Cheyenne Rain LeGrande ᑭᒥᐘᐣ on Being a Nehiyaw Alien: In Conversation with Nawang Tsomo Kinkar

The day I was to speak with the artist Cheyenne Rain LeGrande, my computer’s webcam was failing me. It was a technological issue I had neither the experience, time, or patience to fix. On the other end of my blank video screen was Le Grande and her fidgety dog. I could hear them waiting for me while I mumbled nonsense solutions to myself, praying for a glitch in the universe to send a quick fix my way. I almost suggested logging off to reboot my computer entirely, but then her angelic voice came through the virtual vortex connecting us: “We could just do audio.” One way to solve a problem was to not solve it at all. I could go with the flow.

Le Grande is a Nehiyaw Isko artist from Big Stone Cree Nation, now residing in amiskwaciy-wâskahikan (Edmonton, Alberta). I first saw her perform at the Centre for Cultural & Artistic Practices (C’cap), a small artist-run gallery located at the outskirts of the Exchange District in Winnipeg, Treaty 1 territory. On the evening of the event, a full house gathered for the artist and her mother, singer-songwriter Cikwes. The program was held together by Mullyanne Nîmito (2022), a performance and video work central in Le Grande’s practice thus far. Mullyanne was a Nehiyaw elder who, Le Grande was told, would “Natohksisot” (dress in all kinds of ways). The name was passed down to her mother, Cikwes, and then gifted to Le Grande herself. As a young child, she was called Little Mullyanne.

In the dimly-lit space of C’cap, wrapped in a beer-tab-bedazzled shawl with a colourful fringe, she floated on her handmade platform moccasins while her Cree-language version of Dreams by Fleetwood Mac filled the gallery. From the white ruffled socks and shiny pink shorts to the pearl hair clips and candy-coloured makeup, Le Grande embodies the legacy of Mullyanne in her presentation and style. During the performance at C’cap, Le Grande’s video piece projected Alberta’s Lake Wabasca on the wall behind her as she danced with free-flowing and fluid gestures, her satin fringe glistening against the backdrop of the sky. In a night that felt like a fever dream, she shape-shifted from a bird to a mermaid to an early 2000s pop star. Months later, we spoke at length about her generational healing, language reclamation, and creative aspirations. Between giggles and sighs, she told me she prefers to be called a “Nehiyaw alien.”

Cheyenne Rain LeGrande (CRL): I refer to myself as a Nehiyaw alien because of how I present myself to the world. The way I choose to look, especially when I perform, I am always thinking through the possibility of portals and other timelines. Nehiyaw people are very connected to the stars. I love the idea of outer space and aliens! Feeling like a celestial being and feeling connected to my ancestors through the stars and to all the things I can’t physically see is how I move through the world. I feel immensely lucky to be here. I’m in a special moment in time where my healing journey has led me to create art that speaks to my identity. My queer identity is also embedded in this. I recently changed my pronouns to she/they. All those who are watching over me, even those whom I can’t physically see, are my home. Even when people pass away, they are still here. For me, all of this is encapsulated in being a Nehiyaw alien.

Nawang Tsomo Kinkar (NTK): You’ve spoken about being influenced by celebrated Anishinaabekwe artist, Rebecca Belmore. Can you share with us how you began in performance art and what the beginning of this work was like for you?

CRL: During my last year of a BFA at Emily Carr University (ECU) in Vancouver, I met Rebecca Belmore at a gallery opening. I was a big fan of her work through art school, and she became someone who really inspired me. When I met her for coffee, I showed her some of my work. Rebecca was the person who saw the potential for performance in my work. In those days, I was involved in performance through photography. Instead of doing the performance only for the camera, she encouraged me to perform live. The transition into live performance felt very organic. Nehiyaw Isko (2019) was one of my first performance works. For this piece, I cover my body in red pigment and use a sheer white fabric to scrub off the colour, while also rubbing my body on the walls of the ECU gallery. During this time, I was thinking a lot about the role of Indigenous femme bodies in institutional spaces and thinking through stereotypes about red skin. The red pigment is a colour of the earth and is also a motif that represents protection. Looking back, much of my work came together through performance. I was making wearable garments and drawing inspiration from contemporary fashion as well as traditional regalia. At the beginning of my practice, a lot of my work was about working through intergenerational trauma. Performance allowed me to express the pain and became a form of release for me, a practice that allowed me to begin healing. This process has brought me to a place where my work is now about intergenerational joy, resilience, love and a reclamation of lost practices. To have an artist like Rebecca Belmore, who has paved the way for many Indigenous artists, guide me in my early years as a professional artist was really special. A dream would be to fully collaborate with her and create work together. Maybe one day that can happen. A gal can dream!

