Sister and I in Alaska
By Emily Carr; Figure 1 Publishing; 128 pages; 2014; $22.95
The Canadian artist Emily Carr was well into middle age before she rose to prominence as one of her nation's foremost painters in the years leading up to World War II. What brought her notice after long and frustrating decades spent trying to find her style were her watercolor depictions of Northwest coastal Native life and landscapes, particularly her renditions of totem poles.
In his introduction to "Sister and I in Alaska," a prose and painting diary of a 1907 trip Carr took with her sister Alice through Alaska's Inside Passage, art historian and critic David Silcox locates the origin of her obsession with Native art forms in a brief passage where the sisters visit a collection of totem poles placed in Sitka as a tourist attraction.
Carr would credit that moment as the turning point in her artistic quest, writing years later that, "The Indian people and their Art touched me deeply. Perhaps that was what has given my sketch the "Indian flavour." By the time I reached home my mind was made up. I was going to picture totem poles in their own village settings, as complete a collection of them as I could."
For all its import, the Sitka excursion garners only a single entry in the 1907 diary, which Silcox has beautifully reproduced in a hardcover trade edition. Originally intended for personal enjoyment and rendered on the go in an inexpensive notebook, the journal was passed on to Alice Carr following the voyage. In 1953 Alice gave it to Katherine and Arthur Daly of Toronto. From there it was forgotten, only to resurface in 2011 when the Daly's grandson, Tom Daly Jr., offhandedly showed it to Silcox. It was one of those serendipitous moments when something very special gets rescued from obscurity.
The diary itself is minimalist in both text and artwork. Pages consist of handwritten entries on the left and lightly composed watercolors on the right. Silcox notes in his introduction that the writing here foreshadows the sort of prose Carr would produce in her final years when her health was failing and painting had become too difficult of an effort:
"A linear, chronological story was either not in her character or simply not the imaginative way she chose to portray her experiences, emotions, or thoughts. She much preferred, it seems, to set up verbal tableaux -- brief, intense pictures that were charged with descriptive meaning and feeling."
This describes the paintings found in the diary as well. While Carr's later work was notable for its deep colors and distinctive modernism, here we find lighthearted depictions of what she encountered in a style akin to that found in children's books of the day. The illustrations are lively and brimming with activity. Facial expressions and body language convey everything. Colors are muted and simplicity is the rule.
The text entries are short with the paintings adding to the story rather than simply illustrating it. For example, early on, Carr writes that "Tho' we passed mainly through placid channels, among the islands there were occasions on which vicious strips of open sea had to be crossed. For these sister and I were well equipped, and heroically prepared ourselves." The accompanying illustration shows the sisters in a bunk bed lying flat on their backs with eyes closed, each clutching a jug of brandy.
As the sisters travel up and down the coast, their personalities emerge in both text and art. Alice is serene when she isn't resigned to circumstances. Her eyes are forever closed, her head pointing downward, her lips closed and at times curled into a gentle smile. Carr is less kind toward herself. She comes across in her writing as a very grumpy traveler and in her self-depictions she's perpetually frowning if her mouth isn't wide open in mid-complaint. Only on the final page when the two are safely back in Seattle does happiness break out on Carr's face.
It appears to have been an eventful trip. The weather -- as would be expected in Southeast Alaska in August -- is often inclement. A hike in White Pass is notable mostly for the rain that pours down on the pair as they attempt to eat their lunches. In Sitka the torrent is burdensome, but less so than the oversized umbrella they attempt to take refuge under.
When not fighting the elements the two are unhappily distracted by their fellow passengers and at times unimpressed by their itinerary. Bawling babies in the ship's dining room make meals unbearable. Carr expresses disapproval of the shutterbugs who crowd around the sights in various towns, often compelled to include themselves in their photographs (making Carr perhaps the world's first critic of the selfie). A visit to a salmon cannery doesn't stimulate anyone's appetite.
The middle of the book contains a narrative of a hike up what she calls "Mt. Vestouvias" near Sitka (Silcox notes that Carr's spelling was notoriously atrocious; at one point she mentions "authordox tourists"). It's a comic account of steep climbs, bushwhacking and getting lost. Carr bellyaches the entire way. The trek is disrupted when a bear gets into their heavier clothes, which had been left partway up the slope. It's a setup for a humorous picture of the bear walking on its hind legs attired in frilly dress, hat and shoes while casually eating an orange. Accuracy isn't the primary objective of this diary.
"Sister and I in Alaska" is certainly a significant find. It offers new insight into Carr's legacy. Most importantly, however, it's just a lot of fun. Carr had her curmudgeonly side, and this trip brought it out. Southeast Alaska might have changed her artistic direction, but first it made her laugh.
David A. James is a Fairbanks writer and critic.