A Challenge to Think

Seven weeks ago I arrived in Sitka, Alaska ready to start my Frankentweet experience. Unsure of what I would be doing in a project that was “examining this digital age that we live in,” I went to Ellen’s studio to get my tasks for the first week. I quickly learned that a major part of my time would be spent trying some digital disruptions, hijinks or interventions (call them what you like and watch them here!) to make people think about technology and its significant influence in our lives. I won’t bore you with the details of each intervention or the brainstorming process or the innumerable Google searches for How to convert one type of footage to another so that I can edit it on this stupid computer. I will say, however, that the questions that fall under the header of “examining this digital age that we live in” are essentially limitless.

 From cell phones to satellites, from Facebook to self-driving cars, from government surveillance to my Netflix queue, technology, in all of its forms, dominates many parts of the world in which we live. This summer, most of my “Frankentweeting” explored, or better put, attempted to explore social media, communication, and what those little handheld machines do to our relationships and identities. The people we spoke to always had a comment, or several, about their devices. Some recited recipes for successful technological detoxes. Some commented on educational practices and iPads. Some feel more connected. Some disconnected. Some have friends. Some have more “real” friends, or so they say. Some people have been cyber bullied. Some people did the bullying. The question we were asking people centered on connection. What do these devices, Facebook pages, and Instagram accounts change about our human connections?

Although I can’t make a concrete statement about whether or not technology is destroying our relationships and concepts of self, because the topic is much more complex than that, I will say that as my eyes descend toward that screen the rest of the world begins to disappear from my view.

I challenge you to think about the ways in which technology and this digital era affects your life. Think about the ways you use technology each day. Does social media influence your identity? How does it affect your relationships? Your work? The way you communicate? Do you feel more connected or isolated? What else is going to be affected?

Frankentweet is about the process of sifting through these questions, collecting more thoughts, more opinions and more questions. What is the big comment or insight after seven weeks? Everybody has something to say and that process should continue because it will open up much greater depth. Frankentweet is still waiting to decide exactly what its comment is. We hope you will join us. 

Frankentweet is an interactive project, and we need your questions, thoughts and videos! Provoke a discussion in your community, and share it with us!

Patrick Sullivan is studying political science at Yale University. He is always curious to learn something new. This summer, Patrick is working as special projects coordinator at Artchange, Inc. 

What Is Away?

View from Mt. Verstovia.  Source: Julia Rosenheim

I’ve been in Sitka for a little more than a month, and now, when I overhear some fishermen laughing about their catch as I sip from a mug of coffee in the Back Door Café, I don’t think much of it. A month ago, I would have; I’m from New York City, where “fresh” fish arrives from somewhere else, somewhere totally abstract. When I first arrived in Sitka, the direct contact with the source of our food struck me. Now, the initial thrill of this aspect of the culture has subsided, replaced by a constant gratitude I feel for it every day.

I'm not in New York City anymore. 

What does it mean for me to be away? In addition to exploring a new place, a new community, a new culture, do I feel separate from my home life? During the first few weeks of my internship at Artchange, I tried to call and text friends every night. The time difference of four hours meant it was quite difficult for me to talk to friends and family living their lives on the east coast, but I’d stop to snap a picture of a ripe salmonberry on a walk into town to send to a friend thousands of miles away. The geographic distance between my social circle and my life here made me want to engage with things like Facebook even more than I do at home.

Salmonberries to post online. 

But shouldn’t being away mean a break from that social network? Why does it pull me in even more than usual? This is one of the paradoxes that the Frankentweet project is exploring.

In my interviews with cruise ship tourists, I ask them what it means to be away. Some of them talk about being away as a chance to explore a new way of life, others mention a break from work. What is interesting to me, however, is how many talk about “peace and quiet.” When I prod further, I find that this quiet isn’t really the absence of audible noise, but rather, it is more aptly put as a lack of media clamor. One man described the delight of not being able to check his phone on a boat without cell service. Another woman talked about how wonderful it is that she is only able to access wifi when they are in port.

Tourist snaps a picture outside Totem Park. 

