Inuit Art Quarterly - Kappianaqtuq: Those To Be Feared by Inuit Art Quarterly

CONTENTS

32.1

Inuit Art Quarterly Kappianaqtut Those to Be Feared

Front

Features

04 Contributors

FICTION 26 The Teehee Rock

05 From the Editors 06 Message from the Board 06 Impact Update 5 WORKS

12 Ice Breakers HIGHLIGHTS

14 A sneak peek at some current

and upcoming exhibitions and projects.

Back

A unique rock formation holds a horrific and haunting secret.

LEGACY

62 Whispers and Dreams: The Prints of Tivi Etok

Beings, creatures and more from traditional stories vividly appear in this piece that revisits the brevity and terror captured in the work of the first Inuit artist to receive a solo print release.

by Heather Campbell FICTION 30 One Old Woman

Spirits abound in even the most intimate moments of love and loss.

by Taqralik Partridge FICTION

CURATORIAL NOTES

64 Mary Yuusipik Singaqti: Back River Memories

A curator reflects on the first retro spective of a graphic artist, sculptor and seamstress and her striking autobiographical works that provide an invaluable look at life on the land.

34 Before Dawn

When a friend is not what he appears, it’s a race to survive the night.

by Jamesie Fournier CHOICE

18 Alberta Rose W. by Erin Sutherland CHOICE

20 Anne-Birthe Hove by Laila Lund Altinbas PROFILE

22 Katherine Takpannie by Ashley McLellan

38 The Nomadic and the Monstrous: The Stories of Victoria Mamnguqsualuk With a body of work that continues to speak to contemporary issues of displacement, scarcity and community, this Feature explores the breadth of Mamnguqsualuk’s depictions of the legendary Inuit wanderer Kiviuq as well as scenes of horrific and humorous beasts. Taken together, these epic narratives, spread across drawings, prints and wall hangings, offer powerful insights into the interdependencies of a globalized world.

by Chris Hampton Page 22 Katherine Takpannie’s intimate self-portraits and expansive scenes reveal the nuances of urban Inuit life.

Kappianaqtut

46 Creature Feature

The circumpolar North is rich in oral histories that infuse land-based knowledge with non-human forces to present profound lessons for negotiating the world. These stories of often frightening and sometimes helpful creatures also function as repositories for intergenerational knowledge, enriching and growing with each retell ing. In this one-of-a-kind Portfolio, we share the tales of eight entities inhabiting the Arctic landscape through the eyes of artists working throughout Inuit Nunangat.

by John Geoghegan

by Darlene Coward Wight

ᐊᕙᑖᓂᑦ ᑕᒪᐃᓐᓂᑦ ᓄᓇᑐᐃᓐᓇᓂᑦ Among All These Tundras

REVIEW

Leonard & Bina Ellen Art Gallery

by Julia Skelly REVIEW

70 Split Tooth Tanya Tagaq by Norma Dunning TRIBUTE

72 Josie Pitseolak Elisapee Ishulutaq Temela Oopik 74 News LAST LOOK

76 Judas Ullulaq ON THE COVER

Tim Pitsiulak (1967–2016 Kinngait) — Qalupalik Maqgoo (detail) 2012 Coloured pencil 146 × 50 cm REPRODUCED WITH PERMISSION DORSET FINE ARTS COURTESY NATIONAL GALLERY OF CANADA

Front

Home to the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s largest public collection of contemporary Inuit art. Thousands of artworks, thousands of stories to share.

MASTHEAD

CONTRIBUTORS

PUBLISHER

EDITORIAL

BOARD OF DIRECTORS

The Inuit Art Quarterly is published by the Inuit Art Foundation.

Executive Director and Publisher Alysa Procida

President Mathew Nuqingaq Iqaluit, NU

Editorial Director Britt Gallpen

Past President Sammy Kudluk Kuujjuaq, QC

Established in 1987, the Inuit Art Foundation is a not-for-profit charitable organization that provides support to Canada’s Inuit arts communities and is the sole national body mandated to promote Inuit artists and art within Canada and internationally. This magazine relies on donations made to the Inuit Art Foundation, a registered charitable organization in Canada (BN #121033724RR0001) and the United States (#980140282). The Inuit Art Foundation gratefully acknowledges the support of the Government of Canada through contributions from the Reconciliation Secretariat at Crown-Indigenous Relations and Northern Affairs Canada and the Department of Canadian Heritage, as well as the Ontario Arts Council, Canada Council for the Arts and Ontario Creates. Subscriptions subscribe@inuitartfoundation.org Canada: $33/yr. Excludes GST/HST. US: $44/yr. Elsewhere: $48/yr. GST/HST #121033724RT0001. The Inuit Art Quarterly is a member of Magazines Canada. Publication date of this issue: March 15, 2019 ISSN 0831-6708 Publication Mail Agreement #40050252 Postmaster send address changes to Inuit Art Foundation. Return undeliverable Canadian addresses to: Inuit Art Foundation 1655 Dupont Street Toronto, ON, M6P 3T1 (647) 498-7717 inuitartfoundation.org ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. REPRODUCTION WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE PUBLISHER IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. THE INUIT ART QUARTERLY IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR UNSOLICITED MATERIAL. THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN THE INUIT ART QUARTERLY ARE NOT NECESSARILY THOSE OF THE INUIT ART FOUNDATION. PRINTED IN CANADA. DISTRIBUTED BY MAGAZINES CANADA. FROM TIME TO TIME WE MAKE OUR SUBSCRIBERS’ NAMES AVAILABLE TO COMPANIES WHOSE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES WE FEEL MAY BE OF INTEREST TO YOU. TO BE EXCLUDED FROM THESE MAILINGS, PLEASE SEND YOUR REQUEST, ALONG WITH A COPY OF YOUR SUBSCRIPTION MAILING LABEL, TO THE ADDRESS ABOVE.

Editor-at-Large Taqralik Partridge Senior Editor John Geoghegan Managing Editor Evan Pavka Proﬁles Editor Ashley McLellan Contributing Editor Napatsi Folger Contributing Editor Emily Henderson Copy Editor Simone Wharton Advertising Manager Nicholas Wattson Design Emily Tu Colour Gas Company

Jamie Cameron Toronto, ON Patricia Feheley Toronto, ON Heather Igloliorte Montreal, QC Helen Kaloon Uqsuqtuuq, NU Ryan Rice Toronto, ON —

EDITORIAL ADVISORY COUNCIL

Mary Dailey Desmarais Kim Latreille Samia Madwar Sarah Milroy Elizabeth Qulaut

Heather Campbell Heather Campbell is an Ottawa-based visual artist originally from Rigolet, Nunatsiavut, NL and holds a BFA from Memorial University of Newfoundland. Most recently, her work was included in the group exhibition SakKijâjuk: Art and Craft from Nunatsiavut (2016–2019). She has work in various public and private collections and her writing has appeared in Canadian Art, with this being her first published work of fiction. PAGE 26

Jamesie Fournier Jamesie Fournier is a 35-year-old Inuk who enjoys the horror and beauty of his culture’s stories. Originally from Yellowknife, NT, he lives and teaches in Fort Smith, NT. In his spare time, he is an amateur fisherman, poet and cook. In 2018, he was the runner-up for the Sally Manning Award in 2018. His writing has appeared in Up Here, Northern Public Affairs and in Coming Home (2012). PAGE 34

Chris Hampton Chris Hampton is a freelance arts and culture writer based in Toronto, ON. His work has appeared in the New York Times, The National Post, Canadian Art, The Walrus, Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail and CBC Arts, among others. PAGE 38

Printing Interprovincial Group — Igloo Tag Coordinator Blandina Makkik Development Manager Christa Ouimet

Taqralik Partridge

Administrative Assistant Brittany Holliss

Nunatsiavut Community Liaison Holly Anderson

Taqralik Partridge is a writer and multidisciplinary artist originally from Kuujjuaq, Nunavik, QC. Her writing has appeared in Inuktitut, ArtsEverywhere, Maisonneuve and CBC Books, among others, and she recently co-curated the exhibition Tunirrusiangit: Kenojuak Ashevak and Tim Pitsiulak at the Art Gallery of Ontario. She is Inuit Art Quarterly’s inaugural Editor-at-Large. PAGE 30

Nunavut Community Liaison Jesse Tungilik

Darlene Coward Wight

Archives Coordinator Joanna McMann Fellowship Community Resource Liaison Emma Steen

Darlene Coward Wight has been Curator of Inuit Art at the Winnipeg Art Gallery since 1986 and in that time has curated over 80 exhibitions. She holds an honorary doctorate from the University of Manitoba and has written and edited 18 exhibition catalogues, including the award-winning The Harry Winrob Collection of Inuit Sculpture (2008) and Creation and Transformation: Defining Moments in Inuit Art (2012). PAGE 64

Southern Canada East Community Liaison Darcie Bernhardt Southern Canada West Community Liaison Alberta Rose Williams IAQ Profiles Program Ofﬁcer Kristen McLaughlin IAQ Profiles Education Officer Serena Ypelaar Inuit Art Foundation Archives Ofﬁcer Kasey Ball

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

FROM THE EDITORS

Turn to page 38 to discover a selection of legends, creatures and spirits captured in drawings, prints and wall hangings. Victoria Mamnguqsualuk (1930–2016 Qamani’tuaq) — Keeveeok’s Journey 1969 Printmaker: Ruby Arngna’naaq (1947–2013) Stencil 51.4 × 81.3 cm COURTESY WADDINGTON’S

The circumpolar North is rich with oral histories that frame both human and supernatural worlds. This issue of the Inuit Art Quarterly is dedicated primarily to those darker tales from the Inuit narrative lexicon, stories of Kappianaqtut (Those to Be Feared) that reveal the contours of moral, social and familial values. Setting the scene for this issue is a beautifully menacing image by graphic artist Tim Pitsiulak (1967–2016). Qalupalik Maqgoo (2012) captures a pivotal, heart-racing moment of dread, as the wriggling appendages of an unknown creature slowly reach up to grasp a child’s submerged, sneaker-clad feet. Enveloping them both, the deep, cold darkness of the Arctic Ocean stretches beyond. The sea-dwelling qalupalik, one of several beings explored in this issue, are said to live under the ice, waiting to carry away children who play too close to the floe edge. Bringing together these and other spirits, our Portfolio “Creature Feature” presents a selection of artworks from the Inuvialuit Settlement Region to Nunatsiavut. Perhaps the most iconic and farreaching character of all, Kiviuq and his legendary epic are explored in a feature on Victoria Mamnguqsualuk (1930–2016) by Chris Hampton. “The Nomadic and the Monstrous” explores the enduring themes of Kiviuq’s story—movement and migration, bravery and danger, family, community and perseverance—through Mamnguqsualuk’s evocative drawings, prints and textile works, created over more than six decades. Complementing Kiviuq’s epochal narrative, our Feature section is rounded out by three short contemporary fiction pieces, published here for the first time. Authored by Heather Campbell, Jamesie Fournier and Taqralik Partridge, IAQ’s inaugural

Editor-at-Large, each recounts a haunting tale framed with original illustrations by Megan Kyak-Monteith, Jason Sikoak and Zebede Evaluardjuk-Fournier. Finally, our Profile and Legacy sections consider two artists, working across vastly different media, both with a keen storytelling sensibility. Ottawa-based photographer Katherine Takpannie, whose captivating images conceal as much as they reveal, is spotlighted as an artist to watch, while the singular prints of Tivi Etok’s solo print release Whispering in My Ears and Mingling with My Dreams (1975) are given a fresh look. Despite what might seem at first an unlikely pairing, the abilities of both artists to unravel a story and evoke emotion make them a natural fit for an issue rooted in the power of narrative, whether visual, oral or textual. Lastly, we would like to take this opportunity to welcome two new additions to the IAQ editorial team, Napatsi Folger and Emily Henderson who join us as Contributing Editors. We look forward to working with them over the coming months to introduce you to even more artists working across the North and beyond. Britt Gallpen Editorial Director

Taqralik Partridge Editor-at-Large

“On behalf of the whole IAQ team, I would like to share our enthusiasm and extend our heartfelt welcome to Taqralik. For the first time, a core editorial position of IAQ will be held by an Inuk and we are honoured our inaugural Editor-atLarge is Taqralik.” – Britt Gallpen, Editorial Director Kappianaqtut

Front

THANK YOU

Impact Update

Thanks to you—the artists, collectors, curators, dealers, subscribers, donors and enthusiasts who support the Inuit Art Foundation—Inuit artists continue to explore new avenues for professional growth, international exposure and self-expression.

MESSAGE FROM THE BOARD

Looking Forward

PHOTO FEHELEY FINE ARTS

Inuit Art Quarterly

Last year marked many milestones for the Inuit Art Foundation, and I look forward to many more on the horizon. Already this year our team has grown to include Taqralik Partridge, the inaugural Editor-at-Large, as well as two new Contributing Editors, Napatsi Folger and Emily Henderson. We also welcome Ryan Rice to the IAF Board of Directors. As a long-time supporter and contributor to the IAQ, we are thrilled to have him as part of the board and anticipate the addition of two more members in the coming months. We also look towards the spring, when the media collective Isuma will represent Canada at the 58th Venice Biennale, marking the first Inuit artists to represent the country at the prestigious event. What unifies these many accomplishments? The immense talent of artists working across Inuit Nunangat and beyond 6

as well as you, our generous donors, and your love of Inuit art. You make all of this possible. Thank you for being part of our community, one that I am delighted to see continuing to grow. On behalf of the Board of Directors, I look forward to sharing another exciting year with you. Sammy Kudluk Past President, Inuit Art Foundation

ABOVE

Effie Angali’taaq Arnaluaq (b. 1936 Qamani’tuaq) — An Arctic Community c. 1970 Stone 35.6 × 61 cm COURTESY WADDINGTON’S

Spring 2019

THANK YOU

Monthly gift supporter Endowment fund supporter Kenojuak Ashevak Memorial

Sustainers $5,000+ Christopher Bredt and Jamie Cameron Susan Carter Erik Haites Hugh Hall Patrick Odier John and Joyce Price The Herb and Cece Schreiber Foundation and one anonymous donor

Award supporter Publications fund supporter

Thank You! You, the generous donors listed below, ensure the Inuit Art Quarterly is published and that artists throughout Inuit Nunangat are supported and celebrated. Your gifts provide stable funding for artist programs year-round and provide an exciting future for Inuit art. Artists rely on the caring support of donors like you. The Inuit Art Foundation is pleased to recognize those who have donated between December 2017 and December 2018. Thank you so much!

$2,500–$4,999 Andrew Chodos, in memory of Ted and Toni Chodos The Michael and Sonja Koerner Charitable Foundation David and Liz Macdonald The Radlett Foundation $1,000–$2,499 Adventure Canada Shary Boyle Yvonne C. Condell Donald and Pat Dodds Marian Dodds, in honour of Dedie Dodds Eleanor Erikson Fath Group/O’Hanlon Paving Ltd. Patricia Feheley David Forrest Janice Gonsalves Peter Goring Huit Huit Tours Ltd. Cape Dorset Inuit Art Society Monty Kehl and Craig Wilbanks Charles Kingsley Katarina Kupca Christie MacInnes Kathryn Minard Joram Piatigorsky Andrew and Valerie Pringle Alysa Procida and Kevin Stewart David Sproule, in honour of Jean Katherine Sproule Gail Vanstone

How You Help

The Inuit Art Foundation team is amazing and, through their programs, have supported me. Without them, I wouldn’t have had these opportunities.”

$500–$999 Jim Bader Matthew Bradley-Swan Woody Brown and Christa Ouimet, in memory of Susan Oster Consignor Canadian Fine Art Arthur Drache, CM, QC and Judy Young Drache Jon and Val Eliassen Alana Faber Harald Finkler and Nadine Nickler in honour of Tim Pitsiulak Margaret and Roger Horton K+D (Kalaman + Demetriou) Alex Krawczyk

NIAP (NANCY SAUNDERS)

Kappianaqtut

Simon Lappi Ann and Michael Lesk Patricia McKeown Scott Mullin Allan Newell Danielle Ouimet, in honour of Trista Wong Smye Paul Pizzolante The Power Foundation Mark Richardson Cedar Swan Ellen Taubman Barbara Turner Jaan Whitehead Norman Zepp $250–$499 James R. Abel, in honour of Xanthipi Abel Eric Barnum Kaaren Brown Robert Casoni and Sophie Dorais Lyyli Elliott Lynne Eramo Leah Erickson, in honour of all Inuit artists Yvonne and David Fleck Alain Fournier Susan Gallpen Friends of Carol Hordatt Gentles, in honour of Christa Hordatt James M. Harris Heather Igloliorte and Matthew Brulotte Rawlson King A. Bernhard Kliefoth, in honour of the hard working staff at IAF Ellen Lehman and Charles Kennel Linda Lewis Lois Loewen Maija M. Lutz G. Lester and Phyllis McKinnon Susan A. Ollila Robin Procida Sandy Riley Bruce Roberts Paula Santrach Michael and Melanie Southern Elizabeth Steinbrueck Jacek Szulc Marie-Josée Therrien Jay and Deborah Thomson Carol Thrun Westchester Community Foundation, Bell-Jacoby Fund David and Catherine Wilkes and three anonymous donors [1 ] $100–$249 Anonymous, in honour of Helen Mary Rapp Front

THANK YOU

$100–$249, continued Amy Adams John and Sylvia Aldrich Lea Algar-Moscoe Paul Alkon Eleanor Allgood Diana Antoon, in memory of Saleem J. Antoon Susan Baum Christel and Jurg Bieri Heather Beecroft Shirley Brown, in honour of Christa Ouimet Tobi Bruce Mary Campbell, in honour of Billy Gauthier Claudia Christian Linda Cleman Carol Cole, in honour of Billy Gauthier Fred and Mary Cutler Leslie E. Eisenberg Le Grand Élan Ed Friedman Paul Gemmiti Peter Gold and Athalie Joy Deborah D. Gordon Nelson Graburn, in memory of Taiara and Ituvik from Salluit Carol Gray Linda Grussani Mark Gustafson Susan and Victor Gustavison Andrea Hamilton Tekla Harms Shawn Hassell Janet Heagle

Lee and Sharon Oberlander Pierre-Francois Ouellette Carole Ouimet Maria Parsons Kate Permut Ann Posen Steve Potocny and Anne Milochik Prue Rains, in honour of Marybelle Mitchell Bayard D. Rea Leslie Reid Timothy Reinig Marcia Rioux Mark Rittenhouse Sheila Romalis Susan Rowley Dana and Noel Rufino, in honour of Christa Hordatt Judith Rycus Joseph Salkowitz, DMD Paul Shackel Mark Shiner Janet Shute Liz Smeloff Colleen Suche Charles Tator Hunter Thompson Robert C and Judith Toll Roslyn Tunis, in honour of Alysa Procida Anne Vagi Peter Van Brunt James and Louise Vesper Mary Jo Watson Gord Webster

Molly K. Heines and Thomas J. Moloney Ingo Hessel Dr. Patricia Hinton Albert Holthuis Dale Horwitz Warren Howard Robert Jackson Laurence Jacobs Vic Janzen Amy Jenkins Carola Kaegi Johanna Kassenaar Joyce Keltie Nancy Keppelman and Michael Smerza Mary Kostman Val K. Lem Joe and Sandra Lintz Kenneth R. Lister Louise Logan Simone Ludlow Blandina Makkik and Greg Rogers Priya Mani The Honourable Mr. Justice Paul Mayer Susan Marrier Larry Martinez Mason Studio Elizabeth McKeown Valerie Meesschaert-Verheyen Robert Michaud Joanna Mizaga Barbara Myslinski Gary Nelson Susan Newlove

How You Help

Why I Give

MICHAEL MASSIE, CM, RCA

ERIK HAITES

It truly did start from that image in the Inuit Art Quarterly. It was in 1996 when they put my first teapot on the cover. I started getting calls from galleries . . . I do consider where I am today to have a lot to do with that picture.”

