Preserving kakiniit from Quaqtaq to Tiohtià:ke
Inuk tattoo artist Arsaniq Deer takes the journey of acceptance one marking at a time
As a kid, Arsaniq Deer would draw fake tattoos on herself with a Sharpie marker.
For a moment, she dreamt of becoming a tattoo artist, not knowing she would be one of the women marking the revival of an Inuit tattoo tradition that barely held on.
“That was my dream when I was 12, to become a tattoo artist at a tattoo parlour,” Deer said. “But I didn’t know about our Inuit tattoos at the time.”
Kakiniit, as it is called in Inuktitut, are hand-poked tattoos done by women, for women. In her hometown in Quaqtaq, Nunavik, Que., Deer did not see people with kakiniit growing up. Talking about tattoos was taboo, and knowledge was rarely passed on.
Many Inuit traditions were weakened and lost after the European colonization of Turtle Island. The aggressive efforts of the Canadian government and Christian institutions ensured that their languages were eroded and traditions like tattooing slipped away.
Because Inuit tattoos weren’t part of Christianity, they were seen as evil and the church sought to abolish the practice. From then on, mastering the tradition became as simple as finding a needle in a haystack.
Deer had her own reservations and deliberated for a long time before getting her face tattoos in 2019. Since then, she has faced her fair share of hostile remarks and intrusive questions from strangers. Some even come from elders in her own community.
“I’m still very sensitive when people say things like that to me,” Deer said. “But I try to remind myself that it is not my pain to carry.”
Deer lived most of her life in Montreal. She first moved to the city at seven years old, moved back to Quaqtaq at 12 for a few years, and finally returned to Montreal for good in 2015.
Treated as an outcast for being Inuk, Deer struggled to accept her identity. It took time for her to heal those wounds and to learn about her culture. Deer’s acceptance of her identity came only after learning about kakiniit, its significance and how it was lost, eventually leading to her realization of the beauty of Inuit traditions and her mother tongue.
“I feel like I took for granted that I’m fluent in Inuktitut,” Deer said. “But in Nunavik, I’m very grateful to have experienced knowing my language, and eating our traditional food.”
As a multidisciplinary artist, Deer works on drawings, watercolour painting, sewing traditional clothes, fish skin tanning, beadwork and tattooing. She incorporates elements of Inuit culture into her work every possible way, sharing the knowledge that, for her, feels like a privilege to have learned.

“Realistically, we’ll never know everything, absolutely everything, because a lot of it was lost,” Deer said.
Deer started tattooing five years ago. It all began after meeting Hovak Johnston, the Inuk woman who led the Inuit Tattoo Revitalization Project, whom she had looked up to for many years.
When Johnston came to Montreal in 2019, she tattooed black lines on Deer’s temples. They were Deer’s first tunniit, or face tattoos. The following day, while Deer’s mother was getting child-bearing tattoos, Johnston asked if Deer wanted to try marking a line on her mother’s thigh.
Without hesitation, Deer said yes.
“I think I got a little adrenaline rush just from doing that one little tattoo,” Deer said with a twinkle in her eye.
Later that night, while helping clean up, she watched as Johnston showed her how to make the tattoo needles.
“I asked her why we’re making the needles when we’re not going to tattoo anymore,” Deer recalled. “And then she just said, ‘You’re going to tattoo me.’”
Deer tattooed a line on Johnston’s wrist, alongside lines done by her other apprentices.
”I felt so honoured, and also humbled,” Deer said. “I’m grateful for this journey in my life that she really pushed me into.”
Deer finds it weird to call people she tattoos “clients.” Rather, she views her long tattoo sessions as a time to develop trust and build friendships with those she marks. Deer’s cousin, Sevim Ilgun, was one of the first people she tattooed.
“I told her that if she wants to be good, I want to be one of the first people to give her the opportunity,” said Ilgun, who offered both of her hands to Deer.
They were Ilgun’s first kakiniit, done spontaneously in her sister’s kitchen, with Deer helping her choose the designs she wanted.
Given kakiniit's evolution over the years, Deer said that kakiniit was, and still is, very spiritual.
“With poking, it’s very sacred,” Deer said. “It’s beautiful, it’s calming, it’s healing.”
Kakiniit has strong roots in Inuit folklore, mythology and superstitions. Markings meant different things, from acting as amulets for hunters and protection from evil spirits to honouring Gods like the sea Goddess Sedna.
According to Deer, each marking tells a different story from one person to the next—stories that are deeply personal and shared only with those who would understand.
Tracing the black lines on her chin, Deer shared how she got them to remind her of strength after one of her cousins had passed. The lines on her chin remind Deer that all pain eventually passes, even when it doesn’t feel like it will.
“I think a lot of them have meaning to me, and some don’t,” Deer said about her tattoos. “Some I just got because it’s beautiful, and that’s what I heard from elders before: It was to make a woman beautiful.”
Since first learning how to tattoo, Deer has developed a neo-traditional style, often adding a modern twist to the original patterns and symbols. At the start of every session, she draws out the symbols, explains their meanings and creates the design together with the person she’s tattooing.
While many people voluntarily share their stories, Deer still tries not to ask what the tattoos symbolize.
“Sometimes, it can open up a trigger or trauma that they’re trying to release,” Deer said. “It would be the reason that they’re getting this marking—to release that, and to heal from whatever they’ve been through.”
Alyssa Carpenter’s first markings were also from Deer, as well as most of her other tattoos. Many of those markings reflect milestones and elements of loss. Her first tattoo was to help her navigate the grief of losing her brother to suicide.
“She’s someone who shares stories like that, and she helps release or absorb those stories for people. She’s done it. I’ve seen it many times,” said Carpenter, whom Deer met through the Western Arctic Youth Collective a few years ago.
Carpenter said that before getting her markings, Deer had offered to tattoo her whenever she felt ready—both about her grief and acceptance of the tradition.
Carpenter, who is Inuvialuit and Gwich’in, grew up in Sachs Harbour and Inuvik, N.W.T. Both of those communities carry heavy tattoo stigma, which made getting markings, especially on the face, a difficult decision for Carpenter to make.
Carpenter believes the sense of readiness is essential when getting traditional markings, describing the process as both a deeply healing and overwhelming experience.
For this reason, Deer ensures she approaches every tattoo session with the best intentions, leaving all negative energy out the door.
“If I’m having a rough day, I try and release it before the session,” Deer said.
More importantly, Deer knows that the learning process will never come to an end.
In the fall, Deer plans to go back to school. She is applying for the Journeys: A First People’s College Transition Program at Dawson College and an online Inuktitut language course at the Pirurvik Centre.
“She’s creating and mentoring and encouraging so many people in our home region who are reconnecting to that aspect of our culture that is barely holding on,” Carpenter said.
This article originally appeared in Volume 45, Issue 8, published January 28, 2025.