Taking Up Residency

The Santa Fe Art Institute became my new home in August. In early June, my Mom and Aunty Carol had accompanied me to Santa Fe for the awards ceremony. It was exciting to introduce them to some of the people who had made me feel welcome and also let them try some of the foods I had developed an addiction to. A dear friend's wedding in Vancouver followed and then we returned to Haida Gwaii. A few trips to the beach to dip net for dungeness crab and a beach bonfire or two later and I was on my way back to Santa Fe in July. I attended my first sundance, which for a person used to sea level, rain and a great deal of oxygen, was a bit overwhelming. Intriguing man headed off to South Dakota for a sundance while I chained myself to my weaving frame in an attempt to finish a bordered robe for Indian Market. Luckily the institute was peopled with caring and helpful staff who made life easier. The air-conditioned studios with lofty ceilings and great lighting made the long hours fly by. My Mom and eldest nephew joined me for a visit, to offer encouragement and to take part in what is the summer tradition of peeling the skins off of roasted green chilis. Next time we'll wear gloves. FYI peeling the chilis without gloves makes your hands feel invigoratingly tingly which shortly advances to a moderate burning sensation. Now we know.

The Unity Robe was completed and delivered for judging. It was my respectful creation acknowledging a Haida in the Southwest territory. Geese were woven flying across the top border, as they do in real life on their journey between North and South. The pattern All the Weavers made its way down each side border representing the impressive Haida weavers that inspire me and also the famously talented weavers of the territory that I was a guest in. The three borders surrounded a soaring Eagle which is one of the main moiety crests of the Haida and also a powerful symbol in the Southwest. I would have been content with having the robe finished but the ribbons that it garnered were the icing on the cake....the fritos in the frito pie? (If you don't know what a frito pie is, stop reading and book a ticket to Santa Fe. I also suggest a tamale or two, a breakfast burrito, some green chili stew and some of the best chocolate elixirs on the planet). A weekend of the likes I have never experienced began. We finished wandering around the convention centre looking at all the ribbon winners. The plan was to then to set up the booth. Except that it began to rain. There is a misconception floating around out there that I'd like to squash. The misconception is that it does not rain in the Southwest in the summer. Have you heard of monsoons? Exactly. The backup plan was to get up before the crack of dawn and set up then. Plan B it was. One hundred thousand plus people visit Indian Market over the weekend. I did not explain Raven's Tail weaving to all of them. Only half. Yes, I exaggerate but it did feel a bit like it. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to weave and not go to law school (this is only when I am in the middle of a large project and a deadline is looming largely overhead) but then along come people who restore my faith. One woman came down to find me after having seen the article written about me in the newspaper. She said that she had never come to the market before even though they live only a few blocks away. She said that she had to come and see my work. Another woman became teary during our conversation. A couple more people brought newspaper articles for me in case I hadn't seen them. Amazingly, one of the great women from the institute showed up as we were finishing setting up and, true to her word, had brought coffee!! A great deal of visiting was done, both with fellow booth mates, artist friends, interested people and yes, Alaskan cousins. A sunny Sunday found the market drawing to a close and I took a few minutes to quickly visit a few booths. In hindsight, a few minutes that would have been better spent dismantling the booth. Did I mention that the monsoon hour is fairly reliable? Usually late afternoon. Say, right around the time that we were chatting with one of our friends and admiring his jewelry. It started it off lightly and by the time we had reached the booth, it was raining steadily. Which grew to be a downpour followed by flooding. Perhaps I won't wear a white dress next year. Mom and I were grateful for the very chic green garbage bags that one of the other artists had. The intriguing man sent mom and I off to huddle under the massive central tent while he packed everything off to the car. We spent many minutes watching the rivers of water rush over my sandalled feet. Two nattily dressed gentleman sat and chatted in a relaxed fashion while their leather shod feet safely rested on a pair of folding chairs. We finally made a dash for the less flooded venue of a shopping arcade across the plaza. Next year I'm packing my Hunters, a knee-length rain poncho and a thermos of cocoa. If you're coming to visit, I suggest that you do the same!