Challenging Convention: The Expressive World of Karoo Ashevak
Though his career was tragically short-lived, renowned carver Karoo Ashevak lives on through his unique and incredibly detailed sculptures. In this feature, those closest to Ashevak remember the artist’s exuberance, which was reflected in the emotional depth of his work.
Karoo Ashevak (1940–1974) was an Inuit art sensation. In his brief career, he had solo exhibitions at major galleries in Toronto, Montreal and New York. His work had a dramatic impact on the southern art world, challenging the popular consensus about Inuit art and breaking boundaries between Inuit and contemporary Canadian sculptors. Canadian writer and art collector George Elliott exclaimed that Ashevak’s works in the 1973 exhibition at the American Indian Arts Center in New York “stood up with the best in the world, in the toughest city in the world.” 1
The critical and financial success of this exhibition launched Ashevak’s brilliant but short-lived career. Tragically he and his wife, Doris, were killed in a house fire in their home community of Talurjuaq (Taloyoak), NU, in 1974. They were both in their early thirties, and Ashevak had been carving for only five years.
The name Taloyoak means “the big hiding place” in Inuktut, referring to the large hunting blinds that were built with piled stones along the caribou migration routes. Many of these stone formations still mark the landscape’s rocky terrain, along with boulder-strewn coastlines and an abundance of small lakes and rivers. Ashevak was born and raised on this land in 1940, learning to hunt and fish, which he loved but which would not sustain him for long. Radical social and economic changes were sweeping through the North in the 1950s and 60s, causing Ashevak and his wife to move permanently to the settlement at Talurjuaq (known then as Spence Bay) in 1968.
Ashevak took up carving as a source of income and quickly developed an exceptional skill and a unique style. There was no deposit of suitable carving stone in the area, so caribou antler was shipped in from Bathurst Inlet and whalebone from Kuuganajuup Nunanga (Somerset Island), left by the prehistoric Thule people and later by the European whalers. The weathered and bleached bone quickly became the material of choice for Ashevak. He was, according to Judy McGrath, “a man completely at home with his materials.” 2
For Ashevak the idea for a sculpture was inextricably tied to the particular piece of whalebone he chose to represent it. The idea came first, followed by the search for the right materials. Whalebone is difficult to predict and control: it is porous and fragile in some places and then so hard in others as to make it impossible to carve. It can also crack or split at any time, defying even the most skilled technician. This was all part of the intrigue and the challenge for Ashevak. He made use of the bone’s natural shape and even its flaws, ingeniously transforming it to correspond with his overall vision.
Ashevak most enjoyed the “fine finishing touches of his pieces” and had “a passion for tools and what he could do with them,” as McGrath relates.3 The artist used stone, ivory, antler, bone, string, sinew and even wood to make eyes, teeth, tusks, appendages and various hand-held objects, all of which were vital to the final conception of his work. There were no half measures for Ashevak; a work wasn’t finished until all the fine detailing and polishing were complete. His approach and his work were respected by his contemporaries—if not always liked—and imitated by some, which irritated Ashevak. The length of time it took him to finish a work certainly affected his output and his income, which were important to Ashevak but, in the end, were not the main factors in his motivation. For Ashevak carving was a deep-rooted, creative impulse, and the care and pride he took in his work were simply part of the painstaking process of bringing his ideas to life.
