Raven Chacon: Rising Above the Noise
Interview with Raven Chacon, Tromsø, 2024
In the exhibition A Worm’s Eye View from a Bird’s Beak, Raven Chacon uses multiple media centered around listening and collaborative practices to allow for a multi-dimensional experience that reflects the interconnectedness of knowledge, place, and people. In this conversation about the exhibition we learn how working with this exhibition reinforced Chacon’s idea that art can be a prompt for thought, a medium for collaboration, and a means of connecting deeply with the land and its histories.
Written by Marion Bouvier
Raven Chacon’s exhibition in Tromsø emerged from a decade-long connection with Katya García-Antón, whose work has been instrumental – advancing global dialogues in Indigenous and contemporary art. Over the years, García-Antón invited Chacon and his wife, curator Candice Hopkins, to northern Norway for residencies, collaborations, and introductions to Sámi culture, connecting them to artists like Joar Nango and Sigbjørn Skåden. A planned residency in Svalbard was interrupted by the pandemic, but their ongoing conversations led to the idea of this exhibition. Chacon began visiting Tromsø regularly, drawing parallels between Sámi resistance and issues faced by Indigenous communities in the United States, such as the Standing Rock protests, where he first met Sámi artists Sara Marielle and Risten Anine Gaup.
The conceptual groundwork for the exhibition deepened as Chacon explored the work of Nils-Aslak Valkeapää, or Áillohaš, whose multidisciplinary approach resonated with Chacon’s own music-centered practice. A stay at Áillohaš’s home, Lásságámmi, further enriched his perspective. These experiences informed new compositions and pieces inspired by Tromsø’s landscape and Sámi cultural concerns. Regular visits over two years allowed Chacon to refine his vision, expanding the exhibition into a broader exploration of resistance, land stewardship, and the connections between music and art. This could easily have been an exhibition by an Indigenous artist “dropped” in Sápmi on conceptual grounds, but these intimate, long-lasting ties between the artist and his Sámi peers anchor the exhibition in the local context.
García-Antón, who was previously director of the Centre d'Art Contemporain Genève in Switzerland, smartly used her connection with curator Steffi Hessler to facilitate a partnership with the Swiss Institute in New York, where an earlier iteration of the project opened in January 2024. The Swiss exhibition served as a survey of Chacon’s past works alongside new creations inspired by his time in Tromsø. The Tromsø exhibition then complemented and expanded on this earlier show, creating a body of work that bridges contexts, geographies, and themes central to Chacon’s artistic practice, according to the artist. It would have been interesting to see the exhibition in New York to see the overarching dialogue between the two shows, but New York was definitely both above my self-allowed carbon footprint and my budget.
A philosophy of circularity
The beauty of Raven Chacon’s exhibition in Tromsø is that it is deeply rooted in interconnected concepts, weaving his long standing exploration of borders, relationships, and the complexities of stewardship with the contemporary concerns of Sámi resistance and Indigenous narratives. Drawing from his experiences at the U.S.-Mexico border and the broader theme of land relationships, I ask Chacon to reflect upon the paradoxes of land acknowledgments, questioning how they might unintentionally reinforce borders:
– Every four years, discussions about the border area become even more politicised. People seeking a better place to live are villainised. At the same time, over the past ten to fifteen years, land acknowledgments have gained traction. It began in Canada but has taken hold in the U.S., with statements like, “This is Lenape land” or “This is Navajo land. We are here on Hopi land.”
– However, I’ve felt conflicted about these acknowledgments. If we’re not careful, they could create new borders. There are likely much more nuanced relationships that define land than rigid cutoffs or lines. Relationships between two tribes or groups, for instance, could involve protocols and shared understandings rather than a hard boundary marked by a river or a line on a map.
Through his meeting with Ánde Somby, a Sámi yoik artist and associate professor within the faculty of Law at UiT The Arctic University of Norway, Chacon further explored the concept of "vertical relationships"—the connections between humans and their ancestors, animals, and the earth—contrasting with the horizontal relationships that often dominate discussions of land and borders.
