The face of this land has been changed many times since the last ice age (when it was under water), and since Europeans and others began to displace the First Nations in the 19th Century. Was this spot lower than it is now, at the shoreline of the estuary? did it get more fill than surrounding areas for some reason? or were these its contours from time immemorial?
According to the Great Northern Way Revised Structure Plan (2014), this meadow will someday be used as part of the staging area for construction of a Broadway subway line (tunnel boring machine! see page 13, fig.7 ); afterward the line is in with a station at the corner of Thornton and Great Northern Way, it will be developed into commercial/campus properties (see page 10, Figure 5). The plot immediately to the south of what is currently the meadow (behind the chain link fence where we wove our circles of weeds) is marked to be the green, open space.
In the meantime, this meadow is a beautiful place to walk, bike and picnic through the seasons, as the flush of wildflower blooms changes week by week (and the art projects pop up like mushrooms). Many of these flowers are here because they are good nectar producers; some of them, such as coreopsis, are also extraordinary dye plants.
I thought it was enjoyable just walking around the city… making installations with plants. It was satisfying to make marks that weren’t permanent… It felt loose and playful… to just create as you go with no pressure… and then just leaving it, a break from product oriented work. And Anna and Nicola together, their knowledge always shifts my perspective: Anna was saying you can tell what ages the block was built by the trees, what trees were trending when that block was built.
Project artist Jaymie Johnson, in an interview with Rebecca Graham
May — Lacy phacelia – people were really fascinated by the caterpillar-like blooms, sweet rocket, blooming trees, St.Johns wort coming out, California poppies, yellow dock, horsetail just small, lupines; June — pink flowers at ECUAD, Lacy phacelia gone to seed, wild lettuce going to seed, blackberry fibre peeling well, buttercups, St.Johns wort at peak in the middle of the month; July — goldenrod everywhere, yarrow, fireweed starting, tansy. Also coreopsis “tickweed” at ECUAD and some other little places nooks and crannies. Bindweed everywhere, flowering now; August— goldenrod stayed strong, fireweed, and second batch of st.johns wart. Coreopsis and marigolds coming on and staying into the fall.
Project artist Nicola Hodges, in an interview with Rebecca Graham
In the long ago there was a very large, steeply-dropping creek here, full of salmon and trout, probably with medicinal and food plants all through the understory, and fibre plants like tule and cattail at the mouth, in the estuary.
Right on the southeast corner of the intersection of Brunswick and Great Northern Way you’ll find references to the grounded creek, including art and names embedded in the sidewalk, and plantings of native vegetation: mahonia, salal, and ferns, among others. mahonia and salal berries are food, and may also be used as dyes; if you are luck to come upon a gardener who has clipped back or dug up some mahonia, the roots and branches can also yield a strong yellow. Across the street, an ornamental planting of rudbeckia may need some deadheading, yielding some more yellows.
Behind St.Francis Xavier church, across from 440 East 5th Ave Vancouver
If the day is clear, you’ll be able to look out from this spot and see the North Shore Mountains. Near the western side are two prominent knobs of rock that have been named “The Lions” on many maps made by the newcomers in the past two hundred years. They’re actually farther away than most of the mountain silhouettes that you can see; but they sit up high at the head of a long valley, and seem to watch over what goes on.
