Photo credit: Ulysse Del Drago

Interview by Rebecca Dawe

I call Caroline Monnet from my kitchen table in Berlin, 5,999 km away from where she sits, in Montreal. There, a snowstorm has been coating the city for two days, and I’m charmed by how specifically Canadian this already feels. She’s a self-taught filmmaker and visual artist whose first film was broadcast at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2009. Since then, she’s been both nominee and award recipient with an impressive body of multidisciplinary work that has been exhibited around Canada, in Paris, New York, and Madrid. Her work often explores her Indigenous identity, and aims to disrupt conventions in art, and in our perceptions of Indigeneity. Caroline sometimes goes by Coco, a term used in French to designate someone as a little ridiculous. Although I didn’t have a chance to meet that side of her over the course of our call, I meet instead an articulate, thoughtful woman who spoke cogently for nearly a full hour. 

So Caroline, I understand you grew up between the Celtic coast of France and the Algonquin territory of Outaouais, Quebec. I’ve always thought the landscapes where we spend our childhoods form the basis of our visual imaginations. What was it like growing up in these places? Do those regions and their respective landscapes still mean a lot to you? 

To start off, because my Father is from France, French culture has a lot of importance in my upbringing. I went to a French school, a European lycee, so that was quite important in my upbringing. I went to school mostly in Canada, and I’d spend my summers until the age of sixteen in Douarnenez, at the tip coast of Brittany, France. I always think identity is tied to landscape. When you live in Outaouais, you have your foot in many worlds. Is it Quebecois, is it Algonquin, is it Canadian or is it French? When we speak about the French colonizer that came to Canada to marry Indigenous women, it’s almost like history in a contemporary time. That kind of duality is always present in my work. I’m interested in borders, in grey zones, in tensions between two opposite things. Landscape is definitely important and water especially occupies a prominent place in my work. The region where I grew up in Outaouais is filled with lakes and rivers, swamps, vacationing at the cabin on the water. The Algonguin people where I come from are known for their canoo making and fishing, all these things that pertain to water. There’s the Beaver Clan and other cultural concepts. In Brittany France I was right on the Atlantic Ocean. The ocean is so powerful and I often look to communicate its rawness. 

It’s interesting to speak about landscape and demography. In Outaouais there used to be paper mills, so a lot of Irish people migrated there for work. It’s the Ottawa river that divides the Outaouais region and the Quebecois region, so water plays into a tension between the Francophone and the Anglophone, but also a more wealthy region in Ottawa, and a poorer part of Hull. Similarly, in France there are blue collared, communist fishermen who were drawn to the water. Of course the landscape also influences the attitudes of people who live there, so I’m aware that growing up in these places makes me who I am. 

In one of your short films you say ‘It has never been so important to hear our Grandmother’s stories’. Was storytelling very present in your family, and if so, do you think it helped you cultivate the rich visual imagination you put to use in your current work?

I don’t know if storytelling was present in my family in the way we first envision it, sitting around someone. Of course, from an Indigineous perspective, storytelling is a big part of the culture, but I wouldn’t say I was exposed to it by my grandparents. My family was definitely influential in nurturing my imagination; there was also music in my house, libraries, we went to the theater, my parents brought home movies. My family was made up of avid cultural consumers. I was always pushed to explore the world outside, often alone, almost like a lonely child. But I was also intrigued by mythology. Greek mythology was something I was enamored by. To use stories to describe the world. When you look at Indigenous storytelling it’s all landscape - the story is present in the landscape. A story for each river, each crooked tree. 

When I was in Brittany I was told a lot of stories by the older kids who would try to frighten us younger ones. But also stories about singing mermaids, about the reasons the sea is angry at times, and at others, at peace. That definitely affected me. 

When you live in Outaouais, you have your foot in many worlds. Is it Quebecois, is it Algonquin, is it Canadian or is it French? When we speak about the French colonizer that came to Canada to marry Indigenous women, it’s almost like history in a contemporary time. That kind of duality is always present in my work. I’m interested in borders, in grey zones, in tensions between two opposite things.

