Don Burnstick uses humour and performance to provide a holistic approach to healing. He was invited to Listuguj for National Addictions Awareness Week, to talk about well-being, sobriety and anti-violence.

His opening statements were sobering. His history with violence, drugs and alcohol shaped who he is today.

“I remembered looking at myself in the mirror, you know, and I was living on the streets, I was dirty. I just had a fight that night before, I was beat up. I was really sick, physically, emotionally, spiritually – I was just sick,” he said.

When he started considering suicide, he changed. The exact opposite happened.

“The value of my life kind of came alive,” he said “I used to do whatever it took to get high, and to get drunk. I had to shift that energy, and do whatever it took to get sober.”

Shifting that energy is exactly what he has been doing for 20 years. He’s been using his talent to bring light to issues like missing and murdered indigenous women.

While in Listuguj, he shared his own struggles with substance abuse and family violence.

“My first year was just to get myself sober and maintain it. The second year it was about training, going back to school,” he said. “The third year I was told to go and train my voice because back then there was no young sober native males.” 

Starting out Burnstick was often met with criticism. People would say, ‘You shouldn’t be talking about that stuff, not all of us are drunks.’ But he’s also found that talking about it in the open inspires others. He’s been told his words have saved lives. Even with his counselling background, he’s found comedy to be the best tool to help.

“Comedy comes from pain,” Burnstick said.  “I’ve learned how to take some of these trying thing that happened to our people (and to me) put it on stage, and if people are willing to laugh about, their willing to talk about it.”

When your work is displayed around the continent, attracting the attention of famous artists, and selling within 30 seconds of being posted on social media, some people could probably call you an “artist.” But Tracey Metallic-Barnaby is still getting use to the title.

She’s only been painting for a year, but her work has clearly been resonating with others. She has shipped her work to Alaska, her prints caught the eye of a television set designer while on display in Thunder Bay, and her work has recently been commissioned to be installed in a new health center in Michigan.

All the recognition has definitely been exciting. But it’s all secondary. “I’ll never give painting up,” Tracey said. “It’s way too therapeutic for me.”

Tracey says she’s always been crafty, but she gave up drawing when her daughter was born. She was 18 at the time. She then raised two more children, until she was 31 and decided she needed to go back to school.

Three degrees later, after years of running two separate households in Listuguj and Fredericton, she had a career in social work. This training would prove to be helpful.

Several deaths in the family were tough on Tracey.

“I just kind of shoved everything aside and didn’t deal with it,” she said. “That’s kind of when my depression started.”

Eventually a relatively small set back ended up being the “straw that broke the camel’s back.” She took time off work.

“I decided I need to practice what I preach,” she said. “I taught a lot of classes in healing and self discovery [and] I can’t teach these classes if I’m going through this myself.”

Not long before, Tracey had begun painting. A co-worker asked her to make something for his new house. Even though the thought of painting made her “a little jittery and nervous,” she did it, and other requests soon followed.

Not only were people enjoying her work, but it was good for her too. “It’s a healing journey for me — that’s what it is,” she said.“When I pick up that brush and put that paint on that canvas, I’m lost. I get lost in my paintings, and it’s such a therapy for me.”

And once she started, she had to keep going.

“I wanted to push myself a little further,” she said. “Then I started doing more native designs.”

While she feels she still has a lot to learn and continues to explore new techniques, she tries to not be too hard on herself. She reminds herself that it’s good to have your own style.

“I often don’t ask for an opinion on my work, because it’s something that came from my heart, and my past experiences, and all the pain I’ve suffered throughout the years. I try to put that in my paintings, to become more resilient,” she said. “I want to show people that — you know what, despite where you are in your life, whether it’s good, it’s bad, you have a story to tell.”

Alex Jerome has been building a career one step at a time. Gesgepegiac to Campbellton, to Moncton, to Halifax, to Toronto. Next – Europe, and rest of the world.

As DJ XS7, Jerome has been developing his skills for years. He now lives off his DJ career, and even won 4th place in Canada in the DMC DJ Championships in Toronto last year. It was his first year participating. He’s taking a shot at the world title this year.

He performed at Real Bar in Campbellton on March 11th and 12th — a location he’s familiar with.

He lived in Campbellton and developed a popular DJ night years ago, when “Rumours” was running. He’s also given workshops at the LMDC on entrepreneurship, and now has even more to share about his experiences developing a career as a First Nation’s artist.

“There’s tons of opportunities,” he said.

Whether it’s researching grants, or honing in on marketability, Jerome has been learning all about the industry. He’s been pitching his ideas, attending seminars, developing ideas for tours, and is even starting a record label with hip-hop artists in Halifax.

One idea of his particularly bridges traditional and modern influences.

“[It] tries to bring in a lot of the language, a lot of the dancing, a lot of the traditional heritage,” he said. “All that comes together with grass dancers and stages lights, black lights, and all such ideas. More on a futuristic level.”

He’s been working on it for three years, and says it is being well received now. This is partly due to recognizing the international appeal to an idea like this.

“Aboriginals get high amounts of respect on an international level,” Jerome said. “More than in Canada.”

Jerome sees these traditional influences as part of who he is, but also part of his competitive advantage.

“If you have aboriginal roots – try to tie that into your arts, because that’s something that nobody else can do,” he said. “That’s a part of you. That’s your heritage, and that should be a legend that you should be expressing. Within a new way. To new ears.”

A lot of Jerome’s music pulls from these influences, like “Highway of Tears.”

 But he believes it’s important to develop a modern, personalized take.

“The hardest thing is actually to introduce your past, but in a new way,” he said. “For instance, I don’t dress in leather regalia, but yet, I have elements of the regalia kind of put into a modern, flashy, dressy kind of way.”

And while Jerome puts a lot of thought into all the artistic elements of what he does, he is also very conscious of the business, whether it’s paying to attend seminars and meet the right people, or ensuring the bar that hired him is happy with the night.

“Put it this way — if you’re playing constant hits, and the bar’s not full, or nobody’s drinking at the bar — the bar’s not happy,” he said. “You could have the best night of your life, but they would still not hire you.”

Jerome has learned to strike a balance — whether it’s creating a little lull after a few songs, or giving the crowd what they want.

“It’s reading the crowd,” he said. “Every movement will give some kind of indication of whether they’re enjoying it, or whether they’re not. And trust me, they’ll let you know if they’re not.”

But now it’s time to go bigger. Working his way from club to club, and city to city, has prepared him for festivals. He started playing them last year, and plans to devote a lot of his stummer to them this year. And this time, he’s just excited.

“Going to these festivals is pretty scary,” he said, speaking of the the first ones he attended.

His first time on a big festival stage, he didn’t even look up.

“I just totally stayed focused, and tried to do what I could,” he said. “I didn’t know what to expect. But this time around, it’s like going back to a bunch of old friends.”

He knows what it’s like now, and has had time to plan.

“Last year was all experience,” he said. “This year is all conquering.”

Mallory Metallic’s film is driven by curiosity – what is it like to work at the Listuguj Police Department, and not be from here?

The film offers a small glimpse into the lives of the officers. The cameras tag along, and learn about  the unique aspects of being new to the community. The good parts, and the bad.

The film isn’t pointing fingers, or taking sides, though. It is just helping the viewer relate to another perspective.

Relating and accepting others is an important subject to Metallic.

“I hate the whole native vs. non-native thing,” Metallic said.

The implications of these attitudes worries her. Especially when they’re passed on to kids.

“Once they’re done school, how are they going to feel when they go out somewhere else?”

This theme was also a focus in her first film, which won her an award.

LUJ 051 from Wapikoni mobile on Vimeo.