The Lions watch over not just Vancouver and West Vancouver, all the way south to Richmond and Delta; but the lower Sea to Sky corridor and parts of the Sunshine Coast, too — a very significant portion of Coast Salish Territory. For time immemorial before they were renamed, these peaks were called “The Sisters”, a point brought to the project by artist Nicole Preissl. Below is the version of the story that Nicole was familiar with, recounted by Pauline Johnson from her conversations with Chief Joe Capilano (and if you’re not familiar with Pauline Johnson, check out this article in the Canadian Encyclopedia,)
Once we were sharing the stories of the land, those voices and those histories, people started reacting — “wow I never knew that,” or “wow I’ve never been told that,” or “that’s never been shared with me before”. And then as soon as we were talking about the plants, that tied it in for everyone — the rope bundled it together. Once people were using the materials from the land, the plants and flora from the land that we were talking about, and putting those stories in the context of walking around this area… people picture it, they can see it, all the creeks coming down and all of that. Right where we’re standing, picture this: beautiful marshland, reeds and grasses, birds and all kinds of wildlife… it’s such a harsh contrast to what we see right now, right? It’s so different. But I think that the stories, the walking, the rope-making with plants, it allows people to go oh yeah, it must have been beautiful, it must have been breathtaking. All three of those things, the use of the plants, the telling of the stories, and being in the place, were so crucial for us sharing our culture. Because I think both Veronica and I have been in situations where we’ve been at an event or an indigenous celebration or something, and it hasn’t been land-based; and if you’re not there on the land, hearing those stories can feel disconnected, and distant. Whereas when we were telling these stories, people were like “wow, not only am I using the plants that have come from it, but I can picture the land as it was, and how the stories make sense.” I feel like people really connected to it, they weren’t just watching a movie or hearing a story, they were in the place where the story took place, ages ago, and they were experiencing it right then and there, and I think that’s what I really enjoyed about the walks.
Artist Nicole Preissl, as told to Rebecca Graham
If you turn around and look up the hill, you may find yourself standing at the foot of St.George Street. This used to be the path of a little creek, te Statlew, now the subject of the St.George Rainway community initiative to “daylight” the historic waterway to enhance the functional infrastructure, biological potential and aesthetics of the urban landscape.
Along this stretch of 5th Avenue you’ll find many plants of interest for fibre enthusiasts. All plants must be harvested at their proper time for good results: for weavers, there are Himalayan blackberry, bindweed, day lily, iris, and fireweed; for spinners, fireweed; for dyers, blackberry and spent dark hollyhock blossoms.
OU can see them as you look towards the north and the west, where the dream-hills swim into the sky amid their ever-drifting clouds of pearl and gray. They catch the earliest hint of sunrise, they hold the last colour of sunset. Twin mountains they are, lifting their twin peaks above the fairest city in all Canada, and known throughout the British Empire as “The Lions of Vancouver.”
Sometimes the smoke of forest fires blurs them until they gleam like opals in a purple atmosphere, too beautiful for words to paint. Sometimes the slanting rains festoon scarves of mist about their [Page 2] crests, and the peaks fade into shadowy outlines, melting, melting, for ever melting into the distances. But for most days in the year the sun circles the twin glories with a sweep of gold. The moon washes them with a torrent of silver. Oftentimes, when the city is shrouded in rain, the sun yellows their snows to a deep orange; but through sun and shadow they stand immovable, smiling westward above the waters of the restless Pacific, eastward above the superb beauty of the Capilano Canyon. But the Indian tribes do not know these peaks as “The Lions.” Even the chief whose feet have so recently wandered to the Happy Hunting Grounds never heard the name given them until I mentioned it to him one dreamy August day, as together we followed the trail leading to the canyon. He seemed so surprised at the name that I mentioned the reason it had been applied to them, asking him if he recalled the Landseer Lions in Trafalgar Square. Yes, he remembered those splendid sculptures, and his quick eye saw the resemblance instantly. It appeared to please [Page 3] him, and his fine face expressed the haunting memories of the far-away roar of Old London. But the “call of the blood” was stronger, and presently he referred to the Indian legend of those peaks–a legend that I have reason to believe is absolutely unknown to thousands of Pale-faces who look upon “The Lions” daily, without the love for them that is in the Indian heart, without knowledge of the secret of “The Two Sisters.” The legend was intensely fascinating as it left his lips in the quaint broken English that is never so dulcet as when it slips from an Indian tongue. His inimitable gestures, strong, graceful, comprehensive, were like a perfectly chosen frame embracing a delicate painting, and his brooding eyes were as the light in which the picture hung. “Many thousands of years ago,” he began, “there were no twin peaks like sentinels guarding the outposts of this sunset coast. They were placed there long after the first creation, when the Sagalie Tyee moulded the mountains, and patterned the mighty rivers where the salmon run, [Page 4] because of His love for His Indian children, and His wisdom for their necessities. In those times there were many and mighty Indian tribes along the Pacific–in the mountain ranges, at the shores and sources of the great Fraser River. Indian law ruled the land. Indian customs prevailed. Indian beliefs were regarded. Those were the legend-making ages when great things occurred to make the traditions we repeat to our children to-day. Perhaps the greatest of these traditions is the story of ‘The Two Sisters,’ for they are known to us as ‘The Chief’s Daughters,’ and to them we owe the Great Peace in which we live, and have lived for many countless moons. There is an ancient custom amongst the coast tribes that, when our daughters step from childhood into the great world of womanhood, the occasion must be made one of extreme rejoicing. The being who possesses the possibility of some day mothering a man-child, a warrior, a brave, receives much consideration in most nations; but to us, the Sunset tribes, she is honoured above all people. The [Page 5] parents usually give a great potlatch, and a feast that lasts many days. The entire tribe and the surrounding tribes are bidden to this festival. More than that, sometimes when a great Tyee celebrates for his daughter, the tribes from far up the coast, from the distant north, from inland, from the island, from the Cariboo country, are gathered as guests to the feast. During these days of rejoicing the girl is placed in a high seat, an exalted position, for is she not marriageable? And does not marriage mean motherhood? And does not motherhood mean a vaster nation of brave sons and of gentle daughters, who, in their turn, will give us sons and daughters of their own?