I understand you studied Communications and Sociology in University, but wound up forging a career as a multimedia artist. I’m interested in the process of claiming your life as an artist, especially when for whatever reason, it wasn’t your area of institutional study, and so you don’t have that self-identifier in the shape of a fine arts degree. I think the older you are, the harder it is to tell yourself a new story about who you are; it may be harder to self-identify as an artist later in life, especially since culturally, artistry is perhaps, more than other disciplines, imbued with a kind of vocational status. As though the artist is a specific kind of being. How did you grow into yourself as an artist? And what has your experience as a self-taught filmmaker and visual artist been like?

At first it was hard to identify myself as an artist because I didn’t have formal training. Then, my first film was played at TIFF and I was presented as a filmmaker, but I still couldn’t assume it! I think we all have this kind of imposter syndrome whereby we think we aren’t good enough. I’m writing a script, and I’m not a script writer, but I’m writing a script! And so, I am a script writer. We are constantly battling with these titles.

I think it’s really my peers who helped me be comfortable with my identity as an artist. This is what I’ve chosen to do. It’s the craft I’ve chosen to perfect over the years. Having studied sociology, I see how it relates to being an artist. It’s the study of society, and our work as artists doesn’t really differ from that. We’re observers who reflect on and examine what surrounds us. We transpose what we see into our art, but always from a personal perspective. I speak to what I know, see, or feel. I cannot pretend to speak about life in Palestine. That’s not my story to tell! I can only seek the multiple stories within myself. 

I’m very introspective, often to the point that while walking somewhere, I can wind up totally lost because I’m so immersed in my internal monologue. Sometimes I try to fight this impulsive inwardness by assigning myself the goal of taking pictures, or recording little things during my time on foot. So then, my attention is cast outwards like an enormous lasso.

Does being a filmmaker affect how you move through and interact with the world on a daily basis? 

It’s funny because as a filmmaker I don’t really take pictures, even when travelling, I try to be present as possible, always observing. But walking is one my favourite things in the world. When I’m having a creativity crisis or am stressed or anxious, to clear my head or get the blood flowing, I can walk for hours, and most of my ideas will come when I walk. I do really study people. If I have a project I’ll be obsessed by it, and it’s informed by everything I see. If someone is dressed a certain way, they’ll inspire me for a character or a sculpture texture-wise. It’s like I’m pulling puzzle pieces from the world. People don’t realize it, but often someone will say one sentence, and it will trigger me in an enormous way. I’ll be transported somewhere else. Anyone can be a muse. 

You’ve had some involvement with teaching film to Indigenous youth - I think even on the reserve where your mother grew up. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada has a ton of recommendations about educating Canadians about Indigenous history and their current living conditions. When it comes to the pedagogical program of Indigenous youth, what do you see as the roll of teaching filmmaking? For example, do you see its potential for self-affirmation?

Yes. Mainly for self affirmation I think. Cameras are tools for empowerment, fulfilment, communication. We need to give youth the opportunity to speak to us and tell us where we are heading as a society. Especially in the Indigenous culture we always go to our elders for advice, but I think we should give that to youth to tell us what is happening in the world, and what are we scared of. Introducing film making to youth is a way to give them confidence, and help them find a purpose in life. That’s what it was for me. When I picked up a camera I discovered a powerful tool. I felt valuable. I was very timid and shy, and I was able to say something to the world and be seen when I felt no one was seeing me. 

I’m very introspective, often to the point that while walking somewhere, I can wind up totally lost because I’m so immersed in my internal monologue. Sometimes I try to fight this impulsive inwardness by assigning myself the goal of taking pictures, or recording little things during my time on foot. So then, my attention is cast outwards like an enormous lasso.

It’s a really good way to be present and be seen without having to use your body necessarily, like you have your creation stand in for you. 

Absolutely. With the body there may be anger or intimidation, too. It’s really a way to deal with emotions.

You work in several mediums which often overlap. Your films specifically are often quite short, but still manage to feel so dense. What do you find compelling about the short film format - what it permits and restricts?

