Metis artist Christi Belcourt stands infront of her artwork 'Honouring My Spirit Helpers' in the Ballroom at Rideau Hall in Ottawa on Wednesday, June 26. A press release noted that Belcourt's work was installed on National Indigenous Peoples Day, Honouring My Spirit Helpers explores the interconnectedness of water, land and spirit, and demonstrates the Governor General’s commitment to highlighting Indigenous excellence.Sean Kilpatrick/The Canadian Press
Métis visual artist Christi Belcourt is known internationally for her gorgeous floral paintings inspired by traditional Indigenous beadwork. What’s the very opposite of following your passion to create meticulous art to wide appreciation and acclaim? That’d be waiting tables, obviously.
We’re about to walk way down memory lane: The very first job I had was at a banquet hall in Nepean, outside Ottawa. I was 15, so it would have been 1981. It wasn’t a full-time job; it was only when they’d call you in for a shift because someone was having a party. If I was lucky, there’s be two or three banquets a week. But if there were no banquets, there was no work and no money.
It was at a community-type hall. Maybe some people would call it fancy, while for others, maybe not. People would rent it for birthday parties or weddings, but we weren’t really in on why people were there. It didn’t matter to us; we weren’t at the party. They made us wear these awful black polyester pants and a white button-up shirt. It was uncomfortable and it did not look good.
Lots of the job was just set-up: I’d start at 2 o’clock in the afternoon to get the tables ready. We tried to make the place look nice with tablecloths and we’d have to carefully fold the napkins. Everyone ate the same meal, and all the meals, whatever they were, smelled the exact same. I’d deliver plates to the table and clear the tables when everyone was done. I’d usually stay until the party ended around 9 or 10. The good thing about being employed at 15 is that you’re the first to be sent home because of all the labour laws they’re breaking.
The bad thing about being employed at 15 is they can pay you whatever you want. The hall paid $17. Not $17 an hour; $17 for the whole banquet. If anyone tipped a server, which they almost never did, you had to hand it over to the owners anyhow. I knew I was being taken advantage of and the pay wasn’t worth it, so I quit as soon as I could. I don’t think I even lasted the whole summer.
I dropped out of high school not long afterward and went looking to be a waitress proper. I remember walking down Elgin Street in Ottawa, going restaurant to restaurant, asking if they were hiring. One fellow said “Yes, come try it out,” we’ll see. He had me work for two days for him, cleaning and scrubbing everything in the whole place, before telling me it wasn’t going to work out after all. I was so disheartened and sad to know that I was blatantly being taken advantage of and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I was only 17, but I lied and said I was 18 so I could get a better gig. I ended up waitressing for a long time. Compared to the banquet hall, it was pretty good, but also a lot harder to do. I had to almost rewire my mind entirely to learn how to multitask. When you have eight or 10 tables, everyone orders different meals and everyone needs something. You have to learn to prioritize and make lists in your mind and check things off the list as quickly as possible. Whatever you end up doing, knowing how to multitask is a very useful skill.
I got pretty good at waitressing, but I still didn’t make much money. There were times I had to either pay my phone bill or buy groceries. I had to make those hard choices all the time and it’s not right. Everyone deserves to earn a decent living wage. A person should not have to work two or three jobs and still not make enough money to make ends meet.
Obviously, I always tip really well now. More importantly, I think about how hard people work in all the jobs that keep things moving for the rest of us. Plumbers, electricians, people who work on sewers – we owe these people so much and we rarely show them that their work has value. Everybody’s work is important and everyone deserves to be paid.
This is true in art, too, actually. The first painting I sold was for $100 to my then-husband’s aunt, who said she wanted to be the first person to buy one of my paintings. It gave me so much confidence to know she was willing to pay real money, because I knew how hard it is to make that money doing other things.
As told to Rosemary Counter