“But it was many thousands of years ago that a great Tyee had two daughters that grew to womanhood at the same springtime, when the first great run of salmon thronged the rivers, and the ollallie bushes were heavy with blossoms. These two daughters were young, lovable, and oh! very beautiful. Their father, the great Tyee, prepared to make a feast [Page 6] such as the Coast had never seen. There were to be days and days of rejoicing, the people were to come for many leagues, were to bring gifts to the girls and to receive gifts of great value from the chief, and hospitality was to reign as long as pleasuring feet could dance, and enjoying lips could laugh, and mouths partake of the excellence of the chief’s fish, game, and ollallies.
“The only shadow on the joy of it all was war, for the tribe of the great Tyee was at war with the Upper Coast Indians, those who lived north, near what is named by the Pale-face as the port of Prince Rupert. Giant war-canoes slipped along the entire coast, war-parties paddled up and down, war-songs broke the silences of the nights, hatred, vengeance, strife, horror festered everywhere like sores on the surface of the earth. But the great Tyee, after warring for weeks, turned and laughed at the battle and the bloodshed, for he had been victor in every encounter, and he could well afford to leave the strife for a brief week and feast in his daughters’ honour, nor permit any[Page 7] mere enemy to come between him and the traditions of his race and household. So he turned insultingly deaf ears to their war-cries; he ignored with arrogant indifference their paddle-dips that encroached within his own coast waters, and he prepared, as a great Tyee should, to royally entertain his tribesmen in honour of his daughters.
“But seven suns before the great feast these two maidens came before him, hand clasped in hand.
“‘Oh! our father,’ they said, ‘may we speak?’
“‘Speak, my daughters, my girls with the eyes of April, the hearts of June’” (early spring and early summer would be the more accurate Indian phrasing).
“‘Some day, oh! our father, we may mother a man-child, who may grow to be just such a powerful Tyee as you are, and for this honour that may some day be ours we have come to crave a favour of you–you, Oh! our father.’
“‘It is your privilege at this celebration to receive any favour your hearts may wish,’ he replied graciously, placing his [Page 8] fingers beneath their girlish chins. ‘The favour is yours before you ask it, my daughters.’
“‘Will you, for our sakes, invite the great northern hostile tribe–the tribe you war upon–to this, our feast?’ they asked fearlessly.
“‘To a peaceful feast, a feast in the honour of women?’ he exclaimed incredulously.
“‘So we would desire it,’ they answered.
“‘And so shall it be,’ he declared. ‘I can deny you nothing this day, and some time you may bear sons to bless this peace you have asked, and to bless their mother’s sire for granting it.’ Then he turned to all the young men of the tribe and commanded: ‘Build fires at sunset on all the coast headlands–fires of welcome. Man your canoes and face the north, greet the enemy, and tell them that I, the Tyee of the Capilanos, ask–no, command–that they join me for a great feast in honour of my two daughters.’ And when the northern tribe got this invitation they flocked down the coast to this feast of a Great Peace. They [Page 9] brought their women and their children; they brought game and fish, gold and white stone beads, baskets and carven ladles, and wonderful woven blankets to lay at the feet of their now acknowledged ruler, the great Tyee. And he, in turn, gave such a potlatch that nothing but tradition can vie with it. There were long, glad days of joyousness, long, pleasurable nights of dancing and camp-fires, and vast quantities of food. The war-canoes were emptied of their deadly weapons and filled with the daily catch of salmon. The hostile war-songs ceased, and in their place were heard the soft shuffle of dancing feet, the singing voices of women, the play-games of the children of two powerful tribes which had been until now ancient enemies, for a great and lasting brotherhood was sealed between them–their war-songs were ended for ever.