There’s a learning curve with short film. At first, I was learning more about the craft than my own voice. There’s something raw about the short film format you can’t have with a feature film because it has its own level of urgency. Feature film takes years to make. Short film is an excellent way to explore concepts, almost like exercises. They can fall between visual arts and filmmaking, and can be played at film festivals but also in galleries. I like that because it’s really blurring the lines of what stands as film versus visual arts. I’m interesting in blurring the lines between these two. Short film is so important and still needs to be celebrated. It’s a way to make mistakes, explore things, be more extravagant, experimental, go much further with ideas. Feature films are too often constrained to narrative, structure, a sort of template. There is no such template with short film which can be highly experimental. I will never, ever stop making short films. 

Of all your filmwork, I especially loved Creature Dada, which showed at the Toronto International Film Festival. It shows a group of Indigenous women gathered around a table enjoying a very decadent meal (champagne, oysters, lobster). Then it dawns on you: the realization that Indigenous women are never really shown partaking in abundance or indulgence. Then at the end, the women march slowly towards the camera, like the time has come, Indigenous women are coming for us! How do you hope to disrupt how Indigenous people are represented in film?

Yes, it’s exactly that! You know, Indigenous women are still the most marginalized women in Canada today. In the media they are the victims of violence, abuse, drugs and alcohol, poverty. This is not necessarily my reality in an urban environment. I wanted to show us bringing Indigineous women to first class status. Traditionally, Indigenous women were put on a pedestal - they were the decision makers, the leaders of the community who had the highest of all ceremonies as life-givers. They were so celebrated and I wanted to bring back that respect, elegance, exuberance and challenge perceptions in this way. 

You know, Indigenous women are still the most marginalized women in Canada today. In the media they are the victims of violence, abuse, drugs and alcohol, poverty. This is not necessarily my reality in an urban environment. I wanted to show us bringing Indigineous women to first class status. Traditionally, Indigenous women were put on a pedestal - they were the decision makers, the leaders of the community who had the highest of all ceremonies as life-givers. They were so celebrated and I wanted to bring back that respect, elegance, exuberance and challenge perceptions in this way.

 

The shot at the end with the women marching towards the camera was also really powerful. 

It is a revolution! It’s the end of the world as we know it and the beginning of the rest of the world. We’re starting to take the space we deserve. We’re taking back our space. Right now I’m working on a new project that is in a sense, a sequel to this. It’s a photo that will be presented outside the TIFF lightbox. I took mostly the same women as in Creatura Dada, and we had fun dressing up in a more Renaissance style. The video was in a Dada style, since Dada is about cutting away from rules. So we can reinvent ourselves. The Renaissance movement is about breaking away from old rules but also moving forward to new ways of doing things. 

I hope they’re huge! 

You don’t even know! They’re enormous. They gave us that space and so I figured if we’re gonna take up space I’m gonna showcase Indigenous women in the most magnificent way possible. 

One recent encounter I had with an Indigenous artist was with the works of a teenage poet named Billy-Ray Belcourt. He has this collection titled ‘This Wound is a World’. In one of his poems he says ‘Indian time is a form of time travel. A poetics of lateness’. I was really stuck on this line. I won’t try to pin down its meaning but I began thinking of the relationship between Indigenous peoples and Western conceptions of time. There seems to be a real tension there, one that you perhaps explore in your work. Can you comment on that?

Thank you for introducing me to this poet, I didn’t know him so I’m really interested to know more. This Wound is a World is so beautiful! I think especially my generation is trying to break away from the victimization of the past. We’ve come to be intertwined with non-Indigenous peoples and while  we need to acknowledge the chaos of our past, it’s essential we move on to constructive relationships. As for the question of time, I think Indigenous people have a circular concept of time since there’s no real concept of past present and future. These tenses are all intertwined and that maybe clashes with the linear, Western view of time. This could be the source of many views colliding since I think conflict often arises from difference in language and culture. We must bridge these distances and figure out how to live with and build with each other.

