 11–12, 66–67; dolls and, 121; of materials vs. design, 193n64; museum collecting and views of, 12, 26;

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authenticity (continued) outsider-made objects, 116–17; settler discourses and, 93–94, 96; souvenirs and, 36, 50, 117; totem poles and, 107 Baker, Emaline/Emeline. See Gadji’nt balance and harmony. See wooch yáx̱ Barries/Barros, Mary, 128–29 basketry, 20, 46 beadwork: as at.óow, 26, 27; early history of, 19–20; intercultural connections and cross-border histories, 160, 162, 173, 179; painful beauty of, vii, 180–82. See also specific artists and topics, such as moccasins or trade and trade beads bear hat (Kwakwa̱k ̱ a̱’̱ wakw), 163, 164fig. Beck, Janice Sanford, 187n10 Belcourt, Christi, 181; Water Song, 181 Belmore, Rebecca: Fringe, vii–viii, viiifig., 182 Berman, Judith, 161 Betts, Mary Brown (kah saa nák), 95, 100– 101, 109, 113, 123 Boas, Franz, 74, 161 Bogda, Pamlea, 110 Boxley, David A., 133, 134fig. Boxley, David R., 133, 134fig., 135 Box of Daylight (George), 146 Brady, John G., 41, 53, 65, 80–81 Bremner, Alison: Here & Now exhibition and, 5–7, 32; Raven’s Cloak, 5, 6fig., 7, 13 Bremner, Fannie, 83, 84fig. Briggs, Horace, 53 Brown, Steve, 133 Bunn-Marcuse, Kathryn, 5, 13, 156 Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA): Alaska Indian Service, 103; Arts and Crafts Division, 105–6, 119; Collier and, 101–2; schools of, 111 Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture: Bill Holm Center for the Study of Northwest Native Art, 5, 13; Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired exhibition (2014), 5–8, 12–14, 32; Northwest Native Art Gallery, 13 Burrus, Don, 111–12, 121 Bustamante y Guerra, José de, 81

Canada–Alaska border, 67, 144, 162, 173 Canadian Museum of History (CMH), 159 Carroll, Linda, 137 Case, William Howard, 67, 82–83, 84fig., 85fig., 92 “Catalogue of Alaskan Native Craft Products,” 105–8, 107fig. Celebration (SHI), 132–33, 135, 144, 147 ch’een (hair ornaments), 21–22, 21fig., 150 Cheney, Della (Kaats Saa Waa), vii, viii Childe, Rheta Louise, 49, 56, 58, 61 churches. See Lutheran church; Presby­ terian Church; Russian Orthodox church Churchill, Dolores, 51 clan houses (hít): about, 18–19; ANCSA and, 135; G̱ ooch Hít (Wolf House), 84, 85fig., 93; Kéet Gooshi Hít (Killer Whale Dorsal Fin House), 97; Shaanax̱ Hít (Valley House), 163; Soboleff Building, 133, 134fig., 150fig., 151fig.; Taan Hít (Sea Lion House), 90; Tsisk’w Hít (Owl House), 51; Xeitl Hít (Thunderbird House), 129; Xíxch’í Hít (Frog House), 24–26, 25fig., 73, 84–85, 186n75; Yáay Hít (Whale House), 26, 65, 73, 74fig., 90; Yéil Hít (Raven House), 26. See also house posts clans (naa): ANS and unity among, 99; Daḵl’aweidí (Killer Whale) clan, 24, 97, 151; expressions of love across, 40; expressions of relationship to, 9, 10, 15; funerary displays of leaders, 23–24; higher- and lower-ranked, 26, 39; Kaagwaantaan clan, 24, 84, 87, 92–94, 121; Kiks.ádi clan, 80–81, 142, 147, 184n47; Lukaax.ádi (Sockeye) clan, 10–11, 41; L’uknax̱.ádi (Coho) clan, 89–90, 126, 138, 184n47; marriage and, 55; McNeil’s Once Upon a Time in America and, 97; Naanyaa.aayí clan, 23, 27; ownership of crest designs, 196n33; regalia created for opposite clan, 163; T’aḵdeintaan (Blacklegged Kittiwake) clan, 152–53; Teiḵweidí (Brown Bear) clan, 76, 163; in Tlingit social organization, 18–19; tourist trade and, 39–40; Tsaagweidí (Killer Whale Seal) clan, 140, 151; tunic design and, 83–84; uniforms and, 87, 89–90; women controlling wealth