At first, these responses seem pretty standard, especially in the digital age. But after further reflection, I wonder why we feel it is so necessary to engage with our devices in our everyday lives if we know how great it is to have peace and quiet? What is it about technology that draws us in so much? One girl talked to me about how she does miss having wifi on board the cruise ship. Like me at the beginning of my time in Sitka, she yearns for this media noise. How does our culture and values contribute to this?

Paying Attention.

Furthermore, the process of collecting interviews has revealed to me that people may be unaccustomed to the act of confronting both the benefits and consequences of technology in our lives. The way a man shrugged and laughed after he admitted that he uses his device way too much, the sheepish smile of a girl who talked about how playing games on her iPhone often separates her from the people around her, the nods of agreement coming from a woman’s family as she described the frustration of a friend ignoring her to check texts at dinner – to me, these moments suggest that perhaps on some level, we all recognize the way our devices alter our lives, whether it be by putting up barriers, connecting us to new communities, allowing us to feel an artificial tie to people far away. The question is: what are we going to do about it? Are we prepared to address it?

This process has made me more aware of the fact that I don’t feel the need to check in with friends and family back home as much as I did in the beginning of my time here. Now when I walk past bushes brimming with ripe salmonberries, I don’t think about sending a picture of them to a friend, I just pick them and eat them right away, with no other motive.

Do they taste better?

What are you noticing?

Check out facebook.com/pages/frankentweet and follow us on instagram at Frankentweet to see what we're up to. 

Julia Rosenheim is studying anthropology and political science at Yale University. She is passionate about exploring new places and cultures. This summer, Julia is working as an intern for Artchange, Inc. 

What's On Display?

Recently, I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art and found myself in one of my favorite rooms: the gallery that houses the Temple of Dendur, an Egyptian temple constructed by Petronius around 10 B.C. The Temple of Dendur is one of the Met’s most popular attractions, reigning in tourists from all over the world. It stands encircled by an artificial mote, whose stone bottom is speckled with shiny pennies and foreign coins visitors toss over their shoulders. A view of Central Park shines through a glass wall three stories tall. Every day, couples and friends and fathers with toddlers on their shoulders wait in line to observe the temple up-close. Tour guides point out carvings on its walls.

Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Source: wikipedia.org

Less noticeable is a small collection of photographs off to the side that show what the temple looked like when it was still in Egypt, before it was dismantled and moved from its original location, which was around 80 kilometers south of the town of Aswan. These photographs show the temple in what one might call its natural habitat, before Egypt presented the temple and its gate as a gift to the United States in thanks for the US’s help in preserving other monuments from a flood of Lake Nasser. While the story of how the temple got in the hands of Americans seems hardly objectionable, on my most recent visit, when I saw these photographs, it struck me that I had been viewing this temple superficially for years, without any context or understanding of what it meant to those who built it. It made me wonder what tourists from Egypt might think when they walked into a museum in New York City to find a temple that had once stood where they are from, what they’d think about an American institution using it as a way to draw visitors and donations, visitors who will purchase souvenirs and postcards from the museum’s gift shop.

For the rest of my time at the Met that day, as I wandered through galleries full of impeccable 17th century statues created by Mbembe master carvers in Nigeria, past Angkor-period busts from Southeast Asia, I thought about this issue of appropriation. Of course, I’ve heard it argued that if these objects hadn’t been taken by the US and so carefully preserved, they could have been damaged or lost. And of course, I’m glad I get to see them in this space. But I also wondered how objects or temples or pages of manuscripts lose their context and significance here. What are we doing to decades or even centuries of history when we display them so removed from the cultures that made them? And when we come to the Met and take a selfie in front of the Temple of Dendur, what are we really commemorating? What mark does that leave?

