Sven Christian [SC]: You’ve been making working for over four decades, right?

Xwalacktun [X]: I recall starting at the age of five. My brother was a master drawer and I used to love seeing his artwork in his bedroom. I remember climbing on top of his bunk-bed to look at his artwork hanging on the wall, and I thought, ‘Wow, I want to be able to do that!’ So I climbed down, looked for paper and pencils, and started drawing. From that day on I never stopped — elementary school, high school, college... I’m always drawing. 

When I was eleven my mother saw the talent in me and brought me to this adult painting class, and I said, ‘Wow, I’m going to a bigger school,’ because I was the only youngster there. The rest were all elderly people, painting. It felt really special, like a great honour, but I probably didn’t know what honour was at that point. I just enjoyed doing it. In high school I did a lot of artwork for basketball teams and so forth, and made a silkscreen for our graduation T-shirts. When I graduated they gave me a letter to say that I was a great artist. Afterwards, all I wanted to do was make money, so I tried to go into the labour force — logging, mining, working on the booming grounds, forestry, whatever. 

SC: What are the booming grounds? 

X: It’s where you sort logs: Red Cedar, Douglas fir, Hemlock, Spruce… My dad did a lot of that kind of work and I thought, ‘Well, I’m going to try do that.’ I searched for ages and didn’t get a job. There was probably some prejudice. I would apply and my high school friends, who applied way later, would get a job — systemic racism. But it didn’t bother me. I kept going. I hitchhiked everywhere. I would start at 6AM and get home around 9PM. I did that for nine months and didn’t get a job. So, I went down to the booming grounds where my dad worked. I thought I’d apply there, where I might get a job. I walked down to the office and my dad saw me and said, ‘Hey son, what are you doing here?’ ‘Well, I’m going to apply for a job.’ And he said, ‘No, I don’t want you working here. Go back to school.’ And my mom said, ‘Go back to school.’ And then the school co-ordinator said, ‘Go back to school. You’re a talent in the art.’ I kept saying, ‘There’s no money in that. How am I going to survive?’ But I went to art school, finally. I enjoyed it. I graduated from what started as the Vancouver School of Art, then it became the Emily Carr College of Art, now it’s a well-known university. I received an honorary doctorate from them a couple of years ago. But I just enjoyed art ever since. After graduating I was invited to a conference. They said come as you are, and I did. It was a really hot day. I was wearing Adidas shorts and carrying a white T-shirt, and I walked up to where this conference was and everybody was dressed up real nice. I said, ‘What the heck?’ So I walked towards the circle — they were all sitting outside in a circle — and put my T-shirt on, and one of the ladies says, ‘Xwalacktun, you’re not wearing anything!’ An elder heard that and started calling me T’háwhits1, which means ‘naked one.’ That became my Squamish name for many years. They called me ‘naked one’ [Laughs]. I passed that on to another guy, who was an elder. He loved the name, so took it on. 

I then started working in the schools, for thirty-five / forty years, doing drumming, singing, drawing, storytelling… Some of the kids I taught now have their own kids, and they come back and say, ‘Oh, you’re teaching my kid now,’ right? Time goes by so fast. My elders used to say, ‘Do something great because life is too short.’ I always kept that in my mind. Do the best you can. My dad always says, ‘Do good now. Do better tomorrow.’ So I always keep that in mind. You keep taking these teachings and putting them in your head, right? And I use those to teach others too. 

I did a lot of work for the Winter Olympics in 2010. That’s why I started dropping off the schools; I was getting too busy with bigger projects. Now I’m usually have about three years worth of projects lined up. They’re all commissioned and ready to go. So, that’s where I’m at now. Then I got invited here. I was so busy I didn’t know if I would come, but I thought I should for the experience, and to meet some new people and come to a new continent that I’d never been to. And the people here are just awesome. I’ve enjoyed meeting all of the people around here. 

SC: You mentioned log booming; the different ways of sorting logs. Is that how you became familiar with different wood types? 

X: Yip. I knew about wood because my dad was in the logging industry, for many years. He’d point out which tree is which. So I started carving and thought it was Red Cedar and my dad would be like, ‘They look the same, but they’re harder.’ One’s pitchy, sticky. If you carve it you can get pitch on your blade, so it’s harder to carve. The Red Cedar is music to the ears. 