Human, or human-like, forms and faces predominate in Ashevak’s body of work. Most of these forms stand alone, rarely in relation to other people or animals—a feature that is so characteristic of Inuit art. From the beginning, Ashevak’s work invited distinction from the usual conventions of Inuit art. According to George Swinton (whose 1972 book Sculpture of the Eskimo became a seminal reference) Inuit sculptors tended to work in a narrative tradition, illustrating events or activities of their daily lives or legends from their oral traditions.4 Ashevak’s ability to communicate beyond the specific narrative was exceptional and astounding. His faces are emotionally charged with expressions of angst, fear, astonishment, confusion, menace and awe. Eyes are concentric circles in contrasting materials, lopsided and unmatched, wide and frequently wild. Nostrils and mouths are open, gaping, showing a tongue and rows of pegged teeth that are carved from bone or ivory and laid in like implants. Ashevak’s work has been variously described as grotesque, surreal, bizarre and fantastic, and these exaggerated features certainly evoke a disquieting supernatural eeriness. As art historian Ingo Hessel has observed, Ashevak’s style was ideally suited to works depicting shamanism and the spirit world, “and whalebone, with its unusual natural shapes and porous, weathered textures, seems the perfect material to express existence on an otherworldly plane.” 5
ᑳᕉᒃ ᐋᓯᕙᒃ (1940–1974) ᐃᓄᒃ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᑎᒻᒪᕆᐅᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ. ᕿᓚᒥ ᐃᖅᑲᓇᐃᔮᕆᓚᐅᖅᑕᖓ, ᐃᓅᓪᓗᓂ ᓴᕿᔮᕐᑎᑦᑎᕙᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᐊᖕᖏᔪᓂ ᑕᑯᔭᒐᖃᕐᕕᖕᓂ ᑐᓛᓐᑐ, ᒪᓐᑐᕆᐊ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᓅ ᔪᐊᒃ. ᓴᓇᖃᑦᑕᖅᓯᒪᔭᖏᑦ ᐊᖕᖏᔪᒥᒃ ᐊᒃᑐᐃᓯᒪᔪᑦ ᖃᓪᓗᓈᑦ ᓄᓇᖓᓂ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔪᓕᕆᕕᐅᔪᓂᒃ, ᐱᔭᕐᓂᓐᖏᑲᓗᐊᖅᑎᓪᓗᒋᑦ ᐱᔪᒪᔭᐅᓂᖅᐸᐅᑎᑦᑎᓇᓱᒋᐊᒃᓴᖅ ᐃᓄᐃᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔭᖏᓐᓂ
ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐱᑕᖃᕈᓐᓃᖅᑎᓪᓗᒍ ᑭᒡᓕᖃᖅᑎᑦᑎᓂᖅ ᐊᕙᑖᓂᑦ ᐃᓄᐃᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᒫᓐᓇᐅᔪᖅ ᑲᓇᑕᒥ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᑎᑦ. ᑲᓇᑕᒥ ᑎᑎᕋᖅᑎ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔪᓂᒃ ᓄᐊᑦᓯᕙᒃᑐᖅ ᔪᐊᔨ ᐃᓕᐊᑦ [George Elliott] ᐅᖃᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᓇ ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ ᓴᓇᔭᖏᑦ ᑕᐃᑲᓂ 1973 ᑕᑯᔭᒐᖃᕐᕕᖕᒦᑦᑐᑦ ᐊᒥᐊᓕᒐᑦ ᐊᓪᓚᐃᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔪᓕᕆᕕᖓᑦ ᓅ ᔪᐊᒃ “ᓵᕿᔮᖅᑐᖅ ᐊᔪᖏᓛᖑᔪᓄᑦ ᓄᓇᕐᔪᐊᒥ ᐱᔭᕐᓂᓐᖏᓂᖅᐹᒥ ᓄᓇᓕᖅᐸᐅᔭᓂ ᓄᓇᕐᔪᐊᒥ.”1
ᐅᑯᐊ ᑲᔪᓯᑦᑎᐊᕆᐊᓕᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑮᓇᐅᔭᓕᐅᕈᑎᒋᓪᓗᒍ ᐅᓇ ᑕᑯᔭᒐᖃᕐᕕᒃ ᐱᒋᐊᖅᑎᓚᐅᖅᑕᖓ ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ ᐊᔪᖏᑦᑐᒻᒪᕆᐋᓘᒐᒥ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐃᓅᓯᒃᓴᑭᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ. ᐱᓂᖅᓗᖕᓂᒃᑯᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᓄᓕᐊᖓ, ᑐᐊᓕ, ᑐᖁᓚᐅᖅᑐᑦ ᐃᒡᓗᖓ ᐃᑭᑎᓪᓗᒍ ᐊᖕᖏᕋᒥᖕᓂ ᑕᓗᕐᔪᐊᖅ, ᓄᓇᕗᑦ, ᑕᐃᑲᓂ 1974. ᐅᑭᐅᖃᓕᖅᖢᑎᒃ 30-ᖑᓵᕐᓂᑰᓪᓗᑎᒃ, ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐋᓯᕙᒃ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖃᑦᑕᓕᖅᖢᓂ ᐅᑭᐅᓂᑦ ᑕᓪᓕᒪᑐᐃᓐᓇᓂᒃ.
