In the fifth article in our series on how natural materials are transformed into artworks, we’re focusing on how ivik, meaning grass in Inuttitut, is processed, stored and used to sew grassworks such as baskets, plates and wallhangings.
Our guide is Ella Jacque, a grasswork artist from Rigolet, Nunatsiavut, NL, currently based in St. John’s, NL. Grass weaving is practiced in various cultures around the world, and she was taught the form of grass weaving specific to Nunatsiavut, primarily passed down through her maternal line for generations. Jacque was taught to work with grass in her childhood by her grandmother, Sarah Baikie, and her mother, Marilyn Baikie. “I grew up seeing it everywhere and being taught about [its value], and being taught to sew, and now I’m exploring my role as an [Inuk] artist [in] keeping that tradition alive,” says Jacque. [1]

Here, Jacque shares how she turns grass into woven artworks.


Bundles of salt water grass, Rigolet, 2022

1. Gathering
The grass is usually picked and tied into bundles in late fall, around the time people pick kimminait—also known as red berries or partridge berries. “We always grew up calling the grass ‘salt water grass,’” says Jacque. Salt water grass along the Nunatsiavut coastline is long, green and flat in the summer, but the colour fades and the strands curl and become strong after the first frost. “It can be these beautiful pastel colours of different earthy greens and pinks and purples,” she says.

2. Drying out and storing
Then the grass is spread out and air-dried for a few days to prevent it from becoming mouldy. Once it’s dried, it’s re-bundled and stored in a cool, dry place, such as a shed or porch, until it is ready for a grass-weaving project. “I’ve sewn grass that’s probably been stored for a few years, but I would imagine that, after a certain period of time, it would probably get less pliable,” she says. Jacque also notes that when salt water grass is stored, it has a distinct scent; “I always say that I wish there was a candle of it; it’s like a nostalgic, homey, welcoming smell for me,” she says.

3. Soaking and wrapping
The final processing step is rehydrating the salt water grass, which Jacque usually does by soaking it under warm, running water. Then it’s wrapped in cloth and sometimes a layer of plastic to retain that moisture, and kept in a warm place for two to three days, depending on how good the grass is. Afterwards, the salt water grass is ready to sew. “It turns into a much more pliable, velvety, soft thread, more so than a [strand of] grass that can snap in half.”

However, if the salt water grass is not used for a project shortly after the soaking process, it is stored in a freezer to prevent it from drying out or becoming mouldy.


One of Ella Jacque’s grassworks in progress, featuring the natural green of the grass, Rigolet, 2022
I wondered whether the drying and storing step was similarly done to prevent the salt water grass from going mouldy, but Jacque clarified that it is more about building a supply to use throughout the year since it can only be picked in the fall. This supply is also useful for those who are unable to pick salt water grass themselves, such as postsecondary students like Jacque who are away from Nunatsiavut at that time. “Most of the grass that I have always sewed with was picked by my grandmother or my mom,” she says.

5. Sewing grass
“[Grass is] so versatile and malleable that you can turn it up to make a bowl or keep it flat to make a plate, or make different shapes and sizes,” says Jacque. To sew the rehydrated grass, three or four strands are selected and knotted together at the end—similar to knotting thread. The grass itself is used as thread, and the strands are often split lengthwise in order to make them thin enough to fit the needle and more pliable to sew with. The knot acts as the centre of the woven project, as the grass is sewn to spiral out from it. Throughout the sewing process, Jacque’s family adds what they call “inside grass.” “Bigger, tougher pieces that aren’t so pliable for sewing, we would put on the inside. So, not wasting [grass] but it’s not impacting the smoothness of the art,” she says.


A close up of embroidery floss stitches within one of Ella Jacque’s untitled grassworks, Rigolet, 2022 © THE ARTIST
6. Adding colourful designs
While salt water grass can have beautiful natural colours, the colour often doesn’t last long, so other materials are used to create designs within the grasswork. These days, Jacque uses embroidery floss—adding a handful of stitches before returning to grass thread—but years ago they used synthetic raffia. “I think that’s part of the beauty [of the art process]; when it’s fresh off of the needle, it’s got these vibrant pops of colour. But as time goes on . . . the grass all fades to be the same colour,” she says.

7. Finishing a grasswork piece
Whether making a curving basket or a flat wallhanging, the sewing process ends the same way. “All pieces end by making the spiral smaller and smaller until it blends seamlessly into the rest of the piece,” says Jacque, and she notes that sewists must keep proportions in mind while making works that involve lids. “My grandmother always made a lot of grasswork baskets with covers on them. And my grandfather, Garland Baikie, used to [sculpt caribou antler knobs] for her. And so she would always incorporate one of those onto her baskets,” Jacque says.

To anchor a knob onto the lid, Jacque’s family usually uses synthetic sinew. “[Sinew is] so strong and reliable—you don’t have to worry about it breaking. For my grandfather’s pieces, he used to drill holes in his knobs so that [my grandmother] could sew them on, the same way you would sew a button on a shirt.”


Ella Jacque Untitled (2023) Salt water grass and embroidery floss 10.2 x 12.7 x 12.7 cm © THE ARTIST
Expressing the significance of practicing grass weaving, Jacque says, “I don’t want it to be something that dies away; I want it to keep going and keep being taught amongst generations because it’s such an important part of our culture, and I would love to be able to keep that alive in some way.” She also notes that practicing grass weaving can provide opportunities: “myself, my mother and my grandmother have all had different opportunities to travel with our art and showcase it. And that’s always really special to be able to bring a piece of home to somewhere [else] . . . and teach people and have those discussions about Inuit artwork. I think it’s important.” Jacque had one of these opportunities last summer where she showed her grandmother’s grassworks in the exhibition she co-curated within the 2025 Bonavista Biennale, Stitches We Share: From Grandmothers’ Hands to Ours.


Notes
1 All quotes Ella Jacque, interview with Tiffany Raddi, October 2025.

Read the rest of the series