Sealaska Heritage Institute: Summer Lecture Series: KAHTUSHTU' ROBE | Sealaska Heritage

We are honored to host Renee as an artist-in-residence at the Walter Soboleff Building this summer, where visitors will be able to observe her work. So with that, I would like to thank Renee for joining us to share her knowledge and ask that you all please join me in welcoming her to Sealaska Heritage Institute.

Goonisheesh for that warm introduction and welcome. Are you all able to hear me? Great. Okay, I will definitely speak louder. And I actually can speak loud enough that I don't need the microphone and you all could hear me back there.

Klaagunk yuukhut duusaaq. Klaagunk is my Tlingit name. It's my indigenous name. Renee Culp is my taxpayer name. I am Chukinsha, Eagle Bear, from Glacier Bay via Hoonah, currently living in Juneau.

I'm the daughter of Kaashoodaha, Wanda Culp. She's here with me today. And Patrick Culp, who is, I hope, watching long distance from Missouri.

Thank you for being here with me today. I appreciate that you're spending the time to listen to this story and the meaning of this blanket.

I chose to bring this story forward at this time in memory of my late Uncle Robert Loescher. He shares the name, holds the name, Katoosh Too, ancestor of ours that you will hear about. Later in the presentation, the purpose of this blanket.

I'd like to acknowledge and thank my Chuukeneity family for being here today. I appreciate your presence. Our strength is known when we're together.

I ask for grace and forgiveness if I make any mistakes.

It is not my intent to insult or have errors in this presentation. I only present with love and gratitude.

When I was invited to do the artist in residency from Natasha, I was so excited. And have been excited throughout the entire process. What I thought that I was going to be doing was beading and visiting with all of you beautiful people.

I thought I would be sharing stories and having a relaxing 3 weeks of getting progress on my extensive project.

What actually ended up happening during these— this time while beading and visiting was deep reflection.

I reflected on responsibility, my responsibility, our responsibility as human beings, our responsibility as clan members, and as citizens of the Tlingit Tribe.

I reflected deeply on future generations and what they will learn from the messages from our ancestors and the messages that we share now for them.

I sat with and talked and prayed and listened to my ancestors And deeply reflected on the lessons that they were sharing with me.

At'uu in our Tlingit culture is a clan-owned piece of property.

Different than a house that is owned by a family, clan-owned property has a spirit. It's alive. And it's a member of our family.

So as I was working on this project, I began to really reflect on the role of At.u in our society.

I began to reflect on the depth of meaning of what I was creating for our people.

So I definitely enjoyed beading. However, there was so much more involved, going home exhausted every day. I'm almost done, and I am going to be sad to be done with it, despite that it was a different experience than I expected.

It's the experience that I was supposed to have.

Before spoken language, symbols and hand gestures were how we communicated with one another. Symbols have very clear communication like these ones on on the screen.

You know immediately what the symbol says, what is being communicated by the person who is presenting it.

And symbols resonate deeply and immediately to our core.

Author Brisbane in 1911, a newspaper editor, said, "Use a picture. It's worth a thousand words." What if Tlingit art is not merely art? We certainly enjoy decorating ourselves and have art all over our homes. And adorn ourselves.

However, what if each piece spoke a thousand words?

What if it wasn't merely decoration, expression, impression, or replication?

What if it shared many stories?

What if our artwork is truly a part of living documentation system that continues to shape who we are today?

The image you see on the screen is the Celebration 2026 artwork. Each year, Sealaska Heritage Institute chooses a piece of art that reflects the theme of that year.

The artists do an amazing job in layering the meaning, the values of our people, the lessons in our way of life in the artwork. You're gonna see several pieces today that I'm sharing, and all of them have stories much longer than what I can share in my presentation today, so I encourage you to, if you're wondering, do a little bit of research and find out what the meaning of this is. And also, I can answer questions at the end. And would love to share the meaning of any of these pieces that I'm showing.

Our artifacts are the things that we are creating. These pieces are often referred to as artwork or simply art, and they are, but they are so much more.

Kwetias, the Tlingit word for what is commonly known as totem poles, tell stories, show and depict lineage, honor events and people, identifies who— whose land you're on, and so much more that it is It would be a full lecture series to really identify the meaning of kutiyas in our society.

