Christi York

Weaving The Spirit of A Wild Island Into Contemporary Basketry

In conversation with Elizabeth Fleur Willis Photography by Martin Gisborne

Christi York uses adapted basket weaving methods mixed with a contemporary approach to create sculptural basketry. Drawn to the overlooked, and inspired by the biological complexity that surrounds us, she invites people to pause and reconsider our recent disconnection with nature. Her work incorporates inspirations from ancient human civilizations, to Victorian-era cabinet of curiosities, to ideas from modern ethnobotany and biomimicry. She harvests and processes all of her own natural materials. “The flora and fauna of Vancouver Island are intertwined with the land and its waters. By combing the landscape from mountains to beaches; by identifying and responsibly harvesting seasonal plant material, I am attempting to learn more about my home and to weave the spirit of this wild island into my work.”

Elizabeth Fleur Willis: Where did your interest in basketry come from?

Christi York: My interest in basketry comes, in part, from drilling down as deep as you can go into the origin of materials. I gather most of my art materials from renewable resources that grow naturally all around Vancouver Island. That is amazing to me. It also goes hand in hand with drilling down into the history of what we think may be humanity’s earliest technology - string and rope making using plant fibres. I’m a huge ethnobotany nerd and those ancient historical nuggets fill me with wonder and delight.

I find I work best within a self-imposed, narrow discipline, otherwise, I can get overwhelmed with artistic choices. Whether I’m using recycled materials or limiting myself to hand-harvested materials, it forces me to get creative and think about how I can use existing materials in several different ways. This trash to treasure mentality has been with me for years, and is a direct crossover from my former jewellery line to the style of basketry I’m interested in.

In sculptural basketry, what drives my creative process is partly the material itself, and partly my admiration for the vast, bewilderingly complex network of flora on this planet. I find beauty in the overlooked, the abandoned, the imperfect, the contorted and the wild; the thrust towards the sun, life, and its eventual decay. I like thinking about geological time; the slow pace of nature versus the frantic pace of human society.

Plants don’t care about us. They were around a long time before we came along and they’ll be here long after we’re gone.

EFW: What does the word foraging mean to you?

CY: Currently foraging is synonymous with learning. Learning plant identification means looking at the natural world with new eyeballs. Learning to harvest responsibly, respectfully. Learning more about the incredible variety and detail of plant life on earth. Learning not to just be a taker, but to pause and give thanks to the plants for their gifts. In a broader sense, foraging also means putting myself out there. I often contact strangers (gardeners) for access to their yard trimmings, and I’ve actually met a few new friends this way.

EFW: What is your home environment like? How and where do you go to connect with nature?

CY: Up until 3 years ago I lived in downtown Vancouver for the last 20 years. But now my husband and I are very fortunate to live on 5 acres about 15 minutes from the closest city. I get to look out my window into a canopy of Arbutus and Gary Oak trees, both of which are native trees that only grown in a fairly limited coastal range here. The Arbutus have incredible twisty red limbs and I get to forage for broken branches after windstorms. I can’t wait to start working with them.

EFW: Can you pinpoint a certain moment or particular project that started you on your journey of incorporating nature into your practice?

CY: With absolute precision, yes. About 5 years ago, eco-artist Sharon Kallis and the EartHand Gleaners Society in Vancouver were running free programs through the Vancouver Parks Board. I showed up one afternoon, stepped inside and saw all the dried materials hanging on the walls, the hanks of long leaves, handmade cordage, the spiders (as basket starts are called), and the first words out of my mouth were “I think I’ve found my happy place”. That day I was taught how to weave a tiny basket out of blackberry bark and lily leaves. I’ve been hooked ever since.

EFW: How do you feel when you work with organic elements and within a natural context? Which emotions are evoked?

CY: Sometimes it feels like trying to tame and control chaos, especially when I’m making the larger sculptural pieces. There is a rawness and power inherent in the material that simply does not come into play with other art materials I’ve worked with. Even in the fine, dainty work there are elements of unpredictability, which I have to work with, and around.

I get immense satisfaction from creating work out of what was essentially a pile of sticks and a jumble of vines. It is incredible to me that I can step out my back door and find material to turn into art. I love that I don’t have to go to the art store (but of course I still do). I adore seeing really organic shapes and materials out of context inside a home setting, up on a white wall, or set in a corner of the room. I think the more city-based you are, the more important it is to have a little bit of the outdoors inside your home. To me, it evokes a sense of calm.

EFW Has your practice evolved or changed since you started connecting with organic elements?

CY: My practice has changed dramatically in four ways: focus, patience, planning and experimentation.

Patience: Working with natural materials involves a lot more planning than just popping into the art store. I delight in working with the seasons; harvesting bark in the spring, willow in the winter, daylily leaves in the late fall. I’m often using material that I’ve gathered and dried the year before.

Planning: It’s often only after soaking and mellowing the material that I can begin to weave. Sometimes this process needs to start several days, even a week ahead of time. This pushes me to research, sketch and plan more than I ever have before.

Focus: I truly think there are too many choices in the world in general (look at the bloody yoghurt section in the grocery store!). I find In the past, I created and sold handmade accessories and jewellery made out of vintage and recycled materials - which meant urban gleaning in thrift stores and vintage warehouses. I find this trash to treasure mentality, as well as the focus on only using recycled materials has a direct crossover into the style of basketry I’m interested in.

Experimentation: When you get down the brass tacks, the material cost of the majority of my work is nearly nil. Gathering, drying, sorting, and storing doesn’t cost much more than gas money and a lot of personal labour. Therefore I often feel quite free to experiment with the material, and I try not be too precious with it. I think that is invaluable to creating new work.

