The subject of a 1973 short documentary simply titled Noah [1], Noah Nuna’s work is also illustrated in George Swinton’s Sculpture of the Inuit (1972, p. 197, pl. 528) and the Winnipeg Art Gallery’s Baffin Island (1983, p. 89). So far as we know, he did not produce a large body of work, which is regrettable, since he had a particular gift for sensitive carving, well shown here.

In the present work, we encounter the assured hand of a skilled carver, even if the subject does not declare itself at once. Two compact, heavy-bodied figures bend inward, the mass of their parkas gathering into a single, sheltering volume over the meeting of heads and arms. The stance is planted and weight-bearing. Thick legs drop straight into broad boots, and both figures sit firmly on a roughly worked base that still shows tool marks and shallow gouges.

Decisive incarving separates the forms. Deep cut channels define the sweep of each hood around the face, the fold of sleeves as the arms wrap forward, and the horizontal breaks of cuffs, hems, and trouser bands. The faces are small and set back within the hoods, with alert features and slightly open mouths that give the pair an intent, concentrated expression, as if absorbed in contact.

Yet the nature of that contact is left to interpretation. The bodies meet with real pressure, shoulder into shoulder, arm into arm, and the heads are tucked close beneath the hoods, so the action reads as immediate and physical. It might be the exuberance of wrestling or rough play or it might be something more urgent. Perhaps it is a clasp that comes from relief, a hold that draws one person back into warmth and love after absence, when he had been missing and long thought dead. Whatever the story, the carving holds, and it is a wonderful object to encounter.