Almost a fetish animal for scientists, a star attraction on Arctic cruises and a global climate icon, the polar bear goes far beyond its role as a symbolic species. From Inuit mythology to tales of exploration, from traditional sculpture to contemporary advertising, the polar bear has never ceased to change its face. Whether a monster, a spirit, an endearing companion or an ecological symbol, Nanooq tells as much about the history of the Arctic as it does about our imagination.
It’s hard to talk about the Arctic without mentioning its big black muzzle and imposing silhouette that carries its whiteness across the ice. A true star of Arctic scientific research (it accounts for a large proportion of published scientific articles), the polar bear is also the region’s emblematic animal, relegating Arctic foxes, walruses and reindeer to secondary roles. The plantigrade even attracts crowds of tourists every year, who embark on cruises in the hope, among other things, of admiring and observing it in its natural environment.
But it’s not just in the world of science and tourism that the polar bear shines. His arctic majesty also claims a lion’s share in culture. From Inuit art to representations of polar exploration, the polar bear has become a key cultural player. And with global warming and its impact on the polar regions, the King of the Arctic has become the symbol of a world in peril. As a cultural subject, Nanooq is as much a part of our Western imagination as it is of Inuit culture.
A bear in the rules of art
But let’s start from the beginning. In Greenlandic mythology, the polar bear can take the form of Allaq, a half-woman, half-bear being, Immap Nanua, the giant bear who can suck umiaq (traditional Inuit boats) and icebergs in a breath. There’s also Nappaasilat, the blue-furred spirit bear who guides apprentice shamans, and Sermilissuaq, a giant bear covered in ice who devours people.
Sometimes benevolent, sometimes dangerous, the animal occupies different roles in cosmology and indigenous beliefs. This duality reflects a complex relationship with an animal that is both prey and predator, different and similar.
This interweaving of fear and respect is reflected in Inuit art. First in small objects depicting hunting scenes. Then, in more imposing works, the polar bear becomes the central character or actor in a composition in which humans, often shamans, merge with it, symbolically appropriating its qualities and strengths. For the link between Arctic indigenous peoples and the polar bear is a complex one. At once the subject of admiration, even veneration and worship (as among the Ainu people of Sakhalin Island), but also prey and predator, the polar bear provides indigenous populations with its meat, bones, urine and fur. Already present on the everyday objects of nomadic populations, the polar bear is sure to become an artistic subject.
Inuit art has become a highly sought-after medium of expression, and is now exhibited in Western art galleries. Artists work in whalebone, ivory, driftwood and stone (serpentine, steatite, basalt). In addition to sculpture and engraving, the artists also expressed themselves through prints, creating touching, sensitive and expressive compositions. Subjects range from Arctic bestiary and shamanic rituals to scenes of everyday life. Among these subjects, one motif recurs frequently: the dancing polar bear.
A time of fear and conquest
These sculptures, with their full, round lines, often surprise the Western viewer. We know that the Arctic is a harsh and hostile environment, home to one of the world’s most fearsome predators. But here, we discover our dangerous mammal in elegant and amusing poses. Absorbed in his dance, the polar bear becomes touchingly human. And when sculpted, the polished, rounded stone seems to convey an almost maternal softness and warmth.
In stark contrast to the vision of the polar bear conveyed by European explorers. From the earliest accounts, the animal, ferocious and monstrous, haunted the nightmares of a West bent on conquering the Arctic. This terrifying representation also served to emphasize the courage of polar explorers, who were shown facing an even more extreme danger than cold and isolation. Any defeat seemed inevitable against such hostility; conversely, any victory would appear all the greater.
A familiar symbol of a distant world
Then came the end of heroic exploration and the time of science. The gaze shifted. The animal became an object of study, then gradually a universal symbol. By the 20th century, the polar bear turned into a more sympathetic figure, popular and reinvented in advertising and mass culture. From Coca-Cola commercials to the Arctic version of the stuffed bear, Nanooq is transformed into a round, bouncy cuddly toy, protective, funny and almost childlike. The Teddy bear of our childhood now comes in white. Soft and harmless, it is something to cling to, to entrust to children as a reassuring companion.
After the monstrous beast (allegory of Arctic nature), the polar bear becomes sympathetic and funny. By making it look like a big dog, we bring it closer to us. We humanize it while at the same time making it more fragile, which almost makes us forget that the animal is still a predator capable of killing a human.
This shift reflects a unique closeness to humankind and favors anthropomorphism, before the polar bear unwillinglybecame an ambassador of the Arctic, a distant land struck hard by climate change Sometimes its massive whiteness is photographed balancing on a drifting iceberg, sometimes it is a skeletal individual dragging itself painfully ashore. It now represents a world in danger.
From sacred figure to ecological symbol, the polar bear actually embodies something profoundly human. Its silhouette doesn’t just belong to the ice of the Far North. It has crept into our fears, our imaginations and our myths, making Nanooq a familiar figure as much as a changing reflection of our own view of the Arctic.
The polar bear a universal language, capable of expressing fear, tenderness or urgency. Through it, we portray our own relationship with nature, between fascination and concern. And if its future seems threatened, it’s perhaps because, without it, a piece of our imagination would disappear with the ice.