EFW: Did you create your unique process autonomously or were you inspired by help/advice or inspiration from external sources?

CY: I have taken several basketry specific classes with nearby teacher and basketmaker Joan Carrigan. In addition, I’m a member of the Northwest Basketry Guild and have attended their weaving retreat every January for the past 3 years. The wealth of knowledge at an event like that is astounding. Never mind the teachers, just sitting and chatting with the ladies who attend (and it’s 98% ladies) is an education in and of itself.

EFW: Do you have any particular artist’s who have inspired you?

CY: Ann Coddington; Sharon Kallis; Joe Hogan; Laura Ellen Bacon; Brian Jungen; Dorothy Gill Barnes; El Anatsui; Andy Goldsworthy.

EFW: Do you have any particular books or websites that have inspired or helped you?

CY: Basket making is about as old school as it gets, a lot of the older basket makers barely have a web presence. That’s why classes and retreats have been so important. When I first started classes (with Joan Carrigan) I had about a million questions about anything and everything to do with basketry. I hope I didn’t drive her nuts! 5 years later I’m just as curious, and my questions go deeper. When I stumbled upon basketry, I felt I found an artistic discipline I could spend the rest of my life learning about.

I follow a lot of Australian basketmakers/ weavers/artists on Instagram. There seems to be quite a vibrant textile arts scene there which I find very inspiring:

“Women’s Work; The First 20,000 Years” - Elizabeth Wayland Barber;

“Braiding Sweetgrass” Robin Wall Kimmerer;

“The Once and Future World” - JB Mckinnon;

“The Botany of Desire” - Micheal Pollan;

“Ground Truthing” - Derrick Stacey Denholm;

“Thus Spoke the Plant” - Monica Gagliano.

EFW: What advice would you give yourself when you first started out as an artist. (Have you learned any important lessons through trial and error?)

CY: At nearly 50 years old, I’m just starting down this journey of officially being an artist. I’ve just started showing work,

and January 2019 marks my first solo exhibition. Before this I was a graphic designer, a maker, and a jewellery designer.

When I was starting out as a jewellery designer I was kind of terrified of the idea of copying other people's work, so much to the point that I would avoid looking at other jewellery designers work for fear of being influenced. Then I happened to see a technique that I liked, and I deliberately set out to copy the piece in order to learn the technique in the privacy of my own studio (as an exercise, not to copy and sell it). Well, by the time the piece went through my brain, my sketchbook, my hands, my materials, and my finishing, it looked completely different! I learned a valuable lesson that day, and I stress less about being influenced by other artists. If you are any good, you come up with your own unique spin on whatever influenced you in the first place.

Probably the most important advice from the business end is: don’t devalue your work and underprice it. A surprising fact I’ve learned over the years is that if someone truly falls in love with your work, often price isn’t as much the deciding factor as you’d think. Do your research, and price your work accordingly.

Every single cliché you’ve heard about spending time in nature is true. It recharges your batteries, it’s healthy, both mentally and physically

EFW: What advice would you give young artists who want to start to connect with their environments?

CY: Join a garden club, a local naturist club, or a hiking club. These community clubs are filled with people who have a wealth of knowledge. A lifetime even, in the case of elder members.

I realize some people aren’t joiners and it can be hard to approach a group of strangers and just jump in. But getting out of your comfort zone is one of the most important things you can do in life. It’s where the interesting stuff starts to happen.

A lot of garden clubs are full of elder, quirky, interesting, down to earth people with an incredible wealth of knowledge who are often eager to share. Experienced gardeners are on the front lines of observing their local environment, they can tell you first hand how much drier the summers have gotten. I half expected my garden clubs to be all about roses and rhododendrons, but I was pleasantly surprised that they are interested in progressive ideas like xeriscaping (drought-resistant gardens), and the latest science on soil microbiology.

I have been a part of two small-town garden clubs now and I’m often the youngest person in the room, which is strangely appealing to me. These clubs have all sorts of volunteering gardening opportunities you may not otherwise find out about. It’s important to note that spending time in someone’s lush garden can be just as rejuvenating as getting out for a hike in the woods.

I’ve also been lucky enough to join a women-only hiking group where many of the hike-leaders are well into their 70s and 80s. Not only is this inspiring to me on a ‘life-health-goals’ level, but I love the chance to chat with these women about the landscapes we pass through as we hike. I can ask “what’s this plant?” and sure enough someone will know the answer. They also tend to hike at a slower pace so we can snap the occasional photo of a spectacular patch of wildflowers or mushrooms. It’s quite a different approach than a younger hiking group might have. I often see zippy people coated in tech gear rushing past us, huffing and puffing with their eyes on the prize of getting to the end of the hike. No thanks.

Even if you can’t get out of the city for a hike, make friends with someone who has a big garden. Offering to help someone out with their garden work will quite literally connect you to the soil very quickly. In return, ask to spend time, undisturbed, with your sketchbook in their garden. Bring a magnifying glass, open your eyes, observe. Look closely at insects, they are amazing! (But, er, be careful not to burn them with the whole sun/magnifying glass thingy.)

EFW: Why is it important to you to connect with your everyday environment and nature in a broader sense?

CY: Every single cliché you’ve heard about spending time in nature is true. It recharges your batteries, it’s healthy, both mentally and physically, it reconnects you with a rhythm that is not the man-made city-scape. If you are observant, it opens your eyes to the astonishing variety of plant life on earth. Take a glance at the timeline of the evolution of life on the planet - plants have been here a hell of a lot longer than we have. Is it so crazy to think they may have a lot to teach us?

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