If you grew up in Ely or lived in the area over the past 60 years, you would be familiar with the name Carl Gawboy.
If you Google Carl Gawboy, your search results will be many. I did just that and found an incredible collection of articles and writings about this man.
Carl, born in Cloquet, Minnesota of a Finnish mother and an Ojibwe father, is a member of the Bois Forte Band of the Minnesota Ojibwe and was raised on a farm outside of Ely, Minnesota. He graduated from Ely Memorial High School in 1960 and continued his education at the University of Minnesota Duluth where he earned a B.A. Arts degree. He continued his education at the University of Montana in Missoula where he received a master’s degree in American Indian Arts in 1972.
Carl taught for six years at the University of Minnesota Duluth (UMD) and 12 years at the College of St. Scholastica teaching watercolor painting and American Indian studies.
Carl has used his talents to create art pieces that have been reproduced and hundreds of prints made from them. I am fortunate to own three of these reproduction numbered and signed prints.
His talents go well beyond wall art as he has created wall murals in Cloquet, Ely, Bemidji, Superior and probably others I am not aware of. He spent 10 years completing a 33-panel mural series at the Superior Public Library, which traced Superior’s history. In 2007, he finished a mural for the new Grand Portage National Monument Interpretive Center.
In 2008, The Depot Foundation in Duluth recognized Carl Gawboy with the Arts and Culture Lifetime Artist Award.
Carl’s original works reside in permanent collections within the Ely-Winton Historical Society, the Minnesota Historical Society, The Indian Arts and Crafts Board, the Department of the Interior, and the Fond du Lac Reservation.
Over the span of Carl’s 83 years, he has painted more art pieces than he can remember or give an exact count to anyone who asks and still today, Carl’s art prolificacy continues.
There is one Gawboy painting that the world has never seen except for a few family and friends of Arne, Thelma, Truman and Curtiss Hinden. Until recently, it hung in a house in the Chandler location of Ely on a wall in a converted bathroom which many years ago was the bedroom of Arne and Thelma.
During a house tour, this painting caught my attention. I asked about it and learned it was the work of Carl Gawboy. What struck me immediately was that it bore no signature; every other painting of Carl’s I had ever encountered was signed. My curiosity got the better of me, so I asked how the painting came into being – and that is when the story unfolded.
Arne and Thelma Hinden were good friends of Carl’s parents, Helmi and Robert, and regularly got together to play cards. Because Thelma was a mother herself, she had a tender heart and hired Carl – a 23-year-old art graduate who had returned to Ely as a struggling artist – to paint their cabin on One Pine Lake. The lake lies just off Highway 21 on the road to Babbitt.
The year was 1965 when Thelma set the day and time for Carl to come out to their cabin. She had two of her young grandsons, Curtiss - age 5 and his younger brother Weston – age 3, for a sleepover the night before.
Thelma made lunch for the boys and as they were dilly-dallying at the table, she told them to hurry up and finish because, “Carl Gawboy was coming out to paint the cabin.” The boys finished and ran back down to the beach to hunt for frogs, tadpoles and or whatever else they could find.
Carl drove out to One Pine Lake in his favorite truck of all time -- his mother’s cream colored 1956 Chevy pickup. He parked beside the cabin then carried his paints and easel down to the beach. The two boys watched as he set up a chair and arranged his equipment, preparing to begin.
Curt looked at Weston and said, “Grandma’s gonna be mad. He is supposed to be painting the cabin.” Curt was in the mindset that this Carl guy was supposed to be changing the color on the outside cabin walls.
Carl finished the cabin painting but did not sign it. Thelma mentioned it many times over the years that she needed to get Carl back to the house to sign his painting, but that did not happen during her lifetime as Thelma passed at the ripe old age of 96 on July 3, 2006.
Last summer as we were having dinner at the Grand Ely Lodge, I noticed there are many paintings in the Evergreen Restaurant that were created by Carl Gawboy. Then the following week, I saw an article about an upcoming book Carl had created called, “Fur Trade Nation: An Ojibwe’s Graphic History.”
These two incidents finally pushed me to say to Curt that we really ought to contact Carl Gawboy and have him sign the painting before it was too late. He agreed, so I set out to figure out how to reach him.
After asking around, I learned that Ely’s Jim Beaty was a good friend of Carl’s. As luck would have it, I was introduced to Jim at last July’s Rock the Park event while my grandchildren were happily digging for coins and treasures in the sawdust pile. I love how life works sometimes -- mention something out loud and the pieces seem to arrange themselves. At times it feels as though simply giving a thought a voice brings it to life.
Jim told me Carl had moved to Silver Bay, and he had his phone number at home. I said I would call him to get it. As so often happens in life, the idea slipped away until my memory was nudged again. That nudging came at the beginning of February when I met a girlfriend for breakfast at the Grand Ely Lodge and, once more, noticed the Gawboy prints hanging on the walls.
