My father is the late Rory (Qakuq) Voudrach (1973–2024). He was known nationally and internationally as the artist behind RKV Blades, a skilled and sought-after craftsman of authentic Inuvialuit uluit and knives. He was a humble yet driven leader in our community and a strong voice for the people of the Inuvialuit Settlement Region.
Dad’s interest in uluit-making started when he was just a boy in his home community of Tuktuuyaqtuuq, Inuvialuit Settlement Region, NT, on the shore of Nunaryuam Qaangani Tariuq, the Arctic Ocean. He spoke about a time when you would see Elders like his great-grandfather Raddi Kuiksak working on uluit outside their homes. He would sit and watch them from a distance, not brave enough to go right up to them, but interested in how they were making their tools. My great-aunt told me not long after his passing that as a little boy, my dad was always observant, ready to help, with a serious character, but still a little bit qaqi, or mischievous. He was still this way as a man—sturdy, honest, with a qaqi sense of humour.
Bathing the saw blades and preparing uluit pieces for assembly PHOTO RORY VOUDRACH
Dad would spend hours in the shed he built outside our family home, crafting beautiful and functional tools made to last decades. Each blade was unique and made with “pure love,” as he would say. He’d go into his shop with an idea and let the wood, bone and metal decide how much or how little he could take away. He used repurposed materials, like decades-old vintage carbon steel saw blades, and sourced antler bone from local hunters.
His “Cadillacs,” as he called them, were some of his heaviest and most beautiful pieces, made with caribou, moose or muskox bone handles and copper or brass fittings and pins. I saw him almost as a caretaker of these pieces as he brought them into existence. Once he decided on the raw shapes to cut from the metal, he would treat the blade pieces enough in a special “bath” where all the rust would fall away, and these beautiful “scars” on the blades left from the rust would emerge. From there he would sand down the blades gradually, but not enough to erase the markings. I told him once that the scars created a coloring and texture that reminded me of sealskin. I think he liked that.
A selection of uluit and knives the artist made between 2021 and 2023 © THE ARTIST
He’d often bring his uluit inside for us, his wife and daughters, to see and hold. He’d lay them out on the kitchen table, standing covered in black metal grinder dust and smelling like freshly band-sawed antler bones. We’ve been acquainted with each blade as a family, and so can always pick out Dad’s work from the work of others. It brings us comfort and joy to know his pieces are out there in the world, making people happy.
Rory Voudrach poses with participants and the uluit they made during a workshop at the Reindeer Station on-the-land community space in 2023
After crafting for several years, Dad began to speak more about the importance of passing on his skills in late 2022. He believed an inherent need to create was in all of us, that we need to help each other as Inuit to find it within ourselves. He said it was important for us to come together and share knowledge and resources, in order to protect the authenticity of our traditional tools and practices for Inuvialuit now and in the future. He turned this vision into reality in early 2023 with group workshops at local and on-the-land community spaces like Hope House and Reindeer Station. Then in the summer of 2023 he partnered with the Inuvialuit Regional Corporation to run one-on-one training sessions, working with apprentices to make several styles of uluit and blades. He was proud of everyone who wanted to come out and learn, encouraging them to experiment and find their own styles. Several of his apprentices still make uluit today. Seeing their work makes me feel that his dream of passing on his craft was fulfilled.
Rory Voudrach Ulu (2022) Vintage sawblade steel, brass and moose antler © THE ARTIST
In addition to his artwork, Dad was a skilled carpenter who built our family two camps where we would go to be together and heal on the land. Since he left us physically, this is where we feel closest to his spirit. At the time of his passing, Dad had also become an influential Inuvialuk leader who believed in our inherent rights to occupy our traditional lands and continue practicing our culture. He was Chair of the Inuvik Community Corporation and a board member for the Inuvialuit Regional Corporation. He believed in the Inuvialuit Final Agreement, and he put our people first in every decision he made, leading by example, with respect and integrity. I try each day to honour him by staying committed to everything he taught us.
I believe Dad’s art was another outlet for him to fulfill the purpose with which I saw him live each day—promoting and strengthening our Inuvialuit identity and livelihoods for future generations. The ulu itself is a symbol of Inuvialuit resiliency and our ingenuity as a people: a vital tool that has survived and been passed down through generations for millennia. I do not think this symbolism was lost on him.
Kunuuyang (Tamara Voudrach) is an Inuvialuk artist and media professional living, working and raising her son Qakuq in her home community of Inuuvik, Inuvialuit Settlement Region, NT. Her parents are Rory (Qakuq) and Denise Voudrach. Her grandparents are Paul and Norma Voudrach. She is a multi-disciplinary artist, leader and change-maker working to promote Inuvialuit culture and languages, facilitate knowledge transfer, bridge generational gaps and support community-building in the ISR.