a traveler through time and space
over the course of 132 seasons, you found yourself swimming in a storm, or running what felt like an endless marathon. the weight of your burden, in the presence of his, hers and theirs, created chaos, heavy, as if it were dragging like the words from a blackfoot elder saying “yohhh”. and like ice, slowly melting and shifting, unveiling what was underneath the chaos, and reconnecting with where it all began, all the good, the bad and the ugly, that reside on those dusty and bumpy backroads of the rez, or on the side of the river, hiding behind an abandoned log like ka’kitsimo, and brushed away in the backyard of what is now a burnt down house, debris of old clothing and shoes, traces of memories, making only what wants to be visible visible and hiding the rest, until its ready to be acknowledged.
untitled, 2021
“in the dark depths of long winter nights, spirits slumber too, and allow their stories to be told – these are the storytelling moons. elders and storytellers who have been given tales to carry speak softly, reverentially, and the people hear them. the people do not merely listen – they hear. to hear is to have a spiritual, mental, emotional or physical reaction to the words. sometimes, at very special times, you have all four reactions and are changed forever. share stories, fill cold nights with warmth of your connections, your relationships; hear each other and be made more. that is the power of storytelling.”
- richard wagamese, ojibway