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of, 16. See also at.óow; G̱ aanax̱teidí (Frog) clan; ḵu.éex’ (potlatch), “last” (1904) cloth materials, 48–50 coat (S’eiltin), 126–31, 127fig., 129fig. Cohen, Felix, 101 Collier, John, 101–2, 116 Collis, Septima, 35, 57–58 contemporary artists: ANCSA and, 131–32, 156; core cultural values and, 125; dance collars and, 136–37; French, 140–44; George, 5–7, 145–52; Hope, 152–56; octopus bags and, 144–45; S’eiltin, 126–30, 137–40; SHI’s Celebration and, 132–33; Soboleff Building, 132, 133–36, 134fig. See also McNeil, Larry (x̱’e.d’e) copper seaweed, 152 Copper Totem (Singletary), 142 copyright infringement, 196n33 Coronell, Dorothy, 109–10 Cottages, Presbyterian, 39, 53, 57 Cranmer-Webster, Gloria, 161 Cree, 181–82 crested tunics, 82–87, 84fig., 85fig., 86fig. Cuthand, Ruth: Trading, Dis-eases, and Surviving, 181–82 Daḵl’aweidí (Killer Whale) clan, 24, 97, 151 Dalton, Jessie Starr, 111 dance collars, 82fig.; about, 81–82; contemporary use of, 136–37; doll and, 120; French’s Myth Bibs, 142–44, 143fig.; French’s Sitka Petroglyph, 141–42, 141fig.; G̱ aanax̱teidí, 74–76, 75fig.; George’s killer-whale dance collar for Toddler Regalia Review, 148, 148fig.; Raven that went into the Whale, 91fig.; S’eiltin’s Some People of the Tide: Raven, Coho, and Octopus, 137–38, 139fig.; S’eiltin’s Steampunk Raven Flies to the North Star, 138–40, 140fig. “Dancers at Klukwan” (Winter and Pond), 25fig. Dauenhauer, Nora, 23, 87, 131 Dauenhauer, Richard, 23, 87, 131 Davidson, Robert, 132, 133, 134fig. Dawes Allotment Act (1887), 101 de Laguna, Frederica, 22, 54–55, 87 designs. See patterns and designs

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d’Harnoncourt, René, 102, 104–5, 107–8, 116–17 Dior, Christian, 126 “disappearing Indian” discourse, 12, 55–56 Discovering the Angles of an Electrified Heart (Rizal), 196n33 dolls, 118–21, 119fig., 120fig., 122fig., 123fig. double-headed-eagle motif, 119–20, 120fig. Douglas, Frederic H., 186n81 Draper, Horace H., 82–83, 84fig., 85fig. Dunne-za, 181 education. See schools Emmons, George Thornton, 5, 20–22, 27, 45, 69, 74, 86, 142, 186n81 ermine pelts, 89–90, 90fig., 91fig. Etholén, Margaretha, 52–53 Everson, Andy, 197n18 evolutionary beliefs, 56 Farrell, Virgil R., 103–4, 106, 116–17 fashion shows. See Indigenous Fashion Show fire bags, 27, 29fig. floral motifs, 50–52, 89, 119, 144–45, 153 Fog Woman and Creek Woman (French), 143, 143fig. formline, 12, 71–72, 133–35 “Fort Rupert Indians, in sun dance costumes; probably members of the Hunt family” (Burroughes), 170fig. “four seasons” colors, 51 French, Chloe (Sk.wein), 140–44; Fog Woman and Creek Woman, 143, 143fig.; How the Tlingit Came to the Coast, 144; Myth Bibs series, 142–44; Sitka Petroglyph, 141–42, 141fig. Fringe (Belmore), vii–viii, viiifig., 182 Frog Bag (George), 147fig. frog motif, 71–73, 73fig., 82–83, 84, 84fig., 86fig. funerary displays, 23–24 Furlow, Nancy, 40 furs as materials, 45–48 G̱ aanax̱teidí (Frog) clan: 1904 potlatch and, 67, 68fig., 74–76, 84–85, 85fig., 89;

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G̱ aanax̱teidí (Frog) clan (continued) at.óow of, 72; clan houses, 24–26, 24fig., 71, 73, 74fig., 84–85, 186n75; naaxein weaving and, 75–76; regalia, 71–76; Wolf moiety and, 24–26 Gadji’nt (Mrs. Tom), 34, 54–61, 59fig. Gajaa Heen Dancers, 146 g̱alakú (wave) pattern, 59, 69 gantutl’úk’x̱u (woodworm), 72, 73, 73fig., 74fig. Gaultier, Juliette, 171fig. gender: art vs. craft and, 107, 117–18; balance, customary, 156; balance, upsetting of, 16–17; colonialist emphasis on male carvers, 12; formline and, 71–72, 133–35; hide and fur materials for male tourists, 46; museological classification systems and, 142, 180; rank vs., 15–16; shift toward gender equality in museum exhibitions, 8–9; Soboleff Building and, 133–35; trade beads and, 20–22; twospirited and non–gender binary individuals and, 8; Victorian ideals, 16. See also matriliny George, JoAnn, 146 George, Lydia, 146, 147 George, Shgen Doo Tan: Box of Daylight, 146; as educator, 145–46; Frog Bag, 147fig.; Here & Now exhibition and, 5–7, 32; Indigenous Fashion Show, 149–52, 150fig., 151fig.; Kéet Oox̱ú (Killer Whale’s Tooth), 6–7, 7fig., 149; octopus bag (untitled), 150fig.; on quality, 10; Sit’ (Glacier), 149–52, 151fig.; solo show, Juneau Arts and Culture Center (2014), 145, 149, 196n45; Toddler Regalia Review, 146–48, 148fig. George’s Gift Shop, Juneau, 111 glass seed beads. See seed beads Glave, E. J., 43 Glenora trading post, 27 Going to the Potlatch (Rizal), 155 Goldstein, Charles, 111 G̱ ooch Hít (Wolf House), 84, 85fig., 93 graduation ceremonies, 136 grandmothers and intergenerational transmission, 10–11, 109–10 “grease trails,” 45, 67

