Inuit Art: A Magical Portal to the More-than-Human World
Magic Words (An Inuit Poem)
In the very earliest time,
When both people and animals lived on earth,
A person could become an animal if he wanted to
And an animal could become a human being.
Sometimes they were people
And sometimes animals
And there was no difference.
All spoke the same language.
That was the time when words were like magic.
The human mind had mysterious powers.
A word spoken by chance
Might have strange consequences.
It would suddenly come alive
And what people wanted to happen could happen
All you had to do was say it.
Nobody could explain this:
That’s the way it was.
I was first introduced to Inuit art through Harold Seidelman’s book, The Inuit Imagination. I was immediately intrigued by Seidelman’s presentation of the interplay between Inuit art and Inuit mythology, and by the relationship that the Inuit people have with the land. The artworks—and the stories they told—suggested that the Inuit had retained access to a primal place, a shamanic worldview, in which humanity and the natural world were still intimately bound together.
Several years after reading Seidelman’s book, I finally saw my first Inuit art in a gallery. Anthropomorphic animals, zoomorphic people, depictions of shamanic travel between worlds: The art was a magical portal to the more-than-human world.
When I think about what it is that draws me to Inuit art, the Inuit poem “Magic Words” comes to mind. For me, this poem captures the essence of Inuit art: the relationship the Inuit have with the natural world, and their stories—or magic words—about this world. Art, myth, and nature merge together, taking us back to that original state in which we once again share our world with the animals, and can even trade places with them. It is a place where we all speak the same language, where stories come alive in stone.
Nobody can explain how Inuit art does this.
That’s just the way it is.
Inuit Art: A Magical Portal to the More-than-Human World
Magic Words
(An Inuit Poem)
In the very earliest time,
When both people and animals lived on earth,
A person could become an animal if he wanted to
And an animal could become a human being.
Sometimes they were people
And sometimes animals
And there was no difference.
All spoke the same language.
That was the time when words were like magic.
The human mind had mysterious powers.
A word spoken by chance
Might have strange consequences.
It would suddenly come alive
And what people wanted to happen could happen
All you had to do was say it.
Nobody could explain this:
That’s the way it was.
I was first introduced to Inuit art through Harold Seidelman’s book, The Inuit Imagination. I was immediately intrigued by Seidelman’s presentation of the interplay between Inuit art and Inuit mythology, and by the relationship that the Inuit people have with the land. The artworks—and the stories they told—suggested that the Inuit had retained access to a primal place, a shamanic worldview, in which humanity and the natural world were still intimately bound together.
Several years after reading Seidelman’s book, I finally saw my first Inuit art in a gallery. Anthropomorphic animals, zoomorphic people, depictions of shamanic travel between worlds: The art was a magical portal to the more-than-human world.
When I think about what it is that draws me to Inuit art, the Inuit poem “Magic Words” comes to mind. For me, this poem captures the essence of Inuit art: the relationship the Inuit have with the natural world, and their stories—or magic words—about this world. Art, myth, and nature merge together, taking us back to that original state in which we once again share our world with the animals, and can even trade places with them. It is a place where we all speak the same language, where stories come alive in stone.
Nobody can explain how Inuit art does this.
That’s just the way it is.
—Belinda Recio, Gallery Director