From Ancient Material to New Visions
For centuries the Greenlandic tupilak has captivated the attention of outsiders while evoking the fear and fascination of locals. In this sprawling feature, an anthropologist specializing in this distinctive art form traces the evolution of this complex being, from mythic cultural figure to desired object, while highlighting some of the most noteworthy artists creating these iconic pieces and living and working in Greenland today.
The world’s largest island, Greenland sits above 60° north. Situated off the northeast coast of Canada, at its closest point Northwest Greenland is a mere 26 kilometres from Canada, across the Robeson Channel, and 740 kilometres from the geographic North Pole. It is on this island that the enthralling figures and spirits known as tupilat find their home.
The interior of this huge island is comprised of a gigantic ice cap that covers more than 1.8 million square kilometres and boasts a depth of over 3 kilometres at its deepest point. Greenland’s weather patterns and the significant melting of this ice cap over the past 35 years are two very disturbing facts Greenlanders must reckon with today. Ice, in its multitudinous forms, is what Greenlanders must contend with for close to 12 months of the year, and it is ice floes that kept Tunumiit (East Greenlanders) hidden from early European explorers and whalers until as late as the latter part of the nineteenth century. Despite the majority of the country being colonized by Denmark in 1723, Tunu (East Greenland) was thought to be uninhabited. As a result, the region was left to develop independently, with its people’s traditional culture left intact and unbroken for over
3,000 years.
One such traditional practice that continues is the creation of tupilat, legendarily vengeful creatures crafted by Inuit shamans to destroy their enemies. Although the purpose and power of these iconic figures has ebbed over time, not least due to the influence of Danish colonial policies, tupilat continue to capture the attention of Greenlanders and visitors alike. Today these objects, crafted from bone, horn, tusk and stone, remain highly sought after by collectors for their grotesque and exaggerated features.
Although just one among many spirits within traditional Greenlandic Inuit cosmology, the tupilaq was the most feared. Created for the sole purpose of killing a person or persons who had wronged someone, the tupilaq was an agent of recourse against evil in Tunumiit society wherein an individual could go to the angakkok (shaman) or ilisissoq (necromancer) with a claim of wrongdoing against them. After deliberation, the angakkok would set about constructing a tupilaq being. In addition to organic materials, including human and animal remains, wood and cloth materials from the intended victim were then required. The composite collection was fashioned into a bundle, after which the angakkok chanted special words in a secluded place near water. It was said that once it began to grow, a tupilaq gained power by sucking the genitals of its maker.1 The creatures were known to be “not ordinary.” Very unlike the spirits that resided in all objects and beings, they were special, evil spirits that had to be conjured for a specific case: to kill a certain individual. Once the objective was reached, the tupilaq would disappear.
From the arrival of the Danish anthropologist and explorer Gustav Holm in the Ammassalik Fjord, in 1884, the 413 Ammassalimmiut who resided in the area would talk about the tupilaq, but in hushed tones. Despite there being no physical examples of tupilak figures in Greenland at this point in time, the tales and stories told to Holm and others in the community (now called Tasiilaq, but formerly known as Angmagssalik) prove the belief system remained intact, as it had been from at least 1,300 AD. Meanwhile, acculturation and assimilation were active processes in West Greenland and the country’s southern regions and continued to be so for over 230 years. Once the Danes extended their colonial occupation to include the entire population on the east coast and “urged” the acceptance of Lutheran Christianity, Tunumiit began to suppress their traditional beliefs, replacing them with Christian catechism and values. Since it undermined the entire cultural system that had existed prior to Holm’s arrival, Christianity brought about a new symbolic and semantic knowledge set, to which Tunumiit had to adapt. Once baptized, Tunumiit could no longer hold on to their belief in spirits capable of helping or harming them. It was not that the spirits had disappeared—they were still in the world around Tunumiit—but after accepting Lutheranism, the spirits no longer held power over them.2 Although it took several years for Christianity to be accepted by all, by 1904 most Tunumiit had been baptized.
