First published in Volume 21, Issue 4 of The Snowboarder’s Journal

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James Johnson learned to snowboard at Eaglecrest just outside Juneau, AK. Snowboarding was it for him early on. Mark Landvik was in the crew then, too. As Lando went on to pro snowboarding, traveled the world and moved to Washington state, he and James always kept in touch. At one point the two of them started trading art for snowboards and vice versa. James got one of Lando’s pro models and Mark got a piece of Tlingit art from James. To this day, James’ masks, paddles and other carvings are displayed prominently at Mark’s house. 

“Honestly, Mark was the first person that really believed in my art and what I was doing as an artist,” James says.

As an early patron Mark made lots of introductions for James. He put James’ art in front of his snowboard industry connections and shortly thereafter came collaborations with Lib Tech, Vans, Bent Metal and a slew of others. James started selling original pieces and his list of outdoor industry clients grew steadily. In time he began lecturing on Tlingit art and even spoke to employees at Google about it. He’s been teaching at the Port Townsend School of Woodworking for three years. 

Tlingit Aani (our land), Juneau, AK. View of the backside of Douglas Island. Photo: Scott Baxter

James is now 45 years old and lives in sunny Phoenix. His work is part of the collections at the Heard Museum, Art Institute of Chicago, Rhode Island School of Design, Denver Museum of Nature & Science, Burke Museum, Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art and in the Gochman Family Collection in New York City. He’s won various awards at juried art shows around the country and recently his CV has only gotten more impressive: James now works with the United Nations, consulting on their approach to relationship building with Indigenous artists around the world.  

“It’s been like a dream,” he says. “I never really planned or envisioned any of this. It’s all just evolving naturally, and I’m all for it.”

James has been working on Tlingit art for 15 years. He’s self-taught; no one showed him the traditions. Although there was a direct line to artists among his ancestors, it was broken by efforts to assimilate Native Alaskans into American culture. So, for James, making art is a career, but it’s also his way of reconnecting to the past and regaining some of what was lost for the Tlingit people.

As he puts it, “What I do these days is so much bigger than just trying to create something that looks pretty.”

Here is James’ story, in his own words.

clockwise from top left
Killerwhale Clan Hat. Red cedar, abalone, horsehair. 1st Place Wood Sculpture 2020 Sealaska Celebration Juried Art Show, Top five sculpture Santa Fe Indian Market 2020 Juried Art Show, Rocky Mountain Triennial, Museum of Art Fort Collins Honorable Mention. 

Hawk Mask. 2023. Zachary Carothers from Portugal. The Man gifted me this red cedar from his property in Oregon. I was dropping off some Lib Tech boards to him, and he had just cut down the tree, so I put it to use. 

Tlingit Lightweight Armor. Shark Design honoring my father’s clan on elk hide. The Tlingit would trade for elk hide from Oregon. Elk hides offered more protection than deer hides.  Photo: Ian Tetzner

There is no word for art in our language.

I was born and raised in Juneau, AK. I’m Tlingit Indian. I belong to the Ch’áak’ Dakl’aweidi Clan, which is the Killer Whale Clan. My family lineage, my father, he is from the Xootsnoowú Kwáan which is in Angoon, AK.

Growing up in Alaska, you’re really immersed in our culture, and you see the art form everywhere. The Tlingit art form spans back thousands of years and the history of our people was an oral history that was passed down from generation to generation. These art forms were an integral part of preserving and telling that story and the history of our people.

Those stories are told through any of the pieces, whether it be a bentwood box, a mask, a drum, a paddle. And everything was functional, everything had a purpose. The mask wasn’t made to be put on the wall. It was meant to be worn and meant to be danced in.

I was teaching Tlingit formline at Sealaska in Juneau, AK, last April. A weather window opened in the afternoon. I called my friend Scott to shoot and booked a heli drop. I finished teaching at 5:00 p.m., we were on the heli at 5:30. Photo: Scott Baxter

The foundation for Tlingit culture is called Ku.éex’, which is our potlatch. In our culture Ku.éex’ means “to give.” Everyone attending the Ku.éex’ would be given a gift and everyone had to be fed. They’d bring out the incredible bowls that were carved intricately or use the horn spoons to serve the food. And they’d have the beautiful Chillkat blankets, all the chiefs would be wearing those. You’d see the full context of the art form on display during these events. It was a visual language that we had. The art represented your clan. It represented your lineage. So that’s who you were honoring when you wore it.

There are a lot of rules and guidelines that go along with learning this art form and it takes years to understand. Every artist working today will tell you we are not there yet—our art is not as good as our ancestors. These days we have every tool imaginable to create the work, but their work is so much better than ours because they had this tremendous knowledge that we don’t have today. That knowledge was severed during the colonization of our people in Alaska. We lost so much knowledge. We lost so much of our culture. Our history was just completely severed. 

Burke Museum carving, Seattle, WA. Photo: Joshua Poehlein

I always speak to the truth of what really happened.

It wasn’t until recently that people started understanding what happened to Indigenous children during that colonization. They were forced into boarding schools and it was complete cultural assimilation. They were stripped completely of their identity. They weren’t allowed to live their culture. They weren’t allowed to speak their language.

My dad went to boarding school. My dad didn’t understand the art form. He knew of it, but from his cultural assimilation as a kid, he wasn’t allowed to speak his language. He wasn’t allowed to live his culture, so it was completely stripped from him. 

