The magnificent green-pink lights danced wildly across the horizon, pulsating like an incandescent curtain in the breeze. For many, such a sight evokes a deeply spiritual connection. This experience is far from unique, drawing tens of thousands to Arctic and sub-Arctic destinations each year, where they spend an estimated $1.5 billion seeking a profound encounter with the aurora borealis. Key destinations include Canada’s Northwest Territories, along with Finland, Norway, Greenland, and Iceland.
Yet, Indigenous peoples of the Far North have lived under these lights for centuries, weaving their own rich lore around the aurora, experiencing it as an integral part of life’s tapestry, not merely a fleeting spectacle.
Image: The aurora borealis, or northern lights, appearing over Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, earlier this month.
This deep-seated relationship with the aurora is beautifully explored in “Kiuryaq,” a new play born from a four-year collaboration between Indigenous and non-Indigenous artists from Canada, Greenland, and Norway. I had the privilege of watching “Kiuryaq,” which translates to “northern lights” in director Reneltta Arluk’s native Inuvialuktun language, in a school gymnasium in Fort Simpson, a community of about 1,100 in the Northwest Territories. The audience, roughly 80 strong—a significant turnout for the community’s size—erupted with laughter at inside jokes that occasionally eluded me, yet everyone was captivated as familiar narratives unfolded onstage.
The cast features three Indigenous actors, one from Canada, one from Greenland, and one from Norway, who skillfully portray multiple characters. The play is set to original music composed by Canadian musician Carmen Braden.
Image: Audience members watching “Kiuryaq” in the community of Fort Simpson in Canada’s Northwest Territories.
Image: The crew preparing visual projections as part of the production.
Visuals of the aurora and other evocative imagery are projected onto a simple yet effective set: a white canvas tent and a large concave screen, creating an immersive atmosphere. This minimalist design allows the production to travel widely, with some clever adaptations. For instance, for the Fort Simpson performance, the cast and crew drove over seven hours from Yellowknife, the capital of the Northwest Territories, opting not to transport the large screen over the challenging roads. Instead, a projector beamed the videos onto a makeshift screen fashioned from stretched white bedsheets borrowed from a local inn—a solution that worked perfectly.
“Kiuryaq” has been touring extensively across the Canadian North and is slated to visit Nuuk in Greenland this month. Early next year, it will grace a larger stage at Vancouver’s Push Festival, followed by performances in Norway in 2027.
Ms. Arluk, also one of the play’s writers, shared that the goal is to engage northern audiences while also introducing outsiders to the profound stories of the northern lights, told by those who truly know them best. “What people from the North see in this play is that they are not watching an interpretation of themselves,” she explained. “They see themselves.”
Image: Julia Ulayok Davis and Elin Oskal in a scene from “Kiuryaq” and director Reneltta Arluk, whose goal is to reach northern audiences, but also to bring outsiders to the tales of the northern lights by those who know them best.
As expressed by one of the characters, Marie, played by Julia Ulayok Davis:
“The first time I saw Kiuryaq…”
“I can’t recall because I’ve always lived under them.”
This play arrives at a pivotal moment for Arctic communities to assert their sovereignty. As the region increasingly becomes a theater for global power competition—with discussions of land acquisition and military presence—Arctic artists are powerfully reminding the world that this is their ancestral home.
The narrative of “Kiuryaq” centers on a young girl, Marie, raised by her grandparents in the Canadian Arctic. Her upbringing, filled with trapping alongside her grandfather and riding Ski-doos, appears idyllic yet holds a deep pain. Her mother is absent, and we soon discover she had a baby brother, Rowan, portrayed by Greenlander Salik Lennert, who was given up for adoption. The northern lights serve as the play’s fourth character: Marie converses with them, dances beneath them, and at times, even challenges them.
Despite her grandmother’s warnings against provoking the lights by calling or whistling at them, Marie disobeys. For a brief moment, the lights spirit her away, inspiring a song she performs throughout the play:
“There was a girl who reached for the moon”
“And whistled at Kiuryaq”
“Her little hands grasped upwards”
“as she jumped and whistled”
“She was lifted up, could see past the moon,”
“past the clouds, through the lights,”
“into the night.”
This ancient legend, that whistling at the northern lights will lead them to take you away, is the very spark from which “Kiuryaq” originated. Ms. Arluk, having grown up hearing this tale in Inuvik, an Arctic town in Canada, discovered its shared resonance when she asked Rawdna Carita Eira, the Sami co-creator of the play, if she knew similar stories from Norway’s Sámpi region. Indeed, the legend, with its variations, was a common thread among several Indigenous communities, passed down through generations as part of the aurora’s rich lore.
The plot then shifts to Marie’s adopted younger brother, raised far from his community in London, Ontario, yet feeling an undeniable yearning for his past, drawn by the call of the lights and the north. The story culminates in a poignant reunion of the two siblings under the radiant aurora.
Image: Salik Lennert, left, and Elin Oskal performing in “Kiuryaq.” The play unfolds in different parts of Canada and follows a few story lines alongside the main one about the two siblings.
Image: Ms. Oskal, left, Julia Ulayok Davis and Salik Lennert, in Fort Simpson, last month.
Adoption is just one of several deeply personal and often painful themes that “Kiuryaq” explores, offering both an educational experience for outsiders and a validating recognition for insiders. In Canada, the systematic removal of thousands of Indigenous children from their communities in the 1960s, a devastating practice known as “the scoop,” left many suffering immense trauma due to exploitation, abuse, or a profound disconnect from their heritage.
The play skillfully navigates various Canadian settings and intertwines several storylines alongside the central narrative of the two siblings.
It also cleverly pokes fun at the commodification of the northern lights and the performative aspect of Indigenous identity within the aurora tourism industry. The Fort Simpson audience roared with laughter at the character of Frank, played by Elin Oskal—an Indigenous aurora tour operator whose exhausting enthusiasm for the lights, and his “cringey” marketing of his own Indigenous identity, resonated deeply. This comedic honesty is a territory non-Indigenous writers might understandably avoid, as such nuanced inside jokes are best told by those who truly live them.
“Kiuryaq” reached its most captivating moments when it directly confronted the inherent tension between Indigenous Arctic life and philosophy, and Western culture.
Image: “Kiuryaq” was at its most captivating when it directly tackled the tension between Indigenous Arctic life and philosophy, and Western culture.
Marie’s monologues serve as powerful vehicles for this commentary. “Move on and live the future instead of the past,” she recites, mirroring the advice she receives to abandon her traditions. “So colonial,” she adds, her tone sharp with critique. She also delivers a powerful song about the importance of connecting past and future, using a traditional Indigenous face marking—a line on the chin—as a poignant metaphor:
“This line on my face is a connection to my ancestors.”
“I got it to keep, knowing myself.”
“They tried to erase our history kept on our skin.”
“Break the line we have within.”
“Not anymore.”
“This line existed before Christian arrival.”
“Nanaak, I have not forgotten why we do not whistle at kiuryaq.”
“My dreams still remember some of Tataak songs and stories.”
“My children, if I have them, will drum and I will dance for them.”
“Like the lights dance for me.”
“This line connects us into our future.”