Inuit Art Quarterly

Claude M. Weil, in honour of Jim Shirley Sarah Whelchel, in honour of Adventure Canada Scott White Ditte Wolff Mark and Margie Zivin and seven anonymous donors [2 ]

Friends of the Foundation Up to $99 Manasiah Akpaliapik Olga and Boris Andriewsky, in honour of Erik Haites Mary Anglim Susan Anthony Ujarak Appadoo Judy Archer, in memory of Sarah Price Archer Catherine Badke Susan Baker Elizabeth P. Ball, in honour of Thomas G. Fowler Pat Bavin Roland and Dorothy Beauregard, in honour of Erik Haites Catherine Black Mary Lawrence Breinig David Burns Claire Christopher Nancy Chorley

Like you, I love Inuit art. The IAF supports Inuit art, aids individual artists to develop their talents, serves as an advocate for the interests of Inuit artists, and helps me enjoy my passion. Please join me in contributing.”

Spring 2019

THANK YOU

Quvianaqtuk Pudlat (b. 1962 Kinngait) — Aerial Courtship 2018 Stonecut 24 × 14 cm

How You Help

I was a featured artist at the Inuit Art Foundation booth at Art Toronto in 2017 and got to show my work and make valuable connections. The IAF has been very supportive of me and I am really grateful for that.”

REPRODUCED WITH PERMISSION DORSET FINE ARTS COURTESY FEHELEY FINE ARTS

COUZYN VAN HEUVELEN

Judy Conning, in honour of Erik Haites Barbara Dalziel Celia Denov Nadine Di Monte Kate Doorly François Dumaine Pat English Lynn Enright Alexander Ganong John Geoghegan Anne and Steve Georgas Claire Gold Susan Griswold Barbara Hale John A. Hanjian Kathryn Hanna Mary Hanson Clive Harvey Ian Harvey Anne Hearn Anna Holmes Home & Away Gallery Andrew Hubbertz Jacqueline Hynes

The Pinero Family, in loving memory of Christa Emma Hordatt Pauline Provencher Mark S. Rieger Serge Ricchi Marilyn Robinson Kerstin Roger Irene Rokaw and John Reese Anita Romaniuk Robert Rosenbaum Allan Sampson Alexa Samuels Evelyn R. Savitzky Ingrid Eva Schilling Iris Schweiger Jeffrey Seidman Linda Simmonds Scenery Slater Muriel Smith Gregory Sonek Ann Sprayregen Rosalind Sweeney-McCabe Gray and Margaret Taylor, in honour of Erik Haites

Angela Jones Sharon Jorgens Melinda Josie Robert Kirkpatrick Koula Koliviras, in honour of Christa Hordatt Carol Lampert, in honour of Erik Haites David Lee Daryl Logan Norma Lundberg Catherine Madsen Samia Madwar, in memory of Hazar Sawaf Elaine and Neil Margolis Walter Ian Marquis Alison McDonald Verena Mereb Suzanne F. Nash Heinrich Nemetz Arlene Nichols Michael J. Noone Suzanne O’Hara Dr. Ronald Olin Oswald Family

Bertha K. Thompson Kitty Thorne Scott G. Travis Darlene Tymn Anne Van Burek Charles M. Voirin Lowell Waxman Marshall Webb John Weber Leslie Saxon West Amanda Whitney Michael Wiles Catherine Wolf-Becker, in honour of Erik Haites and two anonymous donors

Bequests Virginia Watt Perpetual Trust

ADDITIONAL 2017–2018 PROGRAM SUPPORT PROVIDED BY: PRIMARY SUPPORTER

Kappianaqtut

INUIT ART QUARTERLY AND IAQ PROFILES SUPPORT

IGLOO TAG TRADEMARK PROGRAM SUPPORT

Front

THANK YOU

The Inuit Art Foundation — Your Home for Inuit Art Donations are essential to the programs that promote and celebrate Inuit art and artists. As a registered charitable organization in Canada (BN #121033724RR0001) and the United States (#980140282), the Inuit Art Foundation welcomes donations, sponsorships, legacy gifts and in-kind contributions. Please Consider Supporting the Future of Inuit Art: To learn more about donating contact us at 647-498-7717 or visit us online at inuitartfoundation.org/support/give.

As a long-time donor and board member of the Inuit Art Foundation, I can speak to the importance of donors as essential to the growth and promotion of Inuit art and artists. It is truly supporters like you who make everything we do possible.” PATRICIA FEHELEY BOARD MEMBER, INUIT ART FOUNDATION, AND DONOR

ABOVE

Tommy Novakeel (1911–1982 Panniqtuuq) — Spring Time Sliding 1980 Stencil 41 × 51 cm COURTESY DAVIC GALLERY

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

5 WORKS

Ice Breakers The IAF staff share their frosted and frozen picks for spring thaw

BELOW

OPPOSITE

Maureen Gruben (b. 1963 Tuktoyaktuk) — Stitching My Landscape 2017 Performance documentation

Billy Akavak (b. 1974 Kimmirut) — Nila (ice) 2004 Digital print 20.3 × 35.6 cm

COURTESY PARTNERS IN ART

COURTESY PEABODY ESSEX MUSEUM

Maureen Gruben

Stitching My Landscape (2017)

Zacharias Kunuk

Sirmilik (2011) When most people imagine a film about ice, they likely think of documentaries like Planet Earth or Blue Planet. Like Canada’s national parks system, these popular series are known for showcasing beautiful, expansive landscapes and providing intimate looks at Arctic animals, with an implicit promise to be “natural” and hence devoid of people. Sirmilik (2011), on the other hand, is a beautiful and haunting look at the importance of ice to Inuit that centres on the inhabitants of the northern landscape. Director Zacharias Kunuk, OC takes great care to infuse each

moment with Inuit presence right from the opening shots accompanied by Tanya Tagaq, CM’s vocals. From scenes of hunters loading qamutiit (sleds) with supplies to children playing basketball on a court overlooking the frozen terrain, the short film relays the continued importance of ice to Inuit life in the North as well as Inuit sovereignty in the Arctic.

ALYSA PROCIDA

Executive Director and Publisher

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Zacharias Kunuk (b. 1957 Iglulik/Montreal) — Sirmilik (still) 2011 Video 10 min 26 sec

BLANDINA MAKKIK

COURTESY ISUMA DISTRIBUTION INTERNATIONAL INC.

Inuit Art Quarterly

Within sight of the ancient Ibyuk Pingo near Tuktoyaktuk, Inuvialuit Settlement Region, NT, Inuvialuk artist Maureen Gruben installed Stitching My Landscape as part of LandMarks2017/Repères2017, a series of art projects in national parks and historic sites in commemoration of Canada’s sesquicentennial. The artist’s performance was individual, yet reliant on community: uakkallanga! Thousands of feet of ice were pierced with 111 holes and threaded with crimson broadcloth, obliquely ribboned across the snow-covered siku (frozen sea). Vivid slashes of colour melded with the ice sheet. Together, they symbolize Gruben’s memories of her environment as well as concerns over melting permafrost and the loss of sea ice. One memory, esoterically viseral, is that of brilliant red intestines from a freshly butchered seal, lying upon the pack ice. Another evokes familial ties connecting past and present. Especially poignant is the visage of binding, the yearning to repair the human-wrought ravages upon the Arctic landscape. Emphasizing the fragility of her environment through the fugitive medium of ice and snow, Gruben has harnessed impermanence to impart a powerful and lasting message. Igloo Tag Coordinator

Spring 2019

5 WORKS

Billy Akavak

Nila (ice) (2004)

There is something so completely disorienting about this image by photographer Billy Akavak that my brain must force itself to understand it for what it is: a picture of ice. Viewed within the context of other contemporary photographic work and digital image making techniques, this piece at first appears as a composite image. A manipulated sweep of sky perhaps or a snippet of a glacier ridge, pulled from a magazine, gathered together with a whisper of plastic wrap and splatter of white paint. The real work lies in reconfiguring these elements back into some mental order and parsing out if what we’re seeing is something very close or very far from what we already know. An ambiguous image of the most pleasurable sort. BRITT GALLPEN

Editorial Director

Long Time Floating on Ice Field (1965)

Jigging on Thin Ice (2000)

Joe Talirunili

In many of celebrated Puvirnituq, Nunavik, QC, artist Joe Talirunili’s (c. 1893–1976) drawings and stories, ice is frequently referenced. At times ice could be an island of safety to build a camp or, at others, an enemy to humans that damages boats, cuts off passageways and melts quicker than anticipated, sending families fleeing into an umiak (boat) in search of a new home. The stonecut print Long Time Floating on Ice Field displays this motif alongside his signature rugged style, depicting a set of daily activities. All of the figures are given equal space and size on the paper, seemingly offering no more importance to one action over another. The caribou appear like

Pitaloosie Saila

prehistoric creatures, unaware of the crouched hunter with his arrow lethally aimed at them. Another figure builds a snow house on the ice, while others traverse it. Here, Talirunili is documenting the days of subsistence living, showing people hunting for food and dependent on the seasonal migrations of Arctic animals that were integral to their survival. In a sense, it is an image of being in the world. It reaffirms that the life cycle transpiring on the ice floe is no different than the one taking place on land. CHRISTA OUIMET

Development Manager

Jigging is not something that is exclusive to women, but it is something that Inuit women particularly enjoy. As soon as winter solstice has passed, women across the North start calling for spring, with its long hours of sun and perfect ice conditions. At Easter, many communities hold ice-fishing competitions, with prizes for the largest fish, the smallest fish, the heaviest fish, the most fish and so on. Pitaloosie Saila, RCA’s Jigging on Thin Ice calls to mind the many women I have known who seem to somehow call the fish to the surface: their jig and lure just an extension of themselves, pulling up fish by the dozens. Pitaloosie’s woman, perhaps daringly on thin ice, seems to be one of them. Even the mountains in the background look like piles of fish, perhaps as testament to her ability. TAQRALIK PARTRIDGE

Editor-at-Large

LEFT

ABOVE

Joe Talirunili (c. 1893–1976 Puvirnituq) — Long Time Floating on Ice Field 1965 Stonecut 21 × 52.1 cm

Pitaloosie Saila (b. 1942 Kinngait) — Jigging on Thin Ice 2000 Lithograph 76.2 × 56.5 cm COURTESY FEHELEY FINE ARTS

COURTESY FEHELEY FINE ARTS

Kappianaqtut

Front

HIGHLIGHTS

Exhibition Highlights A behind-the-scenes look at some notable projects on view now

To see a full list of exhibitions, visit our enhanced calendar online at: inuitartfoundation.org/calendar

Zacharias Kunuk (b. 1957 Iglulik/Montreal) Carol Kunnuk (Iglulik) — Hunting With My Ancestors: Bowhead Whale (still) 2017 Video 40 min COURTESY KINGULLIIT PRODUCTIONS

MAY 11–NOVEMBER 24, 2019

Isuma Canadian Pavilion at the 58th International Art Exhibition/La Biennale di Venezia VENICE, ITALY

Co-founded in 1990 by Zacharias Kunuk, OC, Norman Cohn, Paul Apak Angilirq (1954–1998) and Pauloosie Qulitalik (1939–2012), Isuma’s ground breaking work has garnered national and international acclaim. At their muchanticipated showcase at the 58th Venice Biennale, the team will debut their most recent feature film One Day in the Life of Noah Piugattuk alongside new experiments in live webcasting and global distribution of Indigenous language media art through iTunes. Here, Cohn discusses the multi-site project and what it means for media artists to occupy an analogue environment: Inuit Art Quarterly

We’re video artists, which means our work by definition is made to be seen in multiple locations in multiple iterations. We consider the Canada Pavilion in Venice a hub from which digital Inuit storytelling can bounce into other venues and platforms that are accessible to more diverse audiences. For Venice, our newest feature recreates literally one day when Iglulik Inuit life on the land changed forever, seeing the sudden impact of the modern world on Indigenous people everywhere. Our other new venture is Silakut Live, an experiment in live webcasting from Iglulik, NU and the Arctic

wilderness to Venice. And, through Venice, online to the whole world. On March 15 we launch Isuma on iTunes, the first collection of Indigenous language media art offered on a global mainstream platform. Eight Isuma films in five subtitled languages will be available on iTunes in thirty countries this spring before the Venice exhibition opens, with more added, including One Day in the Life of Noah Piugattuk, during the seven months of the Biennale. For Isuma, the exhibition is an activist opportunity to bring Indigenous language video into today’s global media environment for the first time. To us, the value of being chosen for Venice is to expand digital access to Inuit storytelling to a worldwide audience, where millions of people can see it whenever they want. For more details, stay tuned at www.isuma.tv. – Norman Cohn Spring 2019

HIGHLIGHTS

The graphic cotton and linen textiles are a physical record of a relatively short-lived experimental initiative undertaken by Inuit artists in the early days of the West Baffin Eskimo Cooperative.

BOTTOM (RIGHT)

Itee Pootoogook (1951–2014 Kinngait) — Shed and Skidoo 2014 Coloured pencil 64.8 × 50.2 cm REPRODUCED WITH PERMISSION DORSET FINE ARTS COURTESY MCMICHAEL CANADIAN ART COLLECTION

MAY 31–SEPTEMBER 2, 2019

Itee Pootoogook: Hymns to the Silence McMichael Canadian Art Collection KLEINBURG, ON

Though Itee Pootoogook’s (1951–2014) careful drawings of quiet interiors and empty landscapes have found an enthusiastic audience amongst collectors, until now, there has not been an exhibition considering his expansive body of work. In advance of the late artist’s first major solo exhibition Itee Pootoogook: Hymns to the Silence, curator Nancy Campbell discusses Pootoogook’s work, skill and what to expect from the show:

NOVEMBER 2019

Kinngait Textiles Textile Museum of Canada TORONTO, ON

When Dorset Fine Arts approached the Textile Museum of Canada (TMC) with an offer to donate a little-known, rare collection of textiles produced by and featuring the imagery of Inuit artists, their response was swift and enthusiastic. Since the donation in 2017, the TMC has been preparing an exhibition that will open in Toronto, ON, in late 2019, before touring to the Kenojuak Cultural Centre in Kinngait (Cape Dorset), NU, among other venues in Canada, from 2020 to 2021. We spoke to exhibition curator Roxane Shaughnessy about the show and her desire to hear from the public about these unique materials:

ABOVE (LEFT)

ABOVE (RIGHT)

Sample of printed textile made from Pitseolak Ashoona Snowy Owls (c. 1967), 1968

Pudlo Pudlat (1916–1992 Kinngait) — Spirits and Birds (detail) 1965 Textile 412 × 118 cm

COURTESY LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA PHOTO CHARLES GIMPEL

COURTESY TEXTILE MUSEUM OF CANADA

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Up to this point our research has focused on a collection of Inuit printed textiles made at Kinngait Studios, in Nunavut, in the 1950s and 1960s. The graphic cotton and linen textiles are a physical record of a relatively short-lived experimental initiative undertaken by Inuit artists and representatives of the Canadian government in the early days of the West Baffin Eskimo Cooperative. Designs by well-known graphic artists Pitseolak Ashoona, CM, RCA (c. 1904–1983), Parr (1893–1969), Pudlo Pudlat (1916–1992) and others are featured in this collection. Many of the examples we have are incredibly bold and colourful and often resemble iconic prints by these artists. As well as being sold in yardage, the fabrics and their designs were used in home décor, garments and much more. We’ve seen wonderful photos of garments, accessories and homewares, but the objects themselves have not yet materialized. In an effort to broaden our research we are turning to you, the Inuit Art Quarterly readers. Please contact us if you have any documentation or memories related to this initiative. We would love to hear from you! – Roxane Shaughnessy 15

Itee Pootoogook was a bit of an outlier. What I found in doing my research for the exhibition is that he focused mostly on capturing moments of quiet. His coloured pencil and graphite drawings are a meditation on stillness and calm, with an incredible economy of line. He started drawing late in life but amassed quite a large body of work in a rather short time. Pootoogook began drawing in the early 2000s and worked closely with the late Tim Pitsiulak (1967–2016), who similarly recorded scenes of hunters and used photography in his drawings. Pootoogook was an incredible draftsman and mastered black paper like no other artist in Kinngait (Cape Dorset), NU. The dark paper suited his minimal compositions rendered with a limited palette. The exhibition focuses on these quiet moments, but also shows some occasions in which he diverted and experimented with geometric compositions and other themes. – Nancy Campbell

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HIGHLIGHTS

This publication started as a small passion project and journey to uncover forgotten creatures in Greenlandic mythology.

NOVEMBER 2018

Bestiarium Groenlandica By Maria Bach Kreutzmann Milik Publishing The aajumaaq (the sleeved one) is a simultaneously vengeful and helpful spirit, called upon by an angakkoq (shaman) when he travels to the spirit world. It is described with long, black arms and three fingers on each hand and with the head or skull of a dog. When it arrives, it floats into the room. The creature provides both guidance and protection for the angakkoq, as everything the aajumaaq touches will rot and die.

