clarissa's chilkat weaving apprenticeship with jennie thlunaut - part 2
I During the months of November, January and February, the Chilkat River Valley will host up to 4000 bald eagles who migrate to this area for the winter salmon |
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Back home in Juneau, I was very excited about Chilkat weaving. I finished the other half of the raven's claw piece and made myself a leather backpack with the new weaving as the flap. I made a decision that I would ask Jennie if she would take me on as an apprentice, and show me all the techniques that hadn't been touched on during the Haines workshop.
I journeyed to Klukwan and was escorted to Jennie's two-room house on the Chilkat River by Jennie's granddaughter. (Jennie also owned a larger "Native Housing" house, but this smaller house was "her house.") I had hand-spun 100 yards of Chilkat warp yarn in preparation for the trip; I wanted to impress Jennie with how serious I was about learning from her.
I was terribly unsure of myself as we entered Jennie's house. Her granddaughter laughed at how nervous and shy I was acting. "Just ASK her, Clarissa...she ain't going to bite you!" she laughed, and pushed me towards Jennie. I stood there like a numbskull, stuttering through my sentence, "Uh, uh... Jennie? I want to learn how to weave... and I would... uh... be honored if you would... uh... teach me..." Jennie looked at me, didn't say a word; she may have grunted a little grunt... but then she suddenly looked past me and exclaimed: "Who did this?" She walked towards my Chilkat backpack on the floor next to her front door. I was too scared to answer as she picked up the backpack; I was afraid she'd be disappointed. "Ah...that's pretty good," she said. "But you see here, you just fix these teeth with that black magic marker..." The "teeth" she was talking about were the places where the white warp showed through the black weft yarns, due to my lack of experience. I was shocked. Black magic marker on my new weaving? There was no way I was going to "cheat" like that. I must have made a face, because Jennie's granddaughter broke into a fit of laughter.
The hands of Carissa Rizal and Jennie Thlunaut clipping the Chilkat leggings from the weaving loom - May 1986 |
Jennie never said anything about whether or not she would take me as an apprentice that day, she did not answer a yes or no, and I didn't push the subject. I figured I had asked the question, now it was up to her to decide. If I didn't suit her, it was her right to say "no." I went back to Juneau and carried on with my life.
Then, out of the blue, almost a year after my trip to Klukwan, I got a phone call from Jennie's daughter, Agnes Bellinger, who lived in Juneau. "Clarissa, my mother is coming to town tomorrow. She wants to teach you to weave. Can you do it? I know this is short notice and all... but things have been happening fast...what do you think?" I told her I'd have to talk it over with my husband; I'd have to shuffle a bunch of my responsibilities onto him; taking care of the kids, the household, my landscaping company, etc. Hudson said to go for it, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and that I was crazy to not jump for it right now and how could I have doubts! He said he would take care of everything. (Thinking back upon his offer of support, I know I would not have learned Chilkat weaving from Jennie). I called Agnes back; "I'll do it!"
I began my apprenticeship on a fine spring day, the first week in April 1986. I had prepared for this day long before it happened. I had my three balls of warp and all my weft yarns. Hudson had built me a mid-sized weaving loom, I even had a dance leggings pattern all drawn up. I had told myself that if I were meant to be a Chilkat weaver, then Jennie would teach me... there would be no one else.
Every weekday for the next six weeks, I met with Jennie in Agnes's livingroom. We hung the yarns for two matching dance leggings from my loom, side by side. Jennie demonstrated and wove on one legging while I stumbled and wove on the other. She didn't say much; she seemed to expect me to learn through my eyes. If I didn't pick up on what she was showing me, she'd say sharply, "Watch me!" That was her favorite phrase, it seemed: "Watch me!" Most of the time, we'd work for hours without either of us saying anything. Then she would suddenly say something like, "Be good to your husband!" (I'd think, "What does she know about my relationship with my husband? Of course I'm good to him!") Or she would say, "Take time to eat!" She said these things with a firm urgency. In my mind, a part of me felt like it had to defend itself: "Of course, I will take time to eat... little does she know I can eat like a horse..." It wasn't until years later that I came to understand and experience her advice and wisdom.
Slowly, the two leggings grew on the loom. Sometimes Jennie would weave on my piece, to catch me up with hers. She was so much faster than I was, and watch as I might, I just could not figure out what exactly she was doing with her hands that made the weaving look so effortless.
At the end of 6 weeks, the two weavings were complete, and we cut them down off the loom. Suddenly, Jennie grabbed me by the shoulders and said to me, "You are it! Do you hear? You are it!" At the time, I didn't understand what she meant. "....Now I can go home and see my mamma and my daddy... and my aunties... I'm finished....my work is finished!" She cupped her hands over her mouth as she said this. I realized that she was saying good-bye, that her time would be over soon. I felt that my training had just begun... I told her to wait on a moment, I was looking forward to learning more from her, to our next project together; I would go to Klukwan and learn some more from her. She just looked at me with her hands cupped over her mouth.
In the very last moment when Jennie and I parted, and I was just about to close the door, suddenly I remembered something that I wanted to say to Jennie; with my hand still holding the door knob, I opened the door, to a scene I shall not ever forget: Jennie was sitting on the couch alone, with her head in her hands, sobbing. Perplexed, I hesitated; I didn't know what to do, but I felt that I couldn't disturb her. She did not hear or see me re-open the door, so I closed the door quietly and walked away. I had no idea what journey I had begun.
I never saw her again. She died two months later.
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