Melon Cube

So how did you find yourself majoring in Studio and minoring in Art History at the University of Guelph?

I’ve always been interested in art but I actually started school at Guelph for Biological Sciences. I was taking art history courses, so I decided to do a minor in art history. Then I started getting more into art, and I realized… “What am I doing in Biology?” Which is when I decided to fully pursue studio art.

It’s a big change to go from completely biology to completely art!

Yeah, for sure. A good change! I paint but I also took a digital media course, animation, and I’m into photography right now.

What types of photography do you learn at the university?

Last year we were doing digital, but right now we’re going large format photography and using 4 x 5s. We put the black cloth over our heads to see the image, and then develop the image in the dark room.

Does the sitter have to pose for a long time?

Nope! It doesn’t take long to capture the image at all, the development process is longer. There’s actually a dark room at school.

Could you tell me more about your painting projects?

Yeah! So last semester I got more interested in making works that were based around things found in nature. So I made a series of paintings that are 9x12, and I made thirty of those. What I did was I placed canvases outside with a bit of black pigment on top, and I let the wind disperse the pigment and they all ended up with different forms on top. Then I took those back to the studio and recreated them myself… So I was trying to talk about “what if people replicate what nature can make?”

Interesting! Did you find that you could replicate the forms close to what nature had made?

Hmmmmm, sometimes (laughs), not always.

What have you been working on lately?

I’m working with preserved moss in my works. It’s all based on a lot of nature and influenced by zen paintings. I guess there is not a ton of attachment to every piece for me personally, but I’ve been trying to figure out the materials more. I’ve been trying to use materials other than paints to create my paintings.

How did you come across the idea to use preserved moss, and is it easily accessible to you?

Back home (in Oakville) there is a garden center and I go there all the time now. My professor had suggested to me “Maybe try to look at zen paintings and imagery?” So I did, and eventually that morphed into this project.

Do you receive valuable feedback from your peers?

Yeah, we have critiques every few weeks, for every project there is a crit. My painting class has about nineteen students, mostly girls. In my final year class we have independent projects, and so we will talk to each other and the professor about our works.

Is there a focus on techniques or do students also discuss conceptual approaches to more experimental works?

I think for a lot of the students it is focused on technique because they are strictly painting, but for me the process and the meaning behind it is also important because I’m not using traditional painting methods. There aren’t a lot of people using moss (laughs), so there has to be a message there, right? Everyone’s work is so different.

Do professors ever influence you to create works in a certain style?

For sure, but in a good way. They help me develop solid works, but don’t impose their views on my work. If that was the case, I believe I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing, or enjoying it. I’ve definitely been influenced by my professors to go bigger with my artworks and do the best I can.

I was making a lot of small pieces, mostly because I was doing so many of them. Now, I feel like I can go bigger because I’m making so few. I feel like it’s ‘worked’ going bigger, and now I just want to keep going bigger!

How does the university teach you to price a painting?

There’s a few ways to do it…You can take the measurements of the height and width and price it that way, or you can take into account the materials and time and also considering if you’re putting it in a gallery or not. So you have to really think about where it’s going, and who’s seeing it.

What would you say to people who say, “I can’t draw, I’m not an artist”?

Everyone starts drawing when they’re little. We all have paper, we all have crayons, right? When do you decide then that you can’t draw? There are people who really like to draw and they have naturally just been drawing and don’t feel the need to ‘learn’ it in the same way if that makes sense?

For sure. I also find it interesting how we all draw the same thing when we’re little, even if we grow up in different countries.

Yeah! Like the clouds, and the sun, and the sky is always on top…

It must be a universal language of doodling. How long does it usually take for you to conceptualize a drawing and present it?

Lately I’ve been trying to spend more time to think about how a piece reads, or the framework of it, and make sure it’s conceptually sound before I even start it. So that takes longer than the drawing process, which is usually pretty fast. It’s very process-based. I can take paper and put some materials down and leave it, step away from it. Then I come back to it, add a bit of stuff on top, and then I’ve got a drawing. The drawing is pretty quick in that sense but the thinking behind it takes more time.

Do you document the process?

I haven’t been documenting the process itself in photos and videos, no. I have been going back to them and drawing on them a bit…

So once it’s ‘done’, it’s not really done, and you often go back to rework a piece?

I'm interested in the idea of chance involved when working with natural processes. That being said, yes, I do go back to a piece and add to it if I feel it isn't quite done. Often this involves melting more materials on top of the drawing, which allows for more colour and material interaction. These drawings are currently on show at the Boarding House Gallery. (below) 

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Keep up to date with Laurel McLeod’s projects on her website  

Fiona Legg is a Mad-identified artist. When I walked into the show, I had no previous expectations and was not familiar with the artist’s works. I visited the gallery at noon, when there was nobody else in the room apart from me, and an assistant in the office area. It was a cozier space than I had imagined the gallery would be, or perhaps it seemed so because Legg’s turquoise tetrahedron encompassed a great deal of the total space. My initial impression of the sculpture upon walking into the space was the common expression “the elephant in the room”. As I walked around the piece, I noticed that the other two works; the silent video playing on a tv screen installed lower than the conventional average eye level (which, as I later learned through the artist, is a video playing the ASL interpretation of the artist statement for those are Deaf, placed lower so sitting viewers can also view comfortably), and the beehive placed in the opposite corner were both visible from the back of the gallery. 

