Artist Alex Janvier shares insights into his latest masterpiece
The renowned artist and master of the circle painting discusses his life and works
The art world of the mid-20th century was no welcoming space for young Indigenous artists — even those as prodigiously talented as Alex Janvier. Yet nearly 70 years since he first used a brush, the Alberta-born painter is considered a founder of contemporary Indigenous art. The National Gallery of Canada celebrated Janvier with a major retrospective in 2016 and early 2017, but his newest creation, a 13-panel painting entitled Thirteen Moons, is being exhibited at Ottawa’s 50 Sussex Drive (The Royal Canadian Geographical Society’s new headquarters) through the summer. Here, he explains the significance of the work and the continual growth of his art.
On the symbolism of Thirteen Moons
It’s about the way our nations, the native people, keep track of the years. It follows the cycle of the moon: 13 times the moon comes over in the year, and that was how natives demarcated their time and space. Maybe this can be a form of healing for native people because, like a lot of other stuff, the 12-month calendar was foisted on us. We were never asked about how we kept time. I’ve talked to elders about the old wisdom, and they think those things need to be revisited. This painting tells me what I’ve missed out on, the native way of thinking.
On the circular canvas
I think the circle is really the best form. The moon is a circle; the sun is a circle; the natives have always used four directions, moved in a circular way. Our whole system is in circular motion. I’m trying to address life on Earth as it is. Most paintings are done in rectangles, but I do a lot of circles because I was given this space and I’m living in it for the time being. I believe that’s where my heart has come from, from the land, from the sky, and I look at them as the great influences of my life and the base of my art. I’m doing the best I can as a human being and just continuing what I’ve been doing. That’s the only thing I can do, right until the last day. As I’ve said before, instead of a cross on my coffin, I want a paintbrush.
On how his upbringing shaped his art
When I was a child [on the Le Goff Reserve, in northern Alberta], every time there was a rain and the ground was nice and smooth, I would take a stick and draw on it. That’s our natural slate, and that’s how I started. I did all kinds of drawings of what was around me. Once I drew a horse breeding, and my sister ran home and tattled on me. But when my dad came he just shook his head, smiled and walked away. He said, “I don’t think that horse is going to make it.” Art doesn’t just come from the physical, though; there’s the spiritual aspect of life on Earth. We’re all tuned to it one way or another, and I believe that’s the part that has
given me the strength to carry through. My background hasn’t been that beautiful. It has been a very rough road, but I managed to survive because of the strength of the beliefs that my parents gave me before I was forced into a residential school. I was there for 11 years, and I lost part of those 11 years, but the good thing that I got out of it was that I was able to do artwork with good materials. There’s always a good side and a bad side if you want to make it that way.
On taking inspiration from the land
I’ve always been inspired by the land and the place where I live, but also the native history behind all of it. I remember when I first arrived at the Alberta College of Art in Calgary in 1956 with all my stuff — suitcases and everything — I was there too early. It was 6 o’clock in the morning, and things didn’t start until 9 a.m. So I just sat there visualizing the mountains, the way they change, their colour. I had a firstclass viewing. People always talk about having visited the mountains, but there were a lot of stories in our tribe about travelling into them for trading. They’re just a part of my blood.
On the power of observation
We used to sit around the old ladies while they did porcupine quillwork and beading, and you could not even make a noise. You had to sit quietly and observe. That was my first art instruction. Quillwork was always the most treasured art, until the Hudson’s Bay Company came along and brought in its beads, and that changed the art. Then the ladies were able to create lines that were more flowing and circular, less angular. The beads gave them more freedom. Watching them bead taught me how to walk in the bush and observe, to make contact with the world I live in. At one time, I would lie on the roof for hours and look into the stars. I could go up to the sixth level of stars, but after that my eyes weren’t able to see more. I’ve been taught by my people to learn to observe, to observe and then to learn.