Illustration of the aajumaaq by Maria Bach Kreutzmann

The kiliffak (the scraper) is a huge, long-haired animal that lives close to or on the inland icecap, where it walks around scraping for food. It is said to have between six to ten legs with huge horns, beautiful fur and a hide so big that it can cover the entire inside of a house. When slaughtered, the meat of the kiliffak will grow back on its bones twice and can feed a whole settlement during a harsh winter. But hunting the kiliffak is not easy, as it can run extremely fast and is said to have a powerful bite.

Illustration of the kiliffak by Agust Kristinsson

The qivittoq (the mountain wanderer) is a person who has left their village or settlement in shame and wandered into the mountains. For a qivittoq to gain magical powers, the person has to freeze to death over the course of five days. And, after waking back up from the dead, they never have to fear hunger or the cold again. They also gain the ability to fly. They are often dressed in hare or fox skins with tousled, wild and completely white hair. Occasionally, those who have become qivittut can come back from the wild to rejoin their community. Illustration of the qivittoq by Maja Lisa Kehlet

Inuit Art Quarterly

Almost five years in the making, Maria Bach Kreutzmann’s Bestiarium Groelandica convenes seven Greenlandic and Nordic artists to bring to life 67 monsters, ghosts, creatures and ghouls. Here, the author shares the process behind the resulting handbook or bestiary as well as an in-depth look at three monstrous spirits and the stories that inspired them: I have always been deeply fascinated with monsters and found the creatures of Greenlandic mythos especially thrilling. Growing up in Greenland with tales and lore collected and re-told all around me, the ghosts and monsters looming outside were never far from my thoughts. This publication started as a small passion project and journey to uncover these forgotten creatures. Little did I know that it would grow into a full-fledged handbook. My team of three researchers and I wanted to explore the creatures and their origins—their appearance, function and, to the extent it was possible, geographic location. Some creatures were described in great detail while others were only mentioned briefly, with more focus on their abilities rather than physical attributes. We managed to comb through almost 15,000 pages of literature in the small amount of time we had, focusing only on the written sources collected in Greenland to narrow down the research. To bring the creatures we discovered to life, I called upon not only Greenlandic artists, but friends in the illustration industry from other Nordic countries. By bringing in other artists, I was able to get many unique interpretations of the creatures that were made largely of their physical descriptions but also any other information on offer. This resulted in a number of interesting takes on traditional monsters such as the inorrooq and the re invention of certain characters like the kiliffak. Though the project began with the simple idea of bringing these forgotten creatures to life, it has now evolved into a dream of hopefully inspiring my own people to delve deeper into our mythology and history. And to make new stories while we continue to re-tell the old ones. I knew then, and even more so now, the immense responsibility that comes with talking, writing and making art about my cultural history. These creatures live on whether we tell their stories or not—all they are waiting for is us to make them visible.– Maria Bach Kreutzmann Spring 2019

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CHOICE

Alberta Rose W. Blood

by Erin Sutherland

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

CHOICE

At a time when the artist was beginning to process her family’s loss, the act of making Blood reminded her that sadness comes in waves and provided her a visual representation of the hope derived from familial support.

Beads track across acrylic ridges recalling rivers, northern lights, mountain ranges, sound waves and eyes. They are anchored into painted canvas stretched over a circular, bent wood frame, taking the form of a traditional Inuit drum. Blood (2016) by Inuvialuit, Scottish, Irish and Welsh artist Alberta Rose W., also known as Alberta Rose Williams, is made up of five of these drums, each made specifically for a member of her family—three siblings, her father and herself—that hang from the ceiling and slowly spin from the top of their frames. Raised in Treaty 7 territory near the Bearspaw, Chiniki and Wesley bands of the Nakoda Nation, Rose W. connects to her Inuvialuit heritage through her artistic practice. She often explores her relationship to her family by mixing traditional materials and practices drawn from both her Inuvialuit and European ancestry. Blood combines what she regards as Western art practices, namely paint on canvas, and traditional Indigenous practices, such as beading, as a way to embrace her ancestors, both European and Inuit. Blood is also a site from which Rose W. illustrates and copes with her grief. The beadwork on the drums is a reminder of her mother Rita, the maternal link connecting each drum as well as the individuals they represent, who recently passed. The work honours her mother, who was also a beader, her family, her ancestors and the land. She remembers her mother and acknowledges her family’s support of each other through bereavement. The drums provide a space

from which Rose W. also honours herself— reconnecting with her identity through materials while recalling her relationship to those whom she translates onto the canvas of each drum. The artist’s memories and associations with each family member are expressed in the surface of the drums. Eyes created from lines of beads look out from a background of brightly coloured waves across a starry sky. Although they can be read in many ways, the undulating lines are in fact sound waves from song lyrics that remind the artist of the individual to whom the drum is dedicated. The wave on Rose W.’s drum illustrates the lyrics “Let it go, this too shall pass” from “This Too Shall Pass” (2010) by the band OK Go. On her father’s drum, the lyrics “Whatever will be, will be” from Doris Day’s “Que Será, Será” (1956) appear. The remaining drums reference lyrics that remind Rose W. of her siblings. The lyrics specifically refer to memories that Rose W. has of her family coming together in grief and of the words spoken to bring each other relief. Bringing forward her family’s faces and voices, Rose W. acknowledges their relationships. At a time when the artist was beginning to process her family’s loss, the act of making Blood reminded her that sadness comes in waves and provided her a visual representation of the hope derived from familial support. Blood was most recently installed in Current Terrain, an exhibition I curated with Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective at A Space Gallery during the imagineNATIVE

Film + Media Arts Festival in Toronto, ON. In Current Terrain, the five drums were mounted far enough from the wall to spin, each piece rotating independently of one another as visitors passed. As they spun, the backs of the drums revealed the threads and knots that secured the beads. The shapes of the faces beaded onto the painted side of the drum are mirrored through the maps of criss-crossing thread. Thus, the faces of her family are present on both sides of the drums, translated through the skills inherited from her mother. Experiencing these two faces is important as it makes visible Rose W.’s labour—both in the process of making and grieving. The effort communicated by the organized threads references the energy required in bereavement. The visibility of this labour speaks to the role of the work in Rose W.’s ongoing journey after loss. In Blood the artist acknowledges the toll of grief on the individual and the family throughout the bereavement process. Yet, by hanging the drums side by side, they express the strength of Rose W.’s family as they continue to support one another. Blood exists as a reminder of the ongoing bereavement process while also providing support long after the more physical manifestations of grief have dispersed. — Erin Sutherland, PhD is a professor at the University of Alberta’s Augustana Campus, a core member of Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective and an independent curator.

Alberta Rose W. (b. 1983 Calgary) — Blood 2016 Beads, acrylic, oil, canvas and wood Dimensions variable COURTESY A SPACE GALLERY

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CHOICE

Anne-Birthe Hove Tupilak

by Laila Lund Altinbas

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

CHOICE

Ultimately, what I love about Tupilak is that it unites all of Hove’s many talents: excellent graphic skills combined with a critical, loving and playful insight into the society that she knew so well.

Four tupilaat creep across the canvas. They step two and two, almost as if they were actually dancing across the canvas. Their procession is interrupted by doodles and vaguely identifiable figures: Perhaps a rose? A helicopter? Or some sort of hand? At first glance the image appears accidental, as if everything was thrown together at random. But, upon closer inspection, one notices each element is connected—floating together in a perfectly tuned composition. Each component is translucent, layered in front of or behind its neighbour. Nothing on the canvas is opaque. This is what makes the Greenlandic artist Anne-Birthe Hove’s (1951–2012) graphic art, particularly the photogravure Tupilak (2004), so exceptional. Originally, the tupilak was an evil spirit composed of a mixture of animal and human remains brought to life to destroy an enemy. When Europeans arrived in Greenland, they heard the Greenlandic Inuit tell stories of tupilaat and wanted to see these powerful creatures in their physical state. As a response, Greenlandic Inuit began to actualize these spirits in the form of small, carved sculptures made from bone, tooth or driftwood. Today, these sculptures are often what come to mind when referring to tupilaat. They have become a popular souvenir and are used widely across Greenland as a visual icon of the country and a national symbol. Like the original tupilak, the modern iteration also comes in many different shapes, sizes and combinations of animal forms. Tupilak, like much of Hove’s graphic work, is part of a series. As a graduate of several art schools, including the Royal

Anne-Birthe Hove (1951–2012 Aasiaat) — Tupilak 2004 Photogravure 20 × 20 cm

— Laila Lund Altinbas is a curator at the Nuuk Art Museum in Greenland.

NOTE

Anne-Marie Gjedde Olsen, Anne-Birthe Hove (Nuuk: Katuaq and Milik Publishing, 2005), 67.

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Danish Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen, Denmark, Hove knew her craft well. Hove regularly made numerous material experiments before settling on a specific technique for a work of art. In this piece, Hove employed photogravure, a technique that she learned from the Danish graphic artist Eli Ponsaing in the 1990s, involving the transfer of a photographic negative onto a metal plate, playing and experimenting with the texture of the image. Within the larger series, the same tupilak figure is seen again and again in different settings. It appears more or less solid, sometimes in pairs, sometimes by itself, sometimes with floating limbs and sometimes seemingly attempting to escape the canvas. The figure is literally being torn apart with both care and humour as the artist investigates the different aspects that constitute it. In other words, Hove deconstructs this Greenlandic icon, posing the question: What does it really mean to be Greenlandic Inuit today? Ultimately, what I love about Tupilak is that it unites all of Hove’s many talents: excellent graphic skills combined with a critical, loving and playful insight into the society that she knew so well. “Graphic art is like reading a book; you need to get close to see the details,” Hove once said. “Graphic art requires intimacy.”¹ As evidenced here, Hove spent a great deal of time on details. And, in this particular work, she asks her audience to give themselves the time to see them.

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PROFILE

Katherine Takpannie

Katherine Takpannie (b. 1989 Ottawa) — Untitled 2017 Digital photograph COURTESY THE ARTIST

by Ashley McLellan

“I just think women are so beautiful and so majestic, and I love to capture that,” explains Ottawa-based photographer Katherine Takpannie during a recent phone conversation from her home. The pull that Takpannie feels towards her subjects is evident in the intimate and expansive portraits she takes from behind the lens. In particular, her series of reclining, languid women posed nude in the landscape, with their backs turned to the viewer, are treated with a palpable sense of care. These intimate moments of access and refusal are in stark contrast to the many depictions of the female nude, typically oriented for male consumption, across Western art histories. In another photograph, Takpannie walks through a snowy landscape, surrounded by Inuit Art Quarterly

dense plumes of crimson-coloured smoke emanating out of a black canister. She raises the vessel in her left hand as the tinted haze envelops much of her torso and head, masking her identity, with only her long dark hair visible. With a slim black dress and fishnet tights, she appears impervious to the cool temperatures that leave a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground and gives the rushing stream to her left, a detectably icy chill. Takpannie’s visual language expands out from portraiture to include playful urban scenes and landscapes as well as incorporating more honest depictions of daily experiences—both remarkable and routine. In Moments to reflect, I can take a few (2017), two young Inuit stand at the 22

sun-bathed opening of a derelict building covered in graffiti. Each looks out toward the world beyond, their bodies casting long shadows over the pockmarked floor. Capturing a moment of transitionary stillness, it’s an evocative image. The man in the foreground holds a beer, while the young woman to his left stretches her leg out onto the lip of the opening. She stares down towards her own body with a slight smirk on her face, indicating her awareness of having her photograph taken. “At first, some of my friends hated when I took their photos all the time,” Takpannie recalls. But now when Facebook prompts them of past memories, the moments her photographs capture bring a deep sense of nostalgia for the past. Spring 2019

PROFILE

LEFT

Moments to reflect, I can take a few 2017 Digital print 68 × 97 cm COURTESY CITY OF OTTAWA

As an urban Inuk herself, a central focus for Takpannie is revealing the complexities and nuances of urban Inuit life.

RIGHT

Pushing Through 2016 Digital print 68 × 97 cm COURTESY CITY OF OTTAWA

Moments to reflect is a favourite of the artist’s as it conveys how “Inuit live in a contemporary world. . . . There are a lot of Canadians that still have dated conceptions of Inuit and how we live.” As an urban Inuk herself, a central focus for Takpannie is revealing the complexities and nuances of urban Inuit life. Breaking with pre conceived notions of what it means to be Inuit, she documents friends scaling buildings, watching the sunset or relaxing on a park bench, sharing a drink. During our call, she cites the influence of artist and family friend Annie Pootoogook (1969–2016) and her ability to visually register contemporary moments of Inuit life, particularly those that move from the quotidian to the spiritual to obliquely Kappianaqtut

referencing the continued impacts of colonization on Inuit communities. Takpannie’s ease in discussing the contours of Inuit cultural identity and her positions on contemporary political issues seems to have been sharpened by her completion of Nunavut Sivuniksavut, a college program that provides Inuit youth with cultural and academic learning experiences. Attending NS gave Takpannie more pride in her Inuit identity. As she describes, “being an urban Inuk, growing up not being able to live on the land and participate in traditional activities such as hunting and fishing, not being able to speak the language, it does something to your self-worth. Going to NS brought me back to my culture, and I have a lot more pride about being Inuk.” 23

From her photographs of a pro-sealing rally on Parliament Hill in Ottawa being exhibited in the Art Gallery of Guelph’s exhibition Getting Under Our Skin (2018) to three of her works being acquired by the City of Ottawa Art Collection last year, the momentum is growing for Takpannie. Since becoming pregnant, she has also begun to turn the camera more toward herself. “I want to preserve these moments of growing life and how beautiful that can be.” Similar to Pootoogook, Takpannie’s images index the complexity of moving through the world. And I, for one, look forward to seeing how she continues to draw out the beauty from even the smallest aspects of life.

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Kudluajuk Ashoona - Untitled - 23 x 30 Inches - Coloured Pencil

606 VIEW STREET - 250 383 4660 - WWW.MADRONAGALLERY.COM - info@madronagallery.com

Woman with Fish and Kakivak unidentified artist, Nunavik, ca. 1952

NEW ADDRESS: 1444 Sherbrooke Street West Montreal H3G 1K4

www.elcalondon.com | info@elcalondon.com | 514-282-1173 Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

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— by Heather Campbell Illustrations by Megan Kyak-Monteith

FICTION

Daniel woke with a craving for fish. His wife, Lydia, was still asleep nestled in the corner of their tiny wood cabin at their summer place in Snook’s Cove, 15 kilometres southwest of Rigolet in Newfoundland. He decided he would take the boat out and do a bit of jigging. There was a chill in the air and the water was flat. An ideal morning for seal hunting, come to think of it. He picked up his gun, threw the grapple into the boat and pushed off. He could hear the songbirds waking as the sky turned a vibrant salmon in the east. The plop-swish-trickle of his oars was the only other sound. He made his way around the rocky, moss covered outcropping, fringed with spruce trees, and marvelled at the expanse of the pale blue-grey water of Gros Water Bay. The hill tops were blanketed with caribou moss, glowing gold in the early morning light. It was his favourite time of year. After the cloudberries had been picked, the partridgeberries had not yet ripened and right about the time the crowberries should be getting juicy. “I’ll pick some on my way back home,” he thought to himself as he lowered his jigging line. “Lydia can make a cake.” He sat listening to the birds and tugging on the line, waiting for a nibble. Success! Daniel pulled a sizable cod fish out of the water. Its slick grey back and bloated white belly caught the morning light—a gentle reminder that he, too, was getting hungry. A handful of berries would be nice. He skimmed the shore in search of a patch, his eye stopping on a small bed at the edge of a large black boulder. The rock was about six feet tall, domed and smooth with a splattering of green and grey lichen. This particular rock had always amused him, as in its very centre there was nestled a large hole about two feet across, shaded by an overhang of overlapping rock. It looked exactly like an enlarged stone navel. Daniel rowed to shore and threw his grapple out. He jumped onto the rocky shoreline and walked a short distance to gather the small black berries. The chill was off the air now as the sun began peeking over the hill and he sat in front of the stone to enjoy his snack. In the distance before him, a minke whale surfaced at the centre of the passage between the shore and Big Island. It snorted, its back fin skimming through the calm surface, before disappearing again. Its appearance was followed by the screech of a flock of Arctic terns as they hovered and plunged to collect the whale’s leftovers.

The Teehee Rock by Heather Campbell —

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Nothing. He waited. Still, nothing. He turned his attention back toward the water, just in time to see the whale breach. Tap-tap-tap.

from the stone. He continued to stare, immobilized, as a brown weathered forehead surfaced, followed by a pair of eyes, a green reflection in their glaring black depths. The snarl of rotted teeth and the flick of a long red tongue were the last to materialize. “Hahahahahaaa!” She cackled. A deep, guttural, menacing laugh from her belly as her skeletal frame, wrapped in tattered old sealskin, crawled from the rock, planting her feet in the grass in front of him. Covered in sweat, Daniel fell backwards in front of the old hag. A scream caught in his throat. The creature glared down at him, laughing with outstretched arms, punctuated with long claw-like fingernails. Afraid to take his eyes off her, fearing what she might do, Daniel scurried backward. He continued to crawl until his hands met the rocky shoreline, then the frigid water. In a moment of bravery, he stood up and rushed towards his boat. He glanced behind to see her shuffling slowly at first, her arms and legs jerking sporadically as her old bones slowly quickened to the chase, her hair framing a snarled smile and menacing stare, her hands clawing at the air in front of her. Daniel imagined her rotting nails on his face and her blackened teeth against his throat. He jumped in the boat, grabbed his oars and frantically began to row. Panic stricken, he realized his boat was immobile. “The grapple!” he realized. He desperately pulled at it hand over hand through the thick grass and finally aboard the boat. Glaring at him with those bottomless black eyes beyond her tangled mane, she continued her erratic shuffle towards the boat. His breath coming in heavy rasps, Daniel desperately began to paddle as fast as he could. He felt faint and sick. The bile was beginning to build in his belly, the crowberries doing summersaults in his stomach. He rowed and rowed and rowed until he was in the middle of the bay. Pale, drenched in sweat, and near fainting, he braced himself. Only then did he dare to glance back towards the rock. She, whatever she was, was gone.

