On a recent summer trip to North Vancouver, I spent a morning at Polygon Gallery, which is situated on the unceded traditional territories of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations. Not only did I get to see the Patkau Architects striking building in soft light, which nods to the surrounding mountain peaks, I was able to experience Tau Lewis’ Coloratura installation draped over the facade. Though, it was Lil’wat artist Sydney Frances Pascal’s We Raised Ourselves, Together and Alone inside the gallery’s stairwell, that provoked deeper conversations around connection, Indigenous identity and kinship.
Since opening as the Polygon Gallery in its new location in 2017, the institution’s mandate is to continue to engage with Indigenous communities (offering a complimentary lifetime membership to Indigenous peoples), in particular the Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh Nations. Rooted in photography and lens-based practices, the Polygon Gallery operated as the Presentation House Gallery for 40 years prior, and aims to prioritize artists who reflect the diversity of its community. Pascal’s We Raised Ourselves, Together and Alone is a stunning and powerful new commission curated by Joelle Johnston (who is of Squamish and Celtic ancestry), the Indigenous Liason and Community Outreach at the Gallery.
In the curatorial essay “Hide Tanning as Vital Material and Metaphor,” curator Johnston illustrates how Indigenous people are taught to honour the animal, whom are part of our kinship networks. Because the animal has sacrificed its life for us, it’s important to ensure all parts are used, and nothing is wasted. Part of this process is also recognizing the animal will be brought back into a new form. Hide is transformed into raw hide, as the brains of the animal are an important part of the tanning process, as they breakdown the skin’s membrane. Tendons become threads that are used to sew everything together.
“We Raised Ourselves, Together and Alone, represents the matriarchal lineage in Pascal’s family through the traditional practice of hide tanning. The transformation of the hide is mirrored in the continuity of the families and their journey through life,” writes Johnston. “Just like aging in a person’s life, the hide goes through a journey of maturing: beginning as a skin hide, it moves through the stages of a raw hide, smoked hide, and finally leather. Each party growing and changing as rawhide turns to buckskin and as children grow into ancestors.”
Comprised of hides in different forms, which are from raw hide, buckskin and smoked raw hide, the work features small black and white photographs of three generations of family. In particular Pascal’s grandmother, mother and the artist herself, printed in the corner of the animal skins. As I walked into the stairwell of the Della and Stuart McLaughlin Gallery, I could smell the smoky skin of the animal, as the half a dozen hides are hung with yellow rope. The exhibition pushes beyond the institutional land acknowledgement. I tried to see if I could spot the small black and white photographs on the hides, but wondered if they had faded in the fluorescent and natural light streaming into the exhibition space. In a way, the presence of the photographs depicting three generations, whether I could visibly see them or not, is part of the strength of the work. The three generations of Indigenous women were and always will be here, in one form or another. I did wonder, how did Pascal print the images on the hide? But realized that not knowing is part of the magic of the work.
In the artist’s statement for We Raised Ourselves, which is printed and on displayed in a handmade envelope-like sculpture made from hide on the wall, Pascal describes the significance of working with animal hide and photography in their practice.
“Hide-tanning is one of the traditional material practices that determine my connection to land, to my Lil’wat identity, and to family. This ancient process is also integral in telling my story and asserting my culture in public spaces through its presence as a medium and its naturally smoky emanation,” writes Pascal. “My thinking throughout the creation of this installation has involved acknowledging the ancestors and family from the previous generations that have led me to me being here today; it is equally dedicated to imaging the future generations, holding onto hope, as we live in a world that is in a state of uncertainty.”
Pascal’s multi-disciplinary artistic practice, which includes hide tanning, poetry, video and sound, is grounded in land-based materials and part of how she shares her family story. Recently, her short films distance (2022) and n̓áskan nwálhen ninskúz7a (i am going to meet my daughter) (2023), were exhibited at 81st Whitney Biennial 2024: Even Better Than the Real Thing, at the Whitney Museum of America Art in New York City.
Created during her MFA program at Emily Carr University of Art in Design, Pascal’s films distance (2022) and n̓áskan nwálhen ninskúz7a (i am going to meet my daughter) (2023), poetically portrays the intergenerational struggle to reconnect undertaken by the artist’s family. As one of the many families displaced by the Sixties Scoop, Pascal was born on Vancouver Island, grew up in Alberta and reconnected with her Lil ̓wat7úl community as an adult.
Filmed on Wreck Beach on Musqueam territory, Pascal’s film distance (2022) reimagines her grandmother’s search for her daughter, the artist’s mother, who was taken by child welfare authorities in the 1960s. The film portrays the artist activating the land, in the moody fogged in forest, and eventually walking into the ocean to swim, fully clothed, and float in the vast Pacific.
Pascal’s film n̓áskan nwálhen ninskúz7a (i am going to meet my daughter) (2023), features archival audio from a BCTV news story from the 1990s that features the reunion between the artist’s mother and her grandmother. Pascal recorded a voice over, which accompanies their reunion, at Lillooet Lake, on Lil’wat territory, as well as features a Lil’wat song. The artist’s grandmother, who has since passed on to the spirit world, was a land defender and Indigenous rights advocate. Pascal’s earlier work “unearthed,” is also reclamation of her mother and grandmother story, as the artist photographed their paper documents from the Sixties Scoop class action, and posted these government documents on tree trunks in her home community.
Find more of Pascal’s artwork here: https://sydneyp.ca/