haa aaní (honoring and utilizing our land): about, 19; contemporary artists and, 125, 128, 142; George as educator and, 146 haa latseen (strength of body, mind, and spirit): about, 19; beadings, resistance, and, 93–94; contemporary artists and, 125, 126, 137; dance collars and, 80; George as educator and, 146; octopus defensive stance and, 145 haa shuká (honoring our ancestors and future generations), 19, 125, 146, 149 Haberland, Wolfgang, 74 hair ornaments (ch’een), 21–22, 21fig., 150 Handbook of Native Arts and Crafts, 105–6 Harris, Bob, 198n23 hats: bear hat, 163, 164fig.; Bob Harris hat, 198n23; Russian sailor caps, relation to, 87, 88fig., 121, 122fig.; shadakóox̱’ (ceremonial hat), 58–59, 60fig.; x̱aat s’áaxw (basketry hat), 59, 60fig. Hayes, Dixie Jones, 194n76 Hays, Ellen Hope (Ḵaakaltín), 42, 53 Hayugwis, 172, 172fig. Hayuwáas Tláa, 76 “Heart of a Child” (Sharpless), 38–40 Hearts of Our People: Native Women Artists exhibition (2019), 14 Henrikson, Steve, 80 Herbert-Hay Treaty (1903), 67 Here & Now: Native Artists Inspired exhibition (Burke Museum, 2014), 5–8, 12–14, 32 hides as materials, 45–48 Hirst, Claude M., 115–17 Holm, Bill, 12, 71–72 Hope, Ishmael, 135, 184n49, 186n75, 189n16 Hope, Lily: octopus bag dress design, 152–55, 154fig. house posts: Kaawashákhee G̱ ooch Gaas’ (Panting Wolf House Post), 66, 84, 85fig., 93, 94; SHI-commissioned, 135; Tl’úk’x̱ Aas Gáas’ (Woodworm Girl House Post), 73 How the Tlingit Came to the Coast (French), 144 Hudson Bay Company (HBC), 27 humor in art, 138–40

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Hunt, Francine, 170, 171fig. Hunt, George, 161, 163, 170 Hunt, Jane, 170 Hunt, Mary Ebbetts (Anisalaga), 159–63, 171, 179, 197n18. See also Kwakwa̱ka̱’wakw beadwork Hunt, Robert, 160, 161, 163, 197n18 Hunt, William, 163 hunting, big-game, 46–48 hunting, subsistence, 45 Indian Act (1876/1885/1951, Canada), 66, 173, 180–81 Indian Arts and Crafts Act (1990), 194n71 Indian Arts and Crafts Board (IACB), 102–5, 117 “Indian Dancers at Potlatch, Chilkat, Alaska” (Winter and Pond), 25fig. Indian Reorganization Act (IRA; 1934), 98–99, 101–2, 103 Indigenous Fashion Show (SHI): about, 132–33, 155–56; George and, 149–52, 150fig., 151fig.; Hope and, 152–55, 154fig. Industrial and Training School, Sitka, 39, 41–42, 53 Inland Tlingit Haa Ḵusteeyí Celebration, 144 intergenerational transmission, 10–12, 109–13 interior communities, relations with: 1904 potlatch and, 69; beaded regalia, competing colonialisms, and, 66–67; Frog (G̱ aanax̱teidí) clan and, 75; “grease trails,” 45, 67; Tlingit leggings and, 70–71; trade, 26–30; tunic design and, 70 Inupiat peoples, 115–16, 119 Isaac, Trevor, 197n2, 197n14 ivory carvings, 106–7, 193n69 Jack, Mrs. B. A., 108, 108fig. Jackinsky-Sethi, Nadia, 155 Jackson, Sheldon, 41 Jackson, Steven, 135 Jacobs, Jessie, 130 Jacobs, Jim (Yéilnaawú or Kíchxaak), 93 Jacobsen, Adrian, 163 James, Fannie, 11 James, Ned (Sdagwáan), 81, 82–83, 84fig. Johnson, Michael G., 186n81