After I got home, I called Jim for Carl’s contact information. With the number finally in hand, I dialed it right away – only to reach his voicemail.
I was a stranger to Carl Gawboy when I first called and tried to explain, in a rather nervous voicemail, what I had hoped to ask of him. I said I was writing a column for the Ely Echo about an art piece he had painted nearly 60 years earlier. After hanging up, I at once replayed the message in my mind and cringed, certain I could have done much better and doubtful he would return a call from an unknown and awkwardly sounding caller.
Much to my surprise and delight my phone rang the following afternoon, and it was Mr. Carl Gawboy! I told him the story about the painting, and he did not remember painting it but was curious to see it so we set up a meeting for two days later.
It was a beautiful warm sunny winter day when we took the ride down on Highway 1 and then to Highway 2 into Two Harbors to Carl’s house with the painting carefully placed in the back of my SUV.
We were met in the driveway by Carl’s stepson, and he brought us into the house and up to the door of Carl’s studio. We knocked and were greeted by a white-haired gentleman who rose to shake our hands and welcome us into his creative sanctuary.
At 83, Carl carries the quiet presence of a lifelong observer. His eyes still hold curiosity and his hands - steady and patient - continue to translate memory into color. Surrounded by the works of art he spent years creating, he paints not just what he sees, but what he remembers and understands.
Carl now uses a walking stick of diamond willow – less a crutch than a gentle stabilizer. It felt perfectly fitting that an artist would choose that type of handmade artistic walking aid alive with character rather than a sterile metal cane.
There is a gentleness about him, the calm confidence of someone who has lived fully, worked faithfully, and found purpose in creating beauty. He is the kind of artist who does not chase attention; instead, his work speaks softly and endures. I felt it just looking at his work, he paints the way some people pray – slowly, thoughtfully, and with gratitude for what he has seen in a long life well lived.
Not wanting to take up too much of Carl’s time, Curt moved straight into the story behind the painting, giving me a quiet moment to wander visually through the studio and take in his work. The room felt lived-in but intentional, each piece reflecting hours of careful thought and steady hands.
When Curt stepped out to the car to retrieve the painting, I seized the opportunity to ask Carl about his studio. He answered with an unassuming grace, never overstating his talent or process. In his calm presence, it was easy to see how he could sit for hours – fully absorbed – bringing to life what he first envisions in his mind’s eye.
I noticed there was a shelf with models of a few vintage vehicles. Carl pointed out that the cream 1956 Chevy was his favorite and was the one he was driving after college and about the time he would have painted the cabin. He commented it was his mother’s truck and his favorite vehicle of all time.
When Curt brought the painting into the studio, Carl looked at it and said, “I don’t think it’s mine.” As he looked at it closer, he said, “Oh – that is how I used to paint trees.” As he kept on studying the painting, he said, “I used to paint rocks like these.” After a few more minutes passed, he said, “I guess I did paint it.”
I asked about the framing, he admitted he was not any kind of carpenter. He turned the piece over and said apologetically, “I’m embarrassed to admit I framed this one as it has my triangular Masonite on the back,” and then he laughed.
We asked about having him sign the painting, and Curt told him how his grandma had hoped for years that he would someday do it. He told us that for some length of time he went without signing his work. He said he didn’t know why, he just did that. Then, Carl rose, gathered a brush, a few tubes of paint and a small round palette. It was a pleasure to watch him custom mix the color he would use to sign his work. He did it quickly, and somehow the shade of blue was exactly right.
We watched as Carl slowly placed his familiar signature in the bottom corner of the painting he had created six decades earlier. Letter by letter, he brushed out the six letters of his well-known last name. I snapped a few photos, grateful that the sun streamed through his large south-facing studio windows and fell directly across his weathered – and oh-so talented – right hand.
I caught myself holding my breath while he signed, as if I expected him to misspell his name, sneeze or the brush suddenly make a crooked move. Silly girl…
As we waited for his signature to dry, Carl showed us a watercolor he was working on. He was creating it from a memory shared by his mother. She rode a school bus that was on skis and pulled by horses. It was a watercolor and he had penciled in the features that he had yet to put paint to. He was using old photos for references like the blankets on the horses – a necessity on an extremely cold Minnesota winter day.
We wrapped up our visit after Carl checked that his newly painted signature was dry. Sixty years after the first brushstroke, time had passed but the art had not faded and neither had the quiet humility of the artist who created it. We had just witnessed six decades of devotion to his craft and another quiet chapter in Ely’s art history was sealed in paint.
For over 40 years, Thelma Hinden had wanted the painting signed. Carl, humble as ever, treated it as an ordinary task with the same calm humility he carried in his studio, never making a moment of it. To Thelma’s grandson Curtiss, it was completion and the closing of a family circle.
As we got back onto Highway 2, Thelma’s grandson grew quiet for the first few miles. His eyes were damp and he said aloud to her that it was finished at last. For sure, now we know Grandma was not gonna be mad at all.
