Skwácháy̓s [Sḵwx̱wú7mesh sníchim] is the correct name for False Creek Flats describing “water coming up from ground beneath.” The thick line was roughly the high tide line prior to 1917 and the thinner line represents the low tide line with the areas below being marine and part of the inlet.
Category: deep time
These investigations began sixty years on a father-son field trip where my father, Ross Sheldon Ingram (1905 – 1971), took me to and told me the story of the destruction of Skwácháy̓s a process of erasure of the sea and marshes that he witnessed when he was in his teens. He had vivid memories of the of Skwácháy̓s and the beachside neighbourhoods that had been built to the north and south. Growing up in the Kitsilano neighbourhood of Vancouver and being fluent in xʷməθkwəy̓əm, Ross knew the heartbreak that the loss of Skwácháy̓s both as a source of food and as an intercultural space.
A decade and a half later, after Ross’s untimely passing, I studied with Salish theorist and early pioneer of Native American Studies, Mary Nelson. She taught deep time when few young people had much interest in hearing about it. Mary was born and raised near the mouth of the Skagit River with family connections to the upper part of that basin in and near Canada. As a Canadian university student in studying in a United States portion of the territories of the Salish nations, often hitchhiking home to Vancouver Island on weekends, Mary initiated a pedagogical space around Skwácháy̓s. She brought it up and instilled in me a curious kind of responsibility (even as a non-Salish indigenous person) about its continued presence. Mary knew Skwácháy̓s well as hole-in-the-bottom and as an important place in pan-Salish cosmology where the underworld met both the modern world of colonial logic in the marshes as well as the vastness of the skies. Mary taught me ways to explore the interface of a multitude of indigenous aesthetics and modern site-based sculpture — the work from those studies mostly lost over the decades.
More recently, this recent work was inspired by decades of bicycling around, conducting research and theorizing, and trying to make art in gentrifying False Creek. Eventually, there was too much information to not make something out it — at a time when the unresolved legacies of this problematic heart of Vancouver are increasingly collide between rising seas, real estate speculation, and pressures for ecological and indigenous repair. New York-based, environmental artist, Oliver Kellhammer, has been very generous in sharing the perspectives that went into his three, enduring (and evolving) site-based works and activism along Skwácháy̓s. In 2019, Catherine de Montreuil of Access Gallery, on the northern shore of Skwácháy̓s, kindly arranged a meeting space and some modest funding in cooperation with her colleague, Katie Belcher. Vancouver-based Alex Grünenfelder contributed performances and his own works in 2019 and Sharon Kallis, Rose Spahan and Debra Sparrow kindly offered to be part of a collaborative team that was postponed and then disrupted by the 2020-21 COVID pandemic. The recent work and collaborations has been possible because of the generous support of the Canada Canada for the Arts Inter-Arts Program through consecutive project grants.
In transforming the drawings, photographs, and notes from recent work on land art, found, conceived, and performed, two indigenous visual arts residencies at the Banff Centre for the Arts and Creativity were crucial for self-reflection and expanding my digital skills. Just before the COVID-19 lockdown, Nikki Little and Meaghan Byrne of imagineNATIVE (the Toronto-headquartered Centre for Aboriginal Media) lead Mixed Media 101 bringing together a score of artists, interactivity designers and teachers in the winter snows of the Rockies. As well as being deeply grateful to Nikki and Meaghan (and to administrators Reneltta Arluk, Janine Windolph, Allison Yearwood, and Howard Lee), the following members of the Banff media team (having no idea that most would soon be laid off in the pandemic), were superb and compassionate teachers: Aubrey Fernandez, Jennifer Chiasson, Tyler Jordan, Rylaan Gimby, Bojan Cosic, and Court Brinsmead. Roughly a year later, I returned to a very different Banff via Zoom for the at-a-distance phase of, Akunumusǂitis: Ecological Engagement Through the Seasons. Along with the leadership of Janine and Reneltta and Tyler’s technical acumen, Lillian Rose, a Ktunaxa leader and land artist rooted at Columbia Lake, Regina-based Nakoda buffalo artist, Joely BigEagle-Kequahtooway, and Toronto-based Cree multimedia performance artist, Cheryl L’Hirondelle took us to places where participants lived, along the North American Cordillera, in profoundly new (and old) ways. I remain in awe of this team of teachers! Thanks to the Slaight Family Foundation for funding my participation in the Banff Centre residencies.