NTK: Making work with others, whether performing together or learning and sharing knowledge and stories with your family and kin, is a large part of your artistic process. You often perform with your mother, Cikwes, who also made a special guest appearance at C’cap. How has your relationship as mother-daughter influenced your relationship as artistic collaborators?

CRL: It all began with those smelly markers! I remember when I was little, I used to play and doodle with those markers that smell like blueberries and strawberries…I think they’re called Mr. Sketch. Both of my parents really fostered creativity in our home and supported my journey as an artist. I know not everyone has that. I still doodle, but now the shapes and forms feel very spiritual to me. They feel like a different language. My mother also does them.

My mother, Cikwes, has been a singer and songwriter my entire life. The first time we officially performed together was as part of Nehiyaw Isko. We’ve performed the work at ECU’s gallery, along Vancouver’s Seawall, and I also brought it back home to our rez, where I performed around a ring of fire in my Kokum’s backyard and on the frozen lake. The gestures in each iteration were essentially the same, but we were also responding to the distinct environments. Responding to the movements I made, my mother sang and made sounds—both of us attuned to the energies around us.

NTK: During one of our previous conversations, you mentioned performing Nehiyaw Isko at your rez in Wabasca. Can you talk about your experience taking this work back to your community? In thinking through this issue, which is concerned with the domestic, I’m wondering what comes to mind when you think of this term. How does it inform your personal and political reality?

CRL: I think of home immediately. I didn’t grow up on the rez, but I spent many summers there. My kokum, all my cousins, and a lot of my mother’s side of the family live there. I feel very connected to the land in Wabasca. Returning home and bringing Nehiyaw Isko back to our land was very important for me. My uncle collected wood from the forest near my kokum’s house and helped me build the ring of fire for this performance. My kokum has always been afraid of the world. I think because of the traumas of colonialism that she was witness to, she prefers to stay in her own home. This fear of the outside world has only increased the older she has become. When I performed Nehiyaw Isko near her house, she came out onto her small back porch to watch me. I remember she found it hilarious that I was playing with synthetic sheer fabric—which could have probably caught fire—and commented that I was crazy for doing that. Humour is a big part of my family! I also remember the first time I showed her the platform moccasins I made. I put them on and came out and saw her reaction. She had never seen platform moccasins. At the same time, she also wasn’t surprised because she has always seen me in platform shoes. I remember doing a twirl in them for her, and she was in awe at the sight. She loved it!

NTK: You made the bepsishawl that you wear in Mullyanne Nîmito out of 3300 beer and pop can tabs, and view it as protective armour. What is the protection against, and who are you protecting?

CRL: I think a lot about Indigenous youth. The armour is a protection for them as well, not just for me. I think that many of our youth have a difficult time knowing that they’re also worthy of life and joy. I pray for their healing so that they can find their way on their journey to a good place. When I think about the theme of protection and the motif of armour in my work, it’s for the people in my community, our land, and the environment. I made a photography series titled Mullyanne Nîmito Maskotêw wearing the beer tab shawl in Edmonton when the wildfires were ongoing in Alberta. The images look very high-contrast and overexposed, but that’s how the colour of the environment actually looked because of the smoke. The Earth is undergoing an intense period of change. I wear that shawl to protect the Earth and all of us.

NTK: The passing down of protection brings us back to the knowledge that is being exchanged with you through your family. The invisible force of intergenerational knowledge is embodied by the shawl. I’m thinking about this particularly in the context of the Cree language, nêhiyawêwin. Can you tell us about your choice of song for Mullyanne Nîmito and how you navigate barriers and access to language?

CRL: Dreams is a song that feels timeless. My mother and I both love it. I know that it’s also a very recognizable song and a big part of popular culture. The video of a man skateboarding and drinking cranberry juice to this song comes to mind. It went viral on social media a few years ago! 

