“My father was born in a spring igloo—half snow, half skin. I was born in a hospital, with jaundice and two teeth.”

Inuk artist Asinnajaq plunges us into a sublime imaginary universe—14 minutes of luminescent, archive-inspired cinema that recast the past, present and future of Inuit in a radiant new light.

Diving into the NFB’s vast archive, she parses the complicated cinematic representation of  the Inuit, harvesting fleeting truths and fortuitous accidents from a range of sources—newsreels, propaganda, ethnographic docs, and works of Inuit filmmakers. Embedding historic footage into original animation, she conjures up a vision of hope and beautiful possibility.

Produced by the National Film Board of Canada, Three Thousand is directed by Asinnajaq, also known as Isabella Weetaluktuk, and produced by Kat Baulu.

“My father was born in a spring igloo—half snow, half skin. I was born in a hospital, with jaundice and two teeth.”

With quiet command, the young Inuk artist Asinnajaq plunges us into a sublime imaginary universe—14 minutes of luminescent, archive-inspired cinema that recast the past, present and future of Inuit in a radiant new light.

Delving into the NFB’s vast archive, she casts a net across the complicated history of Inuit cinematic representation, harvesting fleeting truths and fortuitous accidents from a range of sources—newsreels, propaganda, ethnographic docs, as well as work by Inuit filmmakers.

Two Inuit children peer with startling immediacy through a colonial lens. Decades later, other children hastily look away from an intrusive camera. Later still, Asinnajaq’s own grandmother fashions sea lyme grass into a basket, at ease under the tender gaze of documentarian Jobie Weetaluktuk, the director’s father.

Part conjuror, part seamstress, Asinnajaq fuses contemporary sensibilities with the economic aesthetic of her ancestors, overlaying a quilt of hand-drawn and CGI animation with shimmering fragments of historic moving image. In reimagining the archive for a new century, she looks to a future of vast and beautiful possibility.

A soundtrack both intimate and mysterious features sound design by Catherine Van Der Donckt, original music by Olivier Alary and vocal performances by Tanya Tagaq and Celina Kalluk. Original animation is by Patrick Defasten.

Produced by the National Film Board of Canada, Three Thousand is directed by Asinnajaq, also known as Isabella Weetaluktuk, and produced by Kat Baulu.

How do you describe your heritage?

Innujunga! I am Inuk. I was born in Kuujjuaq, but primarily raised in Montreal, so I am an urban Inuk. My dad, Jobie Weetaluktuk, is a filmmaker whose extended family lives in Inukjuak, Nunavik. My mother, Carol Rowan, is a university professor who specializes in early childhood education.

What contact did you have with Inuit culture growing up in Montreal?

When I was a kid, we’d occasionally get together with other Inuit for feasts, and my family would travel up to Inukjuak whenever we could. My mother always encouraged us to know about and share our heritage. Lately I’ve been working with my fellow Inuit on various cultural events. Stephen Puskas and I were invited by the FOFA Gallery to establish an annual Inuit film festival. I’m also part of a weekly women’s sewing group, where we make traditional clothing like pualok and amauti. Inuit have been present in the city for years, but I feel now we’re working together more to give our cultural heritage greater presence in urban life.

How much have you seen of the Inuit Nunangat?

I’m very lucky. One of my first jobs after high school was on an Arctic cruise ship, and so I’ve travelled extensively throughout the four regions of Inuit Nunangat. I’ve been to Baffin Island, the Torngat Mountains, Beechey Island and lots of other places—and I got to visit traditional food caches and Thule dwellings. It was an incredible experience. I learned so much about the culture and history of Inuit during that time.

I also make regular visits to my family in Nunavik, to hang out with my cousins and spend time on the land. I try to go for a month in the winter and another month in the summer, when I go boating, pick berries and hunt seal. I enjoy Labrador tea. I learned where to look for it and pick the leaves to drink it all year long. And I love to be there when my relatives have babies.

Tell us about your artistic training.

Well, I’ve liked making things ever since I was kid. I work in different media: sewing, linocut printmaking and beadwork. I recently did a collective installation called 10,000 BEADS. I studied ceramics and fibre arts and received my degree at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, where I majored in film.

Film school was a fantastic experience. I was exposed to different kinds of cinema through my classmates, and I got to experiment with my own filmmaking process. I made a few short films, but what stays with me is lugging a Red camera and all its gear into the woods on a 30-minute hike in the winter! I was very motivated to participate in my peers’ productions.

When I was in school, I wasn’t really aware of many contemporary Inuit artists. I was operating from a place of scarcity, but this is no longer the case. My world is now peopled with so many amazing Inuit artists. I am experiencing a wave of abundance. I see film as a way of communicating feeling, and what people do with that is their prerogative. Film’s a way of exploring and understanding the world. I happen to be Inuk, so that’s the world I’m exploring.

What films have you worked on before Three Thousand?

