clarissa's chilkat weaving apprenticeship with jennie thlunaut - part 1
Beautiful Haines, Alaska - sun set on the Chilkat Range |
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I knew where I really wanted to live... Haines, Alaska!
I received a call from Jan Steinbright at the Institute of Alaska Native Arts, inviting me to participate in a Chilkat weaving workshop for two weeks beginning at the end of February 1985 in Haines, Alaska, a sleepy little town at the mouth of the Chilkat River, about 80 miles north of Juneau on the Alaskan Ferry route. Jan knew that two years prior, I had been introduced to a week-long class in Chilkat weaving taught by Cherl Samuel. What she didn't know was that I had no interest in taking up Chilkat weaving again. I felt I was a lousy weaver and that it was too hard. Yet, she also didn't know that I loved the landscape of HainesI didn't have to think twice. Of course I'd go... anything to spend a two week in Haines!
Jan explained that the workshop would be led by the last of the traditional Chilkat weavers, a woman from Klukwan, the small Native village just north of Haines. I vaguely recognized her name: Jennie Thlunaut. She was 95 years old and this would be the first time she had taught a Chilkat weaving to two dozen weavers and basketmakers. Traditionally, Chilkat weaving was taught to only your relatives, by blood or marriage. This class may have had a few of her relatives, yet she did not know most of the women who were all from Southeast Alaska. This was a big step for Jennie to step outside of traditional boundaries.
Paradise Cove off of Mud BayRoad, Haines, Alaska -
Rainbow Glacier just to the right of the spruce trees in the foreground
I had woven a small Chilkat project at a previous workshop led by Canadian weaver Cheryl Samuels, but other than that, I knew very little about Chilkat weaving. However, I would be in good company, because most of the other participants at the workshop didn't know much about Chilkat weaving either. The art had nearly vanished. The techniques had been passed down to only a very few of the next generation, and all the old weavers had passed on. All, that is, except Jennie.
Jennie Thlunaut was truly the grand master of Chilkat weaving (although she would not ever say that about herself; in fact, she laughed at the statement.) Not only was she the last Chilkat weaver left in the Chilkat Valley, but she was by far the most prolific of all the old weavers. She had created some 50 Chilkat blankets during her lifetime, in addition to over 6 Chilkat tunics and numerous smaller weavings. (To put this number in perspective, a typical weaver spends one year, full-time, to create a Chilkat blanket. Jennie had produced almost 60 major pieces in addition to raising a family, living her subsistence life-style, and holding a full-time job!)
At the workshop, my first task was to design a pattern for my weaving. I decided on a version of the logo I'd developed for my landscaping company; a Northwest Coast-style hand holding a flower. When I showed the design to Jennie, she barked at me the way old Tlingit women are prone to do: "No human hands! You don't put human hands in Chilkat weaving!" I was confused and disappointed; I really liked my design. But there was no way around it... Jennie was adamant about human hands not being in Chilkat weaving. One day, after a week of me bugging her about letting me put human hands in my weaving, she yelled at me in front of the entire class: "....NO HUMAN HANDS! No human hands......three fingers and a thumb is okay, but not four fingers and a thumb! No human hands, no human hands!!!" Embarrassed, I finally gave in because obviously for whatever reasons she felt strongly about no human hands in Chilkat weaving, so I modified the design into a raven's claw, and Jennie approved the design.
During the following week, we all struggled with our weavings while Jennie amazed us with her speed at weaving... her fingers seemed to fly through the warp. When the last day of the workshop rolled around, I was 1/2 done with my project and totally fascinated by this ancient woman with the amazing fingers. I presented Jennie with a floral dress I'd sewn for her, and she wore it at our farewell dinner.