The Maze Project, Fiona Legg, 2018  

Upon reading the text and conducting research to learn more, I have come to understand that The Maze Project is an expression of difficulties that the artist experiences as she navigates the world with her diagnosed mental disability. The turquoise colour of one side of the tetrahedron represents emotional balance, stability and healing, contrasted by the white maze secured to it alluding to the obstacles faced by the artist and her family with being able to function everyday while having limited access to effective or affordable resources from the mental health system. A pair of shoes encased in concrete on the maze symbolize the artist feeling ‘stuck’. As the audience walks around the sculpture, they come to the interior of the piece, which is a hollowed out space with a small bench. The interior is painted with black and white organic forms and decorated with abstract crafts materials such as plastic spoons and gems. Fiona Legg has kindly explained to me, “the textured walls on the inside of the sculpture are to encourage people with sensory issues ( such as autism) to interact with the piece. I intentionally built the piece to be as large as possible within the physical (i.e. Wheelchair) perimeters set by the gallery. I also intentionally made it so a wheelchair would fit inside.” The interior is also meant to appear soothing and restful as it symbolizes Legg’s hope for a future with more accessible assistance and functioning more easily in everyday surroundings.

  A Distant Memory 2 is a small beehive that is meant to open dialogue around the endangerment of bees and proposal of a future so industrial we are left without plant life. 

A Distant Memory, Fiona Legg, 2018

The more people there are in the gallery, the more they would have to actively think of ways to disperse around the space to make room for everyone to stand comfortably while The Maze Project stands like an unmoving mountain in the midst of the gallery and A Distant Memory 2 holds its dignity in a corner. The way the pieces inform the movement of the audience’s bodies around the space and makes eyes travel across the different textures and forms and colours is performance in itself. In Amanda Cachia’s article on Disabling the museum: Curator as infrastructural activist, the writer and curator talks about “the complex embodiment of disabled corporeality”, specifically referring to how the art world has yet to adequately address the issue of significant art museums or biennales failing to accommodate atypical bodies moving through the space of an exhibition, and the negative attitudes Cachia has encountered from art presentations seeing disability sensitive art as ‘outsider art’.  The curatorial decisions to place Legg’s tetrahedron inside a gallery which lets it take up nearly a third of the total space and installing the ASL interpretations and beehive work made accesible to sitting viewers questions and reshapes the installation constructs that able-bodied individuals have become accustomed to within most gallery or museum models. 

The gallery places noticeable priority on accessibility, and meets many of the needs of disabled, Mad or Deaf gallery artists, cultural producers, and visitors. In Prefigurative Politics and Creating Radically Accessible Performance Spaces: Building The World To Come, queer disabled writer and cultural worker Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha  writes,  

“Having an accessible space for performers and attendees and workers, where disability is not marginalized, tokenized, or simply not present, is very different than having a performance space that is full of mostly able bodied, young, non parenting people who can afford to spend the money to attend and get there.” 

Tangled Art and Disability gallery’s efforts towards creating a more functional space for disabled and/or marginalized bodies are not only evident through the curatorial executions, but also through allowing service dogs, providing ASL interpretations with live audio descriptions, recorded audio descriptions of visual works, and wheelchair accessible venues among other accommodations specific to the needs of disabled individuals. Furthermore, all exhibits in 401 Richmond are free. 

A crucial concept that is highlighted in The Maze Project by Legg is the artistic decision to create a sculpture that is inviting and soothing to mentally or physically disabled bodies, as well as able-boded individuals. Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha expresses her disappointment with the common attitude enforced by dominant ideologies around disabled artists’ contributions as she writes, “we are not supposed to be healers, because we are obviously 'unhealed' and broken, according to the ablest imagination… The charity model infects even how crip art can be thought of, or if it can be thought of at all”. As previously mentioned, Legg intended the turquoise colour of the exterior of the tetrahedron to assist as a mental stabiliser, and for bodies and minds to seek comfort with the shapes of the interior as they have the option to nestle themselves into the cave. Like stepping into a person’s home, or their mind, the exhibition gives the impression of learning the artist’s identity and struggles intimately, as well as her strength and optimism in contributing towards a world that is more aware of disability corporeality.

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I stumbled upon a work-in-progress on Legg’s website which caught my attention last night, and the artist pointed out to me about as well - What Lies Beneath. It is a project that involves community engagement around the topic of menstruation, asking men and women locally and globally to share their experiences or thoughts on a pad that Fiona has sown out of fabric and a map of the world. As you will see on her page, the responses are honest, urgent, and even funny. As a woman, I feel emotionally and viscerally connected to the messages people have written, and it is so important to raise awareness around menstruation to support people who do not have the access or cannot afford basic care. I can’t wait to see the form that the project will take once the artist has received all 150 pads back, but I definitely try to update on it. 

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See Fiona Legg’s process and notes on her work here 

Could you tell me a bit about your background, growing up in Montreal, and how you came to be curator and filmmaker today?

