Masters from the Arctic

The show was almost lost in the carnival of coronation, but when London's gallerygoers finally got around to it, they came in droves. Instead of the familiar thorny abstractions, one of London's most advance-guard galleries last week was exhibiting 61 primitive carvings that were as fresh and clean as a stand of clover. The artists: Eskimo tribesmen from Canada's vast Arctic territories, showing their work in Europe for the first time.

Out of Igloos. The Eskimo sculptures looked strikingly modern. Yet where most moderns can only try to imitate the power of primitive art--the caricature-like simplification, the economic, almost childlike use of detail--the Eskimo sculptors showed a force that set their work apart from the most sophisticated studio products. Without even elementary training in art, working by flickering lamps in their igloos, and using only the simplest tools on bone, ivory and the green, grey or black rocks of their Arctic home, the Eskimos told of what they knew: the dull strength of a musk ox, its heavy head lowered on thick shoulders; the rubbery, spreading massiveness of a sunning seal; the graceful curves of an otter's sleek body.

Their human figures were even more striking. Though none was more than 7 1/2 inches high, they managed to give a sense of bulk: a muffled hunter bends, awkward and burdened, in his fur parka; an Eskimo mother kneels with her child swaddled on her back.

London's critics poured on superlatives. Said Art News and Review: "Astonishingly subtle. These are works of art in the fullest meaning of the word." Added the Manchester Guardian: "Remarkable . . . Much of it is powerful enough to make the most fervent admirer of Henry Moore pause a moment and ask if there is not something to be said for sculptors who have no intellectual pretensions . . ." One enthusiastic collector at the packed gallery offered $1,000 for a statuette of a seated Spearman.

Into the Trade. The credit for opening people's eyes to Canada's Eskimo artists goes to a Quebec artist named Jim Houston, 32, who first went to the Arctic in 1948. Fascinated by the exquisite little figures he saw, Houston brought back a few examples, persuaded the nonprofit Canadian Handicrafts Guild to put Eskimo carvings on sale. They sold like hotcakes, and each year Houston traveled north for more supplies. Later, the guild put out booklets filled with helpful advice to the Eskimo artists. Sample: "Man throwing harpoon, or spearing through ice ... If they are carefully carved and polished, the kabloona [white man] will buy them."

Wisely, Artist Houston has not tried to teach the Eskimos the kabloona's styles. Says Houston: "The Eskimo carves the way he feels he should carve, and he doesn't feel inferior simply because his work doesn't conform with accepted standards." So far, Houston has brought back nearly 30,000 tiny works from the Far North; the guild sells them at prices ranging from 50-c- to $200, and the demand in the trade is greater than the supply. Edinburgh and Paris have both asked for the London exhibit, and there are plans for U.S. exhibits later this year at the University of Michigan, M.I.T. and Indiana University.

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