All kutiyas are carved with meaning. This particular one, as you you may have noticed when you walked in, the Tlingit Raven Cycle. There's a lot to this particular totem pole, but I would like to share just a small— one small meaning that is wrapped within what you're seeing. In the story, we see the complexity of the way in which Tlingit culture places value on feminine strength. The matrilineal passage of moiti is mirrored in the mother's passage of Raven into the human world.

It reminds us of the women's ability to connect us with the power of the natural and the supernatural, the power of the sun, to generations past and future.

Pictographs are ancient forms of communication. We all enjoy running into these special pieces of art that were somehow carved into the side of rock.

Mostly these were boundary markers. If you found them on the beach, you would identify which area you're entering into. But also at times these were memorial markers. If you found them in the woods on a rock, it might be where an icht, or what is commonly known as a medicine person might be buried.

So as you can see, since we first started communicating through symbols, our symbols, our art wasn't just merely a piece of art on a rock. It very much had meaning and message, and certainly these ones were boundary markers.

Another way that we identify boundary or help orient us in our deep woods are trail markers. These are two different trail markers. That are carved into trees.

They're generally used as trail guides, trailheads, noting trailheads, and they are definitely— can be used as boundary markers or identifying whose land you're on.

On the right over here, you'll see an octopus trail marker that if I recall correctly is in Glacier Bay.

And then on the left over here is a— and I apologize, I don't have as much information from this one. It is a man and a trail marker. And I believe that this trail marker is on the Mountain Roberts Trail. Up at the tram. And I believe that my mother will be able to correct me if I'm wrong on those.

But if you run into these on your hiking, they're not going to have an explanation like the pamphlet that you receive to wander and learn about the totem poles, the kutiyas that are here in our area put up by Sealaska Heritage.

So it leaves a lot of wondering. What was the trail marker put up for? Who put it up? Was it to identify whose land? Was it— to remind you where you were going.

It's easy to get lost in our woods, but we know for sure they were trail markers.

This, um, beautiful mask was created by Alison Bremner Marx. I got to see it when I had an archives tour here at Sealaska Heritage, and it's called The Sneeze.

Alison said, "This is the look that you make just before you have that sneeze." And without necessarily knowing the story behind it, The look of this might be frightening to some individuals. It might be that the eyes are up further and that is depicting a spiritual experience. Until you really know the story of what you're looking at, you might be misinterpreting what you're seeing.

Humor is a cultural value for Tlingit people.

And we often depict humor in our documentation, in our art, our songs, and in our interactions. It's said if someone is teasing you, you know they really like you. You're okay in their book. Humor is something that helps us move forward in our life.

Documentation through songs and dance regalia is another form of how we document our way of life, our knowledge, show our identity. These robes that you're seeing here were community woven robes done at the Zach Gordon Youth Center here in Juneau, and they were led by our weaver, Lily Hope. Lily worked with the community, including the youth here in our in our, um, Ahtkwon territory to help create robes that can help represent them and honor them.

So robes, Tlingit robes, whether they're woven or they're button robes, if it's a leather robe or a fur robe, if it's a cloth robe, These show lineage, identity, status, messages and lessons, but so much more. And again, until you sit with the person who created that piece, you might not ever fully understand what you're looking at. And what I would say is that that doesn't necessarily take away from your ability to gain the message from the stories within these documents that you're looking at.

As I said earlier, these pieces are at'oo, they are alive, they are relatives. And whether or not you are fully aware of it in the moment, they are sending you messages, they are speaking to you. And it might be when you go home, when you're laying in bed, when you have a moment quietly sitting in the park to yourself, that you're able to hear the message from some of these relatives that you've been able to see.

Just taking my time, making sure I'm okay.

Some pieces may not appear as artwork at all, but the symbolism is expressed deeply. It's expressed visually in the item There's emotional expression. There's verbal affirmation.

Before I speak about this piece that I have asked Sealaska Heritage Institute to bring forward out of their archives, I would like to acknowledge, honor, ask for forgiveness, from my Kiksutí and Kogwantan relatives.

I do not bring this forward to offend. I bring it forward to help show teachings from our people.

I would like to thank both the Kiksutí and the Kogwantan for their honorable reflection of our Tlingit way of life.