“Then the Sagalie Tyee smiled on His Indian children: ‘I will make these young-eyed maidens immortal,’ He said. In the cup of His hands He lifted the chief’s two daughters and set them forever in a high place, for they had borne two offspring–Peace and Brotherhood–each of which is now a great Tyee ruling this land.
“And on the mountain crest the chief’s daughters can be seen wrapped in the suns, the snows, the stars of all seasons, for they have stood in this high place for thousands of years, and will stand for thousands of years to come, guarding the peace of the Pacific Coast and the quiet of the Capilano Canyon.”
. . . . .
This is the Indian legend of “The Lions of Vancouver” as I had it from one who will tell me no more the traditions of his people.
The birch trees at the corner of Fraser and E5th Ave have had a hard time. To me, birch trees never seem completely at home in this place, as I imagine they do from the photos I’ve seen of the birch forests, and the descriptions of the huge, flawless sheets of bark that were once harvested to skin canoes and wigwams in eastern Canada, and weave shoes and make seamless, waterproof vessels in Scandinavia and Russia. Birch trees grow here, and even if their own volition; but they seem lonely for crowds of their own kinds, and their bark is dark and gnarled with scabs.
It’s true that a birch tree can give its bark to a knowledgeable, skillful person without giving up its life; but it is a one-time gift, the tree is never the same again: wherever the bark was taken becomes a dark, rough scar.
At EartHand we take questions of ethics in gathering, foraging and wild crafting very seriously, because we are often the portal through which people do start to see what’s around them and reach for it. Many come to us almost starving for relationship with the land and ancestors, and so excited to learn “oh, I can use this for this, and this and this, and I found all this! It is very easy, in our innocent excitement, to be blind to the parallel extractive mindset that got us into this mess in the first place. Most of us are descendants of some kind of large-scale civilization of some kind, settlers and colonists from “the people who are always hungry.”
In the EartHand community we temper our sharing of knowledge with discussions of respect and reciprocity. There are old rules: build relationships, know whose land you’re on and ask permission; bring gifts for the people of the land and for the plants you’re hoping to gather (what is it worth to you? What does it mean to you?); take no more than one out of every ten. Ask yourself: what can I do for these beings in return? As our friends at ReWild Portland put it: good foragers are gardeners, not extractors.
These birch trees gave up many pieces of bark to someone, years ago; and all of us will live with that act through the scars that the trees will always carry. We invite you to share a little love and respect for the them by clearing away the bindweed (which you might be able to use for making rope or coil baskets) or picking up some garbage.
What can you do for the land that sustains you?
If you hunger to connect with the more-than-human lives around you and build relationships with them through spinning, weaving or dyeing, please join us at one of our many events so we may share our knowledge with you first-hand.
[The Walks were] a time for noticing, opening up and noticing. A lot of the people who came out were textile people or just starting out in natural dyes, and a lot of them were like “oh I can use this thing, and this thing!” And we’d talk about how that’s not really what it’s about. No extractive mindset.
Artist Nicola Hodges, in an interview with Rebecca Graham
Outside this apartment building are cedar trees; this land was probably covered with thickly buttressed old growth cedars and firs, home to species like flying squirrels (now extinct), and porcupines, I’ve read.
The universe of gifts given by cedar trees is catalogued in Hilary Stewart’s book, Cedar: Tree of Life to the Northwest Coast Indians; it was central to livelihood as well as spiritual practice. Among its gifts were wood for constructing houses and forming canoes; branches and roots for baskets and sometimes tools; and durable inner bark, beaten soft for clothing or split and twisted into ropes.
