Rhythm of the Tides: my arctic experience

Iqaluit - the City of Art and Artists

Carving is very much part of Inuit life. Every male had to master this skill because his livelihood, and that of his family, depended on it. They had to carve everything from sled rails to the qulliq that gave them light and heat, not to mention fish spears and whale harpoons and other tools. Their skills were born of necessity: survival. Today, they're used to generate income to put food on the table, so, in essence, nothing has changed.

While a good portion of Inuit living in Iqaluit are well educated and have good jobs with either the territorial or federal governments, the majority do not; and of these, many earn a living by using their artistic talents. But within this group a few stand out as exceptional and are known as master carvers. Their work is known throughout Canada and internationally.

For example, before Don and I went to Iqaluit, we hiked the northernmost section of the Bruce Trail, which ends in Tobermory, on the Bruce Peninsula; and even in this small town of one thousand people, there is an art gallery that sells inuksuks and other Inuit art.

Inuit art has received international recognition and because of that there's high demand for their artwork and sculptures. Soapstone carvings are a uniquely Canadian product and are desired artifacts throughout the world. Many of the best-known Inuit artists are from Baffin Island and mostly from Iqaluit. At night, there's an army of people, friends or relatives of artists, which goes around the city's streets and restaurants trying to sell soapstone carvings and other artifacts to visitors.

The city promotes and supports its artists, and some of their commissioned works are on display along Federal Street, particularly near the legislative building. Clearly, the city and territory are proud of their artistic heritage and have decorated the main street with a significant number of sculptures. Although there are too many to describe here, and I have already described the most outstanding one in a previous chapter, I can say that while each stone carving is different, both in size and shape, they're all representations of traditional life (hunters and the animals they hunted). They capture the simplicity of the old life in a solid medium, which gives it a type of permanence, in contrast to the changes that they have undergone.

The current big project is the artwork for the new airport terminal and the big name carver here is Looty Pijamini. He and two others are carving an array of fish that will adorn the new terminal, welcoming visitors to the place of many fish, as Iqaluit is known in inuktitut, the Inuit language. We see the three sculptors working day after day in front of a warehouse, rented specifically for this project, roughing out the shapes of fish from pieces of granite, a material that's harder than soapstone and much more difficult to work with.

Thousands of people will be passing by this future display each year, and I'm sure that they will not fail to be impressed by it. This is a wonderful way for the city to promote its artists and their art and I hope they will achieve the desired results.

Their workshop is just around the corner from the Governor Building and Don and I stop here many times to watch them make what appear to be random cuts with circular grinders into blocks of granite, while producing copious quantities of dust that engulf the entire work area. We often have to wait upstream of the wind until they stop so we can approach and admire their work. But slowly those blocks, big and small are being transformed into recognizable shapes – fish. It takes a lot of talent to visualize the complicated shape of the object when in front of you is just a block of stone. Knowing where and how deep to cut is a real art, which they make seem so easy.

They are still at the roughing stage, and once this is done, the painstaking work of detailing and polishing each sculpture begins. For two weeks we are privileged to have front-row seats at this makeshift carving academy and watch the number of fish multiply, as in the biblical sense. Before we leave, they have about a dozen ready for stage two. Their work won't be on display in the new terminal, on opening day, only weeks away, but lucky travelers arriving in a few months will have the pleasure of admiring their creations.

Iqaluit is truly a city of artists, many of whom work from their homes, and anyone you talk to on the street knows of someone who sells privately, presumably at lower prices than the numerous galleries one can visit to shop. Arts and crafts is the biggest economic sector, after government; mining is third and hunting and fishing is fourth. Interestingly, fishing and hunting, which used to be the most important traditional activity is now the least.

Don and I are told of an artist who we should visit to admire the quality of his work. We mentioned his name to some people in front of the Arctic Venture Marketplace and they were able to guide us to his house without too much difficulty. Unfortunately, when we get there his wife tells us that he is out and to come back the next day. He operates from his garage and she doesn't have the key to show us his artistic creations.

As we are told, he is one of the best ulu makers in town. The ulu is a knife, not unlike those used by bakers for cutting dough. Although there are many different designs, it typically resembles a half moon. Inuit women traditionally used them for skinning animals, but also for chopping food and cutting hair. The handle of the ulu is carved from caribou antlers, muskox horns, or walrus tusks and the blade is made from slate.

While we can't see what we came for, we see something else of interest across the street from the ulu maker. It's a small house with a tiny front yard in which the owners are growing vegetables. Although having a greenhouse helps, as we saw in Apex, this family is growing what we, in the south, call late-season crops without one. Both Don and I are elated to see this and we come to the same conclusion: farming is possible in the arctic. As this is a subject close to our hearts, I talk more about it in a later chapter.

On the way back to the apartment, we take the road down to the bay, and as we're walking towards it we notice something fascinating. A wind surfer is having the time of her life navigating around the myriad icebergs in the bay. Fortunately, I have my camera at the ready and manage to get a few precious shots, but all the while I'm thinking, "That's icy-cold water!"

The next day we are out hiking and don't make it back to the ulu shop, so our wives will be deprived of this useful implement.

Carving is so much part of Inuit culture that even the city's prison allows its talented inmates to carve and sell their artifacts. In fact, the jail has one of the town's biggest collections of artwork for sale. Of course, one doesn't get a chance to meet the artists, but the artifacts are reasonably priced and they provide much needed funding for the inmates' families.

One of the team members bought a small soapstone carving here, and after 'googling' the artist's name, she found out that he's serving a life sentence for murder. She was taken aback at first, but then realized that her purchase was helping someone in need and she was happy to have contributed to a worthy cause.

I don't know exactly how much Inuit art contributes to the local community, but I know that it's significant. However, one would never guess that from being here. Although it's mid-summer and it's high tourist season, we don't see the cash registers popping with activity. I presume that much of the income comes from sales outside the territory, through agents and galleries in the south and possibly even offshore.

When I travel abroad and want to bring people something that is genuinely Canadian, there's nothing better recognized and appreciated than the soapstone inuksuk carvings, which has come to symbolize Inuit art and the Canadian arctic. My alternatives are maple syrup and ice wine. The three represent Canada like nothing else I know.

Speaking of inuksuks, on our hikes outside of town, Don and I see the real ones, the directional signposts used for navigation, and we use them to guide us. Just when we think we have lost our way one pops up in the horizon letting us know we're on track. They're not myths; they're real! And some are enormous, causing us to ask, "How did they erect them?"