Daniel popped a few more berries into his mouth as he waited for the whale to resurface. Before he could catch sight of it again, he heard a series of rapid tap-tap-taps behind him. Tap-tap-tap. He turned around to find the source—perhaps a squirrel? Nothing. He waited. Still, nothing. He turned his attention back toward the water, just in time to see the whale breach. Tap-tap-tap. Again, he turned, this time focused squarely on the ominous, black boulder. In the middle of its giant navel, he thought he saw something move. Something long and narrow like a giant worm. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He turned again to find the whale, but saw only the Arctic terns darting into the ocean to collect their catch. Then he heard it, very faintly, a sound that he could have sworn was a giggle. Teehee. . . “Damn crows!” Daniel said to himself, aloud. They were always up to something. If they weren’t trying to steal his fish drying on the rocks, they were in the trees squawking, fighting and plotting their next heist. Heeheehee. . . There it is again! He jerked his head back and out of the corner of his eye caught the movement again. This made no sense, there was no soil in that rock, so how could those writhing figures be worms? It was solid. Or was it? He decided to look more closely. His sealskin boots swished softly through the sea grass as he moved toward the immense stone. Once he was near enough, Daniel reached inside the stone nook to feel for soil and, instead, found something else. Cold, green slime covered his hands, chilling him up to his elbows. Daniel yanked his hand from the stone leaving the sludge to slosh in the centre when something else began to slither out from the shadows. There was no mistake—fingers! Old, gnarled and caked in dirt and mire, with talons for fingernails, two hands emerged from the stone. They grabbed onto either side of the opening pulling up to reveal a crest of hair. Daniel was paralyzed. He could not move. He could not speak. His eyes bulged and refused to close, unable to tear themselves away from the horrifying sight of the tangled black hair emerging

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Fiction

ONE OLD WOMAN

— by Taqralik Partridge Illustrations by Jason Sikoak

FICTION

There once was an old woman. She had not always been an old woman, but in this story she was old. The old woman was a mother, a sister, a wife and a seamstress, among other things. She liked to watch All My Children. She often won at radio bingo and other games. She usually gave her winnings away, except for the time she had won a new stainless tea kettle. This she kept, and it remained on low heat on the stove for most of the day. When her children had been young, she had sent her husband out hunting alone. Qulittaq, kamiik, alirtiik, piniraq, aiqavak, nasak and even his belt, all made by her. Somebody sentimental would have said that he was dressed in her love and protection. She had not been sentimental, just practical. If he was warm enough, he would bring back food. He would come back himself. Practical. When her children were grown, with families of their own, the woman would accompany her husband when he went hunting. In winter they packed up the qamutiik with everything they would need. In summer it was the boat. At camp she cut up the seal on the bedrock as the tide went down. She hung strands of bright orange, square-cut fish to dry in the wind. Her husband, whose big hands never stopped working, would make his own rope. The old woman’s husband, with the big hands, was a large man with a mess of grey hair and beard, who probably gave a fright to strangers. But the ones who knew him, knew him as quiet, kind, skilled at whatever he put his mind to. He was not a man to waste his breath, or do stupid things that would put anyone in harm’s way. Practical, but with a deep rich laughter that filled the room. He was a good match. They worked together. Of course, people do not live forever. It could be that the old woman had never wanted to live forever, this would have been impractical, and surely at some point in her life she must have been happy that people do not live forever. But, at the time when she lost her husband, perhaps she might have wished for just a little more time.

One Old Woman by Taqralik Partridge —

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Later, she could not explain why she had agreed to stay home, as he went out alone one early morning. It was just a day trip after all. Just to check the fox snare, to see if there were any caribou on the way back. She had been so tired, the blanket so heavy. Why had she not insisted that he wait for one of his sons? The storm had come up so quickly, even the town had been in whiteout. You couldn’t see from the house to the shack. It didn’t matter that they had not spoken as he left, it only mattered that he had not come back. She sat for such a long time, with her arms crossed, perhaps with one hand on her face. Her hair was not brushed. Her kettle was not warmed. Her family members brought her food that she did not eat. They worried, because she no longer seemed to be a seamstress, or a cook, or a storyteller, among all the other things that they knew her for. She just sat for so long, that it seemed to everyone that she might follow her husband, somehow. It was the dogs that made her stand up. Someone’s dogs were loose and running up and down her stairs. The outside porch door blew open, and the strays came in trying to grab whatever they might find. She had to throw boots at them and swear until they went away. The next day, it must have been one of those same strays that came back: a big grey one, with round husky markings over its eyes, floppy ears and enormous paws almost like a wolf’s, sitting on the metal steps like it lived there. The old woman threw a boot at it and missed. The dog fetched the boot and brought it back to the porch. “Stupid dog,” she said throwing the boot again. She missed, but at least the dog understood it was not welcome. It trotted off with its tongue hanging out like it was smiling. As we said, this old woman was practical. Now she set to work. She cleaned out all of her husband’s belongings. She washed the floors and the walls and the windows. She swept the stairs and even the earth around the house. She decided that every sewing project she had started and set aside, she would take up again and finish. And soon, she had lived ten years past her husband’s leaving. In ten years, the old woman grew older. This is not extraordinary. But what did she do in ten years? She taught her grandchildren and other people’s grandchildren how to sew. She made beautiful kamiit that young women wore and other young women admired. She fed whoever was hungry. She sang and even danced at the Christmas games. She won many bingo games. She told stories and stories and more stories. And when her eyes were giving out, and her fingers were so bent that she had finally put her sewing needles aside, she knew, and everyone knew, that she had done enough. The old woman was content, and so, late in the night, when she had half fallen asleep on the couch, and the stray dogs came running up and down the steps, instead of throwing boots at them, she threw the bones from the leftover caribou stew. Most of the dogs went running off, bones between their teeth, but one grey one who had not got any bones, stayed. It put its head to the side and raised one large paw like it was asking for its share. Here then, said the old woman. Stupid dog. And the dog followed her in to where she would dig another bone out of the pot. And now, as she lifted the ladle out of the pot, the old woman was suddenly so tired that she felt the weight of all her clothing trying to pull her to the ground. The little earrings her daughter had made felt like boulders tugging at her ears. She dropped the bone on the floor and stumbled into the living room. She thought that just a little sleep on the couch would make her feel different, so she lay down again and closed her eyes. The dog never took the bone she had dug out of the pot; just as if it lived there, it took up a spot on the end of the couch and curled up at her feet. Instead of falling into a heavy slumber however, after a long moment of quiet, the old woman suddenly snapped her eyes open. In the direction of her feet and in a very practical tone she said, “I should have known.” And here, the big grey dog, with the circles over its eyes, the floppy ears, and the enormous paws, let out a friendly bark that rolled into a deep rich laughter that filled the room.

Most of the dogs went running off, bones between their teeth, but one grey one who had not got any bones, stayed. It put its head to the side and raised one large paw like it was asking for its share.

Kappianaqtut

Fiction

by Jamesie Fournier Illustrations by Zebede Evaluardjuk-Fournier —

BEFORE

FICTION

Before Dawn by Jamesie Fournier —

“Can I go out and play, Mom?” Simeonie pleaded. “Okay. . . but no farther than the inuksuk, Sim.” Two boys leapt off the porch and ran. The land rolled from golden tundra to midday sun. In the distance, a lone inuksuk rode the horizon, marking the breadth of home. Tumbling over one another, they ran with the zeal of the newly freed. Hiding behind old cars and barrels, they peeked through their fingers and counted to ten. They reached the inuksuk rosy cheeked and out of breath. Their shadows burned long and misshapen in the summer sun. Shielding their eyes, the pair gazed over the land. Hiding places had become sparse, so Isaac pointed to the next hill. “We should go over there!” Simeonie turned to look but the sight of Isaac’s teeth gave him pause. They curled peculiarly behind his jagged grin. Simeonie flinched as Isaac drooled hungrily. “Mom said no farther than the inuksuk, Isaac.” “But look!” Isaac insisted, pointing to a rocky figure on the horizon. Having never seen it before, Simeonie rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Yet, there it stood, as big as life and twice as natural. “No farther than there, right? C’mon!” Isaac yelled as he pulled Simeonie into the distance. As they ran Isaac began to sing. “Oh my feet are turning into stone, ayaya aya ya.” Suddenly, the land began rushing beneath their feet. In leaps and bounds they crossed the hills, each overseen by another inuksuk. Simeonie wondered, What magic is this? When they finally stopped Simeonie realized the sun was setting, and he no longer knew where he was. “We need to go home, Isaac.” Yet, his friend stood silent, staring into the sun.

Inuit Art Quarterly

“I’m going to miss you, Sim,” Isaac promised earnestly. “I didn’t bring you out here to play. I’m taking you away.” Distant contemplation washed over his face. “I’ve taken so many children before you, so many sacrifices, so that one day I may be free. You will finally bring that day.” “Isaac, you’re not making sense. . .” Isaac spread his arms to the horizon. “This eternal sunset is now yours, Sim. I just can’t take it anymore. Living between worlds is hard. Belonging to neither existence or eternity, but with a foot in both.” Isaac sighed. “No man’s land is lonely.” “Isaac, you’re scaring—” “My name isn’t Isaac,” the boy snapped dejectedly. “If not for the look on people’s faces, I wouldn’t use that name. You know the look, the one that says ‘I should have known better.’” Isaac twisted and chuckled grimly, “Not I - saac but I - ji- raq!” Simeonie’s eyes widened in disbelief. Ijirait were said to be monsters, part of the Inuungnittut, the Others, that hide children away, forever lost and unfound. A lifeless certainty swam behind the boy’s eyes. His lips jerked grotesquely and spat ancient syllables. His face rippled, his teeth turned in their place. Simeonie heard the unmistakable crack of bones and watched as chunks of flesh and gore splattered to the ground. Twitching, the creature madly scuttled towards Simeonie, its dark, stone eyes peering out from behind bits of scalp. Simeonie heard a giggle that curdled his stomach and watched as a vicious smile split vertically down its front. “If you are not home come morning, you will be as so many inuksuit before you. Lost. Alone.” The creature enunciated each word carefully, as if to savor every syllable. “I’ll feed and fatten on your light and be free.” It licked its lips and grinned horribly, almost singing. “Then no more talk of you and me.” Simeonie tore his face away from the monster. In the distance, he recognized the familiar stone silhouette cresting the horizon. Suddenly, the creature’s warm breath hissed into his ear. “Run, boy. Run home to mommy.” Its hideous lips quivered with delight as it taunted. “She’s scared and she’s crying, Sim.” The image of his mother triggered something inside of him. It struck home. Simeonie ran. He ran and he ran, feeling the creature tittering into his ears behind him. He stopped to catch his breath and saw he had only made it to the first inuksuk. “Impossible,” he thought to himself. “There are still so many! How did we come so far so fast?”

Spring 2019

He placed a hand on the inuksuk’s leg and an echo escaped his lips. “Oh, my feet are turning into stone, ayaya aya ya.” In the corner of his eye Simeonie could see the ijiraq smiling pleasantly, urging him on with dead eyes. As Simeonie sang its song, a perverse satisfaction lit the ijiraq’s face. “Yes, child.” Its eager smile seemed to encourage him. “Sing.” Simeonie rose to his feet. His heart lifted and a smile spread across his face. He worked his legs and the more he sang, the more he bounded across the land. But a sick realization soon filled his heart. Summer nights are not long in the North. Inuksuit rose and fell beneath his feet. Yet, as the sky filled with light, the first hint of dawn felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. He sang again. “Oh, my legs are turning into stone, ayaya aya ya.” Finally, Simeonie reached the inuksuk where it all began. So close to home, he screamed out just as the sun crept over the ridge and pierced the sky with its brilliance. “Mommy!” Simeonie’s mother ripped open the door. Her long, sleepless night left her jumping at every sound. But she swore she heard her son cry. She surveyed the inuksuk hill for the thousandth time and felt the pall of dread lift from her heart. Silhouetted by the dawn, a small figure stood beside the large inuksuk. She smiled as tears ran warmly down her face. Straining against the light of morning, her eyes adjusted but found only a small pile of stones, stacked one on top of the other, standing beside the inuksuk and not her son. Heartbroken, she gazed in disbelief. Had it always been there? Realizing her son was not about to breach the horizon, she fell to the ground. In abandoned sobs she begged and pleaded for her child. When there was nothing left to scream, she knelt and was silent, like so much rubble before the dawn. Taima.

“Run, boy. Run home to mommy.” Its hideous lips quivered with delight as it taunted.

Kappianaqtut

Fiction

The Stories of Victoria Mamnguqsualuk â&#x20AC;&#x201D; by Chris Hampton

Since the mid-1960s, this Qamani’tuaq artist made the tale of Kiviuq, the eternal nomad of Inuit legend, a recurring theme in her expansive body of work, alongside a host of other beasts and spirits from traditional stories who both consume and are consumed. From choreographed drawings and stonecut prints to intricate wall hangings, Victoria Mamnguqsualuk’s (1930–2016) humorous, horrific and narrative works continue to resonate with contemporary issues of migration, community, scarcity and interdependence.

PREVIOUS SPREAD

Victoria Mamnguqsualuk (1930–2016 Qamani’tuaq) — The Boy and His Grandmother Tricks the Mean People 1980 Printmaker: Magdalene Ukpatiku (1931–1999) Stonecut 63.5 × 94.5 cm GOVERNMENT OF NUNAVUT FINE ART COLLECTION COURTESY WINNIPEG ART GALLERY

BELOW

Qiviuq n.d. Coloured pencil and graphite 59 × 74 cm COURTESY ART GALLERY OF ONTARIO

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

RIGHT

Bird Woman 1977 Coloured pencil and graphite 50.8 × 66 cm COLLECTION WINNIPEG ART GALLERY

“Have you seen Kiviok? You must have met him on your travels,” master storyteller Kuvdluitsoq from Ilivileq asked anthropologist Knud Rasmussen in the early 1920s. “Kiviok is an Inuk, a man like ourselves,” he continued, “but a man with many lives.” Speaking from the other side of a century, or nearly so, I can tell you: I have seen Kiviuq.¹ He has made it all the way here. The wandering shaman of Inuit legend, known from Greenland to Alaska (and perhaps beyond), is said to have disappeared, toward the end of his odyssey, south into “the land of the white man.” Concluding his rendition of the Kiviuq story cycle, Kuvdluitsoq told Rasmussen, who was on a mission recording local legends, “We know no more to tell about him.” Only that before his last life is over, he will return home. I learned the epic of Kiviuq from the artwork of Victoria Mamnguqsualuk (1930–2016). Appearing regularly in the Qamani’tuaq (Baker Lake), NU, print series from its inception and producing art well into her 80s, Mamnguqsualuk vividly and vigorously recounted chapters from the hero’s journey in coloured pencil, ink and textile. These efforts were presented beside vignettes from other traditional stories told to her by her grandmother when she was young, as well as experiences from life on the land. Her tellings—boldly coloured, populous and fizzing with action—characteristically depict scenes of horror, humour and tenderness, often at once. It seems fitting that her portrayals of bravery read almost like superhero comics, with long narrative sequences transpiring together on the page. I recognize the same joy in her work that I have felt from drawing: the way fantasy flows quickly and easily from the pencil, as if a nerve runs straight from our brain through our fingers and out the graphite tip. The monsters that live on the sheet are the fears that live in our minds; the heroes represent our hopes. It is no surprise to me why superheroes—whether they fly or travel by kayak, as Mamnguqsualuk’s do—have been the subject, across time, of so much ink. A dawning interest in the immense and to date overlooked output of the Sanavik Cooperative has recently begun to summon her work from its rest in vaults and collections. A selection of Mamnguqsualuks were featured at SITE Santa Fe’s SITElines 2018: Casa tomada biennial and a wall hanging is currently on display in

Kappianaqtut

the Winnipeg Art Gallery’s Nivinngajuliaat from Baker Lake exhibition. The themes of her narrative drawings—migration, scarcity and community—are contemporary in any era. But they strike with special relevance at this moment. As do the stories of the great Inuk traveller, also currently enjoying broader visibility with the Iqaluit-based Qaggiavuut!’s Qaggiq Collective, touring its stage production Kiviuq Returns: An Inuit Epic again in 2019. As the work of the prolific graphic artist and textile-maker reemerges, the legend of Kiviuq continues its voyage once again. A daughter of one of Qamani’tuaq’s most renowned artists Jessie Oonark, OC, RCA (1906–1985), Mamnguqsualuk was born near Garry Lake in what was then the Northwest Territories (now Nunavut). She was raised by her paternal grandparents and lived on the land until moving into the Qamani’tuaq settlement with her husband and children in 1963. She became involved in its fledgling art program: first, by carving stone, then, by sewing textiles and drawing. According to Keeveeok, Awake! (1986), the only monographic study of Mamnguqsualuk’s work, she was encouraged by Craft Officer Jack Butler to make drawings from the “old stories” she had heard. Such depictions were once advised against, both by Christian missionaries hostile to traditional beliefs and by some within the community, wary of stirring spirits. On the verso of one drawing, the artist wrote: “It is said that if you draw on the ice window of the igloo, the image that you have drawn may come to life and pursue you in the night. As a result, people were never to touch the ice window at night.” An untitled, undated work in graphite and coloured pencil depicts a mother defending her child, his mark-making implement still in hand, from the attack of a fanged and clawed monster with a belly full of eaten heads. Such “old stories” fed Mamnguqsualuk creatively, and when the first edition of Qamani’tuaq prints were released in 1970, eight of her drawings had been chosen, including three that told the stories of Kiviuq. The legend of the wandering Inuk is ancient; it predates European contact in the Arctic. In 2004 researcher Kira Van Deusen followed in Rasmussen’s footsteps, listening to elders across Nunavut tell the Kiviuq stories familiar in their region. “Some Inuit believe the great hero is still alive,” she writes. “They say he will die only when the world ends.” Others say Kiviuq is just a bedtime story for children.

