Our Stories

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Dan Friday, a Seattle-based artist and a member of the Lummi Nation, creates modern glass sculptures incorporating Coast Salish cultural motifs. His artwork, Skexe Coast Salish Wooly Dog Panels, is on display near Door C in the lobby of the Katharyn Alvord Gerlich Theater.

This artwork was commissioned by Cecilia Paul and Harry Reinert as part of an initiative to expand our Northwest art collection in a way that honors and reflects the rich cultural contributions of Coast Salish peoples. The piece was selected through a panel process that included a diverse group of artists, art professionals, community members, tribal representatives and University of Washington affiliates.

Mahmoud Jaber, Meany’s Assistant to the Executive and Artistic Director, interviewed Dan about his work.

MJ: Let’s talk about the artwork at Meany Hall, the Skexe Coast Salish Wooly Dog Panels. It stands out from your other work — it’s almost two-dimensional. What inspired it?

DF: That is a Skexe Coast Salish Wooly Dog Panel, a piece inspired by the wooly dog blankets of Peoples of the Salish Sea. To Coast Salish peoples, a blanket is one of the most prized and honored gifts one can give or receive. In fact, it was sometimes used to pay off debts.

The location is part of the concept of the piece. People can engage with it like they would with a painting, especially in a context where there are paintings around. But it isn’t a painting, not only in terms of its shape but its history. It actually starts out as a 3D object. The glass begins as a blown bubble, which is then shaped into a cylinder, cut, and unrolled into a flat sheet. That origin is hidden, but as you learn more about it, you start noticing the layered sense of history unfolding.

MJ: Your website (www.fridayglass.com) shows a video of you making one of your pieces, handling what looked like pretty heavy tools.  Do you ever feel the same way about your hands as athletes, for instance, talk about their bodies?

DF: Funny you ask — I actually had a physical therapy session for my back today, so that idea has really been on my mind. Working with glass is very physical. People often focus on the beauty of the finished piece, but behind the scenes, it's hours of intense, repetitive labor. I absolutely think of my hands and body as tools — and just like any craftsman, I have to care for them. The design aspect of what I do is something I can carry into old age. But the physical work — that takes a toll.

It’s not the weight of the tools that wears you down, it’s the repetition. The same motions, over and over, day after day, start to take a toll on your joints, your back, your shoulders. With age, your body starts to keep a record and maintenance becomes essential.

MJ: That photo of your great-grandfather, with his hands all wrapped up as he worked. Do you have a different appreciation of that now?

DF: That photo is of my great grandfather, Joe Hillaire, carving the Kobe-Seattle Sister City Friendship Pole for Kobe, Japan. I now see it from the perspective of someone turning 50, of having endured enough to appreciate the physical demands of this work.

In my own artistic journey, I have found myself searching for my “look.” My art revolves around foundational themes that are central to my culture like the salmon and the reef net sculptures, or around life events — with the more narrative artworks. As such, community is at the heart of what I do, so I also have a deeper appreciation for the sense of continuity, of connection, I get when I see photos of my great grandfather.

MJ: Looking at your art more broadly, you focus on subjects like salmon, reef nets, totems, owls, bears, ravens, baskets… I like to think of what you do as “spirit making.” The sculptures are like vessels that invite the viewer to fill the gap. What is your reaction to that?

DF: That’s a beautiful way to describe it. I usually call it a “soft silhouette.” It leaves behind the suggestion of something, a kind of echo, and invites the viewer to fill in the rest. That’s also how the creative process feels. These pieces begin as formless blobs — molten glass, really — and then I shape them, add gestures, define their edges. Even the smallest movement can shift the entire feeling or presence of the piece.

To your point about the objects inviting the viewer to fill the gap, I’ve inversely decided to give less definition to certain sculptures. The bear glass sculptures for instance originally had four legs. But I removed them. It felt more powerful to let the viewer imagine the rest. I like the term “spirit making” because it emphasizes our active role not only in the life of inanimate objects, but also of spirits.