I thought about my recent visit to the Met when I saw Tracing Roots: A Weaver’s Journey. The film follows Delores Churchill, a Master weaver and Haida Elder, on a journey to understand the history and cultural origins of a woven spruce root hat found with Kwäday Dän Ts'ìnchi, also known as the Long Ago Person Found, in a retreating glacier in Northern Canada. The film explores how the Champagne and Aishihik First Nation are the “caretakers” of Kwäday Dän Ts'ìnchi, and how, after careful consideration, they finally give Delores and the filmmaker, Ellen Frankenstein, permission to view the hat. They were asked not to include photographs of the hat in the film. This kind of control over the image of the hat stuck out to me when I watched the film. As a white viewer, it was noteworthy to experience being denied access to an image or historical object. Usually, cultural ownership is manifested in the opposite way, with predominantly white scholars and art historians and owners of museums holding and controlling the access to objects that are related to the cultural heritage of other groups. It made me think about all the heirlooms that have been purchased or taken away from their original communities, relocated to galleries in cities far away. What does it mean for institutions to have control over what’s in their glass display cases? Their stewardship suggests a certain entitlement to these artifacts.

Furthermore, Tracing Roots brings up questions of representation. In addition to following Delores’ search to see and understand the spruce root hat found with Kwäday Dän Ts'ìnchi, the film is also a glimpse into the life of a Master weaver and dedicated teacher. The film demonstrates how First Nations weaving techniques are practiced in the present, and how, thanks to teachers like Delores, these techniques will continue on into the future for generations. The depiction of this continuity is a refreshing contrast to how I’ve seen museums display First Nations and other indigenous art. In museums, indigenous art is so often confined to the past. The objects included in museum galleries are beautiful, but they are exhibited as artifacts that suggest conclusions about cultures that once thrived in history but are no longer as culturally relevant. For instance, Katherin Abu Hadal’s article “Why Native American Art Doesn’t Belong in the American Museum of Natural History” points out the derogatory implications of displaying Native American art next to natural objects in natural history museums. She argues that this sends the message that indigenous art is less developed and sophisticated than art from the Western Canon, which gets hung and admired in fine art museums. I would argue that even fine art museums like the Met need to rethink their curatorial decisions. Including substantial displays of works by contemporary non-western artists, such as baskets by Delores Churchill, would send the message that non-western contributions of art and culture are today as important as they ever were.

As museum goers, we should always seek a holistic understanding of an object thousands of miles away from where it was made or constructed. We should question who has control over how research on a peoples’ heritage and history is conducted and represented. Ultimately, one cannot separate something like a Haida basket from its maker, from the hands that dug the roots out of the earth, the fingers that spent days and months weaving them together. Context is a worthy goal if it lets the art speak for itself, and context is woven right into baskets, carved right into the walls of temples.

Julia Rosenheim is studying anthropology and political science at Yale University. She is passionate about social justice, art history, and creative writing. This summer, Julia is working as the outreach coordinator for Artchange, Inc.

Tracing Roots Screenings and Guide in the Works

Over the past months we've shared Tracing Roots at community screenings, in theaters, at public libraries,  museums, middle and high schools and film festivals from Northern California to Fairbanks, Alaska. It has and continues to be a great journey. 

Delores with North Tide Canoe Kwáan

When Delores Churchill travels with the film, the discussions are especially lively and inspiring, as she dives further into the meaning of sharing her work, teaching, and how she learned the six strand ending found on the hat of the Long Ago Person Found.

Delores at the Haines Public Library during a Q and A

Middle Schooler's response to "Tracing Roots

Delores in a Fiber Arts Class 

We're excited about a discussion guide in the works. Stay tuned, it is carefully constructed tool made in collaboraton with The Intellectual Property Issues in Cultural Heritage (IPinCH) Project to generate discussion around intellectual property. cultural heritage, climate change and more.  

Screenings coming up include:
• Pioneer Home Brown Bag Lunch,, Sitka, AK July 1st 12 p.m
• Tongass Rainforest Festival, Petersburg, AK September 10th
•  International Conference of Indigenous Archives, Libraries, and Museums - Washington, DC, September 9-15, 2015
• "Joining Forces: musuems, community and collaboration," 
Museums Alaska, Cordova Community Center Auditorium, October 1st 8 P.M
• Northwest Designer Craftman (TBA)
• Comox Valley and Campbell River, BC Community Screenings (TBA)
• Juneau Public Screening/Library screening (TBA)