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Jonaitis, Aldona, 142 Jones, Elsie, 194n72, 194n76 Jones, Livingston F., 45–46, 51 Jorgenson, Mary Lon, 112fig. Joseph, Charlie, 146–47 Jungen, Brian, 181 Kaachuks (Maria), 89fig. Kaagwaantaan clan: 1904 potlatch and, 92– 94; ANAC and, 121; G̱ ooch Hít (Wolf House), 84, 85fig., 93; Wolf moiety and, 24; Yanwaa Sháa (sailor women), 87 Kaawashákhee G̱ ooch Gaas’ (Panting Wolf House Post), 66, 84, 85fig., 93, 94 Ḵákw Tláa (Mother Basket), 72 K’alyáan, 81 K’alyaan Eesh (Augustus Bean), 65, 94 Kamenskii, Anatolii, 43 Kan, Sergei, 16, 39, 41, 56, 65, 78–79, 81 Kardetoo, Jenny, 86 kas’ál’jaa (raindrop) design, 21, 21fig. Kayamori, Shoki, 185n65 Kéet Gooshi Hít (Killer Whale Dorsal Fin House), 97 Kéet Oox̱ú (Killer Whale’s Tooth) (George), 6–7, 7fig. Keishíshk’ (Chief Shéiksh/Shakes IV), 162 Kendall, Shirley, 145 Kichnáalx̱ (Saginaw Jake or Killisnoo Jake), 88–89, 89fig. Kiks.ádi clan, 80–81, 142, 147, 184n47 Kline, Jean, 111–12 Knapp, Frances, 49, 56, 58, 61 knowledge, community-based: authenticity concerns and, 96; beads misunderstood by settlers, 66–67; borders and, 162; intergenerational transmission, 10–12, 109–13; Kwakwa̱k ̱ a̱’wakw perspective and limits of outsider knowledge, 178–79; women, importance of, 9 koogéinaa (sashes), 99, 191n12 Ḵoowasíkx̱, 151 Kramer, Karen, 15 ḵu.éex’ (potlatch): of Gadji’nt, 55, 61; photographs at Xíxch’í Hít (Frog House), 25fig., 26; settler schools and, 53. See also potlatch in Canada

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ḵu.éex’ (potlatch), “last” (1904): about, 65–66; anniversary of 1804 battle and connections to armor, 80–87; beaded regalia and competing colonialisms, 66–67; dancers, 84fig., 85fig.; Klukwan guests, beaded regalia, and northern trade relationships, 67–77, 68fig.; outcomes, tangible and intangible, 92–93; photographic documentation and, 63–65, 90–92; settler discourse, engage­ment with, 93–94; Sitka hosts and Yakutat guests (commissioned photo), 63–65, 64fig.; uniform-related regalia and, 87–90 Kunz, Edward, Jr., 100 Kwakwa̱k ̱ a̱’wakw beadwork: Anisalaga, role of, 161–63; bear hat, 163, 164fig.; intercultural connections and cross-border histories, 160, 162, 173, 179; Nicolson’s paintings of, 173–79, 175fig., 176fig., 178fig.; potlatch suppression and, 173, 177; Sisiyuł hats, 159, 160fig., 164–72, 165–71figs.; tunics and other regalia, 171–74, 172fig. Kwakwa̱k ̱ a̱’wakw Tseḵa, 164 Lagiyus, Chief, 172, 172fig. Lampe, Deanne, 152–53 Lampe, Irene Loling Sarabia (Latseenk’i Tláa), 152–53 Langsdorff, George Heinrich von, 15–16 Lawrence, Annie, 123fig. leggings, 13, 70–74, 71fig., 73fig. Lipps, Oscar, 103 Lonetree, Amy, 13 love songs, 40 Luhan, Mabel Dodge, 101 Lukaax.ádi (Sockeye) clan, 10–11, 41 L’uknax̱.ádi (Coho) clan, 89–90, 126, 138, 184n47 Lutheran church, 187n11 Malaspina, Alessandro, 81 Marks, Emma (Seig̱eig̱éi), 10–11, 110, 136 Marks, Johnny (K’óok; Ḵooteix̱’téek), 21–22, 189n16 marriage, 39–40, 55 Martin, Lee-Ann, 9

