Rising out of the dust of time, an ancient art received new life through an unlikely savior. After an absence of over 150 years, ravenstail weaving was resurrected by a non-Native Canadian artist and other Native and non-native contemporary weavers devoted to perpetuating its practice by spreading the word, sharing their skills and creating new regalia.
Originally practiced by the Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian and Eskimo tribes of the Pacific Northwest Coast and the Gulf of Alaska, ravenstail weaving, with its black and white geometric patterns, was replaced around the mid-19th century by the colorful, curvilinear designs of Chilkat weaving. Until recently, the scant evidence of this antiquated art form scattered about the globe permitted few people knowledge of it.
In 1980, artist Cheryl Samuel of Victoria, B.C., saw a remnant of ravenstail regalia at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. This discovery led Samuel, a non-Native, on a worldwide journey to study the few existing historical sketches and eleven surviving robes, most of which are fragments, housed in major museums.
"It was like the robes were calling," Samuel said. "It was time for them to come out."
With little hope of seeing the original robes dance in traditional ceremonies, Samuel still desired to bring ravenstail weaving back to life. She assembled the cultural knowledge she had collected, created leggings and robes, and then published a historical account and technical description of ravenstail weaving in a book The Raven's Tail and started teaching the technique to others.
By the mid-80s, students throughout southeastern Alaska, British Columbia and the Yukon were taking Samuel's classes. For many, it was simply a matter of learning a different weaving technique.
By 1990, ravenstail weaving had become part of the students' lives, yet few had seen an original robe. When they learned that one of the ancient robes would be traveling to Alaska in a Smithsonian Institute exhibit, the contemporary weavers decided to pay homage to the old pieces by creating new ravenstail regalia. One group volunteered to weave a robe for the Alaska State Museum in Juneau. It was the first ravenstail robe for the students.
Friends of the Alaska State Museum, a nonprofit organization, paid for the materials; the museum provided a loom and workspace; and the weavers dedicated about 1,800 hours to the project. Credited with putting in the most time were Janice Criswell, Marguerite Fiorella, Bonnie Fitzjarrald, Mary Lou King, Kay Field Parker, Janet Hall Schempf, Marcia Stier and Kristin Tromble.
A few weavers at a time sat side-by-side in a Tlingit-style planked house inside the museum. Instead of using wool from mountain goats ‹ the traditional fleece ‹ the women twined into shape a more contemporary material ‹ merino sheep wool. Working from top to bottom and left to right, each artist adjusted the tautness of her personal style to produce a consistent weave.
The weavers agree that an unexpected reward of creating the robe was the friendships that formed during the process. "It was a special time of camaraderie," Stier said.
Ravenstail weaving is laborious and requires a precise plan before execution. Samuel, artist Sara Porter and some of the other weavers designed the institution-sponsored robe. They selected and assigned new meanings to traditional patterns ‹ "one within another" and "Haida bands" for one side, and "ravenstail" and "lightening" for the other.
The designers' idea was to represent people along the coast using ideas from traditional robes. One concept inspired by a historic robe features a vertically split design field with different patterns on each side. When work, it can appear as two robes. When danced, it creates a visual transformation.
The 14-month process of creating the robe required intense concentration. Yet despite each weaver's attention to detail, there were times when months' worth of work had to be unraveled to correct an error. When the daunting process was finally complete, the weavers were amazed. They'd been looking at the robe for over a year, and were thrilled to finally see it draped over a body.
To comply with protocol for proper handling of regalia, the robe was presented during Celebration '92. The weavers gathered onstage, unveiled the robe, and announced its name: "Hands Across Time" ‹ chosen because of the connection contemporary weavers felt to ancient weavers. In accordance with the weavers' intentions for the robe's use, the museum permits dancers to borrow it for use in traditional ceremonies.
Although the robe is considered regalia, it is not the property of a specific clan. That break in tradition, along with other changes developed during the ravenstail revival, caused some controversy. Some Alaska Natives questioned the ownership of the weaving; how, or if, it should be revived; and who should be allowed to weave and use the regalia. Others disputed the propriety of non-Natives holding knowledge of Native weaving techniques. However, if it weren't for Samuel, the techniques might be still buried in the recesses of the world's museums.
"Why me?" Samuel said. "I don't know. A way was made for me. The call of the robes was stronger than all of us."
In the midst of the controversy, two significant elders of the Haida and Tlingit tribes sanctioned the ravenstail revival and the "Hands Across Time" project. Because they and many other Natives supported the resurgence, much of the contention dissipated.
Such discord did not exist among the weavers themselves. The Juneau weavers specifically selected four patterns for the robe to represent the four "nationalities"‹Tsimshian, Haida, Tlingit, and non-Native‹of those who had created it.
The bond that developed between the weavers stretched beyond their hands and the geographical boundaries of Juneau. Team robe projects were also completed in Sitka and Ketchikan, Alaska. Since then, those works inspired others to create ravenstail regalia. For example, Tlingit artists Teri Rofkar, Marie Laws, and Irene Jimmy wove a robe named "Tides People," which interprets the past 200 years of Tlingit history.
Contemporary artists follow the footsteps of the ancient creators yet also move the art forward. The symbolism of the new regalia reflects the current artists' ideas, inspirations and interpretations. For example, some combine ravenstail-weaving techniques with those of other cultures, such as African.
Others, such as Stier, create their own patterns. "I get ideas from things I see in nature," she said. "I look at things in terms of design, which wouldn't have happened without ravenstail weaving."
And still others advance ravenstail by using the weaving technique to create unique items, such as tunics, couch covers, high-top moccasins and more. Samuels, for instance, wove an appliquéd robe utilizing ravenstail and Chilkat techniques. Despite any changes, the ravenstail revival provides a significant contribution to the continuity of Native culture.
In 1991, Samuel was adopted into the Strong family of Klukwan, Alaska, the mother village of the Chilkat Tlingit. She's a member of the Kaagwaantaan clan, Eagle/Wolf, and was given the name Saantaas or "Ancient Threads."
Today her paintings, weavings and garments reside in private and museum collections around the world. Samuel remains enthusiastic about the unfolding possibilities. "What I see for the future of the artwork is more change," she said. "People are taking it and running with it."
A more comprehensive version of this article first appeared in Native Peoples magazine's January 2001 issue.