Thank you for your teachings. Thank you for this gift. And thank you for making sure that it remains safe so that we are able to learn from it. I'm going to do something that isn't generally done during a presentation, but again, I do not want to misrepresent this piece in any way. So I'm going to read the description exactly as the Alaska Heritage Institute has it in their archives.

The object name is Mortgage of Sitka.

This sensitive collection was obtained from the estate of Kogwantan leader Alex Andrews of Sitka. This collection contains 4 items: a bottle with bundled and loose sticks, a porous rock, a photograph, and a typed story that articulate articulates what these items represent: the Kiksutis Clan's mortgage of Sitka lands to the Kaagwaantaan Clan.

According to a typed story that went with this collection, the sticks represent the Kiksutis Clan's mortgage of Sitka to the Kaagwaantaan Clan.

The story describes how two Kaagwaantaan men were accidentally killed by a Kiksádi Clan member, and the Kiksádi accepted responsibility for their deaths. The Kiksádi Clan held a ceremony and placed a large rock on a table— apologies— and said that it symbolized their land.

They then placed on the table a bundle of short sticks tied together with fishline and said the sticks represent their clan houses.

They then placed on on the table a bundle of short sticks— sorry, I just read that over again. Finally, they presented another bundle of sticks tied together by a strip of calico that represents blankets and symbolized wealth.

The clan acknowledged they would repay their debt stick by stick. The mortgage held by the aggrieved clan has not been repaid.

The rock and bottle of bundled and loose wooden sticks are from the estate of the late Alex Andrews of Sitka, a Kagwantan clan leader of the Eagle Nest House.

I bring this one forward today to display that our artwork and our artifacts are not merely art, they're not merely artwork. They hold deep meaning, deep meaning, and until you know what that meaning is, you have no idea what you're looking at. I saw this And fortunately I had the title, Mortgage, which piqued my interest because I know that our pieces of art can hold deeds. So I was like, what is this? But in just looking at it, you would wonder, what is the rock?

What are the sticks?

Why in a cur jar?

A Current Living Documentation System.

The mortgage of CITKA is on display for you to look at later after the presentation.

Documentation really covers an immense amount of information, takes care of a lot of our legal issues, our social connections.

Uplifts our way of life, teaches our values, so many things. I'm not sure that I could even fully list them all out in English because that's not how we thought. I would have to list them out in Tlingit with assistance.

But I also wanted to show some parallels there to documentation that is not in our society, to show that without writing a single letter down, we were able to, with a picture, with a piece of art, say millions of words. And those words are just as important, are just as valuable, and just as legal in documentation as any one of the ones that are written with letters.

I showed you a real old piece, the Sitka Mortgage. This piece was done more recently.

It was— ooh, do I have the carving name? Nicholas Golanen.

Made this piece. It's a bentwood box, and the title of the bentwood box is Atu, inside a closed container.

Our documents are not relics. They are alive. They carry responsibility. They teach. They guide, they inform, they remind us of what history was like in that moment of time.

I'd like to read the description of this box to ensure that I do the— do justice to the message in this particular piece to really continue to show how our pieces have layers of messages within each piece.

At'oo, sorry, At'oo, this is a bentwood box by noted Tlingit and Unangan artist Nicholas Galanin entitled Atoo inside a closed container. The piece is a weathered bentwood box with form line design. Attached to the box face is a carved wooden safe handle and a carved wooden combination dial bearing the number 1 and fractions counting down to 0. Instead of the numbers counting up to 10. Inside this box is an altered sea otter hide with patterns out— sorry, I misspoke, misread.

Inside this box is an unaltered sea otter hide with patterns outline that outlines On the skin side, the weathered box represents a container for our culture, knowledge, and customs, that they have been weathered over time and are continued to be carried forward. Transformed into a kind of safe, the work insists on the value of cultural knowledge and practice. The sculpture bears the impulse to protect what is valuable and threatened through a colonial— sorry, a colonial understanding of wealth as something restricted to only the few.

The combination lock and safe handle are clearly new additions of the weathered wood and represent a requirement of blood quantum as a barrier to access.

The fractions on the combination dial point to the barring of our ancestors from accessing— sorry, the barring of our ancestors accessing ancestral knowledge cultural practices and rights based on the fraction of certified Indian blood.