ᐅᓇ ᐊᑎᖅ ᑕᓗᕐᔪᐊᖅ ᑐᑭᖃᖅᑐᖅ “ᐊᖕᖏᔪᐋᓘᖕᒪᑦ ᐃᓂᖓᓂ ᑕᓗᓯᒪᔪᖅ”, ᐊᑎᖃᕈᑖ ᐊᖑᓇᓱᒃᑐᓂᒃ ᑕᑯᔭᐅᓂᐊᓐᖏᓐᓇᒥᒃ ᐋᕿᒃᓱᐃᓯᒪᔪᑦ ᐅᔭᖃᓂᒃ ᑕᒪᐅᓐᓇ ᑐᒃᑐᐃᑦ ᐊᑐᖅᐸᒃᑕᖏᑦᑎᒍᑦ ᐃᓂᖏᑦᑎᒍᑦ. ᐊᒥᓱᑦ ᐅᑯᐊ ᐅᔭᖃᑦ ᓱᓕ ᓄᓇᖓᓃᑦᑐᑦ ᐅᔭᕋᐃᓐᓇᐅᒐᒥ ᓄᓇᖓ, ᑕᒪᒃᑯᐊᓗ ᐅᔭᕋᓱᒡᔪᐃᑦ ᓯᒡᔭᖓᓃᑦᑐᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐊᒥᓱᒻᒪᕆᐋᓗᐃᑦ ᑕᓰᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑰᑦ. ᐋᓯᕙᒃ ᐃᓅᓂᑯ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐱᕈᖅᓴᓪᓗᓂ ᑕᒫᓂ
ᓄᓇᒥ 1940-ᓂ, ᐃᓕᑦᑎᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᐊᖑᓇᓱᒍᓐᓇᕐᓂᕐᒥᒃ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐃᖃᓗᒐᓱᒍᓐᓇᕐᓂᕐᒥᒃ, ᑕᒪᓐᓇ ᖁᕕᐊᒋᓚᐅᖅᑕᖓ ᑭᓯᐊᓂᓕ ᐊᒥᒐᓚᐅᖅᓯᒪᖕᒪᑦ ᐃᓅᔾᔪᑎᑐᐊᕆᔭᕆᐊᒃᓴᖏᑦ ᐊᑯᓂ. ᐃᓅᓯᖓᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑮᓇᐅᔭᖃᕆᐊᖃᓕᕐᓂᖓᑦ ᐊᓯᑦᔨᓚᐅᕐᒪᑦ ᓇᓂᑐᐃᓐᓇᖅ ᐅᑭᐅᖅᑕᖅᑐᒥ ᑕᐃᑲᓂ 1950-ᓂ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ 1960-ᓂ ᑕᐃᒪᓐᓇᐅᓂᖓᓄ ᐋᓯᕙᒃ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᓄᓕᐊᖓ ᓅᓚᐅᖅᑐᑦ ᓄᓇᑖᖅᖢᑎᒃ ᑕᓗᕐᔪᐊᓄᑦ ᑕᐃᑲᓂ 1968.
ᐋᓯᕙᒃ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖃᑦᑕᓕᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᑮᓇᐅᔭᖃᕈᑎᒋᓪᓗᒍ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᕿᓚᒥᐋᓗᒃ ᐊᔪᕈᓐᓃᑦᓯᐊᕇᖅᖢᓂ ᓴᓇᔪᓐᓇᑦᓯᐊᓕᖅᖢᓂ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐊᔾᔨᐅᓐᖏᑦᑐᓂᒃ ᐋᕿᒃᓯᔪᓐᓇᖅᖢᓂ. ᐅᒃᑯᓯᒃᓴᖅᑖᕐᕕᖃᓐᖏᑦᑐᖅ ᐊᑑᑎᒐᔭᖅᑐᓄᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᒐᒃᓴᓂᒃ ᓄᓇᖓᓂ, ᑕᐃᒪᓗ ᑐᒃᑐ
