In Alaska, Indigenous Women are Reclaiming Traditional Face Tattoos

A few months after doing Chasinghorse’s first tattoo, Potts-Joseph was inspired to reclaim the Yidiiltoo for herself. She enlisted her oldest son, Izzy, who was 16 at the time, to do her own chin tattoos. As a single mom raising three children, Potts-Joseph says she and her daughter receiving their tattoos together brought the whole family closer; in a way, it allowed for a sense of healing after they had endured financial and personal hardships. “These tattoos really helped us find our strengths during a time that our family really needed it,” Potts-Joseph says. The markings were not only a proud symbol of Indigeneity, but they became a symbol of resiliency. In Alaska, an increasing number of Native women are carrying this idea forward, reclaiming the Yidiiltoo and giving it a special new meaning.

Jody Potts-Joseph on the Tanana River in Fairbanks, AK. “I wanted to wait [to tattoo] Quannah until she had a level of emotional intelligence where she could speak about her tattoos with humility and grace,” says Potts-Joseph. “Because I knew she would face a variety of reactions—from supportive to mean to racist. I wanted to make sure that she was at a place personally, where she could handle those challenging reactions.”

Quannah Chasinghorse in ishonest. “Armed with her traditional Hän Gwich’in tattoos, the model is at once redefining beauty, honoring a Native practice dating back more than 10,000 years, and challenging the notion that all models should be a blank canvas.”

Jody Potts-Joseph tattoos her niece, Jaelynn Pitka.

“These tattoos represent more than just a mark,” says Potts-Joseph. “It’s a big part of our healing; It reminds us of our responsibility as Native women and matriarchs. We have a responsibility to our families, our culture, our ancestors, and our future generations to carry them forward.”

For many of the women Potts-Joseph tattoos, the experience of getting the Yidiiltoo is just as meaningful as the end result. Lonnie Buresch, who is Denyeet Hutaana and Hän Gwich’in and based in Stevens Village, received her traditional face markings with her 12-year-old daughter, Roxy, last May. “The ceremony itself was the best experience,” says Buresch. “When you go into ceremony, time stops. It’s hard to describe, but it’s the same way when we sing our village’s songs—there’s a sense of connection and peace.” Potts- Joseph begins each Yidiiltoo by smudging and praying for the woman she’s about to tattoo. “We have long conversations about what this means to them, and why they're doing it,” says Potts-Joseph. “Then, I’m praying for their lives as I’m tattooing. That’s a good opportunity for them to get through the somewhat- painful experience of it—to pray and set their intentions for their life.” That’s precisely what Buresch did: “I prayed for [my daughter], Roxy, and for our future generations. We focused our energy on good thoughts—there was a lot of love in the room.”

As the art of Yidiiltoo continues to gain prominence in Alaska and beyond, the Indigenous community is also working to defend what is theirs. The co-opting of Indigenous designs has long been an issue in the tattoo world, and as these traditional design motifs grow in popularity, instances of appropriation have increased. (Angelina Jolie, for example, recently wore facial jewelry that mimicked the lines of a Gwich’in face tattoo; the Indigenous community noticed). For a tattoo practitioner like Potts-Joseph, this is especially harmful to see considering that the Indigenous community was once oppressed and shamed for wearing them. “I really feel strongly about other people that are non-Indigenous wearing these markings, because it doesn’t belong to them,” says Potts-Joseph. “We’ve had so much taken from us over the years.”

She remains inspired, however, by seeing Indigenous women overcome this intergenerational trauma, one tattoo at a time. “Every time I see someone [with a Yidiiltoo], we always talk and uplift each other,” says Potts-Joseph. “I’ve had elders come up and just give me a hug and say, ‘I haven’t seen a woman wearing a traditional tattoo since my grandma died.’ This is our way to regain something that was meant to be erased.”

Jody Potts-Joseph, 44, Hän Gwich’in, Stevens Village. “You have to have a little bit of bravery and courage to wear Indigenous facial tattoos in today’s society. I definitely get stares when I fly to the Lower 48,” says Potts-Joseph. “Walking through the airport, you can feel all the eyes. Up here in Alaska, you see more women with them every day, and it’s becoming so common that you don’t get the stares.”

Lorena Village-Center-Simon, 27, Hän Gwich’in, Fairbanks.

“Jody gave me my chin tattoo, which means coming of age. It was important for me to get my chin tattoo because I wanted to represent my people and connect with our ancestors. Seeing so many strong, independent, beautiful, and courageous women with their chin tattoos inspired me to get mine and follow in their footsteps,” says Village-Center-Simon. “I was so overjoyed with happiness when I was able to see my chin tattoo. I had a big smile on my face, and the fact that I got to experience the whole process with my aunt Jody and cousin Quannah just made it more heart-warming. I almost started crying. I’m so proud and happy to see more Indigenous women embracing themselves through traditional tattoos.”

Jaelynn Pitka, 21, Athabascan & Hän Gwich’in, Ruby.

“I received my traditional markings, the three dots beside my eyes, from my aunt Jody. I also have my traditional chin tattoo. I feel so blessed to have my traditional markings; I felt truly beautiful for the first time in a long time.”

Lonnie Buresch, 39, and her 12-year-old daughter, Roxy, Denyeet Hutaana & Hän Gwich’in, Stevens Village.

“I have one Yidiiltoo that Jody did for me, on my chin,” Buresch says. “When we arrived at Jody’s for the ceremony, my daughter, Roxy, told me she wanted me to get one too. She’s learning to stand up for herself and be comfortable with who she is as an Indigenous girl. She deserves to be who she is in all spaces, and her generation is not afraid to do that. Seeing Roxy look in the mirror for the first time afterward was powerful; she was so proud. I felt that it was the right time and place, and I got mine in support of Roxy, our ancestors, our future generations, and for myself.”

Maureen Mayo, 61, Athabascan, Fairbanks.

“I have eye tattoos with three dots on each side of my eyes, done by Jody. It was important to get it as another way to express myself within my culture. I had seen this particular eye tattoo on a young Alutiiq dancer from Kodiak, Alaska, and she had said it meant healing in her culture. Since then, I’ve always wanted that. As a recovering alcoholic and addict, it means healing, health and protection,” Mayo says. “My mother also spoke about wanting to get traditional tattoos as a child but she was discouraged during a time when our cultural expression was being suppressed. [When I received them,] it was pure joy, and I felt courageous. They are so beautiful! I've been seeing traditional tattoos more and more within the younger generation, which is great to see, and I’ve also seen older women too. It’s a way to say that our traditions are still with us.”

Jaida Teana Mattea Attla (Dunutzahúnéé), 21, Athabascan, Fairbanks.

“My grandmother Maureen Mayo received her tattoos from Jody, and she introduced me to her. I have finger tattoos done by Jody. My tattoos are very special to me; I have a moon, and a teepee with a moon above it. I recently had a son who is four months old, who is African-American and Alaskan native. When he grows older, he’ll look at my hands and know that that is our culture. It was important to me [to get them] as I saw my grandma with her traditional face tattoo, and I thought it was beautiful. She was glowing, she was in tune with her culture, and I thought that was inspiring. After I received my finger tattoos, I felt it was very special, because this is how my ancestors received their tattoos—it made me feel connected.”

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