The year鈥檚 not quite yet half over, but it鈥檚 already been an auspicious one for . The 91爆料 graduate and author of two books, 鈥溾�� and 鈥�,鈥� is one of two recipients of the , which come with $25,000 in unrestricted funds. Washuta, who has been as 鈥渁n extraordinarily original and gifted writer,鈥� is also the first writer-in-residence at Seattle鈥檚 iconic Fremont Bridge. The three-month , which coincides with the bridge鈥檚 100th birthday in 2017, provides $10,000 for Washuta to 鈥渦ndertake an in-depth exploration of the bridge.鈥�
A member of the , Washuta is the undergraduate adviser for the 91爆料 and a nonfiction faculty member in the MFA program at the Institute of American Indian Arts in New Mexico. 91爆料 Today recently caught up with Washuta to talk about the two awards and her new book.
Congratulations on being chosen by the city of Seattle as the first Fremont Bridge writer-in-residence. What does that entail?
EW: Thank you! I鈥檒l be spending many summer afternoons in a small, beautiful office in the northwest tower of the Fremont Bridge. The office is mine alone this summer, and it looks out over the Lake Washington Ship Canal. I watch the bridge open and close while I write. I listen to cars, passersby, boats and the yells of coxswains when the rowers come by in the late afternoons. While I鈥檓 in the office, I work on research and writing for a project about the bridge 鈥� its history, its metaphorical meaning and my relationship with it.
What are you聽writing about?
EW: At the outset of a project, it鈥檚 always difficult for me to say exactly what I鈥檓 writing about. I know that I am embarking upon a project about the Lake Washington Ship Canal and its role in the remaking of the landscape of the place we now call Seattle. I鈥檓 writing about displaced Indigenous peoples and disruption of seen and unseen elements of the land 鈥� the unseen being what is sometimes referred to as supernatural. There鈥檚 a lot more I鈥檓 going to write about, but I鈥檓 at the point where I don鈥檛 know what I don鈥檛 know yet.
I begin with research. This week I read Coll Thrush鈥檚 鈥溾�� and Albert Furtwangler鈥檚 鈥�.鈥� I鈥檝e also taken bunches of books out from the 91爆料 libraries that I鈥檓 looking forward to getting into, like 鈥溾�� by Craig Holstine.
You grew up near the Delaware River in New Jersey and your mother grew up along the Columbia River. Do bridges have a sentimental connection for you?
EW: I think so. I鈥檓 sort of in awe of bridges 鈥� and, judging from the expressions on a lot of the faces I see from my bridge office (people crossing the bridge, people snapping photos from Argosy cruises), so are a lot of other people. When I was growing up, crossing the Easton-Phillipsburg Toll Bridge from New Jersey into Pennsylvania was a little bit magical, because it meant we were going somewhere special, like my grandparents鈥� house or the big mall.
My mom did grow up along the Columbia. When I was a teenager and was visiting my grandma鈥檚 house in Dallesport, Washington, I decided, on a hot summer day, that I was going to walk to Oregon. It seemed like it would be my greatest feat yet: to use my legs to carry me from one state to another. I thought I remembered how to get to the bridge, but I walked the wrong way, deeper into Washington, worrying my family because I was away for so long and hadn鈥檛 let anyone know where I was going.
Before the settlers arrived in that area, the people in the villages along the river didn鈥檛 see it as a dividing line. The river was at the center of those communities.
What鈥檚 your work space at the bridge like? It must have a great聽view.
EW: It鈥檚 incredible 鈥� the office, the view, the setting. It鈥檚 a small office at the top of a flight of stairs, with windows on all sides, looking out onto the bridge and the ship canal. I can watch the bridge open and close because it鈥檚 happening right next to my window. I鈥檓 alone up there and generally get to spend a few hours away from human interaction, but I still feel like I鈥檓 in the center of things because so many people are crossing the bridge. And there鈥檚 no wifi. I鈥檝e gotten a remarkable amount of work done already.
Congratulations as well on the Arts Innovator Award. It comes with $25,000 of no-strings-attached funding. How will you use that?
EW: Thanks! I鈥檓 not really sure how I鈥檒l use it yet. Right now, I鈥檓 not using it 鈥� which is important, because it鈥檚 allowed me to relax a little. I piece things together financially with part-time work at 91爆料, contract teaching in an MFA program at the Institute of American Indian Arts and assorted odds and ends. Knowing I鈥檓 going to be funded for a little while is huge. I鈥檝e already been so much more productive since receiving the award because my head isn鈥檛 so full of the arithmetic of an artist鈥檚 financial survival that has been my preoccupation for years.
Your first book was聽intensely personal, detailing your experiences with rape and bipolar disorder. What is your new book about?
EW: This is another instance in which I can鈥檛 say for sure, because I鈥檓 slowly getting it off the ground. 鈥溾�� and 鈥溾�� were really about form as much as they were about trauma. I think the most interesting things about those books is not the horrible things that happened to me; it鈥檚 the way those things created a space inside my head in which I came to understand myself and the world by fitting memories into containers that help me make sense of them.
When I talk about containers, I鈥檓 talking about text forms that provide the shape for my content: 鈥淪tarvation Mode鈥� adopts the form of a list of dieting rules, and in 鈥淢y Body Is a Book of Rules,鈥� I tell the story of my early 20s by allowing it to pass through forms like the college term paper, annotated bibliography and prescribing information from the pharmacy.
Now, I鈥檓 still using containers that I encounter, but some of them are not from my day-to-day life. I鈥檓 interested in taking the documents that have aided in the process of colonization of the Indigenous peoples of this place and refilling them. For example,聽I’m interested in using the form of the , signed by my great-great-great-grandfather and other leaders 鈥� it’s one of many treaties from the region and time period that feature similar language and formatting, but the stories of those treaties’ aftermaths are so different.
For more information, contact Washuta at elissaw@uw.edu or 206-543-9082 or Erika Lindsay, communications manager at the City of Seattle Office of Arts & Culture, at arts.culture@seattle.gov or 206-684-7171.