The Nomadic and the Monstrous

Keeveeok Awake! Before 1971 Coloured pencil and graphite 55.8 × 76 cm COLLECTION WINNIPEG ART GALLERY

Candice Hopkins, co-curator of SITElines 2018, says she understands him as a character that “people can draw upon in times of social tension.” She mentions a later adaptation, published in a Cold War–era comic book, where Kiviuq harpoons a Soviet satellite from the sky, so it won’t fall onto the settlement of Qamani’tuaq. “He’s one of those figures who can be reinvented depending on the needs of a given time,” she says. In many of the tellings I have encountered, the epic begins like this: The grandmother of an orphan who is bullied by everyone, except Kiviuq, decides to take revenge against the people who mistreated him. (In other versions, Kiviuq himself is the orphan boy.) The grandmother transforms the child into a seal and teaches him to hold his breath and to swim. The grandmother tells the orphan to go into the water and appear by the shore, enticing the bullies into their kayaks, then to go into deeper water, careful not to get struck by their harpoons. Once the orphan lures the bullies away from land, the grandmother raises up a violent storm, which capsizes the hunters’ kayaks and causes them all to drown, except Kiviuq, who washes ashore and is now lost, a long way from camp. Mamnguqsualuk revisits the tale in multiple works. For example, in the stonecut and stencil print The Boy and His Grandmother Tricks the Mean People (1980), the storm is composed like a swirling gyre, sucking characters into an icy blue chop. In another similarly titled print, a bully’s boat is snapped in two, as the seal boy makes his escape. The image of Kiviuq fleeing in his kayak—though it might allude to any number of installments in the cycle—appears frequently across the artist’s drawings, prints and wall hangings. An episode told sometimes immediately following “The Orphan” chapter is one that seems to have struck Mamnguqsualuk particularly, and she returned to the story of the “Big Bee” often. An undated graphite and coloured pencil work viewed from the Art Gallery of Ontario’s (AGO) print and drawing archive is titled simply Qiviuq (n.d.). It presents the quintessential Kiviuq tale, typical in tone and structure to many others: on the way home, he encounters a threat— natural or supernatural—but by his cunning, or sometimes by magic, he narrowly escapes to continue his journey. Here we also experience the idiosyncrasies that arise from oral tradition transmitted graphically and frozen by the page. The two curators, a press officer and I worked to suss out the narrative: “What is he doing?” “What’s in her hand?” “Are those heads?” “He must be next.” But the artist’s lines are sure. The characters and their actions are fixed in her mind. There is no second guessing. It is a story she knows well. After drifting in his kayak for some time, Kiviuq lands in a foreign place and finds a house near the shore. It is the home of the bee woman, who has assumed the form of a man-eating troll. He climbs on top of the lodging to peer down through a hole in the roof and finds the sorceress inside tanning human hide. He spits down through the opening to catch her attention. She looks up to examine the leaky roof, but her eyelids are so heavy they fall in the way. She takes her ulu (woman’s knife) and slices off her own eyelids. Startled, Kiviuq falls to the ground and lies there unconscious. She brings him inside. When he comes to, warming by the fire, the head of a previous victim, set among a row of severed heads nearby, speaks. It says: “Keeveeok, awake! And flee to save your own life.” Kiviuq heeds the warning and runs, barely escaping the bee woman’s ulu, which she throws at him as he takes off again in his kayak. In some accounts, when her ulu hits the water, the very first coastal ice is formed, though Mamnguqsualuk generally skips this detail. (Some speculate the frozen coast was less critical for those living inland and who did not depend on hunting sea mammals).

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

The artistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lines are sure. The characters and their actions are fixed in her mind. There is no second guessing. It is a story she knows well. â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

Kappianaqtut

The Nomadic and the Monstrous

LEFT

Giant Insect c. 1980 Coloured pencil and graphite 58.9 × 80 cm ART GALLERY OF ONTARIO

RIGHT

Conversing with the Snake Spirit 1987 Printmaker: Magdalene Ukpatiku (1931–1999) Stonecut and stencil 66 × 94.5 cm GOVERNMENT OF NUNAVUT FINE ART COLLECTION COURTESY WINNIPEG ART GALLERY

How people move and why they move, who belongs, who doesn’t and who is making that distinction? These questions were a very important part of Mamnguqsualuk’s work. For Inuit, migration was a way of life. —

Inuit Art Quarterly

The same story is presented in Qaggiavuut!’s Kiviuq Returns, as told by many elders. In this chapter, told by Madeline Ivalu of Iglulik, NU, once Kiviuq is alerted by the talking skull, he summons his guiding spirit nanuq (polar bear), who rescues him from the bee woman. “We collected stories from many Inuit elders across Nunavut,” says Artistic Director Laakkuluk Williamson Bathory, “sometimes they told completely different stories, sometimes they told the exact same story. It was amazing. Our stories are that strong, just a scratch beneath the skin and they are all there.” Though Mamnguqsualuk’s work did not have direct influence on the stage play, Williamson Bathory explains that it is another indication how strong the imagery of the stories are. “Kiviuq is compelling because he is a mere human, who, by sheer willpower to travel, becomes supernatural. He was so curious, so open, so charismatic, that people in all Inuit regions passed these stories down over hundreds, even thousands of years.” Aside from her depictions of Kiviuq, another drawing at the AGO steals my attention and consumes it. Mamnguqsualuk’s Giant Insect (c. 1980) hung in the gallery from fall 2017 to early 2018 during an exhibition exploring the bestiary of Mexican filmmaker Guillermo del Toro. It shows a ten-legged, beetle-like critter, bigger than a polar bear, with a head like that of a muskox. It has trapped a man in its jaws. Like an abyss or a blackhole, the characters gathered round are pulled toward its maw. Whether by hunters, bears, wolves, snakes, spirits or cannibals, the acts of eating and being eaten form a motif across Mamnguqsualuk’s art. Women Eating Lice (1979) features a chimera-like creature crouched behind the titular women, also ready to feast. Men Harpooning Fish (n.d.) has the group gobbling their

Spring 2019

as “choreographies.” They are fantastically large and intricately catch straight from the water. Battling with the Sea Monsters (1988) coordinated movements. shows an Inuk swallowed by a sea serpent. AGO Curator of It is for such robust examples of interdependence that Hopkins Indigenous Art Wanda Nanibush reminds me that through the 1940s sought to bring forward Mamnguqsualuk’s art today, in some cases and 1950s, Inuit of the Kivalliq Region, where Mamnguqsualuk close to a half-century after its production. The work has a lot to tell lived, experienced periods of terrible famine. It was illness and food contemporary audiences—perhaps more than ever—as notions scarcity that eventually brought her family to move permanently of community grow larger and more global. Migration was an under into the Qamani’tuaq settlement. lying theme last year at SITElines, she says. “How people move and Hopkins also recognizes the theme. She views the acts not why they move, who belongs, who doesn’t and who is making that simply as ingestion, but instances of a greater sense of exchange distinction?” These questions were “a very important part of Victoria’s prevalent throughout Mamnguqsualuk’s creation. Things eat things. work,” Hopkins says. “For Inuit, migration was a way of life.” Things transform into different things. Things exist inside other Following the land for resources, experiencing scarcity, relocating, things. Hopkins mentions the print Flesh Eating Monster (1983), which learning new ways to survive, such movement figured large in was included in the Santa Fe biennial. It depicts a giant bird wearing Mamnguqsualuk’s time and was reflected in her work. It is no wonder an amauti (woman’s parka), rising from behind a bear that has a she made a muse of the eternal migrant. In this moment of mass human face. Its belly is open and full of meat—fish, people and what human migration, as people move from outside and within Europe, might be caribou. On the bear’s outstretched tongue, stands a the Americas and the Middle East and tensions surrounding borders man, brandishing a weapon. He appears tiny. Another man strikes increase, her stories do not feel 1000 years old or even 50 years old. at the monster. Another is carried away by a wolf. Between the They feel emergent. worlds of the human, the animal and the spirit, “there’s always I can tell you that I have seen Kiviuq. He has made it here. this sense of interrelationship,” Hopkins says. This sense can And I do not anticipate that his travels are yet over. be seen in additional works in SITElines, like the print Snake Man (1982), where within the contours of the serpent’s long body emerge human faces, legs and arms. Here, snake and man are not enemies but are part of the same. The connections construct an ecology. Every actor has their part to play, not merely for the function of a NOTES narrative, but also in a broader understanding of life and survival. One being depends on another. Existence is dynamic. Accordingly, 1 The contemporary spelling Kiviuq is used here. However, the various spellings Hopkins refers to Mamnguqsualuk’s drawings and wall hangings recorded in publications, titles and archival documents are preserved.

Kappianaqtut

The Nomadic and the Monstrous

PORTFOLIO

Creature Feature â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

Long-standing stories of sometimes humorous and often terrifying creatures populate the rich oral histories of all four regions of Inuit Nunangat, contributing to the structure of Inuit societal and spiritual systems. In the following Portfolio, we provide insight into a host of spirits inhabiting the Arctic landscape through the artists who continue to tell their stories.

Akunialukâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;pitaqaqtut unikkaaqtuat ilaanikut tipsinaqtut ammalu kapiasuanaqtut uumajunguat unikaaqtuatuqait tamainni tisamani Inuit Nunanganni, ikajuutijuq aaqiksimalugit Inuit nunaqatigiinit ammalu taqnilirijutigilugit. Ataani Sanajausimajut, takutitiniarata iniqaqtitilluta taqniqnik nunaqaqtunik Unkiuqtaqtmi taapkutigut sanaguaqtit suli manna unikaaqtuaqtanginik.

â&#x20AC;&#x201D; SANASIMAJANGIT

Inuungitut Uqausiuvut

Qallupilluk /Q alupalik — Venturing near the floe edge in spring, as the pack ice drifts, can be a dangerous endeavor, complicated even further by what lies beneath. Clad in eider down or a duck skin amauti (women’s parka), the malevolent, humanoid qallupilluk are said to live under the ice, waiting with sinuous tendrils and sinister claws to carry away children who play too close to the fringe of the northern sea. Rarely seen but often heard, they whisk their prey away on their backs to caves deep in the Arctic waters. In some tellings, particularly for inland communities like Qamani’tuaq (Baker Lake), NU, qallupilluk also dwell in the depths of certain lakes. In others, the creatures are said to take the form of various Arctic animals to trick victims into approaching the boundary between land and sea. Yet, in each instance of the cautionary tale, used to warn children of the dangers inherent in the northern landscape, an echoing knock on the breaking sheets of ice signals both the natural and supernatural threat waiting below.

David Ruben Piqtoukun (b. 1950 Paulatuk/Toronto) — TOP (LEFT)

Qalupalik Holding A Head 1994 Stone, antler, fur 10.2 × 35.6 × 22.2 cm COURTESY WADDINGTON’S

— QULAANI SAUMIANI

Qalupalik Holding A Head 1994 Ukusiksalik, nakjuk, amiq 10.2 × 35.6 × 22.2 anginiga TUNISIJUQ WADDINGTON’S

Jessie Oonark (1906–1985 Qamani’tuaq) — BOTTOM (LEFT)

Kudloopudlooaluk / Sea Monster 1970 Stencil 55.9 × 76.2 cm COURTESY WALKER’S AUCTIONS

— ATAANI SAUMIANI

Kudloopudlooaluk / Taqriuqmi Kappianaqtut 1970 Titiqtugaqsimajuq 55.9 × 76.2 anginiga TUNISIJUT WALKER’S AUCTIONS

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Tim Pitsiulak (1967–2016 Kinngait) — TOP (RIGHT)

Qalupalik Maqgoo 2012 Coloured pencil 146 × 50 cm NATIONAL GALLERY OF CANADA REPRODUCED WITH PERMISSION DORSET FINE ARTS

— QULAANI TALIQPIANI

Qalupalik Maqgoo 2012 Kalalik titirauti 146 × 50 anginiga NATIONAL GALLERY OF CANADA SAQITITAUKANIQSIMAJUQ ANGIQTAUSIMALUTA TAAPKUNANGAT DORSET FINE ARTS

Annie Kilabuk (1932–2005 Panniqtuuq) — BOTTOM (RIGHT)

Qalupalik 1997 Stencil 59 × 36 cm COURTESY DAVIC GALLERY

— ATAANI TALIQPIANI

Qalupalik 1997 Titiqtugaqsimajuq 59 × 36 anginiga TUNISIJUQ DAVIC GALLERY

Qallupilluk / Qalupalik — Inguravak&uni qanigijangani sinaaq upiqgaakut, taimalu sikuqatlaatillugu, ulurianarunnaqtuq, qaujimanaqranilu sunataqaqmagaat ataani. Anuraaqaqpalauqtut mitiq qingalik obvaluunniit niqliqnik amautiqaq&utik, kappasuktitijut, inuuqujigaluaq&utik Qallupilluk uqausiuvaktut nunaqaqtut ataani sikutuqait, utaqqijut amaqniaramik nutaqqanik pingualiqpata qanilualiqpata sikjamut. Takujaulauqsimagatik kisuani tusaajausuugullutik, tigusisuut niriniaqtamiknik amaq&ugit itijuni Ukiuqtaqtuq imagini. Ilagit unikaat, piluaqtumik sinaaganik qaniksangituni suuqlu Qamanituaq, Nunavut, Qallupilluk nunaqasuuttauq itijuni taqsiqni. Asigit, uumajut inuunatik uqausiusimajut niqjutingguagusuut naluliqtitilutik qaijunik sinaagini tariut. Suli, atuni qanuilijuviniit unikaaqtautiarasuk&utik, kap piasaarijutigilugit nutaqqanut ulurianaqtunik, kasuktuqpalatijuq suratirijuq sikunik taimaituq nunatuinaugami ammalu nalunaqtunik taimaititaugami kappaianaqmata ataaniitut utaqijut. Kappianaqtut

Creature Feature

Lucassie Echalook (b. 1942 Inukjuak) —

Thomassie Echalook (1935–2011 Inukjuak) —

Kiakshuk (1886–1966 Kinngait) —

TOP (RIGHT)

BOTTOM (LEFT)

BOTTOM (RIGHT)

Giant and the Fisherman n.d. Stone 27.5 × 23 × 19 cm

The Tuniks (Giants) Who Lived Before Us Were More Able to Get Food 1974 Serigraph 72.3 × 55.3 cm —

Two Men Killing Giant 1961 Stonecut 36 x 48.8 cm

COURTESY GALERIE D’ART VINCENT

— QULAANI TALIQPIANI

Inukpasugjuk ammalu iqalugasukti ubluqangittuq ukkusiksalik 27.5 × 23 × 19 anginiga TUNISIJUQ GALERIE D’ART VINCENT

ATAANI SAUMIANI

Ukua Tuniks (inukpasukjuit) Sivuliulutik Ovattinnit Inuunikut Niqitaarunalauqtut 1974 Titiqtugaqsimajuq 72.3 × 55.3 anginiga

— ATAANI TALIQPIANI

Maqruuk angutiik tuquutijut inukpasukjukmik 1961 Ukusiksalikmit 36 x 48.8 anginiga © DORSET FINE ARTS

Inukpasugjuit —

Giants known as inukpasugjuit that tower above humans have travelled and left their mark across the Arctic, their footprints still visible on the land. Some malevolent, others kind, giants have been the subject of many stories told and artworks made by Inuit. There are stories of giants who were so large they would mistake polar bears for foxes and bowhead whales for fish. A famous giant was said to be able to walk across mountains in one step and later adopted a human son to help him pick lice as big as lemmings from his head. Some say that giants sleep for hundreds of years and that if you see a mountain on an otherwise featureless terrain, it may be a giant deep in slumber.

Makua Inukpasugjuit takujut anginiqsait inuknit namutuinaaq palauqmijut ammalu tamaaniituviniunigit saqijaaqtuqaqtuq nanituinnaq Ukiuqtaqtumi,tumigit takuksaujut nunami. Ilaanikut alianaqtuulutik, asigilu inutiavaulutik, Inukpasugjuit unikaagusimajut amisuni unikaaqtuani ammalu sanayausimayuni Inuknit. Unikaaqsimajuqaqtuq Inukpasugjuit angiluamut tam mautauvalauqtut nanuit tiriganiaqgunasugiyaulutik ammalu aqviita iqaluunasugiyaulutik. Qauyimayaulaangijuq tainna pisusuuq innaarutigut qaaquppak&ugit ammalu qagauliqmat tiguaqniku inukmik iqnirijauyumik ikajuqniaqmat kumaijaqlugu kumangit angitigijut avingatitut niaquani. Ilagit uqasuut Inukpasugjuit sinisuut 100 ukiunut ammalu takuguvit innaaruqmik timiqaquujijumik nunatuinnaqmi, taapna Inukpasugjuit siniktuq.

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Tuurngaq —

Tuurngait are rarely seen, but are responsible for much activity, both malignant and benevolent. While they are known to invite naïve people into their cave-dwellings in mountains and cliffs to trap and eat them, these beings can also be helpful when summoned by powerful angakkuit (shamans) in times of need. The tuurngait are shapeshifters of sorts and can take on a multitude of forms. Some are only visible to the angakkuq who summoned them, while others take on an almost demonic look, with bared teeth, horns and long talons, still others are unassuming and appear harmless, a tactic that helps lure people back to their homes. The Torngat Mountains in Nunavik and Nunatsiavut are given their name because they are said to be home to these spirits.

Tuurngait takuyaulausimatsiangitut, kisiani qanuiliuqtitivalauqtut, tamainnik aliagiyaujut ammalu inutiavaujunaq&utik. Qaujimayaulauqtut qaiquurivalauniginik nunaqaqqaaqsimajunik tisimiknutangiraqmiknut innaaruqni ammalu siviganiginni innaruit pilugit ammalu niqilugit, taapkuatauq ikajurunalauqtut tiliyaujaraagamik sangijunik angakkuqnit kisaniuliraagat. Ukua Tuurngait kisuruqpalautut kisutuinatsiamik. Ilagit kisiani takuksarusuut taapkunuga angakkuqnut qaiqujiyunut, asiginittauq saqititauvalauqtut saataanasititut tauttuqaqtut, kigutiqaratik, nakjuqaqtut ammalu isigayaaqaqtut, suli asingit inutiavait ammalu takusauniga iqsinaruminangitut, taimana kisiani inuknik angiraujijunaramik. Taapna Torngat Innaaruit Nunavikmi ammalu Nunatsiavavummi atiqaqtitijut taapkuniga angirarikmatjuk.