At the Museum of Anthropology they have samples of capes and wraps made from pounded cedar bark bound into lofty, water-shedding cloth with lines of fine nettle twine. Our friend Sesemiya says that cedar bark processed in the traditional way for clothes is warm and relatively dry even when wet with the west coast rains, and I believe it.
I’ve wondered how many trees were needed to clothe a family, and how often the clothes needed to be replaced. How many trees would I need to call on to clothe my family? And, how many trees would it take to clothe everyone who lives here now? Do we still have a choice, now there are so many of us, whether to rely on our man-made, fossil-fuel based fibres to clothe us all?
above right: slough near Garry Point Park, Steveston, in 2018. Photo credit Rebecca Graham
At the northern end of St.Catherines in Vancouver, the land falls away on your right into the playing fields of North China Creek Park; farther on are some parking lots, the Broadway campus of Vancouver Community College, a sliver of co-op and other residential housing; across Great Northern Way down below you’ll also see the VCC Clark Skytrain station and newer commercial real estate developments. People around you are wearing a mix of man-made and synthetic fibres made into clothes that may have been designed at head offices within sight of you right now! The fibres themselves — cotton, wool, hemp, silk; nylon, polyester, spandex — have been grown or extruded, processed, and finished at factories overseas; and most of the garments were manufactured there as well.
Ahead of you, where St.Catherine’s veers hard to the left and turns into E 6th Ave, the whimsical shapes of sculpted willows and slightly wild fruit trees, rough garden fences around mostly unusual plants and a very large, very dense block of granite inhabit the top area of the Means of Production Garden. This beloved bit of tended wildness provides shade, wildlife habitat, and, for its artist-gardeners and community members, a spot to grow and harvest plants for dyeing and weaving. Plants grown at Means of Production have been used to make everything from installations and baskets to pan flutes and fu-horns. If you see some folks working in the garden, they may be wearing things that they have knitted or woven themselves from wool from local sheep, or linen they grew and processed themselves; or cloth that they dyed with plants from the garden.
On August 21, 1951 work started on the construction of China Creek Park. An article on the creek by Randolf Kjorrefjord, published by Vancouver Community College, has this: “The China Creek system was the largest drainage basin in Vancouver, with over 60 kilometres of creeks that converged at Clark Drive and 11th Avenue. Its name originated from a Chinese pig farm in that vicinity during the early 1880s. If the four creeks that fed Trout Lake are included, a total of nine creeks made up the entire China Creek system, which had the task of draining the district lying between Victoria Drive and Knight Road as far south as 45th Avenue.
“This great drainage system also had a rather impressive ravine, about 200 feet across at street level where it crossed Broadway, and north towards 7th Avenue. The ravine’s depth varied between 30 and 40 feet, over a distance of some 2,000 feet. During the 1920s and 30s, the City used China Creek ravine as a garbage dump. Eventually, local residents complained of the smell and potential health risk. In 1951, the mighty China Creek that had flowed for so many years and functioned as home to fish and young boys alike, was finally put to rest in a pipe. Apart from giving its name to the nearby park, it would be forgotten until the construction of King Edward Campus in the early 1980s.” Coho and chum salmon once swam here. Incidentally, the land on which the park sits was given to the city to settle an unpaid tax bill in 1923, though construction of the park did not begin until the date shown above.
So all that water is still flowing, more or less; it’s just encased in pipes beneath our feet. The salmon runs and all the other life that was there formerly are gone, though — all the fish, shellfish, berries, birds, elk, porcupine and squirrel; all the tule and cattail, alder and cedar that provided foods and fibres. Bruce MacDonald’s book Vancouver: A Visual History records that there was a midden known in the North China Creek Ravine, so there was probably a little village or seasonal camp site there at some point before contact. Since the soil seemed to be rich (the Chinese farmers were also market gardeners growing vegetables, according to another source), the place probably looked like a cross between the western banks of Richmond and Serpentine fen, with reeds and grasses growing above muddy tide lines.
“Its actually making me a little teary. It makes the kids see what’s good about their neighbourhood, because so often they’re told that it’s not.”
