[Paddlewise] The Death of Art

>
> <<  Either way, it is probable that the kayak rose not from an
>  intellectually created design (science) but out of the builder's
knowledge
>  of the materials (art) available for its construction. >>

Long ago when the caribou flowed across the tundra in great antlered waves
and the steam of their breathing raised clouds above the barrens that
hunters could see for miles, before the missionaries taught us to sin,
before the silent diseases of the white man broke our hearts with the frozen
bodies of our children, the elders sat in smoky igloos eating fermented
caribou paunch and argued for hours the merits impressionist soapstone
carving and the symbolism of bifid bows.

Long into the deep and oppressive night they raged stopping only to relieve
themselves in the snow where, a few nights later the constant and conquering
wind would leave small yellow pillars that children would kick through the
village as they laughed and pushed each other into the snow or speared
imaginary seals with child sized weapons for little hunters. And the elders
argued for they could no longer remember how the kayak came about or if it
was art or science but knowing only that it was gift from the Gods.

Older than the other children I would sit for  hours at the feet of the
elders as they droned out the tales of how Sedna taught them to make the
kayak and hunt the seals. How she led them to the willows and the driftwood
and taught them the secret wood and bone joints. With deft hands she skinned
the seals and showed the elders from long ago how to sew them together and
make the skins watertight. And she taught them to shape the ends like a fish
that would guide them on their journeys and to put eyes in the bow to see
through the fog. She showed them how to shape the back like the tail of a
bird that would carry them before the wind home safely to their families.

And Sedna told them, "Forget not what I have taught you or you will die.
Your children and wives will starve. Some day men will come in great winged
kayaks. They will have big words and will flatter you with many questions
and will go away and tell their families lies about you.   Soon they will
claim to know more about you than you know yourself and they will teach you
how to paddle and hunt and carve soapstone like you were little children and
knew nothing.  They will call it art. They will pretend you are great
artists and will feed you sweet tasting food and give you drink that makes
you crazy and soon you will want to be like them. And your teeth will fall
out so you cannot eat muktuk and you will forget how to hunt seal and
caribou and to build kayaks."

And Sedna told them, " Do not be deceived. You are the people. You live and
you die. Your art is in living not in your kayaks or trinkets. Everything
you do has a reason and a purpose. When you sit in your igloos and argue
about art you will know you will no longer be the people. You will become as
white men."

And the elders sat in the igloo eating fermented caribou paunch and arguing
if Sedna's words were true while the wind scoured their souls. My tongue
found a hole where a tooth used to be and I remembered how we no longer
hunted seals and saw only a few caribou this year. I thought about how we
bought our food at the store. Then I knew that only the white man has time
to argue about art and we  had become as white men.

And I saw a great bird of death soar across the sky.


John Winters
Redwing Designs
Web site address, http://home.ican.net/~735769




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