Mn’tu wikk ti! was the coinciding exhibition for Petapan: First Light Indigenous Arts Symposium, guest curated for the occasion by Aiden Gillis. In addition to taking on independent curatorial projects, Gillis is an artist, educator, and the current Indigenous Arts Programmer for the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia. Mn’tu wikk ti! opened in April 2024 at the Confederation Centre for the Arts in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island. 

Mn’tu wikk ti! features eight artists from Atlantic Canada: Sandra Racine, Barry Pottle, Melissa Peter-Paul, Nancy Oakley, Jerry Evans, Jeremy Dutcher, Charles Doucette, and Patricia Bourque whose ceramics, quillwork, photography, ash basketry, and music production tell stories of their Indigenous nation’s food culture. 

One of the first details I noticed in the space was the deliberate choice to exclude English and French from the exhibition’s presentation on the gallery walls. This curatorial decision reunites traditional foods with the languages of these territories—both of which come from the land. The exhibition title and wall labels appear solely in the Mi’kmaw language, showing respect to the Mi’kmaw who live on Epektwitk (PEI). Depending on the Mi’kmaw artists’ home community and preferred writing system, two or more orthographies are used, as the spelling can vary across Mi’kma’ki.

The exhibition’s title, however, comes from the northern Maritime-y phrase, “that’s a bad good,” something one would say about food that is considered delicious. Elder Junior Peter-Paul provided some remarks on the night of the closing celebration. He mentioned the use of Mi’kmaw language in the title, specifically the first part of the phrase “mn’tu,” referring to the spirit¹. He explained that everyone has a different relationship to the word, which carries negative connotations in some circles and generations. 

Gillis recontextualizes the language, stating, “the thing about the word mn’tu is, for some, it’s kind of like taboo; while for other people, it’s a word that comes up a lot, naturally, in conversation . . . [and] when you think about the title Mn’tu wikk ti!, it says, ‘that’s a bad good,’ but, really, you’re kind of saying, ‘this is delicious—into the deepest part of my soul.’”² For Gillis, the re-contextualization of the word mn’tu is an important step towards language reclamation and theorizing food traditions in connection to gathering through an Indigenous worldview. 

Mn’tu wikk ti! offers a unique perspective on Indigenous Food Sovereignty, an exhibition theme that has not recently been examined among Wabanaki and Atlantic Indigenous artists, from a Mi’kmaq point of view. Indigenous food sovereignty is a testament to the community’s ability to recapture control  over their food systems while reaffirming their treaty rights to hunt, fish, trap, and gather.³ Indigenous food sources are inherently connected to land and water, so the relationship between the natural world and the body is inextricable.⁴ Indigenous food groups consisting of wild meat, fish, berries, grains, and plants are essential because these foods are natural to Mother Earth and foster an ongoing reciprocal relationship with her. 

Mn’tu wikk ti! offers space to reflect on the food traditions and customs we share. Standing in the exhibition space, I see familiar dishes in Patricia Bourque’s photographs, like Ma’sos (Fiddleheads) and Apli’kmujuey (Rabbit Stew). The image, consisting of a contrasting red bowl against the green fiddleheads, is a work that anchors the exhibition. The fiddlehead is familiar to me as this food is a staple in my community and a natural form of sustenance consumed by Wabanakiyik (the People of the Dawn).

Mn’tu wikk ti! is a gathering site, like a kitchen table or a community feast. Food offers a place to connect, build relationships, and maintain preexisting ones: “When we [Indigenous Peoples] come together, usually what we are doing is sharing a good meal.”⁵ Magic happens when people gather to share thoughts and ideas over something as simple as a cup of tea.

Nancy Oakley’s ceramic tea set Wampanoag-ey pɨteweyo’q aqq kopsɨjik’jk (Wampanoag Flowers Teapot and Teacups) is a bridge to the thought of sitting with a loved one, talking or “spilling the tea,” as it is now referenced. Tea is a catalyst for socializing, networking, and relationship-building.