Reconciliation with Indigenous peoples in Canada is perhaps fundamentally a project of truth-telling. How do you see film as tying into this mission to access and inform people of the truth?

Reconciliation is on everybody’s lips. Is it possible? We need action, and since the truth and reconciliation commission started there’s been much talk and little action. In terms of telling stories, what I like about truth-telling and stories coming from the interior is we are able to access a level of authenticity. Authenticity is so, so important. It speaks about representation, as well as countering racism since truth-telling brings understanding. I think in telling stories, it’s important we hear stories directly from the people. Perhaps as a collaboration between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. I’m so amazed when people tell me I’m the first Indigenous person they’ve ever met! Like, really? It’s absurd!

True. It’s absurd and also dangerous. I read an interview with the incredible Alanis Oboswamin where she says something exciting, which was: "Any Indigenous person who wants to make a film ... if ever there was a possible time — this is it". Can you tell us more about the positive direction Indigenous filmmaking will hopefully be heading in Canada in 2018?

She’s right! It’s time for us to take the space. Our stories are being told and brought onto the screen. There’s new distribution and fusion. Filmmaking tools are slowly becoming more democratic. There are training programs across the country, access to funding, organizations that have mandates to include Indigenous artists and storytellers into their programming. We have social media, and the networking the internet allows. There’s also the Imagine Native Film Festival, the biggest Indigenous film festival in the world which takes place in Toronto every year and works to bring Indigenous stories to the world, connecting Canada, Europe, South America, New Zealand…So yes, this is it! We’ve also come to a place where filmmakers are not necessarily referencing cultural items, but are still contributing to Indigenous cinema. That is, they are creating as an artist without necessarily having to be an Indigenous artist. Just an artist who happens to be Indigenous. 

Too often we have Indigenous stories being told by non Indigenous filmmakers which contributes to perpetuating stereotypes, misconceptions, racism. The Indigenous Screening Office is crucial to ensure Indigenous production companies secure funding, training, and are able to access a higher level of production. When money continually goes into the pockets of middle class, white, male filmmakers, what happens to women and other minorities? They’re unable to learn, produce, or build their portfolios. 

Can you tell us about the Indigenous Screening Office whose opening was just announced this past summer?

The Indigenous Screening Office just opened a few months ago. Essentially, it’s filmmakers and administrators across the country who have organized themselves to create an office based on the model of an Australian company. It’s a program whereby two of three key creative roles (writer, director, producer) must be Indigenous. This is to protect the authenticity of stories coming from Indigenous perspectives. Too often we have Indigenous stories being told by non Indigenous filmmakers which contributes to perpetuating stereotypes, misconceptions, racism. The Indigenous Screening Office is crucial to ensure Indigenous production companies secure funding, training, and are able to access a higher level of production. When money continually goes into the pockets of middle class, white, male filmmakers, what happens to women and other minorities? They’re unable to learn, produce, or build their portfolios. Their level of artistry never improves. So it secures both position and authenticity. 

Since I’m interviewing on behalf of a Montreal-based not-for-profit organization, I’d love to hear about how the city has shaped you as an artist, both its structural realities like rental costs and opportunities for work, as well as its cultural ones? 

It’s important to say I came to Montreal five years ago from Winnipeg. Montreal certainly influences the work I do. My work has become more formal, and the access to studio space here allows me to be more productive. Since I’m now in a bigger city, I’m working on a different level. There are enormous networking capacities in Montreal. Being able to speak French, my first language, is huge. I have a network of collaborators here with whom I generate ideas on a daily basis. I love this city. The artistic community here is quite amazing - there’s really a level of liberty and ability to explore and grow. There are centers opening up across the city, too. It’s a wonderful city to work in. With filmmaking, Quebec cinema is on the rise and is being recognized around the world. There’s a real signature in Quebec cinema that’s fun to integrate into Indigenous cinema as well. There’s a real lack of Indigenous Francophone films, so I’m hoping to fill that gap. 

*Special thanks to Christian Farivar.