The Path of Digital Sweetgrass: A Journey into Indigenous Design

In the depths of January's winter silence, when stories are traditionally shared among our people, my journey into digital design began. My husband, ever the gentle guide, introduced me to Adobe Illustrator. The program's interface, with its intricate tools and possibilities, reminded me of the precise beadwork patterns that had surrounded me since childhood. He was learning it also. We took about the journey together. 

Having already found my footing in Adobe Express and Photoshop for our powwow business, I approached Illustrator with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Like learning to braid sweetgrass – each strand representing knowledge, patience, and spirit – mastering this new skill would take time and dedication.

For years, 49 Design flourished through beautiful collaborations with talented Indigenous designers who brought their unique perspectives to our vision. Their contributions helped shape our early path, each artist adding their own medicine to our creative journey. These partnerships taught us valuable lessons about artistic expression and the many ways our stories can be told.

Yet, as our business grew, I felt a deepening call to explore my own creative voice. My story – deeply rooted in family history and cultural knowledge – needed to flow directly from my hands into our designs. This wasn't about replacing other voices, but about finding my own.

A recent trip to the Royal Alberta Museum changed something in me. We went to see my great-great grandmother Rosie's items she made that were in the vault. As we got to view them, experience them, touch and feel them, something happened. I could feel her. I could see her creations, and I could understand the design decisions she had to make. My husband and I talk about her often. She inspires all that I do.

In this photo, Rosie sits with her creations, some of which are in the Royal Alberta Museum. So many things she created. One bead at a time. I don't do beadwork, but now I get to create one pixel at a time. I like to think it's like a modern day form of beadwork.

Learning Illustrator while being autistic presented its unique challenges. Some days, the software felt like an unfamiliar language, its commands and processes testing my patience. But there was also an unexpected comfort in the precision of digital design, in the way each element could be carefully considered and placed with intention. When obstacles arose, I found strength in our community's teaching that growth often comes through challenges. I have a technical helper who has become like a modern-day knowledge keeper, offering guidance when paths seem unclear. Sometimes my husband helps when he can.

With each passing season, my confidence grew. Every new design became a ceremony of sorts – a digital offering that connected traditional ways of knowing with contemporary expression. The process reminded me of watching my great grandma Margaret's hands as she worked with traditional materials, each movement purposeful and filled with story.

Now, as winter returns and the year draws to a close, I look back with gratitude – for the artists who shared their gifts with us, for my husband's encouragement, and for the persistence that allowed me to discover this new form of storytelling. In our Blackfoot ways, we understand that every skill is a gift to be used in service of our people. Digital design has become another way to weave our ancient stories into the fabric of today.

The path forward is illuminated by both pixels and starlight, guided by the wisdom of our ancestors and the possibilities of tomorrow. Each design carries within it the heartbeat of our culture, now flowing directly from my understanding of our ways of being and knowing.

This is just the beginning of a new chapter in our story. Like the prairie grass that bends but never breaks, we continue to adapt while staying rooted in who we are.

If you haven't checked out our Ribbon Joggers we just launched, take a look and let me know what you think.