HÍSW̱ḴE / Huy ch q / máh-sie / Marsee
SENĆOŦEN / Hul’q’umi’num’] / Chinook / Michif
Originally a confluence of gullies and streams with miles of estuary channels, the twentieth century saw garbage, fill, culverts, sewers and increasing amounts of asphalt. Future decisions best centre on re-establishment of native wetlands and woodland along with more urban food production, recreation, and socializing.
On a grey winter day, the view through the fence of the recently uncovered beach, that lined the south-western side of Skwácháy̓s, was unmistakable and breathtaking. A bit more than a century ago, there were beach-houses just above below what today is East 2nd Avenue. Today this pit contains a lot of water and is below current and projected sea levels.
April 8 – May 24, 2019
still underwater 1: traces, pronunciations, recollections
September 16 – November 2, 2019
still underwater 2: flooding resurgence recovery
organized by
still underwater:
Tracing Skwahchays, Hole in Bottom, in today’s False Creek Flats
The former inlet and salt marshes bounded today by Vancouver’s Union, Clark, Great Northern Way, and Main Street were once known as False Creek East, and more previously by Salish communities as what might roughly be translated as hole-in-bottom, or, Skwahchays. In the centennial years of the filling and destruction of hole-in-bottom, PLOT invites the land art collective ḴEXMIN field station* to initiate new research, field trips, monitoring, test sites, public conversations, screenings, ceremonies, performances, interventions, and proposals. In various periods over the next three years, still underwater will explore new forms of decolonial land art based on emergent protocols in acknowledging a wider range of territorial, linguistic, cultural, and historical concerns, as well as emerging relationships, alliances, and communalities.
At the core of still underwater are a series of questions about new opportunities for environmental, site-based, and public art on the Pacific North-West coast: How can artists, curators and audiences—with a wide range of heritages—engage fully around unceded land and sites, with respect and support towards the rapidly evolving cultural, political, and legal protocols of the xwməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish) and səl̓ílwətaʔɬ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) nations? For indigenous artists, what does it mean to have a heritage and political entitlement around unceded sites such as ‘hole-in-bottom’? On the seismically-vulnerable terrain of ‘hole-in bottom’, how can site-based artistic interventions and permanent public art works hold transformative roles within its ‘redeveloping’ neighbourhoods, where new construction seems inevitable despite its geological instability?
This event is held on the unceded territory of the sḵwx̱wú7mesh, sel̓íl̓witulh, & xʷməθkʷəy̓əm nations.
ḴEXMIN field station* is a loose collective of indigenous and non-indigenous site-based artists, environmental researchers, scientists, and designers focused on the waters, shores and islands of the Salish Sea. Currently located on Salt Spring Island, the field station exists as a research, learning and experimentation space to nurture conversations spanning traditional indigenous knowledge, modern science, and contemporary culture. Individuals currently contributing to ‘still underwater’ include Musqueam weaver and public artist Debra Sparrow, Salish curator Rose Spahan, Métis public artist and environmental scientist Gordon Brent Brochu-Ingram (currently coordinating the 2019 events at PLOT), public artist and designer Alex Grünenfelder, ecological designer and public artist Oliver Kellhammer, and Sharon Kallis a community engaged environmental artist.
*The ‘Ḵ’ in KEXMIN is underlined where possible [but not possible in the current version of WordPress] and represents a distinctive sound and letter in the SENĆOŦEN language – one of the more than a score of Salish languages.