John Terriak (b. 1950 Nain) — LEFT

Torngats n.d. Stone COURTESY CANADIAN ARCTIC PRODUCERS PHOTO ERIN YUNES

— SAUMIK

Torngats ubluqangittuq Ukusiksaq TUNISIJUQ CANADIAN ARCTIC PRODUCERS AJILIAGA ERIN YUNES

Jonasie Quarqortoq (Faber) (b. 1944 Qaqortoq) — RIGHT

All-seeing Tornaq n.d. Serpentinite 25 × 14 × 9.8 cm COURTESY GALERIE D’ART VINCENT

— TALIQPIANA

All-seeing Tornaq ubluqangittuq Aqituq Sanaguaraksaq 25 × 14 × 9.8 anginiga TUNISIJUQ GALERIE D’ART VINCENT

Mayoreak Ashoona (b. 1946 Kinngait) — LEFT

Tornaq 1977 Lithograph 51.3 × 67.4 cm © DORSET FINE ARTS

— SAUMIK

Tornaq 1977 Titiraujaqsimajuq 51.3 × 67.4 anginiga © DORSET FINE ARTS

Kappianaqtut

Creature Feature

Davidialuk Alasua Amittu (1910–1976 Puvirnituq) —

—

TOP (LEFT)

(BOTTOM LEFT)

BOTTOM (RIGHT)

Legend 1963 Stonecut 29.8 × 42.5 cm

Untitled n.d Steatite 9 × 18 × 8.5 cm

Katjutaiyuk Walking 1988–1989 Linocut 76 × 56.5 cm —

COURTESY WALKER’S AUCTIONS

—

QULAANI SAUMIANI

ATAANI SAUMIANI

Unikaaqtuq 1963 Ukusiksalikmit 29.8 × 42.5 anginiga

Atiqangituq Obluga nalunaqtuq Sanaguaraksak 9 × 18 × 8.5 anginiga

TUNISIJUT WALKER’S AUCTIONS

Aisa Amittu (b. 1951 Puvirnituq) —

ATAANI TALIQPIANI

Katjutaiyuk Pisuktuq 1988–1989 Titiqtugaqsimajuq 76 × 56.5 anginiga

Kajutajuq —

A knocking heard on the ice walls of an igloo is cause for alarm, for it is believed that those who behold the ominous visitor will soon after fall ill. Lurking outside is the kajutajuq, a head with no body and no arms, just feet. In place of cheeks, she bares breasts and on her chin, a vulva. A similar creature, the tunituaruk, takes the same form, but also wears tunniit (facial tattoos). These creatures linger in the igloos abandoned by migrating camps, surprising people who enter looking for a place to stay. The figure of kajutajuq was an ongoing source of inspiration for Davidialuk Alasua Amittu (1910–1976) who depicted her in countless sculptures and nearly a dozen prints. Amittu imagines the kajutajuq with a family and shows her giving birth and singing atop an igloo. Despite these sometimes joyous depictions, the artist calls her evil. His sons Aisa and Johnny Amittu have also dedicated a significant part of their practices to representing these figures who haunt the Ungava Peninsula.

Kasuktuqtumik tusaqtut igluvigaqmi kappasuliqtitivalauqtut, ukpirusulauqtut naammangitualukmik qaijuqaqtuq taimalu qagatsiaq qanimakniarami. Silami qanittuqsiuqtuq Kajutajuq niaquqaqtuq timiqarani ammalu taliqarani, isigaqatuinnaqtuq. Uluaqaqviksaraluag migut, iviagiqaqtuq ammalu taplua uttuuluni. Mikijuruluk niqjutiqlaruluk, una Tunituaruk, taimannatauq aaqiksimajuq, kisiani tunniqaqtuq. Taapkua igluvigaqniisuut inuqaruniiqtuni nuktaqtuni, kapatitivalauqtut inuknik iniksaqsiuqtunik. Una kisunguaq Kajutajuq piugijauginaqpuq Davidialuk Alasua Amittu (1910–1976) saqitippalauqtanga amisuni sanaguaqgaqmini ammalu titiqtugaujaq simajamini. Amittu isumagijaviniga Kajutajuq qatagutiqarasugilugu ammalu saqitippaktanga iqnijuq ammalu ingiyuq iklugivaq qaangani. Taapkuaguraluaqmata ilaanigut quviasuktunik saqititivalauqtuq, sanaguaqsimajuq taapkuniga satanasimiutauniraqtugu. Iqnigit Aisa ammalu Johnny Amittuq tunisimajangit angijumik ilaga pilirijutigivaktangit kisungut kappasaarijutigilugit Ungavami.

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Osuitok Ipeelee (1923–2005 Kinngait) —

John Nutarariaq (b. 1973 Iglulik) —

LEFT

RIGHT

Giant Spirit with Claws c. 1964 Stone and antler 56.4 × 28 × 17.1 cm

Mahaha 2018 Stone and ivory 45.7 × 40.6 × 27.9 cm

COURTESY WALKER’S AUCTIONS PHOTO DIETER HESSEL

— SAUMIK

Inukpasukjuk taqnigit isigajaaliit ublugani 1964 Ukkusiksalik ammalu nakjuk 56.4 × 28 × 17.1 anginiga

COURTESY CARVINGS NUNAVUT INC.

— TALIQPIANA

Mahaha 2018 Ukkusiksalikand tuugaq 45.7 × 40.6 × 27.9 anginiga TUNISIJUQ CARVINGS NUNAVUT INC.

TUNISIJUT WALKER’S AUCTIONS AJILIAGA DIETER HESSEL

Mahahaa —

If you hear a haunting giggle carried by the Arctic wind, it may mean that the terrifying mahahaa is near. With a menacing smirk, horrific teeth and immense razor-sharp talons, this being wears a twisted smile while it stalks lone travellers during the winter months, impervious to the cold. Also known as qungalukkakkiit, the relatively small creature is routinely depicted wearing little clothing and almost always barefoot, with icy blue eyes that peer out from beneath a long, tangled mane. Perhaps most notable are its elongated fingers and similarly prolonged nails that it uses to tickle victims to death— all while grinning from ear to ear. However, this cruel figure is easily fooled. Elders suggest tricking the mahahaa into sharing one last drink by the water’s edge where soon-to-be victims can push the creature into the rushing current to escape.

Tusaaguvit iklamajakpalatijunik alianaqtut nunatuinnaganik Ukiuqtaqtuq anugianit, tukiqaqtuq kappinanaqtuq Mahahaa qanigijaqniiliqmat. Qaniinaqmigut qungatuq, kigutiqluktuq ammalu ipiktunik isigajaalik, tiqliaqsivaktuq inutuujunik aulaqsimajunik ukiukkut, ikpiginagu niklasuktummarialuk. Qaujimayaukmijuq taiyausuuguyuq Qungalukkakkiit, mikijuq uumajuq takujauvaktuq anguraaminik mikiksaqtuq ammalu kamilaaq&uni, tuguyuq&utik ijigik saqippaktut nujappiktut. Immaqaa ujiqnaluasuut inuganguagit takujuaalukmata ammalu takijuaaluukmata kukingit quinaksaarisuut kisiani tuqukpat – qungajaaq&utik aksuaaluk. Taimanaugaluaqtilugu, piungitualuugaluarami silaittuq. Innatuqait sakluqitiniraqpalauqput Mahahaa imiqtit&ugu kikliani immaq ajaktauniaqmat qaujitinnagu igiraniqmut imaanut qimaksiniaramik.

Kappianaqtut

Creature Feature

Theresa Totalik (Talurjuaq) —

Anirnik Oshuitoq (1902–1983 Kinngait) —

Jacoposie Tiglik (b. 1952 Panniqtuuq) —

TOP (LEFT)

CENTRE

BOTTOM (LEFT)

Mermaid Packing Doll c. 1990 Wool duffle and thread 42 × 22 × 15 cm

Sea Spirit 1970 Stencil 49.5 × 61 cm

ANNE LAMBERT CLOTHING AND TEXTILES COLLECTION UNIVERSITY OF ALBERTA PHOTO ANNE BISSONNETTE

Taliillajuuq: Goddess with Many Names 2003 Linocut 64 × 47 cm

— QULAANI SAUMIANI

Imaqmiutaq inuk amaaqtuq qitungaujaqmik ublugani 1990 iluliksaq qalunaqtaq ammalu ivalu 42 × 22 × 15 anginiga

— QITIA

Tariuq Saqnigit 1970 Titiqtugaqsimajuq 49.5 × 61 anginiga © DORSET FINE ARTS

COURTESY DAVIC GALLERY

— ATAANI SAUMIANI

Taliillajuuq: Goddess with Many Names 2003 Ujaqaqmit nakatuqsimajuq 64 × 47 anginiga TUNISIJUQ DAVIC GALLERY

ANNE LAMBERT CLOTHING AND TEXTILES COLLECTION UNIVERSITY OF ALBERTA AJILIAGA ANNE BISSONNETTE

Sea Spirits — Though Nuliajuk, also known as takannaaluk or Sedna, may be the most synonymous being to inhabit the frozen seas, she is not alone in the depths of the Arctic waters. Accompanying the goddess of the sea are a plethora of figures that appear to straddle both the human and animal worlds. These beings are most often portrayed with human faces, both male and female, and occasionally upper bodies clad in a parka or amauti (women’s parka), with their lower extremities resembling those of a fish as well as other northern fauna, such as a whale, walrus or seal. In many depictions in both carving and printmaking, these lively spirits appear helpful—aiding both Inuit and Arctic animals alike—while majestically swimming and playing games with one another. More sinister sea spirits inhabit the waters of Nunavik, such as the iikutajuitt, who attack hunters in their kayaks and are said be responsible for driving the ancient Tuniit from the land.

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Tariup Taqnigit — Taimannaugaluaqma Nuliajuk, taijausuugunmijuq Takannaaluk obvaluunniit Sedna, ajukasangit nunaqaqtut sikusimatilugu tariuq, tapna inutuungituq itijuni Ukiuqtaqtuq imagini. Piqatigilugu taapna imaqmiutaq tauptungit ajikasatsiagit inuup ammalu niqjutit. Ukua saqititauvaktut Inuktitut kiinaqaq&utik, tamaqmik angitut ammalu aqnait, ammalu ilaanikut timiga japasimavaktuq ammalu amausiq simaluni, ataa iqaluuqujiluni ammalu ukiuqtaqtumi taruiqmi uumajut, suuqlu aqviq, aiviq, obvaluunniit nattiq. Saqititauqataqtut tamaini sanaguaqgaqni ammalu titiqtugaqsimajuni, ummariktut taqniit ikajuutijumiraqraluaq&utik – Ikajuqlutik tamainik Inuknik ammalu ukiuqtaqtuq niqjutiginik – Puijurauyaqtut ammalu pingguaqatigiit. Tamapkuali kappianaqtut tariup taqnigit nunaqaqtut imagini Nunavik, suuqlu tamapkua Iikutajuitt, paavalauqtut angunasuktinik maqaitinik qayaqmiitunik ammalu imaatitinikiuguuq ittaqnitanik Tuniit nunamit.

Irene Avaalaaqiaq Tiktaalaaq (b. 1941 Qamani’tuaq) — BOTTOM (RIGHT)

Untitled n.d. Wool duffel, felt, thread, embroidery floss 134.6 × 210.8 cm COURTESY WADDINGTON’S

— ATAANI TALIQPIANI

Atiqangituq ubluqangittuq qalunaqtaq, ilukiksaq, ammalu ivalu, taqsiqtuuti ivaluk 134.6 × 210.8 anginiga

Daniel Shimout (b. 1972 Salliq) — TOP (RIGHT)

Sea Spirit c. 2010 Stone COURTESY CANADIAN ARCTIC PRODUCERS

— QULAANI TALIQPIANI

Tariuq Saqnigit ublugani 2010 Ukusiksalik TUNISIJUQ CANADIAN ARCTIC PRODUCERS

TUNISIJUQ WADDINGTON’S

Kappianaqtut

Creature Feature

Amautalik /A majukjuk /A majurjuaq —

Amautalik / Amajukjuk / Amajurjuaq —

A blind woman is minding a crying infant while its parents drum dance, or so one version of the story goes. Nothing she does will calm the child down, so she calls for someone to come and look after it. A figure enters and offers to take the child. The blind woman places it in the amaut (hood) of the recently arrived guest, who then disappears into the night with the child. The mysterious visitor is the amautalik, a female spirit and kidnapper who carries her victims off in her amauti (woman’s parka), preying on lost travellers or children who stray from home, as well as crying infants. Other versions of the story call her a giant or an ogress, and some have her carrying victims away in a basket made of bones, driftwood and seaweed carried on her back. She is feared by those who wander, and the threat of her has often kept people close to home.

Tautungituq aqnaq paqijuq qiajumik nutaralaaqmik taapkualu ataatakungit anaanakungit qilaujaqtut, taimalu unikaaqtuaq taapkunangat kajusivuq. Qanutuinnaq nutaraqmik saim marunailititivalauqtuq, taimalu uqaluk&uni kinamik qaiqulugu ammalu paqiqullugu. Inuuquujijuq isirami ammalu pijumalugu nutaraq. Taapna tautungituq aqnaq nutaralaaq amautianuaq&ugu taapsumuga qaiqataaqtumut, taapnalu asiutuinnaq&uni unnuamut pilugu nutaraq. Qaujimanangituq pulaaqtuq taijausuuq Amautalik, una aqnaq taqniq ammalu tigusituinnaqsuuq amaq&ugit, qiniqsuuq asiuqajunik obvaluunniit nutaqqanik ugasiksijunik angiramiknit, ammalu qiajunik nutaralaaqnik. Asigittauq unikaaqsimajut inukpasug juuniganik obvaluunniit aqnaq alianaqtuq, ammalu ilaginut uqaqsimajut nakmaktuq qattaqminik sanasimajuq sauniqnik, qijuk ammalu qiqquaq puurivigisuunga tigujaminik. Kappiagiyauyuq taapkunangat tamaugatuinnaq pisusijuqqapat, ammalu kappiasaarijutauvalauqtuq taimalu angiraqsimajutauvalauqtuq.

Martha Tickie (1939–2015 Qamani’tuaq) —

Nelson Takkiruq (1930–1999 Uqsuqtuuq) —

LEFT

RIGHT

Amautalik c. 1980 Stone 39.4 × 21.6 cm

Amayuqyuq Abducting a Child c. 1980s Stone, bone and ivory 58.4 × 38.1 × 25.4 cm

COURTESY WALKER’S AUCTIONS

— SAUMIK

Amautalik ublugani 1980 Ukkusiksalik 39.4 × 21.6 anginiga COURTESY WALKER’S AUCTIONS

COURTESY WADDINGTON’S

— TALIQPIANA

Amayuqyuq Butaraqmik tigusijuq ublugani 1980s Ukusiksalik, sainiq ammalu tuugaq 58.4 × 38.1 × 25.4 anginiga TUNISIJUQ WADDINGTON’S

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

Qavavau Manumie (b. 1958 Kinngait) — LEFT

— SAUMIK

Qavavau Manumie — RIGHT

Untitled (1985) 2008 Coloured pencil and ink 50.8 × 66.4 cm COURTESY MARION SCOTT GALLERY REPRODUCED WITH PERMISSION DORSET FINE ARTS

— TALIQPIANA

Atiqangituq (1985) 2008 Kalalik titirauti ammalu imalik 50.8 × 66.4 anginiga TUNISIJUQ MARION SCOTT GALLERY SAQITITAUKANIQSIMAJUQ ANGIQTAUSIMALUTA TAAPKUNANGAT DORSET FINE ARTS

Inugarulligaarjuit —

A figure grasping the heel of a vibrant magenta shoe; a man pulling enormous bundles of kelp while balancing a knife almost four times his size on his back; a jolly being peering out in satisfaction from behind a television, with the power cord in hand; two minute fisher men frantically holding their line as an Arctic char pulls them both through the water. These scenes of diminutive parka-clad people, known as inugarulligaarjuit, are based on childhood stories told to artist and printmaker Qavavau Manumie by his father while growing up in Kinngait (Cape Dorset), NU. Said to live unnoticed by the other inhabitants of the Arctic, this race of humanlike spirits has fascinated the artist, who has for over a decade continued to imagine their frequently comical encounters with the northern landscape. From carrying an over-sized bundle of hundred-dollar bills to a group wrestling with a caribou, one can only imagine where these beings will appear next.

Inuuquujuvuq tigusiliqtuq kingmianik isigaujangata; anguti amusivaktuq angijuaalukmik qiqquaqmik savinilu nakmak&ugu tisamailuaqtumik anginiqsaujuq taapsumangat; qugajaaqtuq saqijaaq&uni quviasuktuq tuniani talaviisaq, kappujaqtuanik tigumiatuq; 2 minutes iqalugasuktuq tigumiaqtuq iqalukmik amusiliqtuq imaanit. Ukua saqijaaqtut mikijukuluit japasimajut Inuit, taijausuut Inugarulligaarjuit, unikaaqtuaqtangit sanaguaqti ammalu titiqtugaqti Qavavau Manumie ataataminit piruqsalluni Kinngait, Nunavut. Uqaqsimajuq nunaqatut qaijijauvagatik nunaqaqtunit Ukiuqtaqtumi, taapkua inuuqujilutik taqniit sanaguaqtauginasuut sanaguaqtinit, ukualu taimanganik qulit uikiut kajusivuq tautunguaqtamiknik tipsigijauvaktut takujaigaigamik ukiuqtaqtup nunaangani. Tigumiaqtuq amisunik $100 kiinauyaqnik tappkununga unnataaqaqtunuk tuktunik, qaujimanaqpangituq nakit taapkua saqippanmagaata.

Kappianaqtut

Creature Feature

Billy Gauthier. Northern Frigidaire Diet (2012). Serpentine, antler (moose and caribou), horn (muskox), slate. 8.8 x 10.1 x 8.8 cm. Private collection. Photo: Spirit Wrestler Gallery.

