Tony Eetak

Tony Eetak is an emerging artist, musician and culture connector from Arviat, Nunavut, now exploring the arts in Winnipeg, Manitoba. A founding member of the Art Borups Corners, Tony has a demonstrated passion for photography, music, composition, and visual arts. With over five years of experience as a dedicated volunteer, collaborator and co-funder of several arts projects, Tony has been involved in various participatory arts events through organizations like the Arviat Film Society, Global Dignity Canada, Inclusion in Northern Research, and Our People, Our Climate. His contributions earned him recognition as a National Role Model by Global Dignity Canada in 2023. His work has been supported by the Canada Council for the Arts, Manitoba Arts Council and the OpenAI Researcher Access Program.

My Arctic Street Snow and street. Our path, right here in town. Where does it lead? What will it look like tomorrow? The light on the snow, it tells a story. A story of change, even here, where we live. This isn't just a street; it's our future, covered in white, waiting to be seen.

Snow and street. Our path, right here in town. Where does it lead? What will it look like tomorrow? The light on the snow, it tells a story. A story of change, even here, where we live. This isn't just a street; it's our future, covered in white, waiting to be seen.

My Arctic Street

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

This road, it's our everyday path. We walk it, we drive it. It connects us.

Tread Marks on Thinning Ice Rubber and frost meet, right here. Where have we been? Where are we going? That horizon... it's softer now, the light uncertain. Each mark on this tire, a story of the land. But the land is changing, breathing differently. I see it, we all do. This isn't just a view; it's the ground shifting beneath us, captured in a moment.

Rubber and frost meet, right here. Where have we been? Where are we going? That horizon... it's softer now, the light uncertain. Each mark on this tire, a story of the land. But the land is changing, breathing differently. I see it, we all do. This isn't just a view; it's the ground shifting beneath us, captured in a moment.

Tread Marks on Thinning Ice

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

Rubber and frost meet, right here. Where have we been? Where are we going? That horizon...

Barrel Horizon A metal drum, dusted and fading, frames the edge of land and light. The sun breaks clean across an ice-locked horizon, distant yet grounding. Industrial memory sits in the foreground, silent but loaded. This is the balance: between use and loss, sky and surface, heat and cold, stillness and what is coming next.

A metal drum, dusted and fading, frames the edge of land and light. The sun breaks clean across an ice-locked horizon, distant yet grounding. Industrial memory sits in the foreground, silent but loaded. This is the balance: between use and loss, sky and surface, heat and cold, stillness and what is coming next.

Barrel Horizon

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

Oil heats our homes, but it also represents a cycle that’s melting the ground beneath us.

Edges of Ice Ice rises like fingers sculpted in a moment of thaw—sharp, delicate, reaching toward the low sun. In this blur of focus, what is foreground and what is memory? A crystallized tension sits between presence and erosion, the dirt and grains trapped inside as witness. Nothing here is still, though everything looks like it might be.

Ice rises like fingers sculpted in a moment of thaw—sharp, delicate, reaching toward the low sun. In this blur of focus, what is foreground and what is memory? A crystallized tension sits between presence and erosion, the dirt and grains trapped inside as witness. Nothing here is still, though everything looks like it might be.

Edges of Ice

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

Ice rises like fingers sculpted in a moment of thaw—sharp, delicate, reaching toward the low sun. In...

Through My Eyes: An Arctic Story Even in the heart of our community, winter's presence is felt. The school stands as a center of learning, surrounded by the enduring snow.

Even in the heart of our community, winter's presence is felt. The school stands as a center of learning, surrounded by the enduring snow.

Through My Eyes: An Arctic Story

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

My photography is a reflection of the world I see, the world I'm growing up in, as...

Exploring Mass Culture img-vdsKFivDm5YgtJga4N4wSOqL

Exploring Mass Culture

Tony Eetak April 24, 2025

This week, we're spotlighting Mass Culture, a national arts service organization that harnesses the power of research to...

Early Morning Fog Fog doesn’t erase, it distills. What remains in the hush is not absence, but a pause between stories. Trees lean like breathless witnesses, caught in the act of remembering. This isn’t mystery—it’s a threshold. You aren’t lost here; you’re being rewritten.

Fog doesn’t erase, it distills. What remains in the hush is not absence, but a pause between stories. Trees lean like breathless witnesses, caught in the act of remembering. This isn’t mystery—it’s a threshold. You aren’t lost here; you’re being rewritten.

Early Morning Fog

Tony Eetak April 22, 2025

The forest holds its breath. Morning fog clings to the undergrowth like a held memory, softening the...

Canada Goose It stands where steel forgets it’s steel—among colour bleeding from walls, among echoes not meant for birds. A pause with feathers. A poem without lines. Graffitied stillness, urban myth. Something sacred hums low under the bridge, and the goose listens.

It stands where steel forgets it’s steel—among colour bleeding from walls, among echoes not meant for birds. A pause with feathers. A poem without lines. Graffitied stillness, urban myth. Something sacred hums low under the bridge, and the goose listens.

Canada Goose

Tony Eetak April 18, 2025

The goose under the coloured bridge Beneath the bridge, in a pocket of stillness layered with shadows...

Provencher $Provencher Bridge floats between breath and concrete, a tethered gesture over water’s slow murmur. Light fractures across its spine like memory refracted—half civic promise, half spectral hush. It does not span space, but thought—an architecture of pause, where crossings blur into echoes and the river forgets which way is forward.$