Husk-Face, Portrait Masks and the ones that cling to the face.

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Sketches from my 2022-23 notebook. 

Like many, I am drawn to handmade (carved, woven, formed from clay, paper mache, etc) masks that represent a culture or country's identity. That identity encompasses a wide scope of form, design, signification and interpretation. Yet, I have had masks that I purchased at a thrift store or garage sale that I had no understanding of anything other than myself finding it aesthetically appealing.

Photo above: I bought this mask at a thrift store in Fairbanks, Alaska in 2023. 

My interpretations or understanding of it are based on guess work; fictional narratives. 

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Sometimes, when I place a mask from a second-hand sale in my hand and decide to bring it forward with me, I sense a deep responsibility to care for it. There is a story, or koan, in Buddhism that explains this, as well as much more. It is titled, Wash Your Bowl.

The bowl is symbolic of many things, as is washing it. One is to honor the bowl by caring for it. The mask comes into my life and now that I have the mask, I care for it. This is also an act of mindfulness, of being present to what is before me.

A bowl from my kitchen 

The koan I am referring to is below. It was written by Zen Master Zhaozhou Congshen, who was born in the 8th century and lived through most of the 9th .

A monk asked Zhaozhou, 'I have just joined the community, and I request the teacher's instruction.'

Zhaozhou inquired, 'Have you had your breakfast gruel yet?'

The monk said, 'I have had my gruel.'

Zhaozhou said, 'Then go wash your bowl.

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At other times, I feel as though the found mask resonates a memory of something from own life. In this way, it speaks to me.  When my step-father Barney moved into my mother's suburban home, I was a pre-teen living at home with my older sister and three younger siblings (* my biological father remains a constant in my life and always has). My mother decorated the shared living spaces in our home with modern, abstract art. When Barney moved in, he brought with him a single box of Seneca or Onödowá'ga tribal pieces, photos and more. He kept most of his other things at his sisters' houses on the Cattaraugus Reservation. Slowly, my mother shifted things, removing a work of contemporary art and replacing it with one of Barney's Onödowá'ga pieces.

I don't use the word/s artifact or collection as the items Barney brought into the house he now shared with my mother weren't historical items that were no longer used nor things collected in the way some collect elephants. These were culturally relevant pieces that spoke of the history of the Seneca tribal community and spoke in the present to that same community, given some shifting due to the newly born, the dead or dying. 

The one piece that I strongly remember him hanging in our living room just above our television set was a mask. It was a False Face, a Gaji"s" sho'o or Husk-Face, made from corn husks. I can see it so clearly in my mind. I remember once finding it a strange visual commentary that this False Face, that I naively thought was a Death Mask (a teen romanticizing Native American cultural history), hung above the television screen which in the evenings displayed re-runs of the MASH war/comedy sitcom that often included scenes in which soldiers had died. When I was in grad school, I wrote an essay about this coupling of Barney's mask and images of the Vietnam war. I have much more to write about that in future days. 

One night, maybe a year or two after Barney moved in, there was a knock on our front door (you entered directly into the living room from it). Barney looked out the window, nodded solemnly, walked over to where the mask was hung and removed it. He opened the door holding the mask and said a few words in Onödowá'ga to the man who I had partially seen. I remember he had the same pomegranate colored skin Barney had, but his long, pulled back hair was grey instead of black. 

Barney handed the man the Husk-Face mask and then a minute later closed the door. The man left with what he came for. I asked Barney why he gave the mask to him. He answered that the mask was only to be touched by elders and chiefs, that the man who he gave the mask to was both. He needed it for a healing ceremony on the territory. He also told me it would not be returning to our home. 

There are no family photos of the False Face /  Husk Face mask. It wasn't documented in that way as my home and its contents, as I stated above, weren't museum items. They were to be cared for like the empty bowl, yet filled with cultural heritage and tradition. They were still significant to healing ceremonies taking place in the present. I did much Google searching to find images that were similar to Barney's mask. Here are a few of the images I found. (Link attached to photos)

The Husk-Face mask on the right in the photo 

directly above is very much like the one Barney hung on 

our living room wall.

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Some masks are completely absent of cultural significance. They are specifically made for tourists or casual collectors. This is true in places all over the world, and here in Alaska. In a metaphorically way, they are False Faces. They were created as products for purchase rather than for tribal or cultural use in ceremonies, or to display as a statement of the owner's identity as a member of either or both. 

I have seen tribal masks in various homes I visited throughout Alaska. Most of these have animal characteristics, with a rare one having human features. I have also seen such masks in museums across the state. 

I took a trip to Anchorage from Nome, where I was then living and working, a couple of years ago. My son flew in from the Lower 48 to join me. One the places we visiting was the The Anchorage Museum. I brought with me my travel sketch bag. We walked through the museum enjoying all of it and then came upon a wall of mounted masks. They weren't full face masks. They mostly covered just the nose and mouth. They were made to be placed over N95 masks worn during the COVID pandemic. I found each powerful and provocative. I took out my sketching supplies. My son went to the museum's cafe as I was going to be awhile.

As I sketched the masks, I also added the text for the display in the background of my work. I am glad I did so that I may add it here now. The artist of these alder and yew wooden mask is Alaska Indigenous artist Tommy Joseph Naal xak’w of Sitka. The title of his display was, We are Still Here (2019-2020). His posted artist statement included the following: "Portrait masks that fit over N95 face masks to promote mask wearing as a source of Indigenous pride and tradition. They are intended to protect elders in particular ... Animals impart a level of protection. The animals are Spirit Helpers. If we pay attention, they can teach us."

The sketches I made of a few of his masks that day and then hand-illustrated later are below:

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Sketches from my 2022-23 notebook. 

I returned to Nome a few days later and showed my sketches of Tommy Joseph Naal xak’w's masks to a teacher friend who had lived there much longer than I. She said I needed to go and see the masks at the nearby Carrie M. McLain Memorial Museum. I went the next weekend it was open. I brought my traveling sketch bag, too.

The Carrie M. McLain Memorial Museum is a small museum greatly cared for with excellent and engaging displays that don't often change or rotate. I walked from room to room, peering into one glass case and another. I turned down one hallway and soon found myself standing in front of a case with full-sized, hand-carved face masks. The animals they depicted had this energy that resonated through the wood of the mask and the glass case. These Yup'ik masks are called kegginaqug. According to Google, they are also known as nepcitaq, which means "the ones that cling to the face".

I stood in front of the case and sketched two of the masks on display: the Walrus and the Raven. I returned to my teacher-housing shortly after and hand-illustrated both that evening.

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Sketches from my 2022-23 notebook. 

I added to my sketch some of the words from the museum's framed statement as I did with my Anchorage museum sketches. Here is what I noted: "Bering Strait Native Dancers perform to the rhythm of drums traditionally carved with dried seal or walrus intestine and are hit with a long stick. Dances feature wood masks, sealskin dance mittens, fancy boots, colorful kuspuks, and headdresses made of feathers or beads. The Walrus mask was used in the Walrus dance performed by the King Island dancers and drummers during the Teller Dance Festival, September (2014)."

To say each spoke to me, makes it sound brief or "in the moment." It is not like that at all. They continue to speak to me, as do those carved and painted by Tommy Joseph Naal xak’w. The Husk-Face mask Barney hung on the living room wall in the home he shared with my mother will also walk forward with me.

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