ᓇᒡᔪᖏᓐᓂᒃ ᑎᑭᕕᐅᓪᓗᓂ ᕿᖓᐅᕐᒥᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐊᕐᕕᐅᑉ ᓴᐅᓂᖏ
ᑰᒐᓇᔫᑉ ᓄᓇᖓᓂᑦ, ᕿᒪᒃᑕᐅᓂᖁᓂᒃ ᑐᓂᕐᓂᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐱᖃᑖᓂ ᖃᓪᓗᓈᑦ ᐊᕐᕕᕋᓱᒃᑎᑦ. ᓯᓚᒦᑯᑖᖕᓂᑯᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᖃᑯᖅᓯᓯᒪᔪᑦ ᓴᐅᓃᑦ ᐊᑐᖃᑦᑕᓚᐅᖅᑕᖏᑦ ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ. ᐅᓇ, ᐅᖃᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᔫᓂ ᑎᑯᓚ, “ᐊᖑᑎ ᐊᖕᖏᕋᖅᓯᒪᑦᓯᐊᖅᑐᖅ ᐱᖁᑎᒥᓂᓗ ᓴᓇᕐᕈᑎᒥᓂᓗ.”2
ᐋᓯᕚᖕᒧᑦ ᐅᓇ ᐃᓱᒪᔾᔪᓯᕆᓚᐅᖅᑕᖓ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᖢᒋᑦ
ᑭᓲᑯᑦᑎᖏᒃ ᑭᓱᖑᐊᓕᐊᕆᓪᓗᒋᑦ ᐊᕐᕕᐅᑉ ᓴᐅᓂᖏ ᓴᓇᔪᒪᔭᓂ. ᐅᓇ ᐃᓱᒪᓕᕈᑖ ᐱᒋᐊᖄᖅᓯᒪᔪᖅ, ᒪᓕᒡᖢᒋᑦ ᕿᓂᖅᖢᓂ
ᓈᒻᒪᒃᑐᓂᒃ ᓴᓇᓂᐊᖅᑕᒥᓂᒃ ᓴᓇᔭᒃᓴᓂᑦ. ᐊᕐᕕᐅᑉ ᓴᐅᓂᖓ
ᐱᔭᕐᓂᓐᖏᑐᑦ ᓯᒃᑭᓲᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐊᐅᓚᑕᒃᓴᐅᑦᓯᐊᕋᓂ: ᐳᑐᖃᐅᕐᒪᑕ
ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐊᑦᑕᕐᓇᖅᑑᓪᓗᑎᒃ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑎᓯᔪᐋᓗᐃᑦ ᑕᐃᒪ ᐊᓯᖏᓐᓂᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᑕᐅᔪᓐᓇᓚᐅᓐᖏᑦᑐᑦ. ᐅᑯᐊᑦᑕᐅᖅ ᓯᒃᑭᓲᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᖁᐱᓲᑦ ᖃᖓᑐᐃᓐᓇᖅ, ᐱᑦᑎᐊᓕᔭᕆᐊᖃᓲᑦ ᐊᔪᖏᑦᑎᐊᖅᑑᒐᓗᐊᑦ ᓴᓇᔨ. ᑕᒪᓐᓇ ᑕᒪᕐᒥᒃ ᐃᓚᖓ ᖁᕕᐊᒋᓚᐅᖅᑕᖓ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐱᔭᕐᓂᓐᖏᑑᖕᒪᑦ ᐋᓯᕙᖕᒧᑦ. ᓴᐅᓂᑐᐃᓐᓇᑦ ᑭᓱᕈᖅᑎᖃᑦᑕᓚᐅᖅᑕᖏᑦ ᖃᓄᐃᓕᖓᓂᖓ ᒪᓕᒡᖢᒍ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐱᐅᓐᖏᓐᓂᖏᑦ ᐱᐅᓯᑎᓪᖢᒋᑦ, ᓴᓇᑦᑎᐊᖅᓯᒪᒻᒪᕆᐋᓗᒡᖢᒋᑦ ᑭᓱᖑᐊᖕᖑᖢᑎᒃ ᒪᓕᑦᑎᐊᖅᖢᑎᒃ ᑕᑯᔪᒪᔭᒥᓂᒃ.
