Tanya Tagaq at TBA
I went because I’m interested in contemporary native artists whose work often contends with appropriation, misrepresentation and the false perception that contemporary native people are not art and culture makers. I was also drawn to this piece because PICA’s Performing Arts Program Director Erin Boberg Doughton has a great track record of bringing intriguing contemporary performances to Portland for TBA.
According to National Geographic, a traditional Inuit practice includes “a mixture of husky chanting and low growling, throat singing is a competition in which the first person to laugh, stop, or run out of breath loses.” Typically two women face each other, close enough to touch, and in the videos I’ve watched online, the women look like they are having fun.
At TBA, Tagaq stood barefoot on stage in the athletic stance of a modern dancer. She was flanked by drummer Jean Martin and violinist Jesse Zubot. Behind her hung an enormous blank movie screen. Her pre-show patter seemed casual, cordial, borderline sweet. She sounded like a teenager when she said “Thank you guys for coming!” but a premonition arrived; I thought of Kali, the Hindu deity who both creates and destroys.
In my recollection, Tagaq’s singing, the music (Derek Charke’s original film score), and film Nanook of the North all began at the same moment. Yet to me Tagaq seemed very much alone on stage, her solo voice an alternating soundtrack of protest and lamentation as well as pleasure and joy as the ice and snow-filled film played on the screen behind her.
Also known as Nanook of the North: A Story Of Life and Love In the Actual Arctic, the 1922 silent film directed by Robert J. Flaherty is controversial. Billed originally as a documentary about life for the Inuit in the Canadian Artic, it’s more accurately a docudrama (due to the many manipulated and staged scenes) and can be viewed as an example of colonialist exploitation.
“Nanook’s” real name was Allakariallak; the gun with which he normally used to hunt was replaced with traditional hunting and fishing techniques; a moment of “exposure” to a gramophone, where “Nanook” expresses childish delight, are
Tagaq’s voice wrestled with these complexities as strenuously as the characters in the film contended with the arctic elements: fishing through a hole in the ice, hunting walruses, corralling sled dogs, building igloos with a large knife repeatedly licked to form a slick of ice to better cut through snow. The sounds Tagaq made seemed to come from deep within, and were only rarely recognizable as words, as during scenes with the gramophone, when in a guttural voice she repeated colonizer, colonizer, colonizer.