2022-1810

The sky sings above those who sleep. The wind carries stories no longer spoken aloud. In this northern hush, every tilted cross is a line in a poem written by ancestors — not to be read, but to be felt. Nothing here is gone. Everything waits beneath snow, beneath stars, beneath the turning light.

Light for the Sleeping

Weathered crosses rise from snowdrifts like prayers etched into wind, quietly watching the horizon. This is not just a place of rest — it is a place of return.

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

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

My photography is a reflection of the world I see, the world I’m growing up in, as an Inuit youth who grew up in Nunavut.

Tony Eetak May 1, 2025

Echo lines hum between silences; dew holds the static of a thousand unspoken mornings.

Nature as an Architect

In the fragile lattice of morning light, the spider’s work stands as a monument to patience and design.

Jamie Bell April 23, 2025

Suspension theory: dreams cling to the tension between the known and the not-yet-touched.

Dew Code

This spiderweb, soaked in dew and backlit by daybreak, could be mistaken for code—strings of logic floating midair.

Jamie Bell April 23, 2025

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

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

Tony Eetak April 22, 2025

They gather beneath giants—paint, steel, and silence pressing down like weather. Here, they are not exhibits but echoes, resisting the stillness with their own weight of being. This is not interruption. This is grounding. A reminder that presence is also a kind of art.

Under the Gaze of Giants

In a quiet alcove beneath towering canvases, a small group of youth sit cross-legged, whispering between museum murmurs. Their presence, casual and at ease, contrasts the grandiosity of the gallery.

Tony Eetak March 28, 2025

$Each fracture finds its place. Each piece, once discarded, now holds position in something greater. This mosaic doesn’t erase what’s broken—it listens to it, arranges it, builds a compass out of the scattered. To stand at its center is to feel the world pulling gently toward wholeness.$

DIGITAL SALVAGE