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Inuit Art Quarterly

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LEGACY

Whispers and Dreams: The Prints of Tivi Etok

BELOW

Tivi Etok (b. 1928 Kangiqsualujjuaq) — Two hunters are startled by the Tuurngaq; it can take any animal shape 2004 Stonecut 57.5 × 45 cm COURTESY AVATAQ CULTURAL INSTITUTE

by John Geoghegan

The choice of Tivi Etok as the first-ever Inuit artist to be the subject of a solo print release might seem questionable at first. In 1975 when Tivi Etook: Whispering in My Ears and Mingling with My Dreams was released, more prolific artists like Pitseolak Ashoona, CM, RCA (c. 1904–1983), Jessie Oonark, OC, RCA (1906–1985) or even Joe Talirunili (c. 1893–1976) might have been considered to be a better fit than Etok, who at this time had only made six prints since he began printmaking three years prior. However, careful consideration of the 18 single-author prints in Etok’s first print collection reveals the incredibly creative mind of an artist whose compositions are filled with humour, horror and history. His Inuit Art Quarterly

selection as the inaugural Inuit artist to produce a solo print collection was a bold choice, not a questionable one. Etok was born in 1928 in a small camp close to the George River. He spent his childhood in camps across Nunavik and as far east as Hebron, Nunatsiavut. “When I was a child, I lived with my family, far from other people,” Etok recalled. “We were alone, just [myself] and [my] family, and [we] travelled the land around George River.”¹ Etok and his family settled permanently in Kangiqsualujjuaq, QC, in the 1960s where he occasionally made small carvings from stone and antler. In 1972 Etok was one of 18 Nunavimmiut artists invited to Puvirnituq, QC, to take part 62

in a seven-week printmaking course to learn stonecut and stencil techniques. The artist returned to his community where he began teaching other artists and eventually set up a small print studio. Etok was involved in all aspects of production for his own prints—designing the image, cutting the stone and pulling the prints. “When I make my prints, I recall the things which happened in my childhood,” Etok explained. His bold stonecuts depict many scenes of hunting and wildlife often with lengthy inscriptions in syllabics. Rich and expressive, these descriptions, handwritten on each print in an edition, convey traditional knowledge and recount stories from the artist’s youth. Though wolves, caribou and seal abound in the prints in Tivi Etook, the most striking are the seven depicting monsters, creatures and spirits. In the introduction to the catalogue Etok explains, “I have always been concerned with supernatural things.” His prints depicting a tuurngaq luring a man into a cliffside dwelling, a sea monster that attacks kayakers and an evil spirit who comes out in the night are unusual but completely captivating. Etok’s corresponding inscriptions, full of evocative language describing the scratching of the tuurngaq in the night and a frightening sea spirit emerging from the Arctic ocean, heighten the uneasiness of the scenes. Menacing creatures with bulging eyes, sinuous claws and crooked posture only feature prominently in Etok’s first solo print collection. In the prints that followed, Etok mostly depicted wildlife and hunting scenes. Perhaps he had run out of stories to illustrate. “I have forgotten much of what I have heard and seen,” he once wrote. “Maybe as I do my prints and pictures, I will remember them.” Following a 25-year hiatus, Etok returned to printmaking with Two hunters are startled by the Tuurngaq; it can take any animal shape (2004). In it a giant spirit with talons curled and teeth barred towers over two figures. Where did this inspiration come from after 25 years? What prompted his return to this monstrous subject? Perhaps, as with almost three decades earlier, something whispered in Etok’s ear. Spring 2019

LEGACY

Another story about Ekeagualuk 1974 Inscription: The father, with his two sons, has returned to the place from which his son escaped the great sea spirit. The father has a large killing spear, which he had made to kill any frightful or terrifying beast. This spear had a very thick heavy shaft. The father and his two sons had gone to where the older son had seen the two large ice floes covered with sleeping animals. As they approached the ice, the sleeping things dove into the water. The father and his sons hurried to this place. He instructed his sons to tie their kayaks together and then they made themselves ready to fight. Seeing a dark shape approach from under the water, the old man stabbed with all his might with his great killing spear. The spirit had been stabbed and the life quickly began to pass from it. The other spirits in the water, seeing this, retreated quickly. As the stabbed one came to the surface, it made a sound like “eeke, eeke” and from this sound got its name Ekeagualuk. The great water spirit was the greatest of all the evil spirits and it was killed by the old man. The other evil spirits left, as they knew they had now been defeated. Now, however, they are returning again and increasing in numbers. Stonecut 35.6 × 50.8 cm COURTESY ART GALLERY OF GUELPH

The shaman protected the village from a spirit 1974 Inscription: It is said that in ancient times a creature resembling a polar bear was seen to come up from the sea. It walked on its hind legs like a polar bear. From the depths of the sea it came and was first seen by a hunter who became frightened and ran to his village as the thing was approaching. There were many people living in that village and the thing was coming to them. The hunter in great fright called, “Oh great spirits helps us, for only you could protect us from this thing from the sea”. There was great movement in the sea and waves smashed on the shores as the thing came to the land and the land was covered in darkness. But, as the time for destruction of the people had not come, there came a great fog and the land opened under the thing and it was gone. Stonecut 53.3 × 73.7 cm COURTESY ART GALLERY OF GUELPH

A dream of Tivi Etook 1974 Inscription: I am now relating something that actually happened to me. When I was a boy, during the darkness of night when all around me slept, I was very badly frightened. My heart and my breath stopped. I tried very hard to really wake up but found it very difficult. From my blanket on the floor, I could see a great evil spirit trying to get at me. I hid myself in my blankets and kept very quiet and still and with one hand managed to strike at this evil thing and hit it between its great ugly breasts. I felt the shock and heard the blow as my hand hit something solid, then it left me and I was happy to have overcome it. Stonecut 53.3 × 73.7 cm COURTESY ART GALLERY OF GUELPH

NOTES

¹ All quotes from Tivi Etok taken from Marybelle Myers ed., Tivi Etook: Whispering in My Ears and Mingling with My Dreams (Montreal: La Fédération des cooperatives du Nouveau-Québec, 1975), 6–9.

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CURATORIAL NOTES

Mary Yuusipik Singaqti: Back River Memories Winnipeg Art Gallery

Mary Yuusipik Singaqti (1936–2017 Qamani’tuaq) — Back River Tundra 1999–2008 Coloured pencil and graphite 38.5 × 56.7 cm ALL IMAGES COURTESY WINNIPEG ART GALLERY

NOVEMBER 10, 2018–MARCH 10, 2019 WINNIPEG, MB

by Darlene Coward Wight

Mary Yuusipik Singaqti (1936–2017) was born at Kitikat on the Back River in the Northern Kivalliq Region. Like others in her extended family now living in Qamani’tuaq (Baker Lake), NU, she turned to artmaking not only for survival, but also as a mode of self-expression and personal narrative. The daughter of the renowned artist Jessie Oonark, OC, RCA (1906–1985) and sister to seven siblings, also all well-known artists, Yuusipik’s autobiographical artwork is lesser known. This is her first solo exhibition and includes sculpture, wall hangings and a group of 26 drawings that she created late in life. The exhibition reveals the breadth of her artistic talents and gives us an invaluable Inuit Art Quarterly

record of a unique, independent lifestyle that has been largely superseded by modern life. Traditionally, the Back River has been the homeland of a group of Inuit with Nattilingmiut ancestry known as the Utkuhiksalingmiut, a unique inland culture independent from the sea.¹ They were visited by the anthropologist Knud Rasmussen in 1923, as part of his historic Fifth Thule Expedition across the North American Arctic. Rasmussen encountered a community dependent on caribou, fish and birds rather than sea animals for food and clothing, and because of the difficult terrain and great distance to the nearest trading post near 64

Qamani’tuaq, rifles and ammunition were in short supply. Bows and arrows and spears were used most often to hunt caribou. Procured meat was dried and stored in large stone caches for the winter food supply. It is this culture in the 1940s and 1950s that Yuusipik details in her drawings, wall hangings and sculptures. Human figures wearing Utkuhiksalingmiut-style caribou clothing dominate her sculptural works. On the other hand, the creation of wall hangings allowed a greater scope to express the varying seasonal activities of a remote, self-reliant life on the land. Yet, Yuusipik’s later drawings allowed the fullest expression of her earlier life. In each work she wove together a Spring 2019

CURATORIAL NOTES

Yuusipik’s drawings are filled to the edges with numerous vignettes placed within detailed landscapes. The Back River, its lakes and tributaries, unify and bind these interwoven compositions.

number of different scenes and activities, drawn from her memory that, when taken as a whole, provide a precise encyclopedic vision of a material culture and community. By 1954 illness had swept through the Utkuhiksalingmiut camps, claiming Yuusipik’s father Kabloonak. Without his skills as a hunter, life became increasingly difficult for Oonark and her children. Yuusipik soon married Norman Singaqti, the adopted son of Luke Anguhadluq (1895–1982). By the late 1950s, conditions worsened as few caribou migrated along the expected routes, fishing was poor and foxes were scarce. However, Yuusipik and Singaqti continued to live a traditional life of hunting, fishing and trapping longer than most other Utkuhiksalingmiut. Yuusipik fell ill in 1964 and travelled to Qamani’tuaq for treatment. The Utkuhiksalingmiut were among the last of the Kivalliq Region Inuit to make the permanent move into Qamani’tuaq and they arrived significantly impacted by the effects of starvation experienced in the late 1950s. In the early 1960s, the development of art projects in Qamani’tuaq encouraged many, including Yuusipik, to begin making work. Stone carving was Yuusipik’s first artistic endeavour. One of her earliest sculptures

from 1964 was included in the landmark exhibition and catalogue Eskimo Carvers of Keewatin N.W.T. held at the Winnipeg Art Gallery (WAG) in Manitoba the same year. Yuusipik’s early carvings are rare and small in size. Beginning in the mid-1980s, she created carvings more frequently that were often larger in scale, as with Man and Pack Dog (2001). This work has the softly rounded surfaces of her earlier works, yet its large scale gives it a quiet, impressive presence. Pack dogs abound in Yuusipik’s wall hangings and drawings as well, a fact that is perhaps unsurprising in light of Rasmussen’s writings about the prevalence of dogs being used as pack animals among the Utkuhiksalingmiut.² Yuusipik began making wall hangings around 1965 when Gabriel Gély was the craft officer in Qamani’tuaq.³ Her compositions are filled with realistic figures and animals that show scenes from her life, as in Travelling on the Land (1992), and are markedly different from those of her mother. These scenes have none of Oonark’s trademark symmetrical stylizations and very little repetition of form. In Yuusipik’s earlier hangings, human figures appear as flat felt forms with delicate stitches showing details of clothing and faces. Later on, the felt appliqués are completely covered with dense embroidery. Elements are often

Installation view of Mary Yuusipik Singaqti: Back River Memories at the Winnipeg Art Gallery in Manitoba, 2018 PHOTO SERGE SAURETTE

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CURATORIAL NOTES

“I like to put my stories, my life, into my work. I want the younger generation to know about me, how we used to live, how life was before. That’s why I put in details on the artworks I make.”

heavily embroidered, forming a raised profile, making it easy to see why these textile works often took her months to complete. Encouraged by David Ford, Manager of the Jessie Oonark Centre, Yuusipik began drawing in the mid-1990s. For over 20 years Ford collected her coloured pencil drawings, as he felt they would suit publication in a book. In 2014 WAG Director and CEO Stephen Borys visited Qamani’tuaq and Ford showed him the collection of drawings. Borys took photos and shared them with me when he returned. I had only known Yuusipik for her colourful wall hangings and her stone carvings, but I realized that these drawings represented another crucial aspect of her creative output. Ford sent the drawings to the WAG and I was able to confirm that my enthusiasm was justified. I travelled to Qamani’tuaq in December 2014, and Yuusipik described in detail the content of her drawings in audio interviews. The 26 drawings included in this exhibition, dating from 1999 to 2013, were purchased for the WAG in 2015. Yuusipik’s drawings are filled to the edges with numerous vignettes placed within detailed landscapes. The Back River, its lakes and tributaries, unify and bind Inuit Art Quarterly

these interwoven compositions. When discussing Back River Tundra (1999–2008), Yuusipik described the land as having “little lakes and rivers everywhere.” Most of the drawings depict experiences and people from her life in the 1940s and 1950s. She shows hunting and fishing techniques, the processes for drying and caching meat for winter, clothing designs and always the ubiquitous pack dogs. The sturdy animals walk with heavy packs on their backs in Summer Travel (1999–2008). As Yuusipik explained, “This is how we used to travel, with packs on the dog’s backs.” The artist’s oeuvre documents her community’s distinct lifestyle while providing an invaluable account of traditional life prior to a wage-dependent economy. Although starvation resulting from dwindling caribou resources gave the Utkuhiksalingmiut no choice but to settle in Qamani’tuaq, Yuusipik reveals nostalgia and pride in her community’s historic self-reliance. And the panorama of details in her autobiographical pieces gives an amazing insight into these personal and collective life experiences. “I am thinking of the past and of the future,” she once told me. “I like to put my stories, my life, into my work. I want the younger 66

BELOW (LEFT)

BELOW (RIGHT)

Man and Pack Dog 2001 Stone 40.3 × 19.9 × 12.8 cm

The Young and the Old 1999–2008 Coloured pencil and graphite 28.6 × 38.2 cm

generation to know about me, how we used to live, how life was before. That’s why I put in details on the artworks I make.”4 Yuusipik became ill in 2016 and passed away soon after in 2017. It is with considerable sadness that I am bringing this exhibition to fruition after her death. Yuusipik told me that she wasn’t aware that people in the South were enjoying her art. It is satisfying to know that my positive assurances to her will be borne out with this exhibition and catalogue.

NOTES

This is the spelling used in Utkuhikšalingmiut Uqauhiitigut Uqauhiliurut: Dictionary of Utkuhiksalingmiut Inuktitut Postbase Suffixes by Jean L. Briggs, Alana Johns and Conor Cook. Rasmussen’s phonetic spelling was “Utkuhikjalingmiut.” 2 Knud Rasmussen, The Netsilik Eskimos: Social Life and Spiritual Culture (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1931), 488–489. 3 Marion Jackson, interview with the artist, Qamani’tuaq, March 11, 1983. 4 Interview with the author, Qamani’tuaq, December 11, 2014. 1

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Jessie Oonark Inuk Catching a Bird (1981)

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ᐊᕙᑖᓂᑦ ᑕᒪᐃᓐᓂᑦ ᓄᓇᑐᐃᓐᓇᓂᑦ

Among All These Tundras Leonard & Bina Ellen Art Gallery SEPTEMBER 4–OCTOBER 27, 2018 CONCORDIA UNIVERSITY MONTREAL, CANADA

Carola Grahn (b. 1982 Kittelfjäll/Malmö) — Look Who’s Talking 2016 Video 3 min 40 sec ALL IMAGES COURTESY THE ARTISTS AND LEONARD & BINA ELLEN ART GALLERY

by Julia Skelly

Five hand-knit wool sweaters hang near the entrance of the Leonard & Bina Ellen Art Gallery, opening the exhibition Among All These Tundras curated by Dr. Heather Igloliorte, Amy Prouty and Charissa von Harringa. These garments, entitled Sámi Shelters #1–5 (2009–present) by Sámi artist and architect Joar Nango, not only welcome visitors with their vivid colours and their suggestion of warmth, but also foreground the works within that employ the body as a central device, ranging from film, video and photography to sculpture, performance and more by 12 Indigenous artists from Canada, Greenland and Northern Alaska. Inuit Art Quarterly

Together, Nango’s traditional Norwegian sweaters represent knitted real-life scenes of modern lavvu shelters, traditional Sámi buildings that in this contemporary context combine Indigenous and Nordic architectural elements. Yet, the political dimension of these ostensibly unthreatening objects— namely, hybridity and the survival of Indigenous forms and traditions—is easily missed if viewers do not consult the accompanying brochure. With this unexpected opener, the exhibition also broadens the scope of what deserves to be studied in the context of Indigenous art and visual culture, particularly in the circumpolar North. 68

Like Sámi Shelters, the most effective works in the exhibition are those that employ the body, and its absence, as well as language to illuminate the politicized lived experiences of Indigenous artists and their communities. In Sonya Kelliher-Combs’s fleet of drawings Secret Portraits (2018) the artist employs ink and pencil to inscribe on beeswax-coated pieces of paper a motif that has figured again and again in her body of work. The form, which appears on both sides of each piece of paper in the series, is an amorphous pouch that resembles a tusk or a mitten. According to the artist, the motif addresses issues related to containment Spring 2019

REVIEW

and concealment—the form can therefore be read as a cloak or a safe haven. Elsewhere, Sámi photographer and filmmaker Marja Helander’s digital inkjet prints Somewhere Far Away (2018) and Night is Falling (2018) further conflate landscape and body. The images represent female subjects in snowfilled landscapes, carefully contrasted and overlaid with quarries and mines. The women move deliberately through their environment, evoking a strong sense of respect for, and familiarity with, the earth that grounds them. Yet, it is Iqaluit-based Laakkuluk Williamson Bathory’s video Timiga, nunalu sikulu (My body, the land and the ice) (2016) that most evidently meets the curators’ goal of encouraging viewers to consider the “relationships between textual and embodied Indigenous knowledge” as well as the “collective responsibility to Arctic life and land.”¹ Featuring music by Chris Coleman, videography by Jamie Griffiths and vocals by Celina Kalluk, the video lovingly traverses the Arctic landscape, until we eventually encounter the artist, her body taking the form of a reclining nude, an image made famous by white male painters from Titian to Ingres. Voyeuristically, we approach Williamson Bathory from behind, her body stretched out in an Odalisque pose on a pelt in the middle of the tundra. When we are finally upon her, she turns to reveal her face painted with red and black, distorting her features and baring her teeth in the style of uaajeerneq (Greenlandic mask dance). Expecting a passive, consumable artistic nude, we instead come face-to-face with a strong Indigenous woman who refuses access to her body and

somewhat overshadowed in a context more her land. For viewers familiar with Western suited for works that occupy space with art historical conventions, such as the movement, song and text. While the aesthetic female nude, Williamson Bathory’s work is beauty and critical undertones of the a striking intervention that cuts a swath works are impressive, the resulting muted through settler-colonial art history. By presence points to the potential dilemmas employing both aural elements and physical in combining such an expansive survey occupation of the landscape, the artist of works in a single exhibition and, indeed, creates a multisensory experience that in a single room, where the varied media undermines the expected primacy of vision can lead to certain voices ringing more loudly and its repercussion: visual possession of than others. land and bodies. Ultimately, works like asinnajaq’s video The video Look Who’s Talking (2016) by Rock Piece (Ahuriri edition) (2016), documentKittelfjäll/Malmö-based visual artist Carola ing the artist’s movements on an Ahuriri Grahn is the final and arguably the most (Napier) beach in Aotearoa (New Zealand), powerful work in the exhibition. The Sámi articulate the powerful entanglements artist employs black text on a white wall to between bodies, landscapes, politics and examine her own relationship with her white Indigenous knowledge, significantly from skin and also implicate the white settlerfemale perspectives. Together, the works in colonial viewer in their subject position of this exhibition create a compelling dialogue privilege. Written statements range from of shared lived experiences, history and “White people don’t get it” and “You know relationship to the land that resonates nothing” to “I want to scream out loud but throughout Inuit Nunangat and beyond. I’m too self-aware.” Though potentially offMaking visible, as the title of Williamson putting to some, Grahn’s work offers willing Bathory’s work suggests, the indivisible viewers an opportunity to be unsettled— connections between these many tundras. emotionally, physically and empirically. It is no accident that the strongest pieces in the exhibition are video works by female-identifying and non-binary artists. This medium allows for the use of both words and the body, sometimes, though not always, simultaneously. Although Kablusiak’s 2017 stone and tung oil sculptures Cigarettes and NOTES Lighter, Tampax® tampon and Menstrual 1 cup demonstrate a nuanced yet compelling Heather Igloliorte, Amy Prouty and Charissa von Harringa, “‘At Home We Belong’: Decolonial use of a traditional technique to counter Engagements in the Circumpolar Arctic,” Among ethnographic perspectives of the North, All These Tundras (Montreal: Leonard & Bina Ellen their deliberate silence and stillness are Art Gallery, 2018), 2.