Charles Doucette’s tea bag sculpture sits beside the tea set on a plinth. The work titled Ankukamkewey (Peace and Friendship) is a gauze pouch filled with red glass beads. It relates to Oakley’s work on gathering and serves as a comment on the relationship between Indigenous Peoples and Europeans. A popular trade item since the 1700s, the beads inside the tea bag present an opportunity for a conversation. Where that conversation goes, I am unsure. In my experience, beading was done at the kitchen table, over tea or coffee, and the beads got pushed to the side when people wanted to play card games.

Doucette’s whimsical sculptures Mu wisuna’sinuk (Ila’skuk) Untitled (Card Deck), Mu wisuna’sinuk (Popsicle) Untitled (Popsicle), and Mu wisuna’sinuk (Toqanqa’tasikewey) Untitled (Sandwich), made of baleen, moose bone, and whalebone, are oddly nostalgic and reminiscent of a memory. At first, I could not place the deck of cards—the ace of spades is face up, next to a sandwich and a popsicle. Gillis reminds me, “it’s what you do after you eat.” Food is truly present in good times and bad, in celebration and mourning.

Jeremy Dutcher’s music video Mechinut is projected onto the gallery wall. The song is a about death and what follows⁶. Until now, I’d felt a disconnect between the song’s meaning and the music video’s celebratory nature. Indigenous artists of many disciplines gather around a table full of food (a modified installation by Montreal-based artist Emily Jan titled After the Hunt). They are laughing, smiling, and conversing with one another. I now realize that this is an integral part of collectively celebrating the life of a loved one in death. In many Indigenous communities, healing begins at the community gathering for a lost loved one.

This sentiment relates to life cycles, like those represented by Jerry Evans’s lithographs Mimajuaqne’kati (Place of Life) that honour the beginnings and endings of all living beings in Mi’kma’ki. When a hunter kills an animal, an offering is made to the earth in return for the meat, bones, and skin of the animal. This practice is evident in Evans’s print titled Nuji-a’jela’teket (The Provider), which states that the animal will sustain the hunter in various capacities, providing tools and garments for the hunter’s family and community. Barry Pottle’s photograph Starting the Feast from his project Foodland Security shows a glimpse into the preparation of traditional food and Indigenous ties to the land and the animals we live in relation with.

Melissa Peter-Paul’s quillwork container Sioqiaq (Unravelling) and heart medallion Nkamulamun (My Heart) relate to an agreement between the artist and the animal that is gifting their quills in return for a promise that their body will be used appropriately and with care. Traditionally, Mi’kmaq ate porcupines and made quill-embellished art from their thick keratin-plated hairs using traditional dyes, often from food or cooking; for example: chokecherries to achieve red, coal or ashes from the fire to produce greys and black, and various plants that make greens. Quill and ash basketry artists primarily use commercial dyes to colour their quills today. 

Sandra Racine’s Atoamgemin pemigoet (Strawberries in Ripening) is a red and green strawberry-shaped ash basket sculpture series that shows the process of a strawberry plant in bloom. Lnoeel piesgemenn (Indian Corn) are her popular corn-shaped ash baskets, the inspiration for which was among the traditional diets of this region. I connect the basket structure to the idea of being in community or in relation with one another. This theory is not my own and it has been shared in passing at different points in my life: the individual ash strips are fragile, but once they are woven together, they become strong.

¹ Aiden Gillis, personal communication, June 2024
² Aiden Gillis, personal communication, June 2024
³ “Indigenous Food Sovereignty”, Indigenous Food Foundation, accessed in June 2024, https://www.theindigenousfoundation.org/articles/indigenous-food-sovereignty
⁴ “Mn’tu wikk ti!”, Confederation Centre for the Arts, June 2024
⁵ Aiden Gillis, personal communication, June 2024
⁶ Veronica Zaretski, “Jeremy Dutcher Keeps His Dying Language Aloft on the Grandiose “Mehcinut”, 2018,
https://www.vice.com/en/article/qvevwv/jeremy-dutcher-keeps-his-dying-language-aloft-on-the-grandiose-mehcinut

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