ᐋᓯᕙᒃ ᖁᕕᐊᒋᓂᖅᐹᕆᓚᐅᖅᑕᖓ “ᖃᐃᖃᒃᓴᓕᖅᖢᒋᑦ ᐋᕿᒃᓱᓕᖅᖢᒋᑦ ᒥᑭᔫᑎᑦ” ᐊᒻᒪᓗ “ᐊᑐᕈᓐᓇᑦᑎᐊᖅᖢᒋᑦ ᓴᓇᕐᕈᑎᓕ
ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᖃᓄᐃᓕᐅᕈᑎᒋᑦᑎᐊᖅᖢᒋᑦ ᑭᓱᓕᐅᕈᑎᒋᑦᓯᐊᖅᖢᒋᑦ,”3 ᐅᖃᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᒥᑭᓚ. ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᑎ ᐊᑐᖅᖢᒋᑦ ᓴᐅᓃᑦ, ᑭᒍᑎᑦ ᑑᒑᑦ, ᓇᒡᔪᐃᑦ, ᓴᐅᓃᑦ, ᐃᕙᓗᑦ, ᐃᕙᓗᓕᐊᕆᓯᒪᔪᑦ ᓄᑭᖕᓂᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᕿᔪᒃ ᐃᔨᖑᐊᒃᓴᖏᓐᓄᑦ, ᑭᒍᑎᒃᓴᖏᓐᓄᑦ, ᑑᒑᒃᓴᖏᓐᓄᑦ, ᑭᓱᖑᐊᖏᑦ
ᐊᑕᔪᑦ ᓴᓇᔭᒥᓄᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑭᓱᑐᐃᓐᓇᑦ ᑎᒍᒥᐊᒐᒃᓴᐅᔪᑦ, ᐅᑯᐊᓗ
ᑕᒪᕐᒥᒃ ᐱᑦᑎᐊᓕᔭᕆᐊᖃᖅᑐᑦ ᐱᔭᕇᑦᑎᐊᖅᓯᒪᒐᒥᒃ ᓴᓇᓯᒪᓂᖏᑦ. ᐱᔭᕇᖅᑕᐃᓐᓇᑦᑎᐊᕆᓯᒪᔭᖏᑦ ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ ᓴᓇᓯᒪᔭᓂ ᐃᒡᓯᓇᐃᓯᒪᓇᓂ ᐱᔭᕇᖅᐸᓚᐅᖅᑕᖏᑦ ᑭᓯᐊᓂ ᑕᒪᕐᒥᒃ ᓇᓗᓇᐃᑦᑎᐊᖅᐸᑕ
ᐋᕿᑦᑎᐊᖅᐸᑕ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᕿᓕᖅᓴᖅᖢᒋᑦ ᐱᔭᕇᕋᒥᒋᑦ. ᐱᓕᕆᔾᔪᓯᐊ
ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᓴᓇᓂᖓ ᐃᒃᐱᒋᔭᐅᑦᓯᐊᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᐊᓯᒥᓂᒃ ᓴᓇᖃᑎᒥᓂᒃ ᐱᐅᒋᔭᐅᓐᖏᓇᖏᑦᑑᒐᓗᐊᑦ - ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐃᓚᖏ ᐊᔾᔨᓕᐅᖅᑕᐅᕙᒡᖢᑎᒃ, ᑕᒪᓐᓇ ᓈᒻᒪᒋᕙᓚᐅᓐᖏᑕᖓ ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ. ᐊᑯᓂᐅᑎᒋᓂᖓ
ᓴᓇᔭᖓᑕ ᐱᔭᕇᕋᓱᐊᖅᖢᓂᐅᒃ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᑕᓂ ᐊᒃᑐᐃᓯᒪᓚᐅᖅᑐᖅ ᖃᓄᐃᓕᖓᓂᐊᕐᓂᖓ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑮᓇᐅᔭᓂ, ᐅᓇᓗ ᐱᒻᒪᕆᐅᔪᖅ ᐋᓯᕙᖕᒧᑦ ᑭᓯᐊᓂ, ᐅᕙᑦᑎᓄᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᕈᑎᒋᓕᕐᓗᑎᓂᒍᑦ ᐱᓚᐅᓐᖏᑦᑐᖅ.
ᐋᓯᕚᖕᒧᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᕐᓂᒃ ᐃᓗᒥᖔᖅᑐᖅ, ᓴᓇᒃᑲᐅᓪᓗᓂ ᐊᔪᖏᑦᓯᐊᖅᖢᓂ, ᐱᑦᑎᐊᓕᓪᓗᒋᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐅᐱᒋᓪᓗᒋᑦ ᓴᓇᔪᓐᓇᖅᑕᓂ ᐃᓚᒋᓚᖑᖅᑕᖓ ᑕᖃᓇᕋᓗᐊᖅᖢᑎᒃ ᐱᕙᓪᓕᐊᓂᖓ ᐃᓱᒪᒋᔭᓂ ᑭᓱᕈᖅᑎᓐᓂᐊᕋᒥᐅᒃ.
ᐃᓅᔪᑎᑐᑦ, ᐅᒡᕙᓘᓐᓃᑦ ᐃᓄᖑᐊᑦ, ᓇᐸᔪᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑮᓇᖃᖅᑐᑦ ᓴᓇᖃᑦᑕᕐᓂᖅᐸᐅᓚᐅᖅᑕᖏᑦ ᐋᓯᐅᒃ ᐊᒥᓱᓂ ᓴᓇᓯᒪᔭᖏᓐᓂ.
