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Continued from front page
there would be room for improvement,
and all participants have been bring
ing their A-game in recent classes, be
cause the stakes were dramatically
raised.
Beginning in March, the Hallie
Ford Museum at Willamette Univer
sity will open a six
month exhibit of
contemporary
Grand Ronde bas
ketry, and don't ex
pect any scrub
pieces out of this
class.
Matheson could
be considered less a
teacher, and more a
master in the realm
of basketry. She
owns a doctorate in
Ethnobotany, the study of human
usage of plants, and even did her dis
sertation on West of the Rockies bas
ketry. For 20 years baskets have been
a centerpiece of her life. She has trav
eled to Europe to study the craft, and
even lived in Japan to devote herself
to bamboo basketry.
"The most interesting thing about
this is that really, it takes longer to
prepare materials than to make the
baskets," she observes. "When you
actually start on your basket, you are
more than halfway done."
This class especially offers testa
ment to that. Everybody had to
gather their own materials, and some
still gather to this day. Many mate
rials are seasonal, so considerable
foresight is needed, and a plan es
sential. Branches and the like need
a good soaking before they are work
able, and many materials change
hue over time.
Mueller uses, among other things,
spruce root, willow bark, beargrass
'and woodwardia for her materials.
Mercier prefers western red cedar,
cherry bark, yellow Alaska cedar and
seagrass. Tony Johnson, the Tribal
Cultural Specialist, may be the pur
ist of the lot.
"I got this sweetgrass at the mouth
of the Chinook River," he says
proudly.
For many that might not signify
much, but for Johnson it marks clear
tradition. He has traced his ances
try diligently, and knows that his
forebears gathered materials at that
same spot. ,
"Many people, sadly, think bas
ketry is stupid," Matheson says some
what bitterly. "Yet they don't under
stand how important baskets were
long ago, for gathering, storage..."
Indeed, she says, a good basket was
often an investment, and a necessity.
One would not think that roots, grass
and slim branches would expect a long
life, but many of the baskets in the
Tribal collection are more than a cen
tury old, with a handful teetering on
the brink of 150 years. Hold them in
your hand and they are just as flex
ible, pliable and yes, sturdy, as the
models being crafted today.
The baskets come in many shapes
and sizes, from a rough picnic bas
ket complete with handle, to smaller
cylindrical pieces destined for some
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Above: Kathleen Feehan making a willow tray.
Left: Kim Mueller working on a spruce root medallion.
Below: Marion Mercier (right) is creating a junkus purse to
match one that was made by a family member years ago. Her
daughter Candi Koehler is working on a cedar basket.
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Above: A display of old Grand Ronde basketry.
Below: Siletz Tribal member Lori Brown reproduced a peeled willow basket she
modeled after three old baskets. All of the baskets are pictured here Lori's is
the light colored basket In front.
necklace. Mercier has crafted her
own purse, and Mueller a medallion.
Perhaps the simple shapes are what
cause many people to blow them off.
But close inspection will reveal just
how intricate, and obviously pains
taking, these wonders are. An eye
for detail, and no less, is needed to
understand their value.
For Rebecca Dobkins, who teaches
courses on Native American cultures
at Willamette University, the baskets
are a godsend.
"After seeing how difficult it is to
make these, you can really appreci
ate the work that went into the origi
nal baskets," she says.
Dobkins, who was instrumental in
establishing the exhibit, would know.
She also oversees the Confederated
Tribes of Grand Ronde Gallery at
Hallie Ford Museum. This gallery
displays basketry from Oregon's pre
mier basket phenoms, including Joey
Lavadour, who teaches basketry at
the Crow's Shadow Institute for the
Arts in Pendleton, and was mentor
to Tribal member Sam Henny. An
assortment of Kenny's own work will
be included in the exhibit.
"I am soooo excited for this,"
Dobkins says. "You can see that
they've really got some talented bas
ket weavers here."
On Feb. 21, Dobkins attended the
final Grand Ronde basketry class to
help students pick their best works
for the exhibit. Dobkins has been
friends with Matheson for years, and
agrees that classes like these are vi
tal to preserving the Native Ameri-
4
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Photos by Kim Mueller, Chris Mercier and Marion Mercier
can identity. Basketry has the po
tential to fall by the wayside, she
says, because many people no longer
find any use in it. To some, it is sim
ply a hobby.
Oddly enough, Native American bas
ketry will be no stranger to Willamette
University. During the early part of
the 20th century, the university col
lected scores of baskets, ones that had
been given to Methodist missionaries
by the Clatsop and Kalapuyans. Dur
ing the 1930s, two well-known Salem
collectors donated several hundred
more baskets to the university. And
in ensuing decades the baskets became
a prominent part of the university's art
collection as paintings, sculptures and
other art forms from around the globe
found their way to the small Salem
school. Yet despite this huge and
gradual influx of works, the univer
sity lacked a museum in which to dis
play all of them.
Alumnus Dan Schneider and Pro
fessor Roger Hull began the arduous
process of gathering support to found
a museum, and in 1996 presented the
idea before the Willamette Board of
Trustees. With the help of an enor
mous donation from long-time bene
factor Hallie Ford, of the Ford Fam
ily Foundation in Roseburg, the uni
versity was able to purchase the U.S.
West Communications Building just
one block from campus, and by 1998
transformed the 27,000 square foot
structure into a bona fide museum.
The Hallie Ford Museum has since
enjoyed many more donations, in the
form of art and money, and boasts
some rather impressive pieces. In
addition to the extensive basketry col
lection, the museum also features 12
prints by Auguste Rodin, donated by
Michael Foster, and also 12 ancient
vases given by Muriel Stieber.
The Spirit Mountain Community
Fund donated $250,000 in 1999 to
help establish the Native American
basketry exhibit. Nobody would call
the money ill spent.
"I'm impressed by this class,"
Matheson says, and nods in satisfac
tion "I really am!"
She has reason to be, for while this
class marks her departure, it does not
mean the end of the gathering.
Many of the students plan to convene
every Wednesday, same as usual, to
resume their hobby. And though
Matheson's expertise will be sorely
missed, don't expect the enthusiasm
level to diminish. Already plans are
underway for the spring gathering
of materials, and if you've a pen
chant for this sort of thing, stop on
by. Everybody is admitted.