The masks we wear.
I invite you to look at the masks I’ve carved over my life. In my Alaska Native Suqpiaq culture masks carry a heavy spiritual connotation. They are used as guardians of homes, teaching devices, representations of spirits, of past loved ones, elders. A mask can tell a story, have a life its own, songs and dance. Some are highly personal, others tell of journeys, some tell of death or new life, and some allow the wearer to step through the veil and transport themselves to another place.
Grandfather’s Death Mask
2012
Red Cedar 12×10×2”
We wear masks to protect ourselves from judgment, to fit into roles expected by family, work, or society, and to conceal the true, vulnerable contours of our interior lives. Sometimes we wear masks to speak our truth to others. Truths that we feel forbidden to speak. Polished smiles, piercing gaze, practiced gait, a soft slump in the shoulders. All can be masks, all can be tools used to convey a thing we feel unable to speak. Over time many of my masks have grown to feel like skin, but they have narrowed the space for spontaneity and authentic connection. My masks, hang upon the wall, watching, guiding, ready to help at a moments notice. They are my armor. Some sing a remembrance, like my grandfather Walter’s death mask. Recognizing the masks around us—our own and those of others—offers a chance to see just beyond the veil. For masks, when identified, alert the viewer that there is something else waiting on the other side.
Puffin Woman
Articulated mask in birch with baleen hinged wings
22×16×12”
“Aleut Moon Mask” carved for my Grandfather Walter in 1992.
Hand split Red Cedar Driftwood collected from Ninilchik Beach
14×10×3”