This is what one of the teachers said as she stood before the table and looked at the map on the wall behind me, with the leaves that the kids had cut out and stuck on to show their favourite places. I’d made the map the day before, using the community centre’s projector and laptop to blow up my hand-drawn Strathcona map to cover most of a 6’x6′ sheet of brown paper, traced out with a Sharpie. Brightly coloured sheets of origami paper cut into stylized leaf shapes, scribbled with names and favourite places, were now stuck on the map, marking favourite and personally meaningful places in the neighbourhood. My observation is that kids at this school LOVE this school, for everything from basketball to friends to math class, the swings in the field and the garden. Second favourite was the library; followed distantly by a smattering places where they liked to eat. Some kids knew what “ancestors” were, and some (perhaps those in a class where they’d been talking about it) even had pretty interesting knowledge about their own. Though, I will say that one kid absolutely denied having any — the subject definitely touches nerves for some.
“We Grow Where We’re Planted”
Jay had come up with the title the week before, when we had our artists’ research meeting to brainstorm project ideas for the residency and I had brought them the idea that I was working on for the Multicultural Fair, and asked for their input. It’s such a cliche, but it’s so true: the whole is more than the sum of its parts; we are more powerful together than we are on our own. When Jay said “We Grow Where We’re Planted,” (Jay is very good with words), it was like fireworks in my mind, the whole feeling and message for the day became clear. For me, imagining together in collaboration is one of the best parts of being an artist, a cultural worker, a meaning-maker; and one of the most nourishing and sustaining aspects of the work.
The whole is more than the sum of its parts…
Collaboration and synergy is everywhere in Strathcona; that’s one of the reasons the neighbourhood is so desirable a place to live, with such a high index of magic. I’m looking forward to opportunities to tap into that magic in this project — with artists in the neighbourhood, dyers, fibre geeks, activists, decarbonizers, gardeners, educators, and more!
EartHand Gleaners in partnership with The Whole Dyslexic Society is offering an opportunity for children ages 6 and up to learn how to grow flax, process the plant into linen fibre and spin it into yarn.
Register for both sessions (8 classes total, $150); or either the spring or summer session (4 classes each, $95 ea). Both sessions will include processing linen fibre, with different creative projects using linen and natural dyes and dye plants. Part of the classes will be in West Vancouver (where the Flax will be grown); and the others at EartHand’s site in Vancouver at Trillium North Park (Malkin at Thornton)
Both classes can be taken for $150.00, or separate sessions are $95.00.
NOTE: EartHand Gleaners will be doing a Flax Processing demonstration at the Harmony Arts Festival in West Vancouver in August. Linen Fibre & Fun Participants are welcome to attend as EartHand volunteers
2nd NOTE: We are still in the planning stages of a year-end party in which we would welcome the community. Collaboration with the Community is a component of the new BC Curriculum and definitely would be fulfilled with attendance at HAF and the Community Party. These occasions could be wonderful opportunities for the children to become more comfortable in public speaking and engagement.
Spring Session Classes – April through June
Wednesday April 3rd – 1:00 – 4:00pm – 1985 Queens Avenue, WV Planting Flax Learn Steps to Process Flax Intro to Spinning
Wednesday May 1st – 1:00 – 4:00pm – 1985 Queens Avenue, WV Plant Dye Plants Continue Spinning Start on Woven Pouches of Linen Line
Wednesday June 5th – 1:00 4:00pm – Trillium North Park, Thornton St @ Malkin Ave, Vancouver Weeding Flax Finishing and Pot Dyeing Woven Pouches Continue Spinning
Wednesday June 5th – 1:00 4:00pm – Trillium North Park, Thornton St @ Malkin Ave, Vancouver Botanical Drawing Hammered Cloth Squares
Wednesdays:
Cost: $95.00
Summer Session – July through September
Wednesday July 3rd – 1:00 – 4:00pm – 1985 Queens Avenue, WV Harvesting Flax Learn Steps to Process Flax Intro to Spinning
Wednesday August 7th – 1:00 – 4:00pm – 1985 Queens Avenue, WV Rippling Flax Flax Retting Intro Braid (3,4,5) Strand Line Linen to make Coiled Baskets Continue Spinning
Wednesday Sept 11th – 1:00 4:00pm – Trillium North Park, Thornton St @ Malkin Ave, Vancouver Spun Tow Linen – Put Into Solar Jar for Dyeing Continue Working on Coiled Baskets
Wednesday Sept 25th – 1:00 – 4:00pm – Trillium North Park, Thornton St @ Malkin Ave, Vancouver Leaf Printing (EcoPrinting) – using steam pots Opening solar jars and using dyed spun tow to decorate Coiled Baskets
Cost: $95.00
Both classes can be taken for $150, or you can register for either session for $95.