The sea otter hide contained within the box has not been significantly altered in accordance with the United States Wildlife, Fish and Game legislation, and so under the U.S. law, the work cannot be owned by an individual not determined legal via Alaska Native blood quantum.

The hide, the otter hide bearing pin outlines of uncut children's mittens patterns demonstrate the unfinished labor and blockage of cultural continuum forced onto indigenous culture by federally legislated blood quantum and the arbitrary nature of who and what is considered whole. Legislation around the sale of sea otter, like blood quantum, revolves around perceived wholeness. A hide that cannot be made whole again is considered acceptable for non-Alaska Native sale, and a person not considered large enough fraction of a whole Alaska Native cannot continue this cultural practice.

I would like to— reinforce that indigenous people along with dogs and horses are the only ones that are broken into fractions and blood quantum. This This box represents our moment in time in history right now.

Fortunately, I'm a quarter Tlingit. I make that legal mark according to the U.S. government. But many of my relatives do not.

And I stand here telling you they are no less Tlingit or indigenous than I am, than any of us are.

Artwork are living relatives who carry stories and knowledge across generations. Sometimes centuries.

During my residency, I learned that Katush Chu was one of others who fought and killed a giant octopus. Surprised me for only a moment, and then I remember our elder, Dr. Della Chaney, who says, "Of course we have the same experiences. We have the same tools." So if we were encountering a large octopus, we would all, if it was endangering our people, respond the same way, just like we do when there's a bear.

I'm going to briefly tell the story of Katush too fighting and killing the giant octopus. I would like to acknowledge that this story was passed to our clan from Eva Davis. Amy Marvin also spoke of this story. Both of them are Chukenschwa. Catherine Mills, of Hoonah also shared this story directly with my mom.

Lily White, Tshukanshaw, of the Cedar House shared this story and helped us carry it forward.

My mom told me of this story as we were grieving the loss of my uncle.

A long time ago, before the last ice age surged forward on our lands, we were living in Glacier Bay, beautiful country that provided for all of our needs. The resources were great in Glacier Bay, very much like around Southeast Alaska. It was our homelands. Just right outside Glacier Bay, there are Porpoise Islands. And outside our— the bay of— at the entrance of our bay, near the Porpoise Islands, there was a giant octopus that was wreaking havoc with our people.

In today's waters, giant octopus get in the excess of 600 pounds. And during the time of story that I am talking about, animals were significantly bigger. I can't even imagine how large this octopus that I'm speaking to, it could have been at that time.

Kosh-tu-tu, ka-tush-tu, with The community decided it was needed to address this and keep the community safe, protect our people. So he strapped daggers, knives, to his wrists and went in the water to fight the octopus. Both lost their lives. He was successful in taking out the danger to our people, but in the process, he lost his life. It is said that our people found him and the octopus washed ashore with him wrapped up in the octopus tentacles covered in black ink.

This ancestor, direct ancestor of our family, made the ultimate sacrifice in protecting our people. Glacier Bay holds traditionally 4 clans, not just the Chukaneidi. Káatooš too did not just think of his direct family. His immediate family or his clan family. He thought about all of the people in Glacier Bay.

He thought about all of the people who come to visit us in Glacier Bay. And he sacrificed his life knowingly to ensure that our people would be safe.

So I think about what is, what is Katushtu trying to teach us today? This is a lot of what I've been reflecting on during my residency.

What I believe my ancestor Katushtu is is trying to teach us, remind us, help us return to is protection.

Not power and dominance, but service, sacrifice, accountability, and love.

Protection for the community. Protection for our elders. Protection for women and children. Protection for vulnerable individuals.

Protection for our future generations. This is indeed essential for survival and health of our people.

In everything exists a spirit.

I could try to do this in Tlingit, and I would struggle with it.

In everything exists a spirit, in the chair you're sitting on, in the clan house that you're sitting within, the boat that you may have arrived on today, the rock that you pass by, the Devil's Club that you pass by.

So as I was doing this residency, I really found myself reflecting on returning to responsibilities.

Colonization and patriarchy disrupt Indigenous systems, including our responsibilities to one another and our community. Harmful teachings replaced our indigenous and traditional understandings of relationship.