I have all the lyrics of Dreams memorized, including the Cree translation, which was tricky because there are so many more syllables in our language. Finding that same rhythm with more syllables was a fun and interesting challenge. My access to our language has been through song, which has been my way of learning nêhiyawêwin. Once, when we were all going through the lyrics together, my mother was having trouble translating a phrase. My kokum had her own translation, which was not necessarily the same as my mom’s version. There are so many ways meaning is formed through Cree words. I’m grateful to have my mother and my kokum guide me through the translations.

At the C’cap performance you attended in Winnipeg, I also performed the demo of my first song towards the end of the show. I’ll be translating those lyrics into Cree with the help of my family as well. I am working towards writing and producing a Cree pop album, set to release in the next year or so. I’ve always been creating sounds, but not necessarily making music. Sound to me is music. These genres are all the same; I move through them fluidly.

NTK: What is the most important part of language reclamation for you?

CRL: It’s the reclamation of my language that is of most significance. For me, listening to Indigenous languages that come from this land is a form of land acknowledgement. When audiences hear our language, it is a very powerful experience. I find myself in a middle place where I’m around the language, but I can’t completely understand it. I’m still learning. I also think that nêhiyawêwin is a very beautiful-sounding language. The sounds are soothing and provide me with a lot of comfort. The syllabics in our language also look like an alien language. I say this because they just look so magical to me visually. To me, the word “alien” references something magical, something beautiful— I love the way our language looks. I work with a lot of syllabics when I show work or perform in galleries. I’ve even painted them on the walls. I often paint the word “sâkihitowin” which means “love” in Cree. My mom has a song called cahkipehikan ᒐᐦᑭᐯᐦᐃᑲᐣ nikamowin ᓂᑲᒧᐃᐧᐣ about Cree alphabets. I remember she sang it at the C’cap performance.

NTK: Yes, I remember! She brought her drum and asked the audience to sing along, and we repeated the Cree alphabet after her. I remember watching both of you against a starry night sky backdrop. It felt very special to be invited to share your language, even for that brief moment.

CRL: My mom has taught me that these are sounds from the universe. The syllabics are seen and heard as spiritual markers. They are magical and mystical.

NTK: There was such a diverse crowd that night at C’cap, so it’s safe to say that many people in the audience do not speak nêhiyawêwin. Have you performed Mullyanne Nîmito in Wabasca? What has the reception been like from your own community?

CRL: Last summer, I was invited to perform Mullyanne Nîmito at a community centre in Wabasca as part of their Culture Days programming. I remember three young children came up to me in the middle of the performance wanting to dance with me, so I invited them to join, and it was so precious. They were jumping up and down to the song! When we performed in Wabasca, there were many elders in the audience. It was the first time that I knew there were definitely people in the audience who would be able to understand what I was singing. I try to be as open and honest as possible, because sometimes I might mispronounce Cree words or say them in a way that is different from others. Their reception was very special. People are understanding of this. I am trying and still learning, and they admire it. It’s an honour to be on my homelands and be able to perform in and around nipiy, the water; pahkisimon, the sunsets; and askiy, the land.

NTK: Is there any advice you’d like to pass down to the next generation of Indigenous artists?

CRL: I really want the next generation to know that it can be difficult to navigate our society as a queer and Indigenous person. But I want people to know that we have each other. I believe in you and I love you.

Cheyenne Rain LeGrande ᑭᒥᐊᐧᐣ is a Nehiyaw artist, from Bigstone Cree Nation. They currently reside in Amiskwaciy Waskahikan also known as Edmonton, Alberta.Their work is an expression of love, intergenerational resilience and intergenerational joy. Through the use of their body and language, they speak to the past, present and future. Cheyenne’s work is rooted in the strength to feel, express and heal. Their work explores the hybrid space between tradition and nehiyaw pop culture. Bringing her ancestors with her, she moves through installation, photography, fashion, video, sound, and performance art.

Nawang Tsomo Kinkar is an emerging arts writer and curator based between Toronto and Winnipeg. She is the inaugural recipient of the TD Curatorial Fellowship at WAG-Qaumajuq and the 2025 Writing Fellow at Gallery TPW. Her writing has been published by 10×10 Photobooks, Peripheral Review, Inuit Art Quarterly, among others.

This article is published in issue 42.2 of BlackFlash magazine. Get this issue