Carving Home: The Chedoke Collection of Inuit Art
Art Gallery of Hamilton
In 2016, the Art Gallery of Hamilton (AGH) was gifted a significant collection of Inuit art coinciding with the closure of Hamilton Health Sciences’ Chedoke campus, formerly the Mountain Sanatorium, a designated tuberculosis treatment centre for the eastern Arctic, which hosted over 1,200 Inuit between 1953 and 1963. As a form of occupational therapy, and at their request, male patients would carve, while women would sew, embroider and make dolls in their beds. At the height of the epidemic, the sanatorium housed well over 300 Inuit patients, outnumbering larger eastern Arctic communities such as Kinngait (Cape Dorset), NU, which had a population of less than 100 at the time. As such, Hamilton, ON, constituted one of the largest bases of Inuit art production and sales at a time when collecting such works had become desirable in the South and they had begun to reach a mainstream market.¹ The works on display in Carving Home: The Chedoke Collection of Inuit Art, illustrate, as the title suggests, depictions of patients’ memories of the North, primarily through steatite carvings.² Some pieces immediately stood out and continued to resonate, including Moses Meeko’s (1920–1975) Canada Goose, Loon and Owl, as well as Johnassie Tukallak’s (1912–c. 1985) Feeding Geese (both c. 1953–63). These carvings, displayed together, feature intricate incised details, distinguishing them from other works while evoking a contemporary illustrative feel. The exhibition is organized thematically highlighting traditional hunting and fishing scenes as well as Arctic wildlife. Some displays foreground trade and market preferences, and, most poignantly, a number of works depict notions of home and loved ones left behind. Josie Nulukie’s (1931–1980) Boiling Water to Make Tea (c. 1953–63) portrays a woman wearing an amauti (woman’s parka) and lighting a qulliq (oil lamp) inside a section of an igloo complete with a drying rack, kettle and detailed accents constructed from leather, plastic and ivory. It feels unfortunate that only one display includes the work of unidentified women, in this instance dolls from Nunavik, but the vitrine stands out for their use of colour, scale and detail, particularly in depicting regional differences in parkas and amauti. While this collection of 132 objects represents a very specific moment in history,
The works on display [...] illustrate, as the title suggests, depictions of patients’ memories of the North. Most poignantly, a number of works depict notions of home and loved ones left behind.
and is of national and regional significance for both its quality and quantity, it is important to likewise critically contextualize it within a broader historical and reflective narrative. Patients often arrived in Hamilton with only the clothes on their backs, indicative of the speed with which they were removed from their homes for treatment: without warning, without preparation and without choice. Many never returned home, and to this day some family members still don’t know where their relatives are buried. While the Department of National Health and Welfare intervened based on the scale of the epidemic (introduced by outsiders such as traders and missionaries) for fear of the eradication of an entire population, this action, and the method with which it was carried out, has an undeniable colonial imprint that is understated within this exhibition. It is a missed opportunity, particularly given our current historical moment and contemporary museological practice, to not present an unbiased portrayal of the collection within the exhibition’s didactics. This said, the AGH has been careful to provide a critical counterpart. Situated in the same room, and impossible to view separately from Carving Home, is an installation of works by contemporary Inuk artist Barry Pottle. Probing the fraught history of the Eskimo Identification Tag System, The Awareness Series contrasts photographs of identification discs next to portraits of individuals who were enrolled in the system. From the 1940s to the 1970s discs issued by the Canadian government assigned Inuit with personalized numbers, indicating where they lived and their relations. Many of the artists featured in Carving Home signed their pieces using their assigned identification number and the juxtaposition of Pottle’s photographs provides an immediate platform with which to acknowledge, humanize and ultimately critique the federal government’s treatment of Inuit in recent history. Mounted within a relatively short time frame following the acquisition, Carving Home does leave the impression of a swift gesture to share its regional importance (and donation) with audiences. However, the AGH acknowledges that this marks the beginning of an important consultation process in order to better understand and reconcile the collection’s complex history. To do so, the museum intends to mount a permanent installation that will be “driven and led by Inuit voices and experiences, [and will be] fully respectful of their histories, experiences and memories”. It will be interesting to see what shape this takes, particularly given the ongoing tuberculosis crisis in Nunavut and the residual traumas that continue to be felt in communities today. Regardless, the AGH is now in a unique position to present, question and challenge the legacies of this sensitive history, should it choose to do so.