Event listings and documentation will be posted below
Much of contemporary culture in Vancouver, and other parts of Canada, is about territorial acknowledgement: out of consideration as sensitive members of multicultural communities, as part of commitments to decolonization and conciliation, in respect for new inter-governmental protocols, and as creative practices that foster dialogue and collaboration.
This project, on SKWA-CHICE “deep hole in water” | “hole in bottom” | False Creek East, is grounded in the territorial acknowledgement of our current host and partner in Vancouver, Access Gallery:
“With gratitude as guests, Access is located on the unceded territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.”
This kind of territorial acknowledgement from a cultural organization nurtures a diversifying set of inter-cultural and political conversations.
While many people were hurt by the destruction of “deep hole in water,” a large portion of respective governments, organizations and individuals, who cared about these losses at the time, were indigenous. But since the latter decades of the twentieth century, the benefits to settlers and non-indigenous Canadians from indigenous erasure and the neocolonialism, that ignored indigenous governments and demographics, have largely expired. For most Canadians, the lack of real conciliation and basic contact with First Nations governments and civil organizations is a real drag: economically, socially, and culturally. Indigenous erasure in public space and landscapes increasingly undermines long-term social solidarity and the integrity of community-based cultural production.
While ‘white privilege’ continues to be a significant source of inequity, all Canadians benefit from ongoing political and cultural conversations about indigeneity. And relationships to indigeneity are simple: having at least one indigenous parent who lives that identity in some way or not. There are no choices with indigeneity, the choices are with the depth of acknowledgment and engagement with respective intercultural inequities and taking the opportunities for expanded dialogue.
Today, a broader spectrum of Vancouver’s communities see the damage that was done, with the destruction of “deep hole in water,” and are learning and experimenting with evolving protocols and intercultural practices to acknowledge multiple owners, stewards, cultural economies, and modes of creative production. In order to parse the 19th and 20th Century conflation of the diverse indigenous territorial and governmental relationships, languages, and cultures that lead to the erasure of “deep hole in water,” a few activist principles can guide our excavations, interventions, reconstructions, and restorations:
1. acknowledge and learn from “deep hole in water” as part of the communities of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh Úxwumixw (Squamish), and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations and treat these relationships as ongoing, in present and future tenses;
2. acknowledge and learn from the three indigenous languages spoken in “deep hole in water”: Musqueam Halkomelem / hunq’umin’um’ / hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓; Squamish / Sḵwx̱wú7mesh sníchim, sníchim; and Chinook;
3. as a core tenet of conciliation, treat First Nations as sovereign governments with shifting and ongoing responsibilities for stewardship of territory (including “deep hole in water”);
4. support treaty and other forms of inter-government negotiation lead by First Nations;
5. support organizations that give voice to indigenous elders and youth;
6. explore a range of experiences of personal and familial loss extending to the historical and contemporary losses of most indigenous families living around “deep hole in water”;
7. make art and design that functions to spark intercultural conversations and be prepared to face critical responses, admit mistakes, and build ongoing personal, inter-family, and institutional relationships for indefinite collaborations;
8. work with First Nations language offices: spelling is important as the written forms of Musqueam Halkomelem / hunq’umin’um’ / hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓; Squamish / Sḵwx̱wú7mesh sníchim, sníchim; and Chinook continue to evolve;
9. engage proactively around possible appropriation: there are plenty of good ways to reference and pay homage to indigenous artists without ripping them off; and
10. a good way to bridge the gaps from divergent relationships to historical and contemporary trauma is to make, perform, and experience site-based, multimedia art centred on territorial acknowledgements.
Nobody knows what shared sovereignty means when involving the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh Úxwumixw (Squamish), and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations along with the government of the City of Vancouver, Province of British Columbia, and Government of Canada and the real estate interests claiming to continue to ‘own’ deep hole in water.” The possibilities for moving forward will depend on the new forms imagined through contemporary and traditional culture, possibilities that emerge from collaborations such as “still underwater.”
Gordon Brent Brochu-Ingram 2019 May 11