I myself find Chacon’s creative process fascinating as it examines the nuances of protocols and human-centric constructs. He critiques traditional directional terms like “clockwise” and “counterclockwise,” which rely on modern frameworks like clocks, emphasizing how meaning shifts depending on perspective. This questioning extends to his broader work, where circular forms—found in musical compositions, windmills, and record players—represent cycles and continuity. These motifs emerge in both his music and visual art, uniting diverse forms into cohesive, meaningful narratives. His work is a meditation on connection, inviting viewers to reimagine relationships with the natural world and each other.
Unfortunately, the curation of the show is at times slightly overwhelming, especially as some of the video works could be heard in other rooms featuring other videos and sound, which would not always allow for the focus and presence the works require. Nonetheless, when I could abstract the other sounds and concentrate on the pieces in front of me, I felt this circularity quite viscerally.
The Power of silence(s)
«A fermata often represents more than a prolonged pause.
It signifies a sun rising over a horizon, marking the passing of days (or any long time value) in the narrative of the piece.» (From Raven Chacon’s lexicon, catalogue to A Worm’s Eye View from a Bird’s Beak, Published by Sternberg Press, the Swiss Institute, Nordnorsk Kunstmuseum, 2024)
Music is a central thread in Chacon’s practice, influencing his approach to art and composition. Although he is educated as a musician and composer in the Western musical tradition, his work has developed to contrast classical music notation, which prescribes rigid instructions, with the freedom of graphic scores, allowing for personal and collaborative interpretation. For Chacon, scores are not merely instructional but reflective—a way to honour individuals and situations by offering performers the essence of his vision without dictating their response. This philosophy permeates his exhibition at Nordnorsk Kunstmuseum in Tromsø, where his graphic scores serve as a bridge between sound, visual art, and deeper narratives, emphasizing respect and flexibility in interpretation.
– The graphic score became a way for me to free up my process—not just to give agency to anyone or to teach classical musicians to improvise, but to create something personal and respectful. If I’m writing for someone I know—a friend, a family member, an elder, or a woman artist I deeply respect—I never want to dictate what they should do.
As Chacon explains, the creation of the exhibition involved a deep process of reflection and collaboration, as the artist revisited older works to weave them into the broader themes of the show. Alongside curators, he selected pieces that resonated with the exhibition’s focus on landscapes, stewardship, and the contradictions inherent in land protection. A significant outcome of this reflective process was the development of a lexicon that catalogues the symbols and meanings within his works, encapsulating two decades of creative exploration. This lexicon, along with the accompanying book, serves as a testament to Chacon’s ability to synthesise past and present ideas into a compelling, multi-layered exhibition.
These ideas resonate across the artworks presented in Tromsø, such as the artwork Silent Choir (Standing Rock) (2016-2022), a powerful piece that, for me, captured a moment of profound stillness and resistance. The work stems from a pivotal moment at the Standing Rock protests, where a group of elder women, dressed in regalia, silently confronted the police and private security.
– What unfolded was extraordinary. A group of about 20 elder women—many from the Dakota and Lakota tribes at Standing Rock, but also from other tribes—started walking. It wasn’t the usual scene of people at the front with banners, gas masks, or prepared for conflict. These were elder women, some dressed in regalia, others in traditional clothing.
– It was striking and concerning, so we followed them. The women walked right up to the police line and stood there silently, staring at them. Everyone else behind them did the same. There was no yelling, no anger—just silence. It was clear this was what these leaders had chosen to do, and everyone respected it.
It was this silence, rather than the typical sounds of protest, that Chacon chose to document. The audio file, which is played periodically through speakers, captures the stillness of that moment—an experience where the tension between silence and authority speaks volumes. The piece serves not just as an audio recording, but as a reflection on the impact of silence as a powerful form of resistance.
The silence is heavy with emotion and history, drawing attention to the unspoken power in moments of quiet. The effect is particularly striking in contrast to the expected noise of protests, where shouting and action are the primary modes of communication. Chacon’s piece invites the audience into a rare space where listening and silence take precedence. It also echoes Indigenous philosophies, where silence in conversation is not merely passive but a way to truly listen and respect the words of others. This is a profound counterpoint to our usual ways of communicating, which are often driven by the need to fill the space with meaning, noise, or argument.
Creation in collaboration
Another artwork that I found striking is Chacon’s piece ... the sky ladder (2024), which draws deep inspiration from his time spent at Lásságámmi and the work of Nils-Aslak Valkeapää, whose sculptures made from driftwood sparked Chacon’s exploration of how natural elements can intersect with music, land, and knowledge. The holes in the wood, made by worms in the water, struck Chacon as resembling music notation—small dots arranged horizontally, hinting at a visual language that could be "read."