Laakkuluk Williamson Bathory (b. 1979 Iqaluit) — Timiga, nunalu sikulu (My body, the land and the ice) (still) 2016 Video 6 min 28 sec

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Split Tooth Tanya Tagaq PUBLISHED 2018 VIKING CANADA

by Norma Dunning Award-winning musician Tanya Tagaq has written an innovative part autobiographical, part fictional novel that intermingles prose, poetry and drawings portraying present-day Inuit reality. Unlike similar texts, her debut novel Split Tooth (2018) does not concern itself with the recanting of myths or with the adjustment to modern life, whether living on or off the tundra. Instead, Tagaq has broken a new trail for all future Inuit writers to tread upon, describing the lived world of an Inuk child with writing that is breathtaking and singular. Tagaq’s poetry is a major aspect of what sets Split Tooth apart from other works, both semi-biographical and ethnographic. “Inhale hard love suck in the smell and reward reap eat chew swallow devour all the goodness and love that is given to you,” she writes with lyrical strength and tenderness about a world that is often harsh and disappointing. “Exhale calmness in acknowledgment of the beauty within the courage it takes to not fear love.” Tagaq reminds us to bravely and openly embrace love in an Arctic climate where cold and darkness reign, themes that are paralleled within her main character’s life. Tagaq speaks from a place of discomfort and plunges her reader into a world filled with alcohol, sex and drug abuse. Laughter and hope are largely absent elements. The workings of daily life for a young Inuk girl tucked away in a small community are void of happiness and filled with the quiet of the tundra. Nevertheless, her thoughts are not silenced in her struggle to survive in Iqaluktuuttiaq (Cambridge Bay), NU, in 1975. Her first-person writing admits, “We cannot always be what we wish to be. I cannot be perfect for my children.” Tagaq’s adolescent resistance towards community members, whether a school teacher at an auntie’s party or her own mother, enriches the coming of age of the young girl’s growth that is splattered with visitations from the spirit world. “I saw in an instant the spiritual world we all ignore. Like the radio waves we can’t see, it is everywhere.” She is later gifted with a dream from her ananak (mother) revealing her role in the afterlife.

Cover of Tanya Tagaq’s Split Tooth (2018)

Inuit Art Quarterly

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Illustration by Jaime Hernandez in Tanya Tagaq’s Split Tooth (2018)

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I caution readers that this is not a book that gives us the “happily-ever-after” ending. It is a book that strikes at the hard realities for a northern teen and is marked with the brutality of the addicts who are her caregivers. It is the harshest lesson the book leaves with its readers. Legacies of death and destruction are blended with the sadness of lost babies and murder. The book describes Inuit as the dead and desperate. Inuit readers are forced to ask: Is this all we are? What are we doing to ourselves? More importantly, we must ask how do we create work that furthers the legacy of Inuit youth who are survivors, who are brave, kind and giving? As Inuit, we must remember that when we speak, especially to a broad public audience, we speak for all of us. With this work Tagaq has reshaped what Inuit literature is. She has upset the traditions of accepted writing styles of fantastic legends, divides between North and South and colonized experiences. She has rattled the bones of Western traditional writing norms by interjecting poetics with prose. Although her firstperson narrative can sometimes brink on tedious, readers are given the sense of partaking in something bad and dangerous throughout. And, despite these descriptive lulls, it is impossible to stop reading. It is delicious. And offers a new way forward for Inuit authors. Tagaq is a humble artist. She worked to complete her education. She worked at becoming an internationally renowned performer. Nothing was given to her. Who and what she is has been well earned. Split Tooth is what Tagaq is. The unexpected. The unimaginable.

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TRIBUTE

In Memoriam: The Inuit Art Quarterly Remembers

Elisapee Ishulutaq (1925–2018)

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Renowned artist Elisapee Ishulutaq, CM was born in 1925 at Kagiqtuqjuaq, a camp on Cumberland Sound, where she lived a traditional life on the land until her family moved to Panniqtuuq (Pangnirtung), NU, around 1970. Here, she began making prints for the recently established Pangnirtung Print Shop and quickly became one of the most active artists in the community, contributing 13 prints to the inaugural Pangnirtung Print Collection in 1973. Ishulutaq’s prints are an incredibly rich archive and provide important knowledge and insight into traditional camp life. “I enjoy making prints of the old way of life. Sometimes I get nostalgic of the way we used to live,” she once said. Beginning around 2009, Ishulutaq began working in oil stick, a medium that allowed her to explore colour, scale and composition in ways that she had not been able to previously. “I always had the sense that she needed to express things about her past and what she was observing,” says her gallerist Robert Kardosh about these drawings. These works have become some of the most remarkable of her career: large-scale drawings filled with scenes from her youth, mixed with moments from today. Her work can be found in every major institutional collection in Canada, and in 2014 she was awarded the Order of Canada for her contributions to the cultural and economic health of her community as a role model and mentor. Considering her legacy, the artist once said, “I try and make prints so that people will know about them, and so that the next generations, my grandchildren, my children and [other] people, would know of who I was and what I have gone through.” Ishulutaq will be remembered for foregrounding her experience as an Inuit woman and using her art to communicate with and teach future generations of Inuit.

Josie Pitseolak (1976–2018)

Inuit Art Quarterly

Josie Pitseolak was a talented, self-taught, multi disciplinary artist from Mittimatalik (Pond Inlet), NU. Pitseolak started drawing at an early age and by his teens, after watching his father Philip Pitseolak work, began carving. In the ensuing years, he produced an expansive body of work, including highly realistic, tender portraits of his community, illustrations for two children’s books, sculpture, printmaking as part of the Nunavut 2000 Collection and jewellery. Pitseolak frequently experimented with new avenues and techniques in his practice—from combining marble dust and epoxy, to give the appearance of inlaid stone, to fashioning his own pool cue from caribou antler and sealskin, with narwhal tusk grip. This curiosity led the artist to pursue developing arguably his most noted body of work: his miniatures. After carving a small qamutiik (sled), Pitseolak envisioned the multitude of minute objects that would fill it. A replica of the Nunavut mace, no larger than an eraser; a polar bear, small enough to grip the frame of a pair of glasses; everyday objects from Pilot biscuits to Tetley tea; and tools, including a saw, knife, ulu (woman’s knife) and more, easily placed in the palm of your hand. These and many other delicate and impeccably crafted objects that followed, drawn carefully with watercolour and pen, carry the artist’s humour, innovation and humility. “Pitseolak was an artist who clearly absorbed the subtleties of his surroundings,” wrote Janet Pitsiulaaq Brewster, Executive Director of the Nunavut Arts and Crafts Association (NACA). “As a result, his work is thoughtful and unique.” Pitseolak will be deeply missed by his family and community, remembered for his tender, revealing works at even the smallest of scales. 72

Spring 2019

EACH PIECE OF ART TELLS A STORY NWT Arts connects you with that story In stores and galleries, the NWT Arts logo identifies authentic Northwest Territories arts and fine crafts created by artists registered with the NWT Arts Program. Artists create one-of-a-kind handmade pieces that capture their northern spirit and share their unique stories of living in Canada’s Northwest Territories.

Temela Oopik (1946–2018) Born in 1946 in an outpost camp near Markham Bay on the south of Qikiqtaaluk (Baffin Island), NU, Temela Oopik was an accomplished, self-taught carver, who spent a majority of his childhood living on the land, where he learned traditional hunting and trapping skills. He would later settle in Iqaluit, NU, before relocating to Kimmirut, NU in 1978, where he continued to live and work. “I will carve for as long as I’m able too,” he once noted. “I’ll hunt when I’m not carving.” Like many hunterartists, Oopik translated his intimate knowledge of the land and the hunt into his work. Oopik first began carving in 1968 and consistently worked to hone his skills, preferring files and axels over power tools. In 1970, two years after his early artistic explorations, Oopik participated in a competition and exhibition in Yellowknife, NT, as part of the Northwest Territories centennial celebrations. This was soon followed by his work being featured in major exhibitions at Lippel Gallery in Montreal, QC, and the Queens Museum in Queens, NY, in 1974, as well as being included in the Winnipeg Art Gallery’s permanent collection in Manitoba. Objects, traditions and activities of life on the land dominate his body of work. “I’m always carving,” Oopik told the Inuit Art Foundation in 1994. “Ever since the first time I carved, I have always been carving.” His works reveal a deep respect and understanding of his subjects, such as in Kayaker (2010), which captures the artist’s skill in combining striking serpentine forms with ivory equipment and delicate leather details, and Domestic Scene (2016), which features a couple sharing in the preparation of a meal. Oopik leaves behind a rich legacy of work that celebrates and preserves the traditional knowledge with which he was so familiar.

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Artists Left to Right: Curtis Taylor, Inuvik Lucy Nigiyok, Ulukhaktok

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The Inuit Art Quarterly was saddened to learn of the passing of Aqjangajuk Shaa during the production of this issue. A full tribute will appear in the Fall 2019 issue.

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Updates and highlights from the world of Inuit art and culture

Kenojuak Ashevak (1927–2013 Kinngait) — The Enchanted Owl 1960 Stonecut 55.8 × 65.7 cm COURTESY WADDINGTON’S

Winnipeg Art Gallery Launches Indigenous Biennial

Kenojuak Ashevak Breaks Records at Auction

A copy of the 1960 print The Enchanted Owl by Kenojuak Ashevak, CC, ON, RCA (1927–2013) broke auction records on November 20, 2018, during a sale at Waddington’s in Toronto, ON. A “red tail” version of the print sold for $216,000, the highest amount paid for a print by a Canadian artist at auction and shattering the previous record held by Sybil Andrews’s Speedway (1934), which sold for $129,000 in 2015. Ashevak also held previous auction records for Inuit prints when another copy of The Enchanted Owl sold for $58,650 in 2001 and when Rabbit Eating Seaweed (1960) sold for $59,000 that same year. Based on a pencil drawing now in the collection of the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa, ON, an edition of 50 stonecut prints of the The Enchanted Owl were created for the second Kinngait Studios print release in 1960. The print, cut by Eegyvudluk Pootoogook Inuit Art Quarterly

(1931–2000) and printed by Iyola Kingwatsiak (1933–2000), was released in two versions: 25 red and black and 25 green and black. The “red tail” version is the most coveted among collectors, commanding higher prices than the “green tail” version. The sale has also spurred renewed interest in establishing clear protocols by Canadian Artists’ Representation/Le Front des artistes canadiens (CARFAC), among many other groups, for artist resale rights. 74

Following the success of the landmark 2018 exhibition INSURGENCE/RESURGENCE, which featured works by asinnajaq, Heather Campbell, Noah Qinuajua (1913–1960), Couzyn van Heuvelen and more, the Winnipeg Art Gallery announced the launch of the Winnipeg Indigenous Biennial on November 8, 2018. The inaugural edition titled To Draw Water will coincide with the opening of the Inuit Art Centre in 2020 and will be curated by the WAG’s Curator of Indigenous Art Jaimie Isaac and Chair in the History of Indigenous Art in North America at the University of Winnipeg Julie Nagam, drawing on artists living and working across Canada, Australia and New Zealand. “Contemporary Indigenous artists are producing some of the most relevant, innovative work, examining issues and exploring movements that are motivating art practice today,” Isaac and Nagam said in a joint statement. “Our curatorial research practices will bring forth these stories with a compendium of international narratives.” The Winnipeg Indigenous Biennial joins other international Indigenous exhibitions such as the National Gallery of Canada’s Indigenous Quinquennial, the first of which, Sakahàn, opened in 2013. City of Ottawa Art Collection Acquires New Work As part of its 2018 acquisitions, the City of Ottawa announced in November that four photographs by Barry Pottle, three images by Katherine Takpannie and three drawings by Annie Pootoogook (1969–2016) would be added to its collection of almost 2,800 works by over 750 artists. Pottle’s still-life photographs Silverspoon 1 (2017) and Silverspoon II (2017) capture the richness of country food as well as the ceremony inherent in these communal practices while Takpannie’s performative work Pushing Through (2016) documents the artist’s experimentations with neon-tinted smoke bombs. Pootoogook’s coloured pencil Spring 2019

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and ink drawings Family Home (2001), Composition (Listening to the Radio with Coffee) (2005) and Having Some Tea (2006) are characteristic of the artist’s larger body of work and frequent focus on quotidian moments. The works by Pottle, Takpannie and Pootoogook join previous acquisitions by Heather Campbell, Pitaloosie Saila, RCA and David Ruben Piqtoukun and were featured in the exhibition Kaleidoscope: 2018 Additions to the City of Ottawa Art Collection at the City Hall Art Gallery from December 6, 2018, to January 30, 2019. The 2018 Peer Assessment Committee for the acquisition was comprised of Heather Campbell, Ottawa-based artist, curator and archivist, originally from Rigolet, Nunatsiavut, NL; Neven Lochhead, Director of Programming at SAW Video Media Art Centre; Natasha Mazurka, Coordinator and Professor at Algonquin College; artist Carl Stewart; and Melanie Yugo, Partnership and Networks Officer at Canada Council for the Arts. Toronto Biennial of Art and Manif d’art to Highlight Inuit Artists The Toronto Biennial of Art and Manif d’art, two large-scale national biennial contemporary art events in Toronto, ON, and Quebec City, QC, respectively, have released the preliminary list of artists to be featured, including those from the North. During an in-depth presentation at Art Toronto on October 28, 2018, the Toronto Biennial announced the participants of the inaugural edition including Zacharias Kunuk, OC and Isuma as well as Embassy of Imagination. Senior curator Candice Hopkins, also on the curatorial team for the

Canadian Pavilion at the 58th Venice Biennale, will be bringing Isuma’s project from Venice to Toronto and commissioning Embassy of Imagination and PA System— cover artists for the Inuit Art Quarterly’s Winter 2017 Futures issue—to create a new work to be installed along the city’s waterfront. At a press conference in London, UK, on November 21, 2018, director of Ikon Gallery in Birmingham and curator for Manif d’art Jonathan Watkins released the names of 12 of the over 20 artists selected for the event, including Kinngait (Cape Dorset)-based graphic artist Shuvinai Ashoona, RCA. On December 4, 2018, following the initial release, Manif d’art announced the addition of Ikpiarjuk (Arctic Bay)-born sculptor Manasiah Akpaliapik and Sámi artist Britta Marakatt-Labba. Their work will join additional pieces by Meryl McMaster, Cornelia Parker and Tomás Saraceno, among others, in the main exhibition at the Musée national des beaux-arts du Québec (MNBAQ) for the ninth edition titled Small Between the Stars, Large Against the Sky. The Toronto Biennial will open September 21, 2019, and run until December 2019 across various locations in Toronto, while Manif d’art will open at the MNBAQ and additional locations on February 19, 2019, in Quebec City. Silla and Rise Receive Stingray Rising Star Award During Mundial Montreal, North America’s World Music Summit, from November 13–16, 2018, in Montreal, QC, the Juno Award– nominated trio Silla and Rise received the Stingray Rising Star Award and a $2,000

prize. Comprised of Cynthia Pitsiulak, Charlotte Qamaniq and Erik Vani (aka Rise Ashen), Silla and Rise are known for their combination of throat-singing with hip-hop and electronic inspired beats. “Indigenous people worldwide are rising up and using our voice, music, culture and art to connect, celebrate and reconcile in a modern way,” says Silla and Rise. “We think it is just the beginning, and we’re really looking forward to what the future holds for Indigenous music.” The award will assist the trio in promoting their music within Canada as well as internationally. Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective Announces New Contemporary Art Centre Summer 2019 will see the addition of a new contemporary art space in downtown Edmonton, AB. On November 16, 2018, Ociciwan Contemporary Art Collective announced the opening of a non-profit, collective-run art centre dedicated solely to the presentation of contemporary Indigenous art: the Ociciwan Contemporary Art Centre. Retrofitting an existing 6,945-square-foot, two-storey building with the support of the City of Edmonton and Rockliff Pierzchajlo Kroman Architects Ltd., the new centre will feature a main floor gallery, meeting rooms, offices, a resource library and a community space. Ociciwan’s past projects include Current Terrain, presented as part of imagineNATIVE 2018, which featured Inuvialuit artist Alberta Rose W., and A Parallel Excavation, featuring Duane Linklater and Aluttiq artist Tanya Lukin Linklater. The new facility will host a minimum of four exhibitions annually.

Barry Pottle (b. 1961 Ottawa) — Silverspoon II 2017 Digital photograph COURTESY CITY OF OTTAWA

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LAST LOOK

Judas Ullulaq Uqsuqtuuq

A gaunt face, almost skeletal, with hollow eyes, heavy creases etched into its cheeks and exposed, crooked teeth. Is it a monster? Possibly. Yet the face is not frightening. The work is called Spirit, but could it represent something else entirely? Something rooted in human history, rather than the spirit realm? Judas Ullulaq (1937–1999), the artist whose careful handiwork is at play, has made a figure that seems lonely—more lost than malevolent. Ullulaq lived and travelled throughout the Netsilik region during his lifetime. The region, particularly Qikiqtaq (King William Island), NU, is rich with stories, and some of these Ullulaq recounted in expressive sculptures in stone and whale bone. Though long ignored by those outside Inuit Nunangat, the inhabitants of Qikiqtaq held stories of one of the most widely researched “mysteries” of the nineteenth century: the fate of the Franklin expedition and the HMS Erebus and HMS Terror, whose entire crew perished in their attempts to navigate the Northwest Passage. Tales of starving and malnourished survivors were passed down through a rich oral tradition. In fact, it was Inuit knowledge and stories that figured largely in the discovery of the Erebus and the Terror in 2014 and 2016 respectively. Ullulaq is said to have made a sculpture depicting Qiqtutunuaqruq, the angakkuq (shaman) who encountered the explorer Sir John Ross on the Boothia Peninsula in the early 1830s, an event that occurred over 100 years before Ullulaq’s birth. Perhaps the artist was told of this encounter and felt compelled to record it. He also likely heard stories of the Franklin survivors, sickly and scared, and this carving may be one of them. Maybe it is a spirit. Or, perhaps, it is both.

Judas Ullulaq (1937–1999 Uqsuqtuuq) — Spirit n.d. Pyroxene and antler 17.8 × 17.8 × 5 cm COURTESY INUIT GALLERY OF VANCOUVER LTD. PHOTO KENJI NAGAI

Inuit Art Quarterly

Spring 2019

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