Remembering influential Ojibwe artist

By Suzanne Keeptwo

I am by no means an art critic or connoisseur. In fact, I find most contemporary art unappealing, especially the likes of untitled blank canvasses housed in Ottawa’s National Gallery of Art. I loathe the pretentiousness of the art world and wonder about purpose. Whether social statements about our demented world or the creation of aesthetically pleasing visuals, my stick of success amounts to “would I hang that on my wall?”

I marvel at how one artist’s work can sell for mounds of money and yet comparable grade 10 science experiments are ultimately thrown in the garbage. I’ve seen more honest abstract work come out of kindergarten classrooms, yet know elementary teachers will “correct” students by telling them “trees are not purple”.  I did mention how our world is demented.

Albeit rarely, my unsophisticated eye will be attracted, like a crow flying overhead, by something glinting in the sun such as the work of Norval Morrisseau (1932-2007). If, by chance, you do not know this Ojibwe painter by name, you would recognize his art.

Norval Morrisseau was no apple in Canada’s art world. Miskwaabik Animiiki, or Copper Thunderbird—his spirit name—lived and painted to the beat of his own Ojibwe drum. Much to the chagrin of those who invested in him as an artist, Norval moved from place to place, drank copiously, and hung with brothers and sisters on the street. He treated money like water, sometimes thirsty for it, sometimes quenched by it, and oft’ times let slip through his artistic fingers. His lifestyle and behaviour was disconcerting to those outsiders who saw great value in his art.

Norval was flamboyant, unmanageable, unpredictable and, I imagine, a whole lot of other things to the many people who knew him. The one thing Norval was consistent with, regardless of what shape he was in, was his need to paint. He could not turn off the visions, the images that came through his fingertips by way of the traditional insights passed down to him.

Morrisseau did not fit in with the ranks of the artistic elite. He, as much as his artwork, was uniquely fascinating and never seen before in the white man’s art world or Anishinaabe culture. No one had been obsessed with recreating the images of his dreams, his Teachings, and ancestral knowledge like Copper Thunderbird. Perhaps it was the combination of being instructed by his grandfather as a boy in the 1930s juxtaposed with residential school experiences where everything he had known was defied. Those two extremes combined with an urge to document what he saw in his mind’s eye with either a stick in the sand on the shores of Lake Nipigon, to depictions on birch bark and moose hide, to eventually craft paper then canvas, resulted in thousands of images.

Somewhat familiar with Morrisseau’s paintings and hearing snippets of his controversial lifestyle, curiously—but especially interested in the author’s own Anishinaabe account—I picked up the biography Norval Morrisseau: Man Changing into Thunderbird by Armand Garnet Ruffo (now available in soft cover). Ruffo’s brilliant narrative works like an ancestor guide taking your hand on a spirit journey to hover over the turbulent and terrific times of this shape shifting artist.

The combination of imagery and striking colours of Norval’s “medicine paintings” were purposeful.  Art curators, historians and critics consider this self-taught Ojibwe artist one of, if not the most innovative artists of the twentieth century. But Ruffo’s book clearly indicates Morrisseau’s ambition was not one of riches or status in the world of professional art. It was out of spiritual and cultural necessity that he painted so fervently.

“I have spirit here inside myself. I have to allow the spirit to flow through and paint,” he said.

Norval strived to reinvigorate cultural pride and spiritual awareness for his Anishinaabe relatives in a world that had dramatically changed for his people.

“I want to put colour back into our lives,” Ruffo’s research reveals.

Surprisingly, or not, there are seven colours that are considered healing colours. Colour therapy is an ancient practice going back thousands of years for many cultures and is medically known as Chromotherapy. Colour is the language of the soul. Red, passionate and warm, encourages vitality, stimulates energy and can alleviate depression. Orange is about joy and happiness and inspires creativity. Green, symbolizing growth and renewal, provides comfort and equilibrium. Blue is relaxing for the mind and body. Pink is a feminine and soothing colour. And all variations of purple represent spirituality, linking us to higher consciousness and insight. This is what Norval Morrisseau wanted to bring back to the Anishinaabeg. There were no blank untitled canvasses at his solo show at the National Gallery in 2006.

Canada has its Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Groundhog Day, Christmas Day, etc.  I want us to have Norval Morrisseau Day. A day that everyone will be reminded of the breadth of Miskwaabik Animiiki ‘s work, the style of work (inspiring three generations of painters), the content of the work, and the vibrant colours of the work. I want the anniversary of Copper Thunderbird’s arrival, March 14, be a day where each year, people from all over don vibrant colours in honor of a man who struggled yet prevailed in spite of this demented world.

“I wanted to be a Shaman and an artist. I wanted to give the world these images because I felt this could bring back the pride of the Ojibwa, which was once great.”

Let us wear our healing colours on March 14 and be great once again. Happy Norval Morrisseau Day!