a collective blog by indigenous women photographers
Each morning, my daughter wakes up… she doesn’t cry, she just lays there and I can feel her. I feel her breathing change. I feel as she starts to reach around for me in the dark and silence.
The story of Sedna for me is a woven reminder of compassion and resilience towards ourselves and others, especially after a series of traumatic events. When we feel as if we are being cut off from our roots, our family, our sense of community, its important to acknowledge our power within.
As a second language learner of Cree, there is so much to work through in terms of shame, anger and trauma due to the violent interruption colonization had on our languages. The camp provided a safe and nourishing environment to reconnect with the language with likeminded friends who are now family.
I have learned that is important to hold yourself accountable and responsible for your own life. I have learned new ways of thinking and evaluating situations that are so much broader than the walls of my own mind. I have learned that it is okay to be compassionate, and humble and to feel everything so deeply – rather than trying to mask those feelings or act like they simply aren’t there.
When it’s clear skies and I know the sunset will be amazing, I try to take one photo of it, and enjoy the rest of it myself. It’s the most beautiful thing I get to witness in my days.
I remind myself of the importance of community and connection that was once deeply rooted in our culture. To give someone our full attention is to love - because Love & Attention mean the same thing.
The idea that a trans woman’s body or transitioning is a sovereign act may seem odd to people, but it’s rejecting a colonial violence against us (forcing us into Western gender systems) and reclaiming our inherent femininity inside culture. It’s about connecting our sexualities to our land-seeing our pleasure as also sovereign. Our bodies, our right to be loved, to feel good.
It’s a beautiful feeling when you see your own people succeeding, sharing that light and love with everyone and knowing you aren’t alone in your struggles.
I remembered that I come from people who are storytellers. Artists. Lovers. Foolish friends and mischievous family. We are drenched in the survival and reclamation of generations past, and by our very act of breathing, laughing, loving - we are claiming our rightful space for our descendants. We are here.
... it is important to me to find books for my daughter that she can relate to as an Indigenous/Nehiyaw Iskwew.