ᑕᒪᕐᒥᐸᓗᑦ ᓇᖏᖅᑐᑦ ᐊᑕᐅᓯᐅᓪᓗᑎᒃ, ᐱᖃᑎᖃᕋᔪᒐᑎᒃ ᐃᓄᖕᖑᐊᓂᒃ ᐅᒡᕙᓘᓐᓃᑦ ᓂᕐᔪᑎᖑᐊᓂᒃ - ᑭᓱᖑᐊᑦ ᖃᐅᔨᒪᓇᑦᑎᐊᖅᑐᑦ ᐃᓄᖕᒥᑦ ᓴᓇᔭᐅᓯᒪᔪᑦ. ᐱᒋᐊᓂᖓᓂᑦ, ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ ᓴᓇᔭᖏᑦ ᐊᔾᔨᐅᓐᖏᑑᕙᒃᑐᑦ ᓴᕿᔮᓛᖑᓪᓗᑎᒃ ᐃᓕᓴᕐᓇᖅᑐᑦ ᐊᕙᑖᓂᑦ ᑕᑯᔭᒃᓴᐅᕙᒃᑐᑦ ᐃᓄᐃᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔭᖏᓐᓂ. ᒪᓕᒡᖢᒍ ᔪᐊᔨ ᓱᕕᓐᑕᓐ [George Swinton], ᐅᓇ 1972 ᐅᖃᓕᒫᒐᓕᐅᖅᓯᒪᔪᖅ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔪᑦ ᐃᓄᖕᓂᑦ ᐃᓕᓐᓂᐊᕈᑎᒋᓪᓗᒍ ᐅᖃᐅᓯᕆᕙᒃᑕᖓ, ᐃᓄᐃᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᑎᖏᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔭᖏᑦ ᐋᕿᒃᓯᒪᒐᔪᖕᒪᑕ ᑐᑭᓕᐅᖅᓯᒪᓪᓗᑎᒃ ᐅᖃᖅᓯᒪᔪᑎᑐᑦ ᐱᐅᓯᕐᒥᖕᓂᒃ, ᓴᕿᑦᑎᕙᒃᑐᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᖃᓄᐃᓕᐅᖅᐸᒃᑕᕐᒥᖕᓂᒃ
ᖃᐅᑕᒫᑦ ᐃᓅᓯᕐᒥᖕᓂᒃ ᐅᒡᕙᓘᓐᓃᑦ ᓇᖕᒥᓂ ᐅᓂᒃᑳᖅᑐᐊᒥᖕᓂᒃ.4 “ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ ᓂᓪᓕᐅᑎᒋᔪᓐᓇᕐᓂᖓ ᐅᖓᑖᓄᑦ ᑐᑭᓕᐅᕆᓂᓂ ᐊᔪᖏᑦᓯᐊᓚᐅᖅᑕᖏᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐃᓕᓴᕐᓇᖅᓯᑎᑦᑎᐊᖅᖢᒋᑦ. ᑮᓇᖏᑦ ᐃᒃᐱᒋᔭᒥᖕᓂᒃ ᓇᓗᓇᐃᑦᓯᐊᖅᓯᒪᔪᑦ ᓂᖕᖓᐅᒪᓂᖅ, ᑲᑉᐱᐊᓱᖕᓂᖅ, ᖁᒡᓴᓪᓚᒍᑎᑦ, ᓇᓗᓕᐅᖃᔪᑦ, ᓂᖕᖓᒃᓴᐃᔪᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᑲᒪᔪᑦ. ᐃᔨᖏᑦ ᐊᖕᒪᓗᖅᑎᐋᖅᖢᑎᒃ ᓴᐅᓂᐅᓂᖓ ᓇᓗᓇᕋᓂ, ᓴᓐᓂᖓᒐᓗᐊᕈᓂ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᐊᔾᔨᒋᓐᖏᑦᑎᐊᕋᓗᐊᕈᓂᐅᒃ, ᓯᓕᒃᑐᑦ ᐊᒻᒪᓗ ᓄᓇᒥᐅᑕᓪᓚᕆᐅᔪᑦ.
ᐱᒋᐊᓂᖓᓂᑦ, ᐋᓯᕙᐅᑉ ᓴᓇᔭᖏᑦ ᐊᔾᔨᐅᓐᖏᑑᕙᒃᑐᑦ ᓴᕿᔮᓛᖑᓪᓗᑎᒃ ᐃᓕᓴᕐᓇᖅᑐᑦ ᐊᕙᑖᓂᑦ ᑕᑯᔭᒃᓴᐅᕙᒃᑐᑦ ᐃᓄᐃᑦ ᓴᓇᖕᖑᐊᖅᓯᒪᔭᖏᓐᓂ. —