Video summary
Peter Morin shares a profound personal journey rooted in his upbringing within the Taltan world, where his mother instilled a deep sense of cultural identity by ensuring he lived and acted according to traditional ways. A pivotal moment in his life occurred when Annie Hanu gifted him an ancient beaded belt, a gesture that connected him directly to the art history of his people and emphasized the importance of physically holding and touching such sacred objects. This tangible connection to his heritage became the foundation for his attraction to performance art, allowing him to repeatedly revisit that emotional moment and feel the weight of his ancestors in his hands.
His artistic training began at Emily Carr University with lithography, but he quickly expanded his practice to explore the spiritual pain endured by Indigenous bodies due to the Indian residential school system. Morin's performances often focus on freezing these impacts to better understand the nature of trauma, a theme vividly illustrated in a story about a Taltan boy who was forcibly removed from his community and worried about his spirit. In this narrative, ancestors instruct the boy to practice ceremonies secretly at night, leading Morin to create a 2007 performance where he danced as the only known part of the ceremony he could access, highlighting both the loss and the resilience required to keep traditions alive.
Throughout his career, Morin has dedicated himself to teaching at art schools, viewing this mission as essential for empowering future generations. He consistently asserts that joy holds more power than colonization, a belief that drives his relentless effort to become an educator who can guide young artists and designers. His work serves not only as a personal exploration of grief and healing but also as a call to action for others to identify the specific people and cultures that inspire them. By weaving together themes of memory, ceremony, and resistance, Morin transforms his art into a vehicle for preserving Indigenous knowledge and fostering a sense of community among those who come after him.
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I grew up in a Taltan world. [music]
My mom was such a powerful person and
she made sure that [music] we were
thinking in a Taltan way and being
living and acting following Taltan
[music]
ways of being.
It was a life-changing moment, Annie
Hanu. In her hands was a like a
100-year-old beaded belt
and she just offered it to me that the
art history of our peoples [music]
you have to be able to hold it. You have
to be able to touch it. Part of the
reason why I think I'm I'm so [music]
attracted to being a performance artist
is like I can go back to that moment
[music] and I can hold that thing, that
belt again and feel it in my [music]
hands.
When I went to Emily Carr, that's where
I did [music] my work. So, my initial
training is in lithography.
You know, drawing was a great thing
because it it was safe.
In my [music] performance art practice,
I spent quite a long time investigating
the spiritual pain that exists [music]
inside of indigenous bodies that
happened as a result of the Indian
residential school system. The
performances that I was doing [music]
were about freezing that impact and I'm
trying to understand what [music] trauma
is
doing or what it was doing. Also, dreams
became a [music] part of my work. A
little Taltan boy has been forcibly
removed and relocated [music]
to an Indian residential school
and he's worried about his spirit.
In his dream, [music]
the ancestors say to him, "Practice the
ceremonies in secret [music] at night
time."
My performance in 2007
was all about [music]
practicing the ceremonies, but I have to
dance because that's the only part of
the ceremony that I know.
>> [music]
[singing]
>> Joy is more powerful than colonization.
I fought my ass off to become somebody
who teaches at art school. I absolutely
did. This has been my mission.
I want to say [music] to this next
generation of artists and designers,
know who your people are who inspire
you.
>> [cheering]