Crimson Northern Lights
2007
Black wool stroud, smoke tanned caribou hide, various materials
90.5 x 57 inches

Indigenous Art Centre, Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Canada (CIRNAC)



My sister and I shared an apartment in Ottawa while I attended Carleton University. One night, as the packed #2 OC Transpo bus to Vanier rounded a corner, I saw my neighbourhood’s horizons were afire.

At my stop, I had a really hard look at the skies. Blood. Fresh blood. The night sky hemorrhaged—its Life, a flowing, pulsating mass within an undulating shimmer.

My fellow passengers were still not noticing until I pointed out the sky aberration. My skin crawled across my back and up my neck. My Inner Being felt sick.

Marvel, fascination and repulsion filled me as I showed the skies to my sister while  calling my Mother in Labrador. I wanted to know if she or any of our family had witnessed such an unnatural phenomenon.

She responded that she herself had not, but her Mother and Father did, once. The Elders told them and her that when red Northern Lights appeared it didn’t bode well for someone, usually a whole lot of someones, somewhere. It signified a huge tragedy, maybe a war, and bloodshed, and we must pray for the well being of those affected far away.

If you look closely at the wall hanging you can see the packed #2 bus as it trundles along. The horrific crimson night sky seemingly wants to devour the world. It is time to be very aware. And, very small.

Carefully chosen “Sleep. Sleep.” buttons are sewn in as the bus tires. But the passengers don’t need to be lulled; these people were asleep in themselves.

People, totally unaware, asleep or awake, of the many wonders that surround us.

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