Theresa Secord and Preserving the Art of Indigenous Basket Weaving in the United States

February 22, 2022

Theresa Secord is a well-known Penobscot basket maker and entrepreneur from the state of Maine in the United States of America. Born in 1958, she began her basketry journey over 30 years ago as an apprentice to the late Penobscot elder, Madeline Tomer Shay. Her baskets are sold under the brand Wikepi Baskets.

Theresa sat down with us to discuss the history of basket weaving by the Penobscot and Passamaquoddy tribes, two of the state’s Indigenous peoples, and the evolution of the region’s basketry since she helped found the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance in 1993. She touches on the importance of intellectual property (IP) in protecting traditional cultural expressions and updates us on the development of her project under the WIPO Training, Mentoring and Matchmaking Program on IP for Women Entrepreneurs from Indigenous Peoples and Local Communities.

Tell us more about the Penobscot and the Passamaquoddy tribes.

The Penobscot and the Passamaquoddy are Indigenous peoples from the Northeastern Woodlands region in North America. Historically, the Passamaquoddy were in the eastern and coastal areas of Maine, up into Canada, while the Penobscot were mainly around the Penobscot River, the largest river and watershed in the state. There were a lot of intermarriages, so most of us have some Penobscot and Passamaquoddy. In 1980, the two tribes were part of a settlement of indigenous land claims within the state of Maine. The settlement marked the start of an exodus back to the reservations due to a boom in jobs for lawyers, foresters, and geologists like me.

What is the history behind the Penobscot and Passamaquoddy basketry?

Utilitarian baskets are worn on the back for hunting or to fit in the bow of a birch bark canoe for fishing. These types of baskets are still made, but we have also made and sold so-called “fancy” baskets for the last 200 years. It is documented that when wealthy families from New York and Boston – the Rockefellers, the Carnegies, and the Roosevelts – would summer in Maine in the 1800s, members of our tribes were also there to sell baskets. The so-called Victorian designs evolved as basket makers began to cater to such tourists. You can see an example of these designs of the time in the 1953 photograph of my great-grandmother selling her baskets.

Theresa’s great-grandmother, Philomene Saulis Nelson, selling her baskets on Indian Island in Maine in 1953 (Photo: Courtesy of Theresa Secord)

How did you get into basketry?

I was always drawn to basketry. For the baskets, we use ash tree and sweet grass. Men hunt for ash trees like they hunt for moose or deer, because the most important thing is to find trees that will provide good wood splints. The other material, sweet grass, is harvested along the coast. I can remember the smell of sweet grass in my great-grandmother’s house. My generation, however, did not grow up on the reservation. It was not until after I finished graduate school in 1984 that I went there to live and work. Once I was on the reservation, I began to study the Penobscot language and met the late Madeline Tomer Shay, my basketry teacher and Penobscot elder.

How long did you apprentice with Madeline?

I apprenticed with her for five years. At the time, I was one of the few apprentices in the whole state. I realized that if something was not done, there would soon be few if any basket makers left. Through a friend who was the state folklorist at the time, I learned that there were weavers in the other tribes, who were also really worried about the loss of the tradition, due to: not enough people interested in learning how to weave, ash wood becoming scarcer, and baskets being sold for prices too low to make a living. And so, in 1993, with the help of my basketry teacher and other basket makers, we formed the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance, for which I was the head for 21 years.

Small Barrel Basket, Penobscot Sewing Basket, Hopi Blue Indigenous Corn — Left: Small Barrel Basket, Center: Penobscot Sewing Basket, Right: Hopi Blue Indigenous Corn (woven “ear of corn” basket of ash wood with sweet grass trim). Some examples of Theresa’s work. (Photos: Courtesy of Theresa Secord)

Tell us more about the Maine Indian Basketmakers Alliance.

The purpose of the nonprofit organization was to save our own endangered ash and sweet grass basketry from extinction, but for the first 10 years it did not feel like we were making much of a difference. At that time, our baskets were under-appreciated, and the average age of our basket makers was 63 years old. Each year we would lose people due to old age, and this new generation of basket makers in their 30s and 40s, were then only children. Over time, we were able to bring the average age of the now 125 basket makers down from 63 to 40 years old, but it took a good 10 years of mentoring and workshops programming to cultivate a new generation of basket makers and help them be successful. Part of our plan also included developing strategic and targeted marketing efforts to make sure that our baskets were getting out there: we wrote articles for art magazines and even opened our own retail-gallery store. Collectors would fly in from as far away as Arizona, California, and Texas to buy our baskets. We also sent young basket makers out West to take part in the large Native American art markets, where they were able to compete for prizes and sell their baskets. We really worked hard on marketing, and over the years it paid off.

