Meryl McMaster: Bloodline is a survey exhibition of a remarkable Canadian artist whose pioneering large-scale photographic works reflect her mixed Plains Cree/Métis, Dutch, and British ancestry. This exhibition looks back to McMaster’s past accomplishments and brings us up to date on her current explorations of family histories, in particular those of her Plains Cree female forebears from the Red Pheasant Cree Nation in present-day Saskatchewan.
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AGGV: In Bloodline, you are the main subject of your photographs. Given that you’re often playing characters or stories in these images, do you identify your work as self-portraiture? What inspired the choice to place yourself in the frame? Are there pros and cons to doing so?
Meryl McMaster (MM): Yes, I see the stories I portray and the characters in Bloodline as self-portraits. My work always begins from a personal place, where I am exploring aspects of myself and the questions I carry about the world around me. Even when I am engaging with the story of a relative, I inhabit their experience through my own body and lens, creating a space where their history and my perspective intersect.
I first began placing myself in the frame during my university years. At the start it was a practical solution: I was available, I didn’t cost anything, and I wasn’t yet comfortable directing others. But it soon became essential. Using my own body allowed me to communicate my emotions directly, to share lived experience, and to begin a deeper exploration of my identity.
There are benefits and challenges. Being both artist and subject means I know exactly what I am envisioning, and I can move fluidly toward that outcome without the need to translate it for someone else. At the same time, taking on so many roles at once can be mentally and physically demanding. Each photoshoot requires me to extend myself beyond comfort, and working outdoors, particularly in the depths of winter, has at times pushed me close to frostbite. Yet I see these moments of endurance as part of the work itself, embodying the resilience and vulnerability that live within the images.
AGGV: The costumes and props used in the images are so intricately made, for instance, the sculpture of a bird that is displayed in one of the showcases. Can you speak to how you approach crafting these items? How do you come to the materials, and can you share your process for putting scenes in a photograph together?
MM: When I design and construct the props and costumes, I draw inspiration from many sources including theatre, dance, film, and historical clothing. The materials I use are often simple and readily available, such as cardboard, wire, feathers, bells, ribbons, fabric, and paper. I spend a lot of time in thrift stores, second-hand shops, and hardware stores, and I also gather natural materials from the land. Sometimes I even rework my own clothes. Over the years, my studio has become a cabinet of collected odds and ends, objects that I reuse and transform. Working with such varied materials challenges me to approach building in new ways, often requiring problem-solving and improvisation. I’ve also collaborated with a seamstress to produce garments, which I then expand with handmade details.
The process of creating a work can unfold over years. It begins with research, followed by sketches that help me imagine both the costumes and the locations. The making stage can take months, as each element slowly comes together before the photograph is taken. In the end, all of this work converges in a fleeting moment, when costume, location, and natural light align to form the image. Through this process, I aim to reimagine time, place, and history in a way that feels both familiar and otherworldly, drawing the viewer into a story that invites them to linger and perhaps forget the outside world for a while.
AGGV: Would you share with us how you came across the handwritten letter by your great-grandmother Isabella Wuttunee in 1976? Why did you think it was important to display the letter and family photographs as part of the show?
MM: My father inherited a collection of documents, papers, and photographs spanning from the mid-19th century to the 1970s, belonging to three of my paternal grandmothers. Among these, many handwritten materials were from my great-grandmother, Isabella, or Bella. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I had the chance to sit with these objects. Two stood out immediately: a diary from 1946 where Bella wrote about everyday life on the reserve, and a handwritten letter from the 1970s in which she detailed her struggle to secure government assistance to build a home, a request that was never granted. Reading her words, I felt her presence so strongly, as if her voice carried across time. These objects became a way to listen, to reconnect, and to carry the voices and wisdom of my grandmothers forward.
Including Bella’s letter, her diary, and family photographs in the exhibition felt essential. Indigenous women’s histories—like those of my grandmothers—have often been overlooked or erased. Making these objects visible was a way to honour their resilience, self-determination, and perseverance. It was also about acknowledging how their experiences laid the groundwork for the paths I now walk. Their voices continue to inspire me, and through the exhibition I wanted to ensure they are remembered, respected, and seen.
AGGV: Can you share a bit about your relationship with photography as a medium? What are your thoughts on the role of tools and technology in photography, and do you have any advice for new artists who want to work in lens-based media, but feel halted because of their lack of access to professional equipment?
MM: Photography has always been more than just a tool for me – it’s a language. It allows me to weave together memory, imagination, and lived experience, creating spaces where the past and present can converse. What draws me to the medium is its ability to hold both fact and fiction: a photograph can be grounded in reality yet also become a stage where I reassemble family stories, cultural inheritances, and inner states of being.
I see tools and technology as companions rather than barriers. Cameras, lenses, and software shape an image, but they remain extensions of vision, not its source. What matters most is intention—the story you want to tell and the perspective you bring. In my practice, I often merge photography with handmade objects, sculpture, and performance, recognizing that creativity extends beyond the mechanics of the camera.
For those just starting out, I would encourage you not to feel discouraged if you don’t have access to expensive equipment. Professional gear is not what makes an artist. Start with what you have, whether that is a phone camera, borrowed tools, or an experimental process. Treat constraints as opportunities for invention. Think about how you can work with natural light, your environment, your body, or everyday materials to express your ideas. Photography is about perception and storytelling, not about perfection. Trust that your voice matters, and let the technology serve your vision, not define it.
AGGV: As the exhibition has traveled to different territories and communities over the last couple of years, has the meaning of the works changed for you at any point? Have you gotten any feedback from audiences that surprised you? What do you hope viewers take away in different communities outside of your own?
MM: As I continue to learn more about my own nēhiyaw culture, I find new layers emerging in the work. Over the years, each layer has deepened my connection to the images, opening fresh meanings and relationships that are both grounding and inspiring. My practice evolves alongside my growth and shifting understanding of self, culture, and the inheritances I carry.
While the ideas originate from a personal place – often tied to my bi-cultural identity – I’ve been moved by how audiences connect to the broader themes. People have shared reflections on their own connections and disconnections to culture, their relationship to the land, and the ways memory and inheritance shape their lives. These conversations remind me that the images carry meanings beyond my own intentions, and that the work can act as a mirror for others.
What I hope viewers take away, whether in my own community or far beyond, is a sense of resonance. I want the work to encourage questions: How do we connect with culture and place? How do we honour the generations who came before us? And how do we imagine ourselves moving forward with resilience and responsibility?
Meryl McMaster: Bloodline was curated by Sarah Milroy, Chief Curator, McMichael Canadian Art Collection and Tarah Hogue, Curator (Indigenous Art), Remai Modern. The exhibition will be on view at the AGGV until October 19, 2025.
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Feature Image: Meryl McMaster, The Grass Grows Deep, 2022, Giclée Print, 40” x 60”. Courtesy of the artist, Stephen Bulger Gallery, and Pierre-François Ouellette art contemporain.