Matilpi, Maxine, 177 matriliny: about, 18; ANB and, 98; contemporary artists and, 125, 126, 131, 137, 138, 143, 156; Gadji’nt and, 54; patriarchal settler structures and, 17, 135 Mausbauer, Mrs., 58, 59fig. McNeil, Anita (kaajee seidee), 95, 100–101, 109, 113, 123 McNeil, Larry (x̱’e.d’e): Fly by Night Mythology series, 97; on humor, 138; Once Upon a Time in America, 95, 96fig., 99–100, 109, 113, 118; recollections, 100, 123; on warrior history, 99 Merrill, Elbridge W., 64fig., 67, 68fig., 78fig., 89, 90fig., 92 Miller, Maria Ackerman, 129–30 Miller, Polly, 114 Miller, Rosa, 98 Milton, Teet (Deitxun or Ka’u), 76 missionaries, Presbyterian: gender roles and, 16–17; schools, 38–39, 41–42, 53 Mitchell, Catrina, 11 moccasins and moccasin making, 47fig.; authenticity concerns, 115–18; child’s, 51, 52fig.; daily use, limited, 43; economic significance of, 42–43; “The Moccasin Maker” (postcard), 44fig.; prices for, 46; sealskin, 47fig., 108, 108fig.; as seasonal occupation, 112–13; Sharpless moccasins (unrecorded artist) and “Heart of a Child” narrative, 35–40, 37fig.; teaching, 109–12. See also Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative; tourism and souvenir trade moieties, in Tlingit social structure, 18 Moore, Emily L., 74, 86–87 Morin, Peter, 140 Morris, Mrs. James Edwin, 56 motifs. See patterns and designs Muir, John, 34–35 Munch, Edvard, 143 museums: ANAC and lack of beadwork collecting, 96; authenticity and, 12, 26; gender and, 8–9, 142, 180; shift from colonialist preservation to indigenized activation, 12–14. See also specific museums

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Myre, Nadia, 180–81 Myth Bibs series (French), 142–44, 143fig. Naanyaa.aayí clan, 23, 27 naaxein (Chilkat-style weaving): apparent disappearance of, 114; brought to Chilkat valley, 75–76; George and, 146; in “Mrs. Thom [Gadji’nt] and Mrs. Mausbauer,” 58–59, 60fig.; revival of, 6; Rizal’s, Resilience Robe, viii–ix, ixfig.; yellow and black borders in, viii National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), 163 Ned, Mrs. Situk, 82–83, 84fig. Neiman Marcus, 196n33 Newcombe, Charles, 172fig. Niblack, Alfred P., 15–16 Nicolson, Marianne, 173–79; solo exhibition, Art Gallery of Greater Victoria (2007), 174; Tunic for a Noblewoman: In Memory of ’Wadzidalag̱a, 177–78, 178fig.; Tunics of the Changing Tide series, 174, 174fig., 175fig. Nimnim, Chief Joe, 197n21 Norgate, T. Burroughes, 170fig. Northwest Coast Artists’ Gathering, 132, 179 nose rings, silver, 58–59, 60fig. Nowell, Charles, 172, 172fig., 174 Nowell, Ruth, 172, 172fig. Oberg, Kalervo, 24–26 octopus bags (náaḵw gwéil): 1904 potlatch, Tlingit worldviews, and, 76–77, 77fig.; contemporary, 144–56; Gadji’nt, 60fig., 61; George and, 148–52, 150fig.; George’s Kéet Oox̱ú (Killer Whale’s Tooth), 6–7, 7fig., 149; George’s Sit’ (Glacier), 149–52, 151fig.; Hope’s dress design based on, 152–55, 154fig.; Kendall’s “Anatomy of an Octopus Bag,” 145; name of, 186n81; in Old Russian Trading Post Curio Store, Sitka, 44fig.; Stikine region (inland), 3, 4fig., 13, 27, 28fig. Official Government Stamp of Genuineness, 106 “Old Russian Trading Post Curio Store in Sitka,” 44fig.

