Photo Catalog Record
Images
Metadata
Title |
Casper Mather in his carving shed, February 13, 1953 |
Image # |
2003.2.63.1309 |
Object Name |
Negative, Film |
Date |
1953, February 13 |
Photographer |
Saari, Paulu T. |
Location |
Ketchikan, Alaska |
Description |
Casper Mather in his carving shed, February 13, 1953 In his long life, Casper Mather wore many hats. A Tsimshian Indian, he was one of the first settlers of Metlakatla, having come to Alaska from Canada in 1887 with Father Duncan. He was a one-time packer on the Chilkoot Trail, a 50-ton ship's pilot, blacksmith and an evangelist. He is most remembered, however, for his unique woodcarvings. In his later years, he produced innumerable carvings in his small shop on Woodland Avenue, selling them to tourists and locals alike. Mather died in 1972 at the age of 97. Ketchikan Daily News article, 7/24/1954 "Observation at Random by Sid D. Charles: Casper Mather the totem maker, says only round totem poles are really "on the square" and he objected to carving the two square posts with totem designs that are very decorative features on each side of the entrance to the administration building of the Ketchikan Pulp company at Ward cove. However, he carved them, but when asked to tell the story of the two poles he said, "No can do! Square totem not totem at all. I carve 'em all right, but my grandfather, he no like me to do that. He carve round!" Casper Mather has pride and one of the sources of his pride is that, although old, and long past the retirement age, he still supports himself and has not called upon Uncle Sam to help him in his old age. More power to Casper!" The Seattle Times, Sunday, March 22, 1953, page 7 "Still Carrying On the Ancient Art of His Forebears, Casper Mather of Ketchikan Is Considered Top Man of the Totem Pole By ROLAND RYDER-SMITH This northwest corner of the continent, from Puget Sound to Alaska, is rich with Indian totem poles. But the men who still carve these cryptic monuments, whether for love of the art or for financial reward, are a sadly diminishing band. Of the remaining few artisans-in-cedar, the chief—the top man—undoubtedly is Alaska’s Casper Mather, native Christian of Ketchikan. Nowadays when even the Indians themselves have only the vaguest understanding of the stories that stand grotesquely written in wood, Mather is doing a rare job of interpreting this branch of Coastal Indian culture for a changing world. And "Grandpa" Casper, as the kids in his end of town call him, is providing artifact-hungry tourists from the States with something more tangible than local color. On the famous salmon creek at the outskirts of Ketchikan we discovered Casper’s humble home— and Casper. We found a fellow of fullback proportions and pure Tsimshian Indian blood, one of keen mind and wise in other than white-man wisdom. A widower, he lives alone in his frame house with its lean-to workshop in Indian Town. Mather’s age is a-moot question, even to Casper himself. "We never kept records when I was born," says he. "After all, what difference? Does bear or halibut or elk worry about age? When the time comes, they go." To the totem carver, still hearty despite the crow’s feet about his brown eyes and the laugh lines at his mouth-corners, it doesn’t matter whether he is the 75 years he guesses he may be or the 90-odd which some Ketchikan friends consider more likely. Anyway, it does not strain the credulity to picture this man 54 years ago packing in supplies, tons of them, over Chilkoot Pass for gold-lusting Klondikers. The name Mather now owns wasn’t his when, as a tot, the march of civilization was a muffled rumor on the banks of the Nass River. Nor has he forgotten the grim tales his parents told of warfare that in early days flared sporadically between Haida, Tsimshian and Tlingit tribes; of villages looted and captives carried home amid an orgy of "potlatching." On the heels of gold prospectors and fur traders, into Mather’s country went the missionaries, feeling their way along the uncharted Inside Passage. In this case they were Episcopalians. And soon, with parental permission, the Indian lad fell under the benign influence of the church, learned to write tolerable English and to read it from the Good Book. Because his native name was unpronounceable to the "Boston" teachers, a new one that hinted vaguely of Scotland was given him. The young Indian’s evident bent for Bible study and preaching brought him to the notice of the bishop of Alaska, the late Rt. Rev. Peter Trimble Rowe. The bishop sent him Stateside on a sort of mission-in-reverse to American congregations in some of the larger cities, to tell them of the arts, customs and culture of native Alaskans and of their needs and problems. Often since then Casper has occupied the pulpit in little St. Elizabeth’s Parish Church, sometimes holding forth in Tsimshian, sometimes in English. There is no conflict in his mind between the old religion of his people and the more-recently-accepted Christian verities. While he still reveres the beliefs of his forefathers in a detached sort of way and revels, tongue in cheek, in the quaint legends that concern. The curious beginnings of the Indian world, his interest seems only as deep as ours in, say, the legends of ancient Greece and Rome or the sagas of Scandinavia. Throughout the years that Mather has worked at his various occupations—canoe-builder, fur trapper and pilot—he always has kept in touch with the totems of his race. What