Richard Hunt is one of five artists who will be 鈥渁rtists in residence鈥� at the five featured homes on this听year鈥檚 Art Gallery of Greater Victoria Associates House Tour. The tour takes place on Sunday, Sept.听24, and tickets are available for $35 at the gallery, at Ivy鈥檚 and Munro鈥檚 bookstores, and online at听associates.aggv.ca, or call 250-384-4171.
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With the house tour as a pretext, I dropped in for a visit at Richard Hunt鈥檚 Victoria home and studio. He motioned to me to join him at the family dining table for a cup of coffee. The last time we sat听down and talked was 17 years ago, at the time of his major retrospective at the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria. I recall that it was an exhibition of incomparable prestige.
In the catalogue for that show, Hunt wrote: 鈥淣ow it is time to recognize our works as cultural art. I听don鈥檛 understand why our rights to our culture only go as far as the front doors of our Bighouse. Once we get outside, it seems we lose our rights.鈥� And this week, that issue is still on is mind.
鈥淕icl茅es are the big thing now,鈥� Hunt told me, referring to the large photo reproductions on canvas which have become the new standard for art prints. 鈥淧eople are taking photos of my work and making gicl茅es.鈥� And, of course, they sell them.
So he hired a lawyer to find out what his rights were regarding pictures of his creations. Hunt has created more than 30 poles, and they stand proudly in public places in Edinburgh, Liverpool, Ottawa, Montreal, Osaka, Paris, Vancouver, Los Angeles and, of course, Victoria and Duncan. He learned that these poles are in the 鈥減ublic domain鈥� and anybody can photograph, print and sell reproductions of them. 鈥淲e have to bring up laws to stop it. Let people know this is happening.鈥�
Hunt recently displayed his work at Vancouver鈥檚 Spirit Wrestler Gallery, 鈥渁nd I have to ask the photographer if I can use the image of my work,鈥� he said. 鈥淗e said yes 鈥� but I have to make sure I add his name in there as the photographer.鈥�
Not that he lacks photographs of his work. In her careful archiving of his life鈥檚 work, his wife Sandra has indexed over 700 rolls of film, many of them showing his works in progress. On Facebook, he has been making a daily post of his progress on the pole he is working on in his backyard carving shed. It鈥檚 out there right now, silently calling him to get to work on it.
鈥淭hat pole is going to be my last one,鈥� the 66-year old artist said. 鈥淎ll the work is done with the adze.鈥� Hunt paused, and then looked directly at me: 鈥淒o you get trigger finger?鈥� he asked. I confessed I didn鈥檛 have that problem. 鈥淢y hands fall asleep a lot,鈥� he explained, holding out his sturdy and powerful hands. 鈥淓ven when I鈥檓 painting. I have to shake them to get them moving. This one I听wrecked playing football,鈥� he said, showing me a bent knuckle on the other hand, a souvenir from a lifetime of team sports. 鈥淭rigger finger,鈥� he repeated. 鈥淚t cramps up and I can鈥檛 work because it hurts too much. I try to look over the hurt.鈥�
Since he was 13 years old, that index finger 鈥� 鈥渢he pusher,鈥� he called it 鈥� has been the driving force in his carving and engraving. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 use electric tools,鈥� he went on. 鈥淪omeone鈥檚 coming to pick up a gold bracelet on Thursday. When he called, I said: 鈥業t鈥檒l be fine,鈥� but I hadn鈥檛 even started it. Anyway. 鈥︹�� Back to work with that finger.
There is another way. 鈥淎nybody can be a jeweller now, if you know how to draw,鈥� he smiled. 鈥淧eople just send their designs to a factory and, the next thing you know, you鈥檙e a jeweller. Only thing you have to know is how to clip [the earring] onto the hook. 鈥� I听don鈥檛 do any of that,鈥� he said.
Hunt confessed to using an electric saw at times, and a chainsaw has its place in the early stages of preparation of a log for a totem pole. But there is a limit. In Port Hardy, he saw a 12-metre pole that had been roughed out in a week with a chainsaw.
鈥淎wesome,鈥� he called it. 鈥淭hose chainsaw carvers are pretty good,鈥� he went on, acknowledging the sophistication of the people who carve realistic bears and eagle. But he does it all with an adze and a curved knife. Power tools result in a mechanical finish, he believes, and anyway, he doesn鈥檛 like the noise.
Mostly, he keeps away from the 鈥渓abour-saving devices,鈥� and he also doesn鈥檛 have assistants or apprentices. 鈥淚 spent my whole life perfecting my skills and abilities,鈥� Hunt said. 鈥淚 guarantee that, if it鈥檚 got my name on it, I did it. And I don鈥檛 care how long it takes.鈥�
Not that he鈥檚 against apprenticeship. In fact, Hunt was instrumental in teaching many of today鈥檚 best artists how to carve.
From the age of 13, he worked with his father, Henry Hunt, in the carving shed at Thunderbird Park, taking over from him as chief carver in 1974. And there he spent the following 13 years: 鈥淭im Paul, Ron Hamilton, Doug Wilson 鈥� I worked with a lot of people there.鈥� After a moment鈥檚 thought, he went on: 鈥淚 kinda, like, want to be on my own now.鈥�
Hunt was keen to return to the subject of appropriation of Northwest Coast cultural property. 鈥淭his has to stop. A whole pile of people are pissed off, their work is being copied and the government doesn鈥檛 know.鈥� He spoke of galleries in Banff, Jasper and Ottawa that are selling 鈥渨est coast鈥� masks that he says come from Indonesia. 鈥淭hey look like they鈥檙e done by a machine. Six-foot totem poles for $800. This has to stop. The last thing we have is our culture, and these people are taking it away from us.鈥�
Hunt put it in the simplest terms for me: 鈥淚 own what I do. It belongs to me. It comes from my culture, and it鈥檚 my property. It鈥檚 my cultural property. How hard is that to understand?鈥�
This is the first half of a two-part feature on Richard Hunt. The second instalment will appear in Islander next Sunday.
