A photo of me as a kid, maybe 6 or 7 years old, at the trailer I grew up in, in Fairbanks, Alaska.

I remember I used to emerge out to entertain my audience, which usually just consisted of my Mom, but at times, when family would visit, I would get my costume together and my plan, and I would emerge, much like the photo above.

I wonder who was visiting with these beautiful cowboy boots, that I borrowed to use for this performance.  When I moved to Texas, I decided that I needed cowboy boots, so I bought fancy ones at Dandy Western Wear, in Sweetwater, Texas.  My boots are made by the Anderson Bean Boot Company, and are made to last at least 10 years, if not a lifetime. I have hiked in them, and appreciate the technology of the boots, because the tough skin around the feet, I think they could defeat even an unexpected snake bite.

I also bought the largest cowboy hat they had, and when I would wear the combo and talk to artists that either knew me before, or I had met in residence, I would joke, "the only thing I'm missing is the gun!"  I still want an even larger cowboy hat.

I remember being a performer, a writer, a visual artist, a dancer, all when I was just a little kid. I do not remember who owned the boots in the above photo, yet I am curious, because they look like legit cowboy boots, maybe even Anderson Bean ones.

Above:  Ancestor from the Future regalia created with interdisciplinary artist Christy Chow, at Djerassi Resident Artist Program in 2017.   Photo by Christy Chow.

I was at Djerassi Resident Artist Program in 2017,  with many artists from different disciplines. I was there as a writer, that was my sole focus.  We would eat a collective meal together, each evening.  One night, I performed music for all the other artists, after dinner, as an offering of my work.  They had asked for it, as they were curious.

I had brought the sunshine plastic zip tie "ruff" pictured above, and utilized it for my performance of the song, "Ancestor from the Future".  My fellow artists-in-residence loved the song, and were surprised that there was not a video of it online.  Choreographer Tori Lawrence was in residence with dancer Elanor Goudie-Averill and they offered to film the video of the song, as they had brought equipment.  Interdisciplinary artist Christy Chow offered to help sew the regalia, as she was extremely technically proficient at making patterns quickly, and I sat with her, showing her photos of traditional fancy parkas made with sunshine ruffs.  I bought the materials, and the blue plastic for the details was provided by another artist.  

We filmed the music video in front of the outdoor sculpture at Djerassi entitled, "Contemplator" which was erected in 2004 by Japanese artist Yusuke Toda. 

The regalia pictured no longer exists.  I took it apart to create a new one.  I saved the plastic kupaq (trim) used on the design.  The regalia traveled all over the world, and I was grateful for the regalia, the music videos and the photos (by Christy Chow) that came from this brief collaborative effort.

Me and my Mom, on a visit to Missouri.

I have been scanning my Mom's old photos, and included in them are photos when I traveled to the lands of my biological father.  Different points of my young life, accentuated in a completely different climate.

One time, when I was around seven, my parents had since been divorced for several years, yet, my Mom took me to Missouri for a visit.  I remember a few moments clearly.  Like this one, depicted in the image above from this trip.

My grandparents on my Dad's side were so different from my grandparents on my Mom's side.  We went to my great-Uncle's home, and he spoke in such a thick Missourian accent, that it took me time to unpack and. understand what he said.  Now, I can speak like he did, like a special tool on my swiss army knife.  That is how deep it impressed upon my young subconscious mind.

I remember them being tickled that they had an Eskimo for a granddaughter, but we did not bring our foods for them to try.  My grandmother made a chicken and dumpling soup that I thought was amazing, and there were jars she would pop open of what she had pickled.  

In the basement of the house not pictured in this photo, my grandmother had her sewing studio, a place where she had this big machine to help her with her quilting process.  It looked technical, imposing. 

At one point, my grandparents on my Dad's side were deep into a refinishing business for furniture.  My grandma explained how they would strip, sand and stain, showed me the new handles.  At night, she would sit in her Queen Anne chair and embroider.

Today, I sew our traditional clothing.  I draw, I paint, I sculpt, I write, I dance, I sing, I rap.  I perform, I create.  I dream. 

Now I realize that my technical talents came from both sides of my family.  An attention to detail, a commitment to finish.

above:  AKU-MATU performance at the Great Northern Festival, 2024.  photo by Jayme Halbritter.

 This performance had amazing sound for my 30 minute set.

Maybe it was because I understand and respect the sound engineering team, and I know what I need.  I do have a one-year certificate in Audio Engineering after all, and it does help me to communicate my needs.

The school I went to for audio engineering, I recently attempted to get a copy of my transcripts, and I found out the school closed eight years ago.  I never became an audio engineer, yet something in me "clicks" when I am about to perform, and there is no one who understands what is going wrong, and there is no amazing professional engineer on-hand.  In these moments, I am usually able to figure it out, but the extreme pressure has to be there for that knowledge to be pulled out, as I don't use it everyday, and it has been over 20 years since that schooling happened.

During this soundcheck, I changed one of my songs.  It became an improvised ode to the main sound engineer, and it was a funny, soulful ballad of what it must be like to be him, and to interact with artists, like me.  It made him and his staff laugh, and after my set, one of the bouncers pulled me aside and said my set was great, but that he really enjoyed hearing his boss have his own serenade for the sound check.

I hope that I will get to play at this venue again someday, in Minneapolis.  A stage where Prince had performed, and many many other amazing artists.  And I hope to make the amazing staff there laugh again, when I am placing props and explaining my preferences.

You could feel the vibrations that had graced the stage beforehand, and even in the skinny greenroom.   Next time, a longer set, and a full band behind me.

That is the dream attached to this photo.

above:  photo of me at around five years old

I was a young actress in a play that my Mom wrote, directed and produced each year.  I played the role of an angel, and I remember being backstage, with the other angels, in our costumes, all of us girls bunched together, waiting for our cue to emerge out onto the stage.  We were electric, and giggly.

The play unfolded the nativity, yet all the dialouge was in Iñupiaq.  Songs sung, by a choir.  I later became Mary, holding a newly born younger cousin of mine.

Also at a young age, I was an actress in a short local commercial.  I was a patient in a dentist chair.  I remember the bright lights, and another cue, which I executed well.

Now that I am older, I understand that Elders can easily observe traits in young people that are growing up before their eyes.  I have seen glimpses of performance traits within one of my own young nieces, and I have talked to her parents about this.

I imagine my Mom, who took this photo, thinking about my traits that were emerging, and how she thrust me into a commercial, and encouraged me to play an instrument and put me amongst the angels in the wings, waiting to play our part in a larger story.

I like this photo because much later on, I would take on the character of a polar bear.

I remember this dress, when I was a young girl.  I wanted her to keep it for me, as I imagined myself growing into it, as it hung in the flimsy wooden closet of our trailer.  It held promise.  

She ended up giving it to my culturally adopted sister, who did fit it at the time, and I remember being upset, expressing myself to my Mom, not understanding that holding onto it for years and years, that dust might settle upon it, that it might lose it's sheen, it's appeal. 

My Mom passed in 2020, and recently, I finally had the right energy to digitize all of her old photos.  I was afraid of weeping before, yet now, I am able to reflect, and am happy to see glimmers of her through different moments in time.  Like this one, before I was even a glint in her eye, next to her love, a man from Missouri, who is also part American Indian, a mystery that I am unwrapping.

My Dad is still here.  He lives about a 10-12 hour drive from me, and we have gotten closer since her passing.  Here in Texas, I explain my southern accent by being half from "Missoura". 

These photos reveal myself to me.  I see her shining, and I think of my own smile. 

Shaped by their love, by the anticipation of me.