One of my first professional experiences was on my father’s film Timuti, a documentary about the Inuit rituals around birth and early childhood, and more recently I made a short film of my own called Upinnaqusitik (Lucky), which premiered at the Christina Parker Gallery in St. John’s during iNuit Blanche, the first ever circumpolar arts festival in St. John’s. It screened again in Ottawa on National Aboriginal Day and then was shown on TV with a live performance by Elisapie Isaac. I used archival images, intercutting them with old family photos and video footage that I’d shot myself while hunting with my family in Hudson’s Bay. It’s a short film about the things I love about Inuit culture and being Inuit.

What are sources of influence for your art?

I am an avid reader. Words are so precious to me. I read more for feeling than for story. I love the author Helen Oyeyemi, the way she creates worlds that are both real and unreal. Have you ever read On Elegance While Sleeping by the Argentinian writer Viscount Lascano Tegui? I don’t even know what the story is but I could read that book over and over again. It starts with “I write out of pure voluptuousness. And so, like a courtesan, I’ll take my sweet time, and begin by kicking off my shoe.” So I often read, and re-read books, just for the sake of it. In a similar way I love films that use sound and picture to create feelings that go beyond a simple a-b-c storyline, films you can watch over and over again.

Do you address Inuit and non-Inuit audiences in different ways?

Yes, it makes a difference. Whenever you author a film or any kind of artwork, you need to think about who you’re in conversation with, and how you’re addressing them. For example, if I’m making something for an Inuit audience exclusively, then I don’t have to explain what an amauti is. We already share a certain common understanding of the world. But when I’m addressing non-Inuit viewers, who may not be familiar with Inuit culture, then I know I have to explain more.

You’ve included lots of images of traditional tools and objects in Three Thousand…

Yes. I love all those things—uluks, pualoks, amautis. I feel like they connect me to the past, to the great expanse of time. Whenever I use my ulu to cut something, skin or fabric, I’m doing something that thousands of Inuit have done before me, something that I hope we will continue to do into the future. That sense of connection can change how you see yourself, and how you perceive time.

How have audiences responded to your films?

Showing my film Upinnaqusitik was a great experience. When I showed it at iNuit Blanche, people said such positive things, and I had Inuit tell me that the film felt like home. That was the best thing anyone could ever say about that piece, because I was trying to represent home—through landscapes, children, smiling faces—and to counteract the narrative of “barren land.” I think that viewers got that. They understood that the film was highlighting joy.

None of the archival footage had sound. How did you approach the soundtrack for Three Thousand? 

The old archives have no sound. They are just moving images. I felt it was critical to honour people who had been silenced by creating intentional sound that evokes life. So the sound of breath forms the foundation of the soundtrack. We recorded vocal performances by Tanya Tagaq and Celina Kalluk—sounds that bring life back to those silent images. When Inuit women throat sing, they’re evoking the sound of life around them—dogsleds, wind and so on. Catherine Van Der Donckt, my sound designer, and I also made multiple recordings of our own breath, responding in different ways to what was happening onscreen.

Then we added foley, all those ambient sounds that give a sense of immediacy to the images, and lastly we added the music. Olivier Alary and I consulted extensively throughout the time the images where coming together. I heard his final music not knowing if it would fit exactly, but it completely does! It is subtle, somewhere between sadness and joy.

Can you recommend three films that every non-Inuit outsider should see in order to gain insight into Inuit perspectives and culture?

The Journals of Knud Rasmussen, Timuti, and Angry Inuk are three that come to mind. With The Journals of Knud Rasmussen, you’re seeing a point in time when Christianity was beginning to prevail over Shamanism. That change had repercussions we’re still living with today, repercussions that will continue forever, as long as Inuit exist. At the same time, the film gives you insight into traditional life—the igloos, the travelling, the spiritual world of Inuit.

With Timuti you’re seeing see some of the more delicate and specific aspects of Inuit tradition. My father directed it, so I know something about the film’s intentions. He wanted to show how Inuit welcome a new baby into the world. It also gives you insight into the difficulties around family life, how people adapt to unexpected pregnancies—something that’s been informed by the imposition of Christianity.

Finally, Angry Inuk is important because it addresses urgent contemporary issues. It’s a film about cultural prejudice, and about affirming your pride in the face of those prejudices. Lots of people see the anti-sealing movement as a good thing, but in fact it’s very detrimental to Inuit. It misunderstands and devalues our history and culture.

When you get an idea for a project, whether it’s a film or another type of art project, what kind of ethical considerations come into play?

Number one: I think it’s always better to tell your own stories. If other people invite your help in telling their stories, then that’s fine. And if for some reason, someone is not able to tell their own story, either because it puts them at risk or for some other reason, then you can try to the best of your abilities to share that story.

What advice would you give to other young artists around best ethical practices?

Those decisions are ultimately up to the individual artist. But it’s always good to consult, to talk with lots of beautiful, smart people. That includes the community you’re representing. They will help you find the best path. And my father taught me to trust other members of your creative team, to leave space for the editor or cameraperson to play their part.

You identify as Inuit and speak of Inukjuak as your home community. How does this shape your work?

Whatever I make or do, I think of family—my nieces and cousins and other members of the extended family—and I try to do good.