‘Curve’ Is a Triumph for Indigenous Women

What is it about masks? Why have they proliferated in almost every human culture since the dawn of history?

A new exhibition at the Audain Art Museum in Whistler offers a few clues.

Curve! Women Carvers on the Northwest Coast is co-curated by artist Dana Claxton and the Audain’s director and chief curator, Curtis Collins.

It’s an expansive show featuring work from the 1950s to the current moment. Some of the most startling pieces are also some of the oldest, notably work from late Kwakwaka’wakw carver Ellen Neel, leading Haida carver Freda Diesing and late Gitxsan artist, carver and activist Doreen Jensen.

Among the many remarkable works on display, Neel’s unpainted masks command immediate attention. The almost psychedelic grain of the wood takes centre stage, but the deep-set eyes and pursed lips make it seem as if the mask itself were about to issue a hooting call. They are mesmerizing in their clarity, power and vivid aliveness.

Neel’s Kwakwaka’wakw name, Kakaso'las, translates as “People Who Come to Seek Her Advice.” She began her training at an early age under the tutelage of her grandfather and by her early teens was already making work that was deemed saleable.

After marrying in her early 20s, Neel and her husband Edward raised seven kids. Neel taught her children to carve, and the family operated a stall in Stanley Park where they sold artwork to tourists.

Neel cemented her reputation as an artist through securing significant commissions, including the totem poles at the University of British Columbia and in the Brockton Oval at Stanley Park.

Although Neel died at age 50, her family legacy continues through the work of her granddaughter Lou-ann.

Haida artist Freda Diesing’s influence was equally profound on generations of Indigenous artists. Born in Prince Rupert, Diesing (Skilquewat) was part of the Haida renaissance that introduced the art and culture of the Northwest Coast to a global audience.

Although she started carving only at age 42, Diesing created her own inimitable style, upending convention and creating work that featured female figures and motifs.

Not to put a gender essentialist lens on the show, but one thing that’s most apparent in looking at the work from female artists is a much greater variety of emotional expressions (especially in masks), as opposed to work from male carvers (many of whom are represented in the Audain’s permanent collection).

The diversity of expressions on the masks offers a range of emotion that stands out in a male-dominated practice.

“What was apparent for me is that women’s carving has a different incision,” says co-curator Claxton, in considering how the gender of the artists is expressed in the art.

“Some artists sketch out exactly what they want to carve on paper, then approach wood, but the essence of the materials also brings forth that which is animism.”

Co-curator Collins notes that the quality of animism — the attribution of a soul to natural phenomena — is “particularly true of the masks by Freda Diesing that Dale Marie Campbell pointed out to me.”

He adds, “The emotional range in her work is incredible.”

Although masks predominate in the show, there are many other types of carving ranging from tiny argillite sculptures to full-scale totem poles. A series of argillite pendants is especially compelling, taking on more contemporary themes such as murdered and missing women.

In the 130 works on display at the Audain, the continuum of women supporting other women is abundantly clear.

While this is not an innately political theme, the very fact that some of the most influential female artists in the show have been little known or under-acknowledged is itself something of a statement.

A historical omission. And an institutional failure

Claxton is forthright about the historical omission of female artists in the mainstream canon of contemporary art.

“The stereotypes and gender and racial biases,” she notes, “are baked into, sadly, most facets of Canadian life.”

Collins notes that Neel and Diesing were undervalued as artists during their lifetimes, as well as over the past 30 to 40 years.

“Such a failure of museums and galleries due to the bias mentioned by [co-curator] Dana [Claxton] also continues to affect their art market prices that are generally much lower than that of male carvers.”

In putting together the exhibition, it was important to both curators to fully capture the continuum of work from Elders to younger female carvers, as well as explicate the underlying forces that contributed to women being denied proper recognition.

As Claxton explains, the intent was “to show that women's carving has been happening for generations and that emerging artists have a legacy and home within the discourse, no matter how limited.”

“What is interesting to note is that Freda Diesing claims that women have carved traditional, and it was art dealers and anthropologists who were denying they were. She further suggests that some of the unnamed historical works may well have been carved by women.”

It’s an aspect of the exhibition that has far-reaching implications, not only for female artists but also for the institutions — galleries and museums — that collect and show work.

“Art history has been misshaped by anthropologists with regard to carving practices that date back thousands of years on the Northwest Coast,” says Collins.

“Historic masks, rattles, et cetera created by women were never recognized as such due to a male anthropological bias.”

The fact that more-established artists like Susan Point, Dale Marie Campbell and Marianne Nicolson have been joined by a contingent of younger artists including Cori Savard, Stephanie Anderson, Arlene Ness, Veronica Waechter, Marika Echachis Swan, Morgan Asoyuf, Cherish Alexander and Melanie Russ speaks to the vibrancy of carving as an art form.

“Younger artist artists like Veronica [Waechter] and Cherish [Alexander] will lead the way,” says Claxton.

“Veronica's work is very engaged in tradition as well as contemporary popular culture, hence her Laughing Auntie. Women's carving is in safe hands with these two. And with Melanie Russ.”

Claxton’s confidence is borne out by the work included in Curve!.

With its burnt umber hue, toothy grin and curved tail, Cherish Alexander’s Mountain Lion is a fiendish charmer. So, too, is the work of Veronica Waechter with its mastery of colour, form and technique.

Collins is also confident that the next generation will continue to move the form forward in a few different directions.

“Many of the younger artists in this show create works exclusively for ceremonial use within their respective communities as well as works that are meant to be part of the art discourse-market in public and private collections,” he says.

“The co-relation of such practices speaks to a very healthy future for women carvers.”

Addressing inequities

Now, back to the greater question of masks and their enduring fascination. After seeing Curve! I thought about Neil Diamond’s documentary So Surreal: Behind the Masks.

The film examines the influence of Indigenous masks on the surrealist art movement, and the extremely odd way that they (the surrealist artists) came to know and incorporate aspects of Indigenous art such as visions and dream imagery into their own work.

In an interview with POV Magazine following the film’s premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival, Diamond explained the connection.

“What surrealists were saying is exactly how the Yup’ik felt about these masks.... But the Yup’ik shamans would go into a trance and claim that they were able to see the other side, which is something that the surrealists were interested in. Dreams and automatic writing, and there is a real connection there between the two.”

Another fascinating aspect of the film concerns the ongoing efforts to return masks to the Indigenous communities from which they were taken.

The case for repatriation, the practice of returning historic artworks to the communities from which they originate, is ongoing in galleries and museums. It reaches a particularly problematic inflection point when major art institutions hold ceremonial objects that were never meant for public display.

In this, Curve! is extremely clear about protocol and provenance. As Claxton explains, “The masks in our show are art — they are made to be viewed and purchased by collectors, audiences, whether private or public collections.”

It’s a point reiterated by Collins. “None of the works in this exhibition were created for ceremonial purposes and thus the very important process of repatriation is not a direct issue,” he notes.

“However, the loss of knowledge that has occurred among nations up and down the Northwest Coast as a result of colonial practices underlines the resilience and determination of these women artists to reverse the tide of western oppression.”

Against the backdrop of the denial of women’s roles in historically shaping Indigenous art and the ongoing labour of making new objects while respecting the forms and legacies of the past, Curve! is a truly glorious collection.

The show, says Collins, is “proof that public museums and galleries in Canada need to do more to directly address issues of cultural inequity.”

Claxton puts it more simply: “The works in the show are truly a gift to all of us.”