Process painting—a practice of remembering // Kelly Terbasket
An interpretive essay on The Guest Book, an exhibition by the Similkameen Artist Residency.
I exist in the in-between spaces.
My mixed heritages—syilx and settler—is a place where I am both and neither. Like the Similkameen river that winds its way through our valley...
I flow between two big mountain ranges.
Fumbling through mistakes, saying the wrong things, moving the wrong way. Never quite enough of one or the other. I navigate between the oppressed and the oppressor, the privileged and the marginalized, the cowboys and the Indians.
Detail of Shores by Noelle Lee. Main Gallery 2025.
a persistent ache of not fully fitting in either world.
Holding perspectives that others can’t see. Bridging worlds in a way few people notice. Code-switching has become second nature. A survival skill that allowed me to succeed. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to see its cost. Who am I when I’m not code-switching? Art is guiding me back to myself. It’s a way of listening—of tuning in past colonial walls, past the judgements, past the righteous “shoulds.”
a quiet unraveling.
a soft return.
Like water, slowly eroding stone, carving space for authenticity to emerge. Art is not only for those with talent who want to share their gifts, art is also for those who seek to...
resist,
reclaim,
remember.
The Similkameen Artist Residency gave me a blank canvas—both literally and figuratively. Each time I entered the studio, I found myself in a quiet refuge. There, I could close the doors to work, family, and all the things that pull me in multiple directions. A space where I didn't need to code-switch. I used a technique called process painting—it helped me unlearn the colonial need for perfection, exhibiting, commodifying, and it freed me to express myself...
without constraint,
without apology,
without the need to make things look good,
without an end in mind.
Using cheap paint and paper, knowing I would be throwing it in the garbage after, took away all pressure to produce something ‘good’. I was able to be in the moment, be fully present with myself. Process painting allowed me to surrender control to the brush—notice my feelings, go with my impulses.
what colour am I drawn to today?
which direction does this line, stroke or shape want to lead me next?
what textures do I feel inspired to explore?
Another big shift unfolded during my time at the Similkameen Artist Residency, one I hadn’t anticipated. I watched visiting artists arrive with blank canvases, seeing our valley through fresh eyes. It was inspiring to see their work and processes and the many diverse art practices—painting, drawing, photography, videography, writing, weaving, sewing.
Detail of ASHGRAN XX3 by Esteban Pérez. Main Gallery 2025.
As each artist shared their stories in group studio visits, I got to see their interpretations and diverse expressions of being here—on my ancestral homelands. It was like a reminder, a rediscovery of my own backyard. The different artists that came through the residency each expressed their perceptions of our valley in such resonant and evocative ways.
a reciprocity, an exchange.
the visitors offered a new way of seeing,
in return, this land offers them something.
something sacred. something alive.
a whisper carried by the wind, a story held in the soil.
I have lived intimately in this valley my whole life, but over the years, the curiosity and wonder ofchildhood have faded. It’s like when you drive the same road every day—you tune out, lost in thought, and suddenly arrive at your destination without remembering the journey.
through their eyes, I began to notice, I began to remember...
The artist residency is located beneath our captíkwɬ [1] about Coyote and Eagle. In this story, Coyote seeks to try something new—to fly—and, as always, he fails, breaking into many pieces as he tumbles down the side of the mountain and dies at the bottom.
Coyote shows us our humanity, the parts we don't like to look at.
It takes a huge pride to declare, "Those are my ways!" when all you have are scrawny little legs and no wings to fly. Sure, this story reveals Coyote’s flaws—his arrogance and audacity—but it also highlights his strengths: unwavering determination, courage, and a willingness to try new things.
Coyote is brought back to life by his brother Fox, a renewed version of his former self, not just a sum of his parts.
At the end of this story, when Fox breathes into the pile and jumps over four times, it reminds us that change doesn’t come from simple action steps, change requires us to re-ritualize into new practices. Change requires relationships—Coyote would not be able to take these big risks and do his thing if brother Fox wasn’t around to bring him back to life.
The threats may change, but the lessons remain. We must unlearn harmful patterns and relearn ways that sustain us. captíkwɬ has shown us the way since time immemorial. Coyote left his mark—the long strip where he slid down the mountain—to remind us that we are human—even when we abandon parts of ourselves. He reminds us that our true power lies in being fully ourselves; we must adapt, the path is not straight and predictable; and that we should surround ourselves with people who support our evolution.
we are the stories held in our hands, the truths woven into our brushstrokes.