Our goal here is not to dwell on what was taken, but our task is to remember what remains.

Teachings have survived. Stories survived. Our values are intact. Responsibilities remain strong.

The path home still exists for our men to follow.

The kahtoosh too robe is coming into being.

I can feel its spirit coming alive.

When we bring this robe to life through ceremony, the kahtoosh too robe, will join this living system of documentation, teaching relationship, teaching responsibility, and honoring protection.

I wonder, in the next 7 generations, What responsibilities will they inherit? What are we leaving them with?

What responsibilities will they remember?

What is our duty to leave trail markers for them to locate in their responsibilities?

What responsibilities will they choose to uphold?

These are wonderings that I've reflected on during my time in my residency.

I'd like to leave time for comments and questions.

We have about 10 minutes, 15 minutes to chat and offer any questions or comments. And I believe our support team is going to grab a microphone and bring it on over. We have my mother over here who's got some comments. Questions, maybe? Ganeesh, ganeesh, ganeesh.

My baby girl. A little bit further comment and clarification. You see the vest she's wearing? My mom made these for our family. If you see anyone wearing this, you know that's my bloodline right there.

Eagle in the back and the brown bear signifies Glacier Bay, of which there are other brown bear clans, families within Southeast Alaska, Angoon for one, Wrangell I believe another, but the blue by the eyes signifies Glacier Bay. So you see how symbols can take us home. So I ran into someone in Sitka who came up to me and said, "I'm Chukanchaa too." It was a granddaughter I hadn't met because of wearing this. So this is how deep our identification goes. I just wanted to mention that.

Thank you for bringing this up. Koonochige. Indigenous as we are, we belong to Glacier Bay. We come from Glacier Bay, each one of us sitting here indigenous to some place, and we're wanting to bring our living cultural existence into reality because we're still here and we have a lot to say as our Glacier Bay is being actually taken over through industrial tourism. So we don't want to lose our face, we don't want to lose our voice.

And we also have to gain control of the madness going on in there. Just saying. Thank you.

Other questions?

Just a question about your last slide. I came in late, but that was really intriguing to me. The middle one, what responsibilities will they remember? And you're talking about what are the trail markers that you set for them to remember. And I wonder if you have— I know you've been working with youth a lot and in arts a lot, and I just wonder what are the kind of trail markers that you have identified as maybe those are the ways to go or that looks promising?

Wonderful question, thank you. Yes, I have the beautiful fortunate honor of being able to work with our youth. I very much believe that they are going to We believe that they are the ones who will be caring for our world in the next 7 generations. And that means when those 7 generations are done, the next 7 generations and the next 7 generations. Trail markers, I believe, for our, our youth include many things that have been created already.

By our people and that are being created right now.

Sealaska Heritage Institute is dedicated to preserving and showing— maybe not preserving is the right word, but displaying and providing a home for our living culture. And so I think that The mortgage of Sitka is a trail marker for responsibility of actions and our responsibility to take accountability for our actions, even if the act is so significant that it is difficult to fully make amends and pay for what you've done wrong, acknowledging it out loud and honoring the individual by verbalizing and, and showing them, that is a trail marker that teaches a lot. The robes.

Our trail markers.

It has been a long road and we are still on it to help our non-binary, our LGBTQ+ family members out of the colonized patriarchal harm and how we as Indigenous people perceive them through their eyes.

It's been a long road to get back to, for Indigenous people, the role that we played in our communities as queer people, we were honored, we were upheld, we were considered sacred and spiritual, and there was never shame about how we felt inside and who we loved. And I believe these robes will be trail markers.

Will remind our people in the future this is who we are.

We love all of our people.

I believe this is a trail marker.

I believe it's a strong trail marker.

And what Emily shared with me when I was looking at this piece piece and talking about why I wanted to bring this piece forward was that some interns a few years ago, and Emily, if I speak incorrectly about this, please feel free to correct me, young interns who a few years ago had the opportunity to be here at Sealaska Heritage were really moved by this piece.