Inde x

Olson, Ronald, 24–26 Once Upon a Time in America (McNeil), 95, 96fig., 99–100, 109, 113, 118 Pacific Coast Steamship Company, 35 patterns and designs: authenticity of materials vs., 193n64; double-headed-eagle motif, 119–20, 120fig.; floral motifs, 50–52, 89, 119, 144–45, 153; “four seasons” colors, 51; frog motif, 71–73, 73fig., 82–83, 84fig.; g̱alakú (wave) design, 59, 69; seaweed motif, 50–51, 69, 70fig., 89, 144, 153–55; woodworm motif, 72, 73fig. Paul, Frances Lackey, 69 Paul, William L., 103 Peace/Deer ceremony, 80 Pegues, Juliana, 185n65 Phillips, Ruth B., 14, 119, 142 photography (kaa yahaay’í): 1904 potlatch and, 63–65, 90–92; assimilation and, 22, 61, 94; of Chief Shéiksh, 23–24, 27–28; “Fort Rupert Indians, in sun dance cos­ tumes; probably members of the Hunt family” (Burroughes), 170fig.; Gadji’nt, tourism, and power of, 57–61; “Interior of Whale House of Chief Klart-Reech [X̱ aak Eesh]” (Winter and Pond), 73, 74fig.; McNeil’s Once Upon a Time in America, 95, 96fig., 99–100, 109, 113, 118; “The Moccasin Maker” (postcard), 44fig.; “Mrs. Thom [Gadji’nt] and Mrs. Mausbauer,” 58–61, 60fig.; reluctance to have photos taken, 57–58; settler colonialism and, 22; sovereignty, photographic, 22–23; at Xíxch’í Hít (Frog House) (Winter and Pond), 24–26, 24fig.; “Yakutat Potlatch Dancers” (Case and Draper), 82–83, 84fig.; YouTube as contemporary parallel, 149 Pike, Mabel, 109 police force and uniforms, 87–89, 89fig. Pond, Percy, 24–26, 24fig., 44fig., 84 postcards, 42, 44fig. potlatch, Tlingit. See ḵu.éex’; ḵu.éex’ (potlatch), “last” potlatch in Canada, 65, 173

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Presbyterian Church: Alaska Native Brotherhood and Sisterhood and, 100; Cottages, 39, 53, 57; gender roles and, 16–17; marriages and, 39–40, 61; negative impact and resistance against, 79. See also missionaries, Presbyterian Presbyterian Cottages, 39, 53, 57 Price, Wayne, 133 “primitive,” the, 55–56 puberty rituals, female, 11, 76, 109, 118 Racette, Sherry Farrell, 8, 14 Raibmon, Paige, 162 rank: cultural knowledge, rank-based, 162; gender vs., 15–16; higher- and lowerranked clans, 26, 39; interior beadwork and, 27; trade beads and, 20–22 Rasmussen, Axel, 51, 186n81 Raven’s Cloak (Bremner), 5, 6fig., 7, 13 ravenstail (yéil koowú), 21, 21fig., 146, 149, 150fig., 196n33 regalia: 1904 potlatch guests and hosts, 63–65, 64fig., 68fig.; after-school programs and, 137; armor, connections to, 80–87, 83fig., 126, 128, 138; as at.óow, 23–24, 26; Bremner’s Raven’s Cloak as interpretation of, 5, 6fig.; clans and, 18; crested tunics, 82–87, 84fig., 85fig., 86fig.; dolls in, 121, 123fig.; in funerary displays, 23; Gadji’nt and, 56, 58; interior relations, competing colonialisms, and, 66–67; Kramer on Native couturiers and, 15; Kwakwa̱k ̱ a̱’wakw, 171–79; leggings, 70–74, 71fig., 73fig.; materials, 19–20; moccasin use and, 43; octopus bags and Tlingit worldviews, 76–77, 77fig.; photography and, 90–92; Russian Orthodox Church and, 78–80; sale of, 60–61; S’eiltin on war regalia, 137; sewing skills and, 53; Toddler Regalia Review, 133, 146–48, 155; trading of, 30; uniforms, relationship to, 87–90, 89fig., 126; v-yoke tunics, 68–70, 68fig., 70fig.; Xíxch’í Hít photos and, 24fig., 26. See also dance collars; octopus bags; tunics Reid, Bill, 71–72

resilience: 1904 potlatch and, 93; McNeil’s Once Upon a Time in America and, 122; mobility and, 162; settler colonialism and, 9; sovereignty and, 9–10 Resilience Robe (Rizal), viii–ix, ixfig. resistance: 1904 potlatch and, 93; ANB/ANS and, 97–98; beadwork and, 90, 92, 182; contemporary artists and, 136–38, 140, 157; haa latseen and, 93–94, 126; Here & Now exhibition and, 32; mobility and, 162; photography and, 22–23, 92; regalia and, 72, 94, 137; Russian Orthodox affiliation as, 79; souvenir trade and, 34, 42; women, importance of, 17, 126. See also assimilation Resisting Acts of Distillation (S’eiltin), 137 Rickard, Jolene, 9, 173, 180 Rizal, Clarissa, 87, 152–55, 196n45; Discovering the Angles of an Electrified Heart, 196n33; Going to the Potlatch, 155; Resilience Robe, viii–ix, ixfig. Rofkar, Teri, 155 Royal BC Museum (RBCM), 165–66 Rushing, Jackson, 107–8 Russian American Company (RAC), 16, 38, 51, 67, 79 Russian American Company school, 52–53 Russian Orthodox church: gender roles and, 16–17; influence on Tlingit Alaska, 78–80; octopus bags and, 78, 78fig.; Saint Michael’s, 39, 78fig., 187n11; Trinity “Kolosh” Church, 187n11; women, role of, 80 sailor caps, Russian, 87, 88fig., 121, 122fig. Sarabia, Mary Wilson, 152 Schäffer, Charles, 36 schools: beadwork and, 52–53; BIA, 111; discrimination and dual system of education, 113–14; missionary, 39, 41–42; public, 98 Schoppert, Jim, 147 Schwatka, Ada, 61 Schwatka, Frederick, 61 Scidmore, Eliza, 43, 54 Sealaska Elders Conference, 146