Coyote reminds us that It doesn’t matter whether you are “good” at what you do, it's the process ofdoing that matters. Creativity is about the inherent value of expression—telling your story, being seen, honoring who you are, wherever you’re at in the journey. The word “xaxa?” in nsyilxcәn translated means: “The sacred aspect of being—our full creative power as humans is to know that we are sacred and precious and express this through all our actions” [2]. Creativity is a way to actualize our infinite web of connection—to our ancestors, the land, and each other. Like ceremony, being in the flow of creation connects us to something beyond ourselves—the unseen magic that shapes us.
Installation view of The Guest Book in the Main Fallery, 2025.
art transforms.
it softens the rigid lines, the colonial binaries, the hierarchies that divide us.
it reminds us there is another way—a spiral way,
where our creative visions are not separate from the world but woven into it,
shaping and being shaped.
The nsyilxcәn word “iʔ sqəlxwɬcawtət” translated means “the dream way in a spiral way, the coming to pass or realization of dreams or visions. The dream suggests that the creative, visionary aspect of ourselves is strong, and the spiral symbolizes how our dreams affect, and are influenced by people and everything in the world around us” [3].
Being in touch with our creativity, our gifts, our interconnectedness is a form of Indigenous resurgence. It is necessary for healing and strengthening our communities. Our syilx ancestors understood this:
expressing our gifts and offering them to the community is how we have always survived. The story of the Four Chiefs—our origin story—teaches that everyone’s gifts, strengths, and ideas are valuable.
creativity is the thread that weaves us back to our true selves, our ancestors, and our collective future, reminding us that transformation begins with imagination and the courage to create.
At a time of such overwhelming community and environmental deterioration, imagination and innovation are not luxuries—they are necessities. My sister Carrie shared these powerful words about the importance of the creative process: “It breaks things open. It reaches into the deep, hidden places where oppression and internalized racism take root, where old beliefs keep us small. It reveals possibilities we were never taught to see” [4].
Like a river, transformation begins with a single drop, gathering strength as it flows. In my time at SAR, I painted my way through and around my internal limitations, and I began to feel into the possibilities beyond the outer ones—like water finding its way through cracks, expanding pathways before unseen, carving new paths where barriers once stood.
like the Similkameen River, weaving through the land,
pulling loose the threads of what was once fixed,
opening new pathways for authenticity to emerge—
like tributaries forming where there is no dike,
where water is free to unfurl, to shape and reshape,
to find its own way home.
Kelly Terbasket brings the strengths of her ancestry to her work as a leader. Through 30 years of on-the-ground engagement, Kelly came to see relational breakdown as the central barrier to meaningful change and came to understand that revitalizing and centering Indigenous ways is key to turning this around. She co-founded IndigenEYEZ and kinSHIFT as a means of supporting natural champions in communities to better respond to the impacts of colonization. Kelly is focused on the role of relationships in systems change and is sought out for her capacity to help deepen relations at a time when building connections across differences is essential. She has a BSW, MA, Executive Coaching Certification, and extensive training in creative facilitation through Partners for Youth Empowerment (PYE Global). She lives on her family’s ancestral homelands on the Blind Creek Indian Reserve in unceded syilx territory in the Similkameen Valley. In 2024, Kelly was the Similkameen Artist Residency’s first Community Artist in Residence (CAiR).
Founded in 2021, the Similkameen Artist Residency (SAR) offers a tranquil, affordable, and supportive environment for artistic exploration in Keremeos, BC. As an artist-run residency program, we recognize that working artists face challenges when seeking dedicated time for their creative pursuits. Our inclusive program understands that all artists—including those at various career stages and across diverse artistic trajectories—should be given opportunities to rest and refocus their practices. Enhanced by an ethos of community, curiosity, and creative exchange, SAR’s self-directed residency structure fosters productive solo studio time and collegial, collaborative cohorts.
Footnotes
[1] mahuya Bill Cohen shares the following understanding: "I have heard Delphine Derickson describe captíkwɬ as ‘continuously burning embers’ that ignite new understanding for coming generations, collective wisdom of our ancestors that we continue. captíkwɬ ignite our syilx smarts so we can set the world right again. These stories situate us within tmixw, connect us to our families, ignite our Coyote mind power, our collective ability to transform the people-eating monsters with knowledge and imagination."—mahuya, Dr. Bill Cohen, personal correspondence with Kelly Terbasket, July 12, 2023.
[2] Douglas Cardinal and Jeannette Armstrong. The Native Creative Process: A Collaborative Discourse. Theytus Books, 1991. p. 46.
[3] mahuya Dr. Bill Cohen, personal correspondence with Kelly Terbasket, 2021.
[4] Carrie Terbasket, 2025