The piece’s core revolves around the idea of knowledge transmission through generations, and Chacon tells me he used his collaboration with the Bål Nango family—in particular sisters Marja and Inga—to give form to this concept.
– I shared the idea with them and asked if they would be interested in having their family tell stories about the area around Lásságámmi and draw the landscape of that area. That was the essence of it. In drawing the landscape, they drilled holes at key points along the contour of the drawings, replicating the horizontal holes I saw in Áillohaš’s work. Once the drawings were complete, they were either placed here or retranscribed onto other boards and arranged in a sequence that reflects this continual flow of knowledge.
The contours and repetition of elements illustrated how knowledge is passed down, with each generation adding to and altering the narrative. The drilled holes became a physical manifestation of this transmission, linking past and present generations through both art and storytelling.
The work’s title, "... the sky ladder," draws from a poem by Áillohaš, which speaks of the sun, stars, and the ladder that connects the earth to the sky. This celestial metaphor is echoed in the form of the piece, which not only evokes a visual representation of the landscape but also touches on the metaphysical ideas of connection and continuity. By blending sound, visual art, and storytelling, Chacon’s piece engages with the land as both a physical and spiritual space. The audio component of the work, recorded on the shore near Lásságámmi, allows the listener to hear the gentle lapping of water against the wood, reinforcing the connection between the land, the people, and the knowledge that flows through both.
Zitkála-Šá
Another piece that emphasises the collaborative nature of Chacon’s work is entitled Zitkála-Šá. The work is a series of 12 graphic scores created for contemporary Indigenous sound artists, musicians, and scholars. The title references Zitkála-Šá, a Dakota composer, activist, and writer, whose contributions have often been overlooked. Through the scores, Chacon honors her legacy and explores contemporary Indigenous experiences. One notable example is a piece inspired by the life of Joy Harjo, the U.S. poet laureate and saxophonist. The score reflects Harjo's writing process.
– When Joy writes poetry, she told me that she thinks about every line in one of three ways. First, she may be writing it for herself. Second, she could be writing it for one other person she knows—or perhaps someone she doesn’t know. Third, she writes for everyone who might encounter the poem, whether they're listening to her read it or reading it on their own.
Chacon translates these modes of thought into music, inviting the saxophone to represent these varying layers of meaning, allowing performers to express the nuanced emotional depth of Harjo’s work.
Other pieces in Zitkála-Šá explore different aspects of Indigenous life and knowledge. For instance, one score prompts performers to explore the concept of "screaming as quietly as possible", representing how expression can be stifled yet still powerful—echoing Silent Choir. Another score, created for Laura Ortman, explores the experience of living between rural and urban spaces, with varying rhythms reflecting the constant movement and shifts in time. These scores not only offer a new visual approach to music composition but also engage with ideas of memory, landscape, and generational knowledge. Whether through the act of mapping the land or creating music that reflects cultural experiences, these graphic scores are tools for contemplation and reflection, embodying the complexities of Indigenous identity and cultural continuity.
The journey continues
Collaboration has been central to Chacon’s artistic process, and it is obvious he deeply values the relationships he has built with talented Indigenous artists from Sápmi. These collaborations are a way of weaving together diverse cultural insights, with Chacon eager to expand the project’s reach and continue working with artists, particularly in the U.S. and Southwest. He envisions the project evolving as it grows, shifting from its initial focus on a string quartet to a broader exploration of ecological and Indigenous issues.
As we are about to conclude our interview, I reflect on the title of Chacon's exhibition, A Worm's Eye View From A Bird's Beak, which encapsulates both a philosophical reflection and a dose of humor. While the worm’s perspective is typically one of being below, the title shifts this viewpoint to a bird's eye, suggesting an elevated position—but also, that the worm is probably about to be eaten! That brings me to how the whole exhibition is a meditation on perspective, life, and death, while Chacon humorously connects the title of the exhibition to his own name, Raven. Though heavy with meaning, it also contains a playful element, reflecting the idea of rising and looking back at one's journey from a new vantage point, much like the worm’s final moments before being consumed—which is maybe also a reminder that life continues, regardless of human presence.