BC Curriculum Learning Objectives and Outcomes: Art – First Nations Weaving Science – Growing, Dyeing STEM History – World, First Nations Agriculture – Crop Textile Needs of Living Things Public Speaking (Collaboration with Community)Contact Nadine Matishak for more information and registration: nadine.matishak@shaw.ca
If you want to grow a small plot of flax for linen, you can buy ‘Marilyn’ variety fibre flax seed from us. Email earthandgleaners@gmail.com with the number of packets you want, and we’ll set them aside for you — pick up at MOP on Saturday March 30 or Saturday April 6 — limited quantities! please reserve.
Packets of 12g = 2’x4′ plot $3
Packets of 30g = 5’x5′ plot $5
EXACT CHANGE ONLY PLEASE
PICK UP DETAILS
Saturday March 30 @ MOP Open Studio (6th & St.Catherine’s, Vancouver)9:30-10am; 2-2:30pm (before and after Open Studio event, which is 10-2)
Saturday April 6 @ MOP (6th & St.Catherine’s, Vancouver) 9:30-10am; 2-2:30pm (before and after MOP on the Wildside event, which is 10-2)
I’m still working on accounting for all the time it took me to come up with some notions of what to actually DO during this residency. My original thought was to lead walks where we pick up cool alley finds and plants and spend time in the studio playing. But when I held this idea up to the light of the people I was meeting, and the reality of the neighbourhood, it seemed a little absurd. It takes a lot of energy to stand up and lead an art project, excite people and get them interested in perhaps stepping outside their comfort zone, reach across language and culture to hearts and minds, and so I’ve always aimed to approach with a concept or idea that already has some appeal. What I was trying to figure out was what that concept would be, if not my original idea; and where a new concept would intersect with what I could offer and get energy from myself.
So I continued to meet with programmers and folks at the centre. I met with Liza and got to hear about the roots of the centre, in the Chinese community and its reputation as a place that welcomes newcomers. Liza told me that up to 50% of the Chinese seniors who come to the centre actually live in other neighbourhoods, but come back to do programming at Strathcona because of social connections. Meanwhile, Liza is putting in serious effort to support families of newcomers through programming, some of which is legacy programming where families who have “graduated” support the program as ambassadors. She says they have a lot of new people who speak Vietnamese and Arabic, and she’s getting to know the cultural dynamics that come into play in program participation.
Then I met with Ronnie, whose big office window looks right over the garden playspace and really made me appreciate the depth of feeling behind the plea to want to “look out there and get a good feeling.” Even in spite of its darker side, mostly known by the grownups, this part of the school yard is the basis of some kids’ fondest memories of their years here. Ronnie catalogued for us the most beloved features: the vines with edible fruits, the plum tree, the logs for stomping. And the dark side: the need for clear sight lines and clear ground, the stolen plants, the thorns.
After the meetings, I spent some time on the phone with my mentors to get clear about the expectations on how the budget was to be spent. What is considered appropriate renumeration for artists in this context? How many events are the funders expecting? One of my mentors encouraged me to think in terms of temporary installations — one to four years, or even six months — things that can be moved, or filmed and shown as a loop on a monitor in the centre — we have that! There’s already a screen in the lobby, usually showing television, and a monitor in the youth lounge as well.
I continued making the rounds, next to meet with Jay Peachy, Artist in residence with Red Fox Society. Jay gave me the impression of street cool overlaying a keen sense of humour and sharp wits, and a strong sense of social and environmental justice. I hung out with him as he coordinated a little ‘creative cafe’ time before the shared meal, and was delighted by the way he improvised and engaged with the kids with the puppets — merry and mischievous, sophisticated and yet accessible at the same time. I saw how the kids loved him, how much time he’s spent building relationships at this centre already, wanted to include him on the residency team.