I started carving at the age of twelve, indigenous carving. We had a teacher from up north, from my mother’s territory, which is the Kwakwak’wakw— the Namgis people — who came down and did a weekend carving course with us. I loved it. I thought, ‘Wow, I’m going to keep doing this.’ He only taught for one weekend, but I wanted to continue. I didn’t have any tools so I bought some, but I was struggling. I didn’t know how to sharpen a tool. 

I thought by just using the file it was sharpening it, but that’s not sharp enough for carving. By eighteen I’d learnt to sharpen better, but when I went to art school I got them to a real fine point — razor sharp. A lot of it was through trial and error. I didn’t have a mentor, but I make it a point to teach people. Because I went through that struggle I’m able to teach them how to approach it. 

SC: What did you make in those early days, when struggling? 

X: I was trying to do the Kwakwak’wakw style, and Haiida style artwork — northern people. I thought, because that artwork was in the lower mainland of Vancouver, all of us did that style. But it wasn’t until 1990, when I saw Kwak-Salish’s style by a guy named Charles Elliott2, who passed about a year-and-a-half ago... I did a major public piece in Kwak-Salish design and invited him. I told him, ‘You inspired me. You don’t even know it, but you inspired me to do Kwak-Salish.’ And I started doing it from then on. 

SC: How would you describe that style? 

X: In the northern style they use ovoids, U-shapes, S-shapes, circles; Kwak-Salish use circles, crescents, wedges... It’s as if you were to throw a pebble in the water and you see that movement of the waves. Those are what we follow, those crescent designs. Things come from nature. We’re looking at nature for our designs. When we carve it’s more of a negative, not a positive, space. With my work now I do both. 

SC: Would you describe these as relief works or sculpture in the round? 

X: Sculpture in the round is also, in a sense, like a relief, right? It’s just got more sides. Our pieces were structural. When you did a carving you called it a house post. They would hold up the rafters or beams of the house. Those designs were used for storytelling or history — it could be any of that, but it was all through witnessing. You’d have a ceremony and invite people to come witness what this is all about, so that when people go away they’ll share what that story was all about. It’s about the home, the people, the environment, community, spirituality. 

SC: Can you give an example of a story that you’ve depicted?

X: At the moment we’re thinking about truth and reconciliation. We’re in that movement now, and there were hard times, but we have to overcome those frustrations, those angers, so that we’re actually battling ourselves. How can we come out of that to move forward? The double-headed serpent teaches us and gives us tools, but we also have to slay that serpent to become stronger people. That connects us with the creator, the thunderbird, which is also supernatural. If we look at a thunderbird and we take the crowns off it, on top of its head, it becomes a natural form — the eagle. This is why the eagle is so sacred to us. When we carry or use eagle feathers it connects us to the creator. We use that for prayers, dancing… All our dancers have nothing but eagle feathers on their head. On the bottom they have deer hooves. That’s the four-legged — how we should be walking lightly, moving. So there’s a lot of knowledge behind what we wear, what we use, what songs we sing, what designs we use. 

SC: I’m sitting looking at Esther Mahlangu’s mural as we talk… She practises within a particular tradition, that was passed down and that she now teaches to others. It has this historical significance, but at the same time her work is constantly changing; other things get drawn into the work, like razor blades and so on.  

X: When I look at her piece I can connect that quite easily with our culture — what looks like a life-line; four directions to represent the seasons and stages in your life; what looks like arrows coming in... I’m just thinking about what I interpret from her design, but I’m sure there are a lot of similarities. I look at that when I do artwork abroad — at similarities, rather than differences, and it brings us together. You have to recognise one another.

SC: Are there particular motifs in your own work that you’re drawn to? You mentioned the eagle, and the spindle whirl? 

