Cordova is a relatively quiet town. Hallowed buildings of its history’s past bustle with citizens, new and old, alongside its numerous visitors, coming either for work or game. Despite the town’s name infamously immortalized alongside that of Exxon-Valdez, the resilience of those who remained, came, or returned, to pick up the pieces has sustained the isolated town.

 

Memory can be considered as the ultimate history. Through remembrance, we provide ourselves a discernible identity. Photographs and images prove to be our most modern form of maintaining memories. Moments captured are fleeting, yet emotions resonate in that static movement. Cordova, filled with a sense of hope against a backdrop of beauty and isolation, has luckily found its own “keeper of memories”: a local indigenous photographer named Mark.

 

Mark Hoover is a Cordovan who hails from a mixed blood background of white and Alutiiq, native peoples of the Aleutian Island chain and western Alaska. Born in 1948, Hoover moved as a child from Cordova to Edmonds, Washington, where his father pursued a degree in art. “[My] dad was an artist and all of his pieces were relationships of human beings and [bird spirits]. Both in the same piece. I watched him develop as an artist and his relationship with those spirits.” Unbeknownst to either Hoover, his father would not be the last in their line to find spirituality and passion through artistic means.

 

In a small, cool apartment nudged in rear hills of town, Hoover tells me of his first encounter with what many native Alaskan and American cultures consider a symbol of creation and trickery: a raven. While berry-picking, a young Mark and his father spotted a group of juvenile ravens. “My natural thing, I went to go pick up a rock and throw it at the birds. Just halfway through the throw, my dad says ‘you better not do that’.” He threw the rock anyway. And what happened next was almost too fitting to be considered coincidence. “[A bit later on], I heard a raven, looked up and I fell on my knee and put nine pieces of glass into my knee. But it was like, ‘Okay, did [the raven] do that on purpose because of the rock thing?” he jokes, now understanding the justice served. He finishes the story by reminiscing on the ravens’ impact on him since their first meeting. He shared, “[It’s a] really strong feeling, I’ve carried that with me throughout my entire life.” While his introduction with the mythological trickster was tense, it would be far from either side’s last meeting.

 

After four years in Washington, Hoover and his father found themselves returning to Cordova, taking up fishing for business and adventure. For his old man, Alaska remained to be home base and sanctuary. But Hoover, whose youth and love for playing guitar filled him with passion, decided to leave Alaska once more. Upon reaching his early 20s, he struck out with his band, “Washburn”, to play shows all along the west coast in Idaho, Oregon, and California. While the musician’s life had its perks, the consistent on-the-move lifestyle, however, began to take a toll on him. Soon after arriving in Los Angeles, Hoover found himself in a rut. He could only articulate his feelings during those days as being, “one of those guys that was going to go somewhere behind Kurt Cobain.” An escape was desperately needed. Thankfully, an old friend called about a media opportunity back in Washington with the “United Indians of All Types Foundation”. With this chance to move from music to media production, Hoover’s new opportunity saw his travels and world experience persist. Whether it was shooting stills for clients in the “Lower 48” or traveling to Germany to shoot indigenous culture documentaries, he had finally found his true calling and passion in photography.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hoover’s latest return to Alaska during the 90s originated from a sense of obligation and responsibility. “I was playing basketball down in Washington with some native peoples on some reservations down there and some of them were from Alaska; and they were talking about the new stuff that was happening-” The “new stuff” were not matters of artistry or music opportunity, but that of indigenous sovereignty movements. “I decided, well I’m just going to get out of here and head up north and see what I can do in the village because everything is kind of local. You can have universal plans, but you need to start somewhere and that’s with yourself first and then with your people.”

 

Since his homecoming, Hoover’s photographs have given Cordova a visible personality through images of its people, lifestyles, and local wildlife. Aluminum prints gleam along the walls of the local Cordova Historical Museum and Illanka Cultural Center; a museum focusing on the culture and history of the indigenous local Eyak village. The most prominent subjects of his detailed work? Much like his father, birds. Screeching eagles with aggressive eyes that seem to glare back at you. An inquisitive magpie caught flaunting its white underbelly mid-flight. Ravens specifically, in spite of previous transgressions between Hoover and the sleek, acrobatic creatures, make up the majority of his substantial body of avian-based work. “They are like family, it’s like friends. [Before], when there wasn’t very many of them, you could tell who they were.”

 

Let us now make things transparent. This is not an introduction to a secret indigenous power nor nature spiritual practice. There will be no mention of wise, talking trees or human-like wildlife companions. Simply put, Hoover’s relationships with Cordova’s bird population has been forged with respect and time… and little bits of beef fat. He describes these connections with the ravens best with this explanation. "Years of watching their movements and their actions and how they develop that relationship with a human being. The spiritual part in the old days, people used to talk about communicating with the animals and the birds and having spirit helpers. It’s just that something humanity lost is that ability to interact with all aspects of the world and the earth that we live on.”

 

The ravens of Cordova have come to represent much more than the stereotypical devious food snatchers or western symbols of despair. In Hoover’s eyes, they stand as reminders of his father, the man who first instilled the importance of the ravens within him. Aside from nostalgic sensation, the cackling corvids have also become teachers, as unconventional as it sounds. Their lessons are learned through careful observation and interaction, as Hoover attests. “It takes a long time and some patience. [You’re] learning all kinds of stuff like humility, in their presence, because to make that link is such an amazing thing to hook up with these birds and have them know me and be a part of their family, it seems like.”

 

Hoover takes it upon himself to imbue those lessons further within his life by perpetuating values of unity and respect for the people of Cordova. “[Humanity] is in such a crazy state that they can’t, for some reason, find the ability to learn what humility is and what generosity towards other people - we need to be developing our own spiritual qualities within ourselves, and then that needs to project to others; so that unity just keeps building.”

 

For himself, capturing the memories of his home and people is just one half of this self-imposed journey. The other half? To show others, through example, what unity amongst all people is and that it is indeed achievable. “That’s sort of what I have thought about in the village here, if we can unify ourselves and be an example of what happens when it occurs, then others can see that…”