And they, composed a letter to Sealaska Corporation expressing their desire to not be put in fractions, their desire to be considered part of our society and not be separate from the society. I don't know how much that influenced our corporation, but today our corporation, Sealaska Corporation, is no longer broken into fractions. If you are a descendant, you can be a shareholder. So I think that there are a lot of trail markers, and I could continue going on, but what really excites me about our pieces that have been created historically and in today's world is that Very much when you look at a piece of art, there is interpretation that's coming out of that. And I might look at this today and gain messages from it and lessons from it, and next week I could look at this having completely different experience in my life and see it differently.

Okay. And you might see it differently, and you might see it differently, and you might see it differently. And all of those things that we are experiencing when we engage in these documents, we are gaining messages and lessons from them, and those need to be brought out by all of us. Because those are real. So I think that it is a beautiful time that we are able to identify what are our trail markers and how can we bring those forward.

And what I see our people doing— Sealaska Heritage Institute does it wonderfully— is showing our people and our guests what our trail markers are.

Thank you for that question.

Other questions?

You showed us what you're working on. I'm wondering, is it customary to begin a robe with the central piece in the back and work outwards, or is that a decision for the maker?

Good question.

Certainly there are button robes that are made with— and that don't yet have a design, and Frequently that reflects a disconnect from our culture for that individual, and that they have a button robe on them is displaying that they are reconnecting with our culture, yet they haven't had the opportunity to obtain a design for their robe. That would be more of a button robe. For woven robes, 100% the design has to be decided on before you start working on it. It has to be drawn out, graphed out, you know, those kind of things.

When I decided that I wanted to make a button robe, I knew I was going to be creating the beaded piece first because that's the greatest amount of time. And without the beaded piece, I could do the robe, but it's just a robe. It doesn't have the spirit. And I don't mean just a robe, but it doesn't have the Katushchu spirit in it. And so those two pieces needed to come together.

So I would say both, that there are many pieces that are made that don't have a central design yet, and there are pieces that the maker, the artist, has this desire to create it, and then, yeah. And so I've already bought the felt for the robe and all of that. It just will be the last thing that I do when I'm done beading. Yeah, great question, thanks. Yeah.

I think we probably have time for one more.

Klaagum, Renee. Yes. Kunuuschiish for your lecture.

A, uh, I just want to thank you for bringing out and reinforcing the depth, the complexity, the variety of our art. We know that in the last couple weeks that we've been busy trying to educate our visitors and people from the outside who don't understand that our art and our objects have spirits, that they carry history, they carry meanings, they have stories. But you did a wonderful presentation on the complexity, the variety. We know that our art is an ancient art, that there are very strict rules to colors, to design, to spacing. Yet at the same time, through your lecture and pieces that you shared, it also teaches us the lesson that our art is able to evolve.

I know our ancestors believed in the rules of form line, but also it's designed to evolve and keep its significant and meaning to younger generations. That's why we see art pieces like this box, why we see house posts made out of glass, which is not a traditional medium, why we see our art on Alaska Airlines jets.

So, you know, Gunasheesh for, you know, for your words today. I, you know, I know that You are probably the model person for exactly what the Sealaska Heritage, you know, art programming was about. Your participation in all of our art markets, our workshops, but most of all, your lecture will be a key element when we teach artists and young students in the future about the responsibility, the importance of our responsibility for being a Tlingit indigenous artist. Just like our value surrounding land, when we harvest anything off the land, there are rules, there are responsibilities. You only take what you you need, you share with other people.

With our art, same idea. We have obligations for learning, you know, this ancient tradition. We have a responsibility to give back to the communities, to others. So gunalchéesh to you and to the Chukaneedi, Chukanshaw, for representing us in a noble way. Gunalchéesh, gunalchéesh, gunalchéesh.

I briefly would like to end by saying gunalchéesh to Sealaska Heritage Institute and the wonderful team that took care of me during this artist-in-residency. I would like to say gunalchéesh to my ancestors for being with me on this journey and never leaving my side. I would like to say gunalchéesh to my mom and family. For helping me identify that this is the project that needs to come forward right now. I would like to say thank you and gunalchéeshawa to my wife for standing with me while I'm doing this crazy journey of this project that I have no idea how long it will take me.

She's right there with me. And most of all, I would like to say a huge gunalchéesh and thank you to my nephew Donovan Brown, who will carry this responsibility into future generations. Gunalchéesh to all of you for being here with me today and listening to my words.