we owe each other everything

I open Instagram, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over me as I stare at the screen. Another rejection from a residency in New Orleans stares back at me. Seeking support, I turn to my friends and online community and request kind words about my practice. After a moment, I close the app. 

Upon returning, I found a message from Jacqueline Morrisseau-Addison waiting for me. Memories of the summer of 2023 flood back to me, when I participated in a craft exhibition called "Ghostly Makers" at Burnaby Gallery alongside Jacqueline. Her message feels like a sudden breeze, simultaneously comforting and invigorating. She writes, “When my Auntie and I visited Ghostly Makers this summer, your creations deeply resonated with us, especially for her…We both paused in front of each of your sculptures, admiring their bold yet soft essence. They felt strangely familiar, though we knew they were your own creations and not from our family.”

Though I couldn't attend the show in person, glimpses of Jacqueline's installation reached me through photographs of the opening. Instantly captivated, I found myself drawn to her work, experiencing a sensation akin to déjà vu—a ghostly, ethereal feeling. Jacqueline's installation featured family photos delicately suspended on organza above wooden chairs arranged around a dinner table. The organza seemed to float mystically in the space, evoking a sense of traversing through realms. In her artist statement, Jacqueline questions, “How do we come to know and build relationships with people we have never met? How do we carry our relatives with us? Our teachings? Our memories? Our stories?”

The weight of our obligations—to one another, to the land, to our kin—is profound. We owe a debt, a debt of gratitude and remembrance. The act of remembering becomes a sacred responsibility—a practice of honoring, preserving, and archiving our collective and individual history. And maybe we owe each other a kind message, we owe the land autonomy, and owe our relatives remembrance.