In 1905 severak tupilak figures were created and shown to the Danish anthropologist William Thalbitzer by the recently converted angakkok Mitsivarniannga.3 Following this first recorded cultural exchange, the production of tupilat accelerated and within three decades had spread to all populated areas of Greenland. However, the largest centre for both output and practicing artists has always been
three communities in Southeast Greenland: Tasiilaq, Kulusuk (formerly Kap Dan) and Kuummiut (formerly Kungmiut). From the 1930s onwards, the production coming from Kulusuk in particular was prodigious, especially during the years of World War II. This high output could have been due to the close proximity of the Distant Early Warning (DEW) Line base to Kulusuk, with US Air Force and Army personnel wishing to take home a souvenir from the region.4 Several well-known carvers came from Kulusuk, including Duge, Tobias, Nuka and Anton Utuak, Johan Elio, Egon Poulsen, Knud and Thorvald Mikaelsen and Axel Nuko. From Tasiilaq, Hans and Paulas Kuitse, Asser and Henrik Singertat, Kora and Hoseas Tukula, Henning and Bianco Agtagkat, Farel Nakinge and Thomas Kilime are also very well regarded. The unidentified sperm whale tooth sculpture from 1960s Kulusuk on page 39 is a particularly fine and detailed example of works produced during this post-war period. Representing the story of the dead angakkok who was upset with children playing on his grave and disturbing his sleep, the skeleton is well executed and thinly carved with a skull sporting an eerily pleased face. As the legend is told, the angakkok rose from his grave to drum dance, using his right scapula as a drum and his left tibia as the drumstick, to chase away the children. After their terrified departure, he was free to return to his grave to rest in peace.
During this same period, the output of tupilak figures in Kangaamiut and Nuuk, in West Greenland, and Qaqortoq (formerly Julianehåb), Southwest Greenland, also flourished. Important sculptors from Kangaamiut include Karl Kreutzmann (1889–1964), Esra Berthelsen (1889–1954), Ole Kreutzmann (1898–1983), Sivert Augustussen (1901–1957), Knud Petrussen (1915–1973) and Aron Berthelsen (1933–2009). From Nuuk, members of the Kristoffersen family, of which I would mention Karl and Kristian, are most notable. From Qaqortoq, Aron Kleist (1923–1989) and his daughter Cecilie Kleist (1948–1987) were especially talented. Also remarkable were Otto Thomassen (1895–1971) from Upernavik, West Greenland, and Matthias Lorentzen from Paamiut, West Greenland.
In its infancy, the tupilak figure was typically a small carving or sculpture made from wood and/or composite materials, such as string, dog fur, sealskin and human body parts, and was said to represent a tupilaq spirit being (as that was what was usually requested).
As demand steadily increased by visiting anthropologists, ethnographers and priests, the objects evolved into small figures carved from sperm whale tooth, narwhal tooth, seal ear bone, walrus tusk, muskox bone, muskox horn, reindeer antler, construction wood, driftwood, steatite, polar bear tooth and bird bone, with the addition of extras such as plastic coating from electrical wiring for eyes and muskox or dog fur for hair. Since Tunumiit were familiar with all spirit beings and their descriptions from myths, carvers were liberal in their use of spirits’ characteristics in their figures. Spirit beings were carved, presented and sold to non-Greenlanders as tupilak figures, even if they did not always match the description of a spirit taken from a myth.