X: The spindle whirl represent the mouth. It also represents being in awe. Your mouth is open when you’re in awe. Because we’re such spiritual people you want to be connected to the spiritual world — you’re in awe, right? You’re in the mental, physical, and spiritual world of it, so a lot of teachings are behind it, through sweat lodges, prayer, gathering things, because everything has to be respected. There’s a ceremony around everything. If you took a tree’s life, an animal’s life, a fish’s life — when we catch the first salmon in spring we have a ceremony to give back to the earth, to the ancestors, before we have it for ourselves. 

The spindle whirl also represents the female aspect: behind every great chief is a greater woman — that’s how I was brought up —and the cycle of life, which is always turning. A lot of them also have their own stories; all spindle whirls have designs on them. We didn’t just carve for looks. It was carved for a purpose. We never had a written language, so this was our written language. 

SC: Is it a practice that is being maintained and understood by younger generations? 

X: Yes. They’re just learning it. When you’re brought up with English it’s quite difficult to get back to. Squamish is more deep, guttural, although the language is changing. When I was taught it as a kid it was more pronounced. Now it’s a different sound. When my dad was teaching it, and the people from Vancouver would come speak Squamish to him, he wouldn’t understand everything they were saying, because they’d changed the language a bit, right? It’s also an overlap of language.

SC: And does that translate to the visual — the reading of signs, and the subsequent understanding of these stories? Are the interpretations also changing? 

X: Yes. We never had that written language, but now we’re starting to record it, whether it be through video or just recording your voices. It’s important because our elders are almost all gone, and I’m that next generation, right? Being a young person, we don’t actually listen to our elders, because they wanted to tell us stories but what does that mean for us? We just wanted to go out and play. We’re learning the English language, why do we need to learn this? So, I wish I had listened more when I was younger, because my dad had some stories that are gone now. I’m sure a lot of stories are gone now because we didn’t record them. 

When these poles hits the ground they go back to the earth. That part of the story is gone, but it creates an opening; someone might carve a new story. There’d be a whole new carving, but there might be some imagery picked up from the old pole put back onto the new one. There might be more added to it. So it’s like a seed when it falls. For a period, it goes back to the earth, close to the house, but nothing is ever restored. You just let it go. It had its life. 

SC: You said you were quite young when you started. At what point did the significance of what you were doing land? 

X: When I started I was just doing it for looks. Then I came to a point in my life, at the age of twenty-seven — because I was pretty wild, I sobered up at twenty-seven — when I realised there was some meaning behind the work; it’s not just beautiful to look at. It has a backbone. I started realising, for instance, that if I carved a mask it doesn’t have life until you have the song for it, the story for it, the dance for it. So I was there to bring that mask to life. 

SC: And how would you orchestrate that song, story, dance? 

X: Through feasts. People watch and witness and learn about the message behind it. 

SC: And that message is defined through song and dance? 

X: Yes.

SC: I’m thinking about the exhibition now, and the history of relief as a form of storytelling or narrative. You mentioned the three-dimensional aspect of relief, but is it also practised in “two-dimensions”? 

X: For us it was mostly on house posts. When we make something an event happens, you feast, and you give these away. Someone carries that to another community and they look at it and someone says, ‘Hey, where did you get that?’ It will tell the story of what took place… Every time you pick up that object that story comes back into your mind. Even the utensils have stories behind them. 

SC: How did you decide on the two forms that you’re working on? 

X: It started because these images are important to us as human beings worldwide; to help us grow, heal, move forward. They connect us to the land and the supernatural. Some people might say they’re not connected to spirituality but they are, especially towards the end of their life. Seeing my children come into this world was powerful, and it’s powerful when I see my elders leave.

SC: Remind me of the significance of the serpent? 

X: The serpent is the one that teaches us. We have to learn from our mistakes. Wichita went away from his village. He became a healer after he slayed the serpent and was able to help others, right? So, I think we get into stages in our life when we have to do that. We didn’t know as much then. We know better now. What can we do better for the future? Those teachings say we always have to think seven generations ahead of ourselves, so that those who aren’t here yet have what we have. I think about how, when we overfish salmon, we say, ‘Well, better stop fishing.’ But that’s not the problem. The problem is that we need to let the salmon get up the river to spawn, to replenish. If you catch them all in the ocean and they don’t get up there, we’re going to have big problems later. Like climate change. We have to make those changes now.