218 Inde x

Sealaska Heritage Institute (SHI), 123; arts campus plan, 135; Celebration, 132–33, 135, 144, 147; copyright infringement lawsuit, 196n33; core values, 19; creation of, 132; logo, ix, ixfig.; Soboleff Building, 132, 133–36, 134fig., 150fig., 151fig., 156; Toddler Regalia Review, 133, 146–48, 155. See also Indigenous Fashion Show sealskin, 46, 47fig. seaweed motif, 50–51, 69, 70fig., 89, 144, 153–55 seed beads: history of, 20, 24; as material, 50; origins of, 185n55 s’eiḵ kawóot (“smoke [colored] beads”), 20 S’eiltin, Tanis: coat (untitled), 126–31, 127fig., 129fig.; Resisting Acts of Distillation, 137; Some People of the Tide: Raven, Coho, and Octopus, 137–38, 139fig.; Steampunk Raven Flies to the North Star, 138–40, 140fig. Selective Service, 100 settler colonialism: 1904 potlatch and, 92–94; authenticity discourses, 93–94, 96; museum collections and, 12; pain and trauma of, vii; regalia and, 76; resilience and, 9; Rizal’s Resilience Robe and, viii. See also assimilation; Presbyterian Church; resistance; Russian Orthodox church Seward, William H., 34 Shaanax̱ Hít (Valley House), 163 shadakóox̱’ (ceremonial hat), 58–59, 60fig. shal daakeit (spoon bag), 59 Sharing Our Knowledge: A Conference of Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian Tribes & Clans, 144, 145 Sharpless, Mary (later Schäffer, then Warren), 36–40, 51 Sheakley, Florence Marks (Ḵaakal.aat), 10–11, 51, 70, 110–12, 114, 136 Sheey Káa Sh K’ut Yéil (Raven Helmet), 81 Shéiksh/Shakes IV, Chief (Keishíshk’), 162 Shéiksh/Shakes V, Chief (Tseináakw), 23, 27–28, 76, 162–63 Sheldon, Elisabeth, 111 Sheldon, Steve, 111 Sheldon Jackson Museum, 61, 81

Inde x

Shotridge, Florence (Ḵaatkwaax̱snéi), 11, 41, 109, 110 Shotridge, George, 65 Shotridge, Louis (Stuwuḵáa), 9, 90 Silver Hand logo, 117 Simpson, Belle, 111 Singletary, Preston, 133; Copper Totem, 142 Sisiyuł, 159, 177, 197n2 Sisiyuł hats, 159, 160fig., 164–72, 165–71figs. Sit’ (Glacier) (George), 149–52, 151fig. Sitka, tourism in. See tourism and souvenir trade Sitka National Historical Park, 53 Sitka Petroglyph (French), 141–42, 141fig. Sitka potlatch. See ḵu.éex’ (potlatch), “last” Soboleff, Walter, 113 Soboleff Building, 132, 133–36, 134fig., 150fig., 151fig., 156 social organization, Tlingit, 18–19 Some People of the Tide: Raven, Coho, and Octopus (S’eiltin), 137–38, 139fig. souvenirs. See tourism and souvenir trade sovereignty: cultural, 97; land and, 99; photographic, 22–23; resilience and, 9–10; souvenir trade and, 42; visual, 10, 50 Steampunk Raven Flies to the North Star (S’eiltin), 138–40, 140fig. Stikine River trade route, 27, 151–52, 162–63 Suría, Tomás de, 81, 83fig. Swanton, James, 54 Taan Hít (Sea Lion House), 90 Tahltan, 26–30, 28fig., 29fig., 186n81. See also interior communities, relations with T’aḵdeintaan (Blacklegged Kittiwake) clan, 152–53 Tamaree, Tillie Paul, 47fig. Teichmann, Emil, 20, 27 Teiḵweidí (Brown Bear) clan, 76, 163 Teit, James, 28–30 Thomas, Dell W., 119, 193n69 Thornton, Tom, 191n12 Tináa Art Auction, 132, 141 Tl’úk’x̱ Aas Gáas’ (Woodworm Girl House Post), 73 Toddler Regalia Review, 133, 146–48, 155