The Royal Greenland Trade Department (RGTD), a former Danish state enterprise operating in Greenland between 1774 and 1979, handled the import of material for carvers and purchased the majority of carvings at their shops. In addition to sales to the RGTD, carvers would often sell directly to tourists or visiting dignitaries. In the early years, the Danish government neglected to promote these figures and stockpiled them in warehouses in Copenhagen. As tupilat were considered Greenlandic handicrafts, very little promotion or advertising was undertaken.5
Often a sculptor’s works recalled myths, albeit in newly restructured forms or configurations, and many artists had great imaginations. While the RGTD was in operation there grew to be families of wonderful carvers in many areas of Greenland. Today several of the old carving families remain active even as new and notable sculptors enter the genre. This innovative new generation includes artists Titus Nakinge, Johan and Anders Kilime and Anders Kuitse, working in both Kulusuk and Tasiilaq. Most notable, perhaps, are two very innovative sculptors working in East Greenland today: Gedion Qeqe and Ghert Singertat. Both based in Tasiilaq, they are each making their mark as outstanding in this cultural art form. Although their styles are quite unique and their techniques differ decisively, both men base their work in Tunumiit semantic traditions, and both produce creative, original and intricately sculpted tupilat.
Gedion Qeqe has been carving for over 25 years, classifying him as a master sculptor with amazing creativity. Working across media—bone, antler, tooth, stone or wood—Qeqe is skilled at producing works in varying scale, from large to minute. A most versatile and imaginative carver, Qeqe’s vision allows him to produce truly unique tupilak figures. I once asked him where he found his ideas for his figures, and he answered, “I carve what I know in my mind.”6 This imaginative approach is visible in pieces such as his Ajumaq Transformation (2013), whose face is grotesque and ferocious while the body occupies some otherworldly realm. For this work, Qeqe has deftly utilized and enhanced the form of the reindeer antler, crafting a delicate bird beak that extends from where the antler originally branched off. For this sculpture, he has also indicated the scapulas to show that it is a spirit with three fingers, three toes and the long arms characteristic of the spirit known as Ajumaq. Known for carving smooth, polished transformation figures, Qeqe’s signature style is similarly identifiable in his Transformation figure (2013). Here, he uses deep-set nostrils, female breasts and pregnant abdomen, a male penis and a bird beak, all gingerly balanced on a single seal flipper,
Gedion Qeqe has been carving for over 25 years, classifying him as a master sculptor with amazing creativity.
to create this composite figure of transformation. The creature’s exaggerated face features an enticing grin and teasing eyes punctuated with pupils created from the black plastic coating on electrical wiring. Although primarily self-taught, Qeqe’s precise and intricate work is brilliantly executed and widely collected; in fact several of his tupilat are owned by Queen Margaret of Denmark and her consort, Prince Henrik.
Contrasting Qeqe’s refined, even delicate, approach are the fantastical imagined figures of Ghert Singertat, whose tupilat are characterized by rougher finishing and are often marked by deep grooves to resemble fur or feathering. This heavy striation also allows the artist to sculpt figures that are marked by their fierce grotesqueness. Known for deviating significantly from any single mythical or spiritual being, Singertat’s composite forms are the result of the artist’s vivid imagination, as evidenced in Tupilaq (2009) (see page 1). Part bird, dog, human and seal, this work rendered in reindeer antler and finished with menacing black eyes (also made from the plastic coating on electrical wire, as in Qeqe’s work) is meant to be read as a lethal and ferocious tupilaq. Both Singertat and Qeqe’s vivid imaginations imbue their work with a lively quality and hint at their vibrant characters, more so than the imaginations of many sculptors who have preceded them. And both are, I believe, at the beginning stages of what will be a prolific output of fascinating and original tupilak sculptures.
Although the artistic tradition of Greenland has always been rooted in the making of beautifully ornamented objects, steeped in narrative, like elsewhere in the circumpolar world, tupilak figures, with their composite forms and nuanced histories, are a fitting representation of the state of contemporary art and life in Greenland today. Through these small sculptures, Greenlandic sculptors have been and continue to be able to create and share autonomous interpretations of their own cultural heritage with the outside world and, despite the deeply damaging and widespread impacts of Danish colonialism, have deployed these unique figures to relay a complex story of contact, exchange and adaptation. While today’s tupilat differ vastly in purpose and appearance from their early twentieth-century counterparts, they are nonetheless symbolic of an opportunity for Greenlandic artists to redefine their culture and the way others view it.