was his father’s avocation, carving, became his as a young man. Half a century and more ago, so Casper tells us, there were many skilled craftsmen among the coastal tribes, builders of first-rate dwellings, private and communal, from the logs of local rain forests. These they would ornament outside and in, with primitive but sufficient tools. They also would fashion suitable, often ornate furniture. No Indian home of any consequence in those days was without its totem pole. This might stand in the "front yard" or form the doorway to the dwelling, replete with symbolic figures. Such poles signified the clan or "phratry" to which the inmates belonged. And because all these clans had sprung from familiar creatures of air, sea and land, certain ones on each pole, integrated by myth and folklore, composed a crest or coat of arms. Other poles were erected merely to honor chiefs or to commemorate the dead. In order to build such a column authentically it was necessary for the designer-artisan to own a brain packed with clan lore. He must be well versed in the eccentricities of fabulous Raven, grand panjandrum among god-birds, know how Raven stole the treasure chest containing sun, moon and stars, then broke it open to give the earth light. He must be familiar with the strange ways of Eagle, clever yet benign, who fed a starving tribe, and with the astounding antics of Frog, the explorer of ocean deeps. The carver also needed to know the multiple myths centering around the creator, Katz, he whose wife gave birth to, among other things, the grand-daddy of all the grizzly bears. The pole maker, of course, had to be a natural with sculpting tools and paint brush. From such a person young Mather learned the game, and learned it solidly. "First thing in making a totem pole in the old days, "Casper assured us, "was to hunt through the woods for a good, straight tree, one of right height for the job and the right girth, one without knots. Then fell him and cut him to length, maybe anywhere from six to 60 feet. Then strip bark off and generally, not always, slice away part of the log to form the back, removing also the heart wood at the same time. "Now, having a good thick segment of cedar to work on, we lay him flat and stretch a measuring string along it and make notches where figures are to be, maybe five or six of them but more likely only two or three. Beginning at the top then, we ‘rough out’ each subject as we go. , "Back again we go to the top of pole to finish the figures off, maybe also to blend in here and there other small figures or symbols to make the story more dramatic or the column more ornate. "When all are carved we make our paint. That in the olden time was slow, tedious work, because there was no store paint and we must manufacture pigment best way we could—red and yellow from rocks and clay crushed to powder and moistened with fish oil; other colors from berries, roots, charcoal and dried and pulverized salmon eggs. "We never painted the whole pole," Mather said, "but applied paint only sparingly to the more important parts, wings, beaks, noses, ears, claws, fins and so on, in order to lend emphasis to these distinguishing features. Our brush was of bunched bristles or vegetable fiber, the tips cut on a bias. "Pole-raisings then were occasions to remember, with all the legends embodied in the pole enacted by the campfire." Some of Casper’s full-sized jobs still stand in totem parks and native cemeteries up and down the Alaskan coast. Many, during the years, have fallen and disappeared in the encroaching forest. In the twilight of his career the old man prefers to carve smaller poles, mostly facsimiles of the more significant totems, from six to 16 inches long, for which his dealer supplies him with orders. However, if a commission should come in from city, lodge or civic group for a tall pole, Casper rarely turns it down. The tools Mather employs—adzes, chisels, draw knives—are in design a composite of old and new. For power tools he has no use. On the work bench in Casper's little shop stood several groups of poles almost ready for the curio store. We moved from one lot to the other, the carver meanwhile briefing us a bit on their stories. First Mather was careful to abuse our mind of a prevalent fallacy. No totem pole, he declared, ever was an idol. Nor were the poles worshiped as such. Objects sacred to the old Indian religions were in the custody of a shaman, or holy man, and not for public gaze. The yarns Casper had to tell concerning the various carvings were quaint, all richly flavored with aboriginal thought. So crammed were we with the exploits of Raven and his ilk as we left with a 16-inch miniature totem pole under our arm, it seemed a matter for pity that the North Coast Indians must drift away from this old close-to-nature fairy-tale world, into ours with its woes and worries — and progress. As for Casper Mather, may he live long. For who after him will perpetuate and translate through totems hand-carved with integrity the ancient culture of his race? "GRANDPA" CASPER at work on a six-foot tofem pole in the shop at his home.—Photo by Paul Saari." |
Provenance |
Donated to the Museum by the Photographer |
Film Size |
5" x 4" |
People |
Saari, Paulu Toivo Mather, Casper |
Search Terms |
Ketchikan Business Totem Pole Carving Carver Native Native Alaska Native art Northwest Coast Native Northwest Coast |
Credit line |
Ketchikan Museums: Paulu T. Saari Collection, KM 2003.2.63.1309 |