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Tom, 54, 188n57 Tom, Mrs. See Gadji’nt Totem Land (film), 170–71, 171fig. totem poles, 106–7 tourism and souvenir trade: cloth materials, 48–50; early Alaska tourism, 34–35; economic significance of, 42–43; Gadji’nt and, 34, 54–61; hide and fur materials, 45–48; motifs and colors, 50–52; naïve and paternalistic tourist ideals, 55–56; photography, power of, 57–61; places of purchase, 56–57, 57fig.; prices, 46; resilience, resistance, and, 42; seed bead materials, 50; settler schools and, 52–53; Sharpless moccasins (unrecorded artist) and “Heart of a Child” narrative, 35–40, 37fig.; shops, 42, 44fig., 56, 111; Tlingit women and souvenir trade, 40–42; wooch yáx̱ and, 40. See also Alaska Native Arts and Crafts Cooperative Townsend-Gault, Charlotte, 174, 179 trade and trade beads: “grease trails” to interior, 45, 67; history of, 19–22; Stikine River trade route, 27, 151–52, 162–63; Tahltan (inland), 26–30. See also tourism and souvenir trade Trading, Dis-eases, and Surviving (Cuthand), 181–82 Tsaagweidí (Killer Whale Seal) clan, 140, 151 Tseináakw (Chief Shéiksh/Shakes V), 23, 27–28, 76, 162–63 Tsinhnahjinnie, Hulleah J., 10, 22 Tsisk’w Hít (Owl House), 51 Tunic for a Noblewoman: In Memory of ’Wadzi­ dalag̱a (Nicolson), 177–78, 178fig. tunics: crested, 82–87, 84fig., 85fig., 86fig.; ermine, 89–90, 90fig., 91fig.; Kwakwa̱ ka̱’̱ wakw, 172–73, 172fig.; raven, beaded, 86; Tunic for a Noblewoman: In Memory of ’Wadzidalag̱a (Nicolson), 177– 78, 178fig.; Tunics of the Changing Tide series (Nicolson), 174, 174fig., 175fig.; uniforms, relationship to, 87–90, 89fig., 90fig., 91fig.; v-yoke, 68–70, 68fig., 70fig. Tunics of the Changing Tide series (Nicolson), 174, 175fig., 176fig.

Twitchell, Lance, 149 two-spirited individuals, 8 U’mista Cultural Centre, 166 uniforms related to regalia, 87–90, 89fig., 121, 126 University of Alaska Museum of the North (UAMN), 141–42 values, core, 19, 125, 184n49. See also haa aaní; haa latseen; haa shuká; wooch yáx̱ Veniaminov, Ivan, 78–79 Visaya, Bessie (Ḵaachgun), 98, 111–12 v-yoke tunics, 68–70, 68fig., 70fig. ’Wadzidalag̱a, 177–78 Walking with Our Sisters, exhibition, 181 Wallace, John, 107 wall pockets, 46–50, 48fig., 49fig. Warren, Jennie, 114 warrior history, 99–100 Water Song (Belcourt), 181 weaving. See naaxein; ravenstail Webb, William Seward, 57 Weise, Johnny, 70 White, Annie, 110 Whymper, Frederick, 34 Willard, Jennie, 53 Wilson, Elizabeth, 161, 162, 197n15 Wilson, Ray, 147 Winter, Lloyd, 24–26, 24fig., 44fig., 84 women, Tlingit: contextualized activation of work of, 14–15; intergenerational transmission and, 10–12; power, resilience, and, 8–10; puberty rituals, 11, 76, 109, 118; Russian Orthodox church and, 80; Soboleff Building, absence from, 133–35; Tlingit ways of knowing and, 9. See also gender; matriliny wooch yáx̱ (social and spiritual balance): about, 17, 19; contemporary artists and, 125; George as educator and, 146; McNeil’s Once Upon a Time in America and, 97; Sharpless moccasins and, 40 Woodman, Abby Johnson, 41–42, 56 woodworm (gantutl’úk’x̱u), 72, 73, 73fig., 74fig.

220 Inde x

Worl, Rosita, 155 World War II, 99–100, 108–9, 117, 126– 28 Wyatt, Victoria, 24 x̱aat s’áaxw (basketry hat), 59, 60fig. X̱ ’akat.ahán, 73, 74fig. Xeitl Hít (Thunderbird House), 129 Xeitx̱ut’ch (Jacob Yarkon), 65 Xíxch’í Hít (Frog House), 24–26, 24fig., 73, 84–85, 186n75 x̱’uskeit (foot shield), 70

Inde x

Yaanaxnahoo (Paddy Parker), 65 Yáay Hít (Whale House), 26, 65, 73, 74fig., 90 Yanwaa Sháa (sailor women), 87 Yéil Hít (Raven House), 26 yéil koowú (ravenstail), 21, 21fig., 146, 149, 150fig., 196n33 Yohe, Jill Ahlberg, 14 Young, T. J., 135 Yup’ik, 115–16, 119 Zahm, J. A., 55–56

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