It sounds like the Alliance is a huge success.

There have been some extraordinary, new generation basket makers to come out of our work like Penobscot artist Sarah Sockbeson and Passamaquoddy artist Jeremy Frey, to name a few. Jeremy is among the most recognized basket makers in North America. He won the top prize in the Santa Fe Indian Market 10 years ago. The Santa Fe Indian Market is the largest juried Indian art show in the world, and it was the first time in 90 years that a basket had taken the top prize. Some of his individual pieces – very high-end art with complex, contemporary designs – are sold for USD$25,000-35,000. It is a very different situation from when we founded the Alliance, because even though we had some very good basket makers, the highest price we saw was $80.

What is the main difference between the generations?

I am part of the old guard who is still trying to make the traditional baskets. If you look at my great-grandmother's photo, you will see that a lot of my basket shapes and weaves reflect a more traditional style because that is my family’s style. I inherited her antique wooden forms and tools, with which all her baskets were made. Handed down to me from her father in the 1800s, there's the barrel shape and sweetgrass flats, handkerchief boxes, among others. When this new generation emerged, however, they made their own way and really changed the art form for the better. Jeremy once told me how he will think about a design so complex that he does not know how he will carry it out, but within two years he has it figured out. It is really a technical exercise for him.

Wooden hand tools handed down to Theresa. The white patina area shows generations of use, with sharpened blades made of watch spring or clock spring steel. (Photo: Courtesy of Theresa Secord)

What were some of the challenges you faced as an emerging basket maker?

That is a good question. I am at this established level now, where I have name recognition. It is a lot easier when my art is in demand. I would say that when I was an emerging basket maker, it took a lot of work to get recognized. Back then I had young children and was running the Alliance, so it was a challenge to have a strong art career. Now I have more time for my art, including more time to explore and be free with my expressions.

What is the story behind your brand Wikepi Baskets?

Wikepi is the word in our language for the “ash wood”. It also means “weaver”. Wikepi is also my Indian name, which was given to me by an elder when I was 40 years old. At that time, we had recently formed the Maine Basket Makers Alliance, and one elder started calling me Wikepi, explaining, "You're like the ash weaver, the one that binds everyone together." It was such a great honor and so Wikepi Baskets has been my company name for many years.

Wikepi Baskets logo (Image: Courtesy of Theresa Secord)

Tell us more about your project under the WIPO Training, Matchmaking and Mentoring Program on IP for Women Entrepreneurs from Indigenous Peoples and Local Communities.

My project is twofold: part of the project included visiting local museums to document the distinct traditional weaves of the Penobscot and the Passamaquoddy tribes. Due to the pandemic, however, the museums that I wanted to visit were closed for extended periods, and a lot of the museums have very little of their collections online. So, I have been doing some literature work compiling information, but I do not feel I can provide as much technical description as I had wanted to do. The other part of my project was to develop a logo – one that would be indigenous and representative of our basketry – and trademark it. With the support of WIPO’s program partner INTA, the International Trademark Association, in September 2021 I was able to file two trademark applications: one for my brand Wikepi Baskets and one for my logo.

What advice do you have for young indigenous peoples interested in following a similar path?

I think it is important for our communities to work to protect our traditional cultural expressions, as well as to learn more about how we can protect them. That is why I went to Geneva: to learn and hopefully to be a good representative. During the pandemic, I have been trying as much as possible to get together with my oldest son Caleb, now 30, because even though he has been weaving since he was five years old, I want to make sure that if something were to happen to me, he can be an independent basket maker. We have a saying coined by friends at The Seventh Generation Fund, “How can I be a good ancestor?” It has been my philosophy this past year as I have tried to model a sense of cultural responsibility through continuity, despite the challenges of the times.

Sweet grass collar basket (Photo: Courtesy of Theresa Secord)