My Bones

Scientists have discovered that root tips communicate with other species in forest networks, transmitting signals from one plant to another through the fungi, carrying messages to share the needs of other plants surrounding them (Global Institute for Food Security, 2019). Albert Marshall, an Elder from the Moose Clan of the Mi’kmaq Nation teaches that the roots are holding hands, similar to the way we hold hands with our loved ones. When a tree is cut down or injured, it sends messages through its roots to the surrounding trees to send nutrients to maintain, heal, and preserve (“On Belonging” by Kim Samuel, 2022). Meaning years after a tree is cut down, its stump can still be alive and flourishing. Even fallen trees become nursery beds for young tree seedlings and saplings. Marshall explains that trees “weave a web of reciprocity, of giving and taking. In this way, the trees all act as one, because the fungi have connected them. Through unity, survival. All flourishing is mutual. Soil, fungus, tree, squirrel, child—all are the beneficiaries of reciprocity.”

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When I think about what it means to belong, I am often reminded of the flourishing forests that are littered throughout Saskatchewan as elaborate ecosystems where each organism relies on the other to exist. So for us as people, what does belonging mean? Professor John Helliwell, professor emeritus of the Canadian Institute for Advanced Research explains that “Belonging, almost like happiness or fear or pain, is something that you don’t have to ascribe a meaning to, its meaning is intrinsic. So, if you say you feel you belong somewhere, it’s a feeling as primal as being in pain or feeling happy. It doesn’t have to have a description, it simply is.” It’s largely tied to feeling at home, both internally and externally, within the environmental, cultural, and social contexts of life.

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Establishing a connection to a physical sense of belonging can be challenging in today's world. Many people are denied the feeling of home, unable to access the land they cherish or find security in their living spaces. Our global environment is experiencing an unprecedented level of instability. With climate change, environmental degradation, rampant discrimination and violence, inequalities that hinder access to housing, and the ongoing effects of colonialism, the global community will increasingly confront the harsh realities of displacement, transience, and disconnection from physical places.

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A true homeplace must foster acceptance, connection with others, the ability to influence our lives, and a sense of meaning and purpose. It is essential that we feel we have a voice in the decisions that impact us, that our opinions are valued, and that we have the opportunity to listen to others as well. We need to cultivate a connection to the world and our broader human family, reflecting on profound questions about the essence of home and the significance of sharing it. This includes recognizing the belonging of homeplace to everyone in our communities, as well as to the land, water, animals, and other beings that inhabit our environment. This concept lies at the core of responsible interdependence and is crucial for our future survival.

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Consider how your community was formed and who inhabited the land before. How can you develop a personal connection to this place that respects its history and biodiversity? Think back to where you were born and the natural surroundings that nurtured you during the early years of your life. You may have fond memories of the neighborhood park where you played with friends, the forest where you explored with family, or the lake that provided relief during hot summer days. Your commitment to preserving that park, that forest, or that lake deepens when you feel connected to them, as they become integral to your sense of home. As we get to know our homeplace more closely, we invest more in its well-being. We feel anchored and motivated to protect those roots.

This makes me think about the early histories of peoples living in Saskatchewan. Indigenous peoples and early farming communities alike depended on one another for survival within a few dozen miles, whether for food, employment, essential services, or the support of family and friends. The necessity of community fostered a desire for it to endure. Today, however, the situation has changed. Nonetheless, people here often understand the value of connecting to the places we call home, living from the land, and believing that when you take care of your home, it will take care of you.

Calling Saskatchewan home my entire life, I, like many who have lived in this province, have come to learn the importance of understanding “My Bones.” While creating this body of work, I spent much of my time creating in remote locations throughout the province studying its facets- from moss growing on the ground, to ducks on a pond, or grand cloud formations passing in the sky. As current time becomes memory, my lens develops, and my work chronicles what I have come to see and to know. Incorporating ever evolving colour palettes, movement, and symbolism often through an abstracted lens, my process acts as a reinvestigation of the structures and relationships that root us to our place in the world. My work sits somewhere between representational and partially recognizable, merging belonging in both the physical world and not-so-physical space that we hold inside. Furthermore, this body of work is a catalyst to bring the viewer to a place of wonder where they can turn inward to build their own connections and deepen their relationship with their bones. I seek to bring the viewer into the moment with me and with the hope that one might reconnect with their own memory, sense of belonging, or newfound understanding of their intrinsic place in the world.