As a kid, I knew I was Tlingit, but I didn’t really have a firm grasp on the complexity of our culture and our heritage and how far it goes back. My grandfathers were all Dakl’aweidí chiefs of Xutsnoowú Kwáan. Big prominent guys. My great, great grandfather is Chief Gusht’eiheen and his name Gusht’eiheen, means “spray off the dorsal fin of killer whale.” There are famous photographs of him. Every art historian, every ethnologist knows who Chief Gusht’eiheen was and what he represented. 

Raven Releases the Sun. Original art for Google.

Transforming Raven Bentwood Box depicting raven releasing the sun. Best of Show Formline Sealaska Celebration Juried Art Show 2022.

All the work of our ancestors was essentially removed from Alaska during colonization. When I got into this art, I asked my dad, because he told me who my grandfathers were, I asked, “Are there any pieces left from them, anything at all?”

There isn’t one piece they had in the family lineage from my grandfathers. That was really heartbreaking to hear. So, when I wanted to learn this art form, I really had to go out and find it. I  was committed to doing that. I said, “I want to do this, no matter what it takes. I’m going to learn how to do this.” And this is exactly what I’ve dedicated everything to pursuing. But learning it, man, that was a tough, tough, tough road.

Raven Crest Design. U.S. Department of the Interior design commission 2021.

When I first started learning, it seemed almost impossible.

I taught myself the art form, which a lot of other artists can’t believe. But other people have said, “This was already inside you. This was there, waiting for you to awaken it.”

To be a Tlingit artist, you’re highly skilled in a lot of different mediums. Drawing formlines is the foundation for it. Every line needs to be balanced off the next. Your composition of balance is vital. You’re always looking for this beautiful, magic line that contains this life in it. And you know it right when you do it. You learn all the rules and guidelines for formline, but then you develop your own style within those fundamentals, and that style is what makes you who you are as an artist.

Raven carving on red cedar.
Original art for Lib Tech Double Dip 22/23. Art Institute of Chicago Collection. Photo: Ian Tetzner

My favorite part is the finish work you put into a piece. The finish work is what really separates artists. To turn it from just good to something extraordinary is a process that has this… almost magic in it. And the pieces I study in museums, the stuff that is hundreds of years old, art my ancestors created, almost every piece I look at has that sense of magic in it. 

I think a lot about how my ancestors created these pieces. They were in the elements in Alaska.

Raven Traveling. Collaboration with photographer Tim Zimmerman. After my show at Asymbol in Jackson, WY, Travis Rice said Tim Zimmerman wanted me to paint over one of his photographs. It is of a beautiful mountain range in Valdez, AK. Painting directly over his print was beyond stressful; a high-consequence painting with zero mistakes.

It was raining, it was snowing and the carvers were sitting there. They didn’t have a work light on them—they just had a fire going, but their work was incredible. Again, we have every tool imaginable these days, but they had knowledge, and we’re just trying to get it back. We’re carrying this responsibility of bringing our culture back and bringing this incredible art form back. But it’s not going to happen in my lifetime. It’s going to take multiple generations to get there.

The more I’ve studied it, the more I feel like I’m being embraced by my ancestors. It’s a tightening grip around me saying, “This is what you need to be doing. This is important.” When I was first learning the art form my dad encouraged me, but he saw how much effort goes into creating a piece and he said, “Don’t get attached to your work. Focus on your skill because your skill is what’s most important. When you finish a piece, you let go of it like you let a balloon go in the sky. It goes where it needs to go.” It’s the traditional mentality. In the old days, when the carvers would finish the totem pole, the second they finished it, they could no longer touch it anymore because it didn’t belong to them—it belonged to the people. 

clockwise from left
Carving and carving tools. Photos: Ian Tetzner 

Burke Museum carving, continued. Photo: Joshua Poehlein

You must always have the courage to say “yes.”

You must put in the time. You must put in the effort to be good at what you do. I’ve always focused on being the best I can be. You also must be open. You must be willing to trust that ability when opportunities present themselves. You must have the courage to take those opportunities. 

With all the brands that I work with, I believe in them and have a personal relationship with them. I couldn’t be more honored to work with them. It’s been like a dream. It puts the art form out there on this incredible platform that goes way beyond my reach. Snowboards are sold worldwide. The Vans collection is sold all over the world. People everywhere can see these pieces and look more closely and read about our culture, read about our history. Taking it a step further too, every brand that I’ve worked with has given something back to my community. Lib Tech donated a portion of the board sales back to my tribe in Alaska. They used the funds to construct an arts campus. I recently went and taught there for the first time. 

Shark. 24”x36” Acrylic on canvas. Original art Lib Tech Double Dip model 20/21 & 21/22.

I never set out to be a teacher, but I was asked to teach in Alaska and teach at the Port Townsend School of Woodworking. Passing on my knowledge to the next generation is vital. I’ve also been working with the United Nations to create guidelines for Indigenous artists working within big global brands. There’s a shift in consciousness that’s happening worldwide where people are looking back to go forward, and they’re acknowledging Indigenous knowledge. 

University of Alaska Anchorage professor Stephen Langdon coined the term “obligatory reciprocity” when he was talking about Tlingit culture. It means everything always must maintain this balance. That’s seen within our culture. It’s seen within this art form. You always maintain this balance, no matter what. Everything always must preserve that. In the art form, you’ll see the symmetry, you’ll see the balance within it. That goes back to the whole belief that we must live in balance with each other, in balance with nature, and in balance with the animals.    

Pete Saari and I with all the Lib Tech Double Dip boards at his house in Washington. Temple, Barrett, and Cannon Cummins came by for a barbecue this night. Temple baked an amazing cherry pie and brought a king salmon he caught the day before. Such a nice night.  Photo: Annette Veihelmann