Weaving Across Cultures, Part One: Alaskan Native Chilkat & Ravenstail weavers find weaving connection with Navajo weavers
by Clarissa Hudson clarissahudson.com

Read Part One

I was born in Juneau, Alaska in 1956 to the Tlingit Indian Sea Tern (T’akDeinTaan) Clan. My people originally lived in what is now Glacier Bay National Monument. As a professional artist, I have worked in various mediums, including print making, painting, collages and sculpture, but my specialty has been the designing and creating Alaskan Tlingit ceremonial robes, the sewn button blanket style, and the hand-woven Chilkat and Ravenstail styles. 

In 1979, I began to understand the power of robes when I took my young son to see Walt Disney’s film “Snow White.”  As the angry stepmother glided down the stone spiral staircase with the pig-heart in her hand, her full-length robe swept the steps behind her. I was amazed at the power of that image. What gave her the illusion of such power? The robe.  I saw how a robe can reflect the intent and character of the person wearing it.  As curious as it may seem, this moment of insight inspired me — and led me to begin creating Tlingit Indian ceremonial robes.   

All across this continent, since the coming of the Western ways of life over 500 years ago, the Native American people have had a history of major adjustments, losing many ancient traditions.  Yet in most Native American cultures, the creation and use of ceremonial robes survived and continues to play an important part in not only preserving history and culture, but the preservation of an individual’s self worth and dignity.  In my self, and among my people back home, I have witnessed the power of a robe when worn by someone – especially by someone in need of spiritual “food.”  Ceremonial regalia is a physical “medicine” to assist people, putting them back in touch with their identity, mother nature and with their "higher source."  My unique position as a ceremonial robe-maker is a commitment to assist in lifting up one’s spirit, providing a sense of safety and well-being, and maintaining one’s self-worth and identity by way of the power of a ceremonial robe. 

I learned the traditional art of Chilkat weaving from one of the last traditional Chilkat weavers, Jennie Thlunaut from Klukwan, Alaska whom I apprenticed with in 1986.  She passed away just two months later at the age of 96.  Jennie taught me many things pertaining to the weaving and the ways in which Chilkat weaving would lead me into a new and different kind of life.  Jennie counted on me to carry her knowledge and share it with others, so her life-long work would not die with her.  Three years after her passing, I began teaching Chilkat weaving to aspiring Native women.  At least once a year, I teach workshops (in Alaska or Canada) or have an apprentice who comes to our retreat home in Colorado.

Julia Sai became interested in Northwest  Coast Native arts when she was  a high school exchange student during 2002-03 school year in my home town in Juneau, Alaska. In the Spring of 2004, she met me on the ferry boat ride to Haines, Alaska where she was taking a class in Northwest Coast carving taught by a mutual friend, David Svenson, at the Alaska Indian Arts Center. 

Excited about her carving skills, she wanted to learn more about all the various forms of Northwest Coast Native art.  David recommended me as someone who could teach her.  A year later, she e-mailed me and asked if she could apprentice with me.  I vaguely remembered meeting her, and accepted her proposal based on David’s recommendation.

Julia came from Yokohama City, Japan to live with us for six months. She apprenticed with me in Ravenstail weaving, button blanket robe-making, painting, and collage.  I had warned her about our family and lifestyle:  we’re self-employed with many projects going on at once, and it can be chaotic sometimes.   I didn’t want someone coming all the way from Japan, only to experience our eccentric lifestyle and then turn right around and head back home.

As it turned out, she was an excellent artist and eccentric in her own right, so she fit right in.  What was I worried about?

Chloe French is a member of the Tlingit Indian Killerwhale clan, presently living in Bellingham, Washington.  She taught school in a California mountain town. but dreamed that when she retired, she would learn more about her Alaska Native roots – beginning with Chilkat weaving. 

With some assistance from a Chilkat weaving book, Chloe began weaving a dance apron, but realized that she needed some one-on-one instruction.  Over a span of two years, Chloe attempted to arrange an apprenticeship with me, but somehow things did not pan out until this September.  During her month in Pagosa, she wove a pair of Chilkat dance leggings, and we discussed the next phase of her apron project.

As part of the apprenticeship, I had told both women we would visit an annual gathering of Navajo weavers at the Toadlena Trading Post.  I wanted to do a cross-cultural exchange between the Navajo weavers and the Chilkat weavers.  I wanted us to learn about the similarities and differences in the weaving styles, the preparation of materials, the spiritual teachings.

Most of all, I wanted to learn how the Navajo weavers spin their wool on their lap/floor spindles.   Although, the Alaskan Chilkat weavers at the turn of the last century spun their weft yarns using the same basic method as the Navajo, they had not passed down the spindle technique to my generation of weavers, because they began to use Western store-bought weft yarns. So the aspect of using hand-spun weft yarns in our weavings was lost.

For many years, I've had the intention of learning how to spin weft yarns on the spindle, and to, one day, spin it as well as the Navajo weavers.  I wanted to bring this technique back home to Alaska and teach it to our Chilkat weavers.   I saw our visit with the Navajo weavers as our opportunity to watch, listen, and do.

Story continued in Part Three

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