I also wanted to bring Anna Heywood-Jones, Janey Chang, and Jennifer Brant onto the project team. Anna and Jennifer are dyers and fibre artists who, between them, have tremendous theoretical and practical knowledge of natural dyes, decolonization, cartography, and pedagogy; I thought their approach would be a good way of attracting the artists and intellectuals of Strathcona to the centre. (I didn’t realize it when I thought of them, but they know each other too.) Janey is an outdoor educator and ancestral skills practitioner with deep experience in decolonizing practice; I wanted her on the team for her heart and intuition, and capacity to foster respectful relationships and joy with all.
I think it was talking with Jay that the idea of having mapping as the organizing concept for the work really began to take shape in my mind. In 2018 EartHand had mounted a large B.C. Arts Council-funded Youth Innovations project called Walking, Weaving and Wayfinding: the False Creek Fibreshed, so map making has been back on my mind; and as part of that work, I’d been introduced to Bruce Macdonald’s amazing feat of research and desktop publishing, A Visual Atlas of Vancouver, and spent some time fishing around online and in the archives for references. I grew up learning to read aviation maps and, later, using my knowledge of topographic lines to help me interpret terrain for hiking and orienteering. Most imagery feels overwhelming and cliche to me now, but maps remain fascinating, exquisitely beautiful and rich in details about worlds. What if we made maps of Strathcona that represented what the community loves? The cool spots to hang out, the back alleys that often have good finds, the best places for people-watching? What happens if we use maps to juxtapose worlds: needs and survival with aspirations, past and present. I mentioned map making to Jay and he was enthusiastic, and told me about a community map-making project that had inspired him, Islands in the Salish Sea. Vancouver Public Library has a copy at Britannia Branch, and I checked it out.
Well, that was an education. Community map-making is old news in some circles, so there’s a lot of info about best practices out there, and this book was an excellent source. There was so much information that I decided to write a separate post to record the things that stood out most to me, and seemed most relevant to this project.
I was still thinking about the fact that my concept and plan had not yet been officially accepted by the Board, but I decided to try out some community map making at the Family Day event on Monday February 12 anyway. My plan was to start with a medium that’s easy for people to relate to (paper, felt pens and coloured paper), ask about their lives and present, and find out if people are inspired, what ideas come up, what conversations happen. I spent about eight hours drawing and inking a base map of the streets of Strathcona by hand (because I didn’t want to use Google Maps, I wanted the base map to have a more personal feel, and needed time to process my ideas some more anyway) and photographed it so it could be printed on 8.5×11″ paper. Then I gathered my felt pens and pencil crayons, some table cloths and bunting, made up a couple signs explaining what was going on, and did my OWN map first.
When I set up my table at the centre on Family Day, it seemed like a small crowd; I had about a dozen folks come by and talk with me and make their own maps. The things that stood out most for me were these: the depth of gratitude that one of the parents felt for Strathcona Elementary, where her son is a student, and for the buses that run so frequently up and down Main Street because they allow her to get around with her smaller children; and the range of interpretations that the kids had about what they value most in their neighbourhood– from,croissants at Union Market, to imaginary places to gather and have fun.
After the big ideas of the project and the people were in place, I spent some time with the budget, thinking things through and creating an outline of events for the year. I also checked back in with Gabe Dennis, the centre’s youth worker, about the idea of the youth doing a photo-based project. This was an opportunity for education for me, as Gabe explained that as facilitator for youth engagement, he would put a project idea to the youth council to decide upon, rather than deciding for them. I was keen to have things decided in order to move forward with my planning; at the same time, what he was saying felt in line with my own aspirations for honest and open engagement, so we agreed to earmark the money in the budget, present the youth council with a sort of menu of what the artists would like to offer, and see what they’d like to do.
Finally I put together a presentation for the Board about community mapping, the facets of the project, and the budget. One board member expressed surprise at the breadth of the project; I agree that it’s broad, rather than deep — I wanted to do something that expressed different community voices, uniting us around a theme (mapping), rather than focusing on one group. We’ll see how well it comes together in November, when I hope to mount a little show in the centre, showing the results of the work we do this year.
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EartHand Gleaners Society 