My family is from Inukjuak, that is where all my family lives, but I was raised for the most part in Montreal with my brothers and parents. I guess they would say that I was always an artist. Eventually I went to an art school (NASCAD) and I remember some of my friends were getting into curating, and I thought to myself “I would never do that”. I think it is important with curating to be an artist as well, and I think I just became a curator because of Isuma. 

What was your experience working with Isuma Video Collective? 

I owe a lot of things to Isuma to figure out who I was, and learning about myself. I was able to work with them and they trusted me with their work. Isuma as a collective makes films and has never had an exhibition in an art gallery until last year, which was the first exhibition I did for them. I’m Inuk, and it is all Inuk content, and I am a filmmaker. I study film, I make film, and I understand film, which is where their work comes from. So I think on their part they wanted to celebrate the past 30 years of work they did, and it seemed it came naturally to do so at an art gallery. Films have lots of byproducts; including beautiful materials, photographs, and lots of things that are perfectly suited to have exhibitions in galleries, and to be shared. I became a curator because they asked me to.

What was your role as the guest curator of Channel 51: Igloolik at both North Space and L Space galleries? How did you see your suggestions and input play out? 

They’re very unique spaces.. Not a traditional gallery model... I felt the difficulty of crossing into the gallery spaces, from the university space. So the content we have for Isuma, we know what it’s going to be, and then we have to decide, is it photographs? Is it objects? Like we have jackets, if that included, is it not included? I prefer working that way, seeing the setting and deciding what goes in deciding on the setting. We can’t have the jackets because it’s not climate controlled…the jackets are fur, and they’ll start getting hot and falling apart and we don’t want them. 

The space at L is big and like a vitrine, and a transient space that you would walk through. So I decided that either you work with it, or try to challenge it. If we just have photographs, you move slowly through the space. So we have big photographs that you can kind of see from far, or you can come in closer and see them closer.

And you chose to enlarge the polaroids?  

We scanned them large because it makes them feel more like an art piece, and because there’s interesting writing on them, people want to come close to read them. The space feels like something you just want to move through, and maybe you want to have a large impact from far away.

Channel 51: Igloolik - Chill Zone at L Space is more cozy, and there are lots of students working... Sometimes you just need a space to linger...and I had the idea about the mediatheque. Often times, film festivals have mediatheques. If you can’t make it to the screening, that’s okay. You can still go to the mediatheque, and still go and watch it.

A mediatheque is similar to a library for films?

Yeah, if you really want to see a film, you don’t have to miss it. Also, the idea of autonomy and sovereignty…the viewers have their own choice, they have their own say in deciding what they want to see, and that they have the power. We also have books. Isuma has published maybe four or five books, and they’re also in the space. There’s an area, more than half the gallery, where you can come have tea, talk and read the books. There are a few art pieces in the space as well; there’s a blanket- or a wall hanging- which is made for a film that you can watch in the space, and also just a beautiful piece of artwork that shows different images that happened in stories of people who get adopted.

In Inuit culture, many people get adopted, it is a very regular part of life. It’s not unusual to have many family members who are adopted.

Speaking of family, what is your relationship with your name? And how do you envision your generation, and future ones, will carry forth the traditional Inuit ways of naming?

It is meant to keep those bonds, and though it may be different now, it still plays the same role. I think naming is really important to people in general.  I think in our family, the way of naming has changed a lot. I want to keep in line with all the people that lived before me, whereas many people are still doing that, but in a different way. For us, we would usually have one name, and lets say two hundred or three hundred years ago we had one name, and it is passed along in the family, but only after death. Now we have may names still honoring our family, but not one person, and not just after death. Part of it is different, part of it is the same.

What is the way they were naming in the past?

Let’s say you’re my grandma. When I have a kid, you would decide what the kid is named. Not the mother, not the father, you - the matriarch. The baby will be someone that is already been in the family, but has passed on. Maybe they passed away two years ago, or ten years ago, and you pick up the baby and go “Oh! It’s them”. Whomever is the head of the family decides, and nowadays babies are named two or three names. They may even be someone living in the family.

I was reading about the translation of the word ‘Isuma’ itself, which is the concept of the plurality of thought and rationality.  Each individual has their own Isuma, as opposed to the commonly objective, peer-reviewed Western philosophy of rationality. What is your personal definition of ‘Isuma’?

For me, it’s the cornerstone of the way I live my life. You always want to be thoughtful and thinking, and if you’re doing that then you’re always adapting. I think it’s about keeping yourself aware of your surroundings, and how to respond and behave in them in the most positive way. You have to be able to stay alert and figure out how to constantly empower yourself by staying …awake! (laughs). 

In Zachary Kunuk’s films, he uses a special approach of preserving culture through activating collective memory. For example, in The Journals of Knud Rasmussen, there is a reenactment of the switch from Shamanism to Christianity, and how that impacted Inuit communities. There are different voices in the film, sharing their authentic viewpoints. What do you think of this approach? Do you think collective memory prevents and protects the distortion of history?

I think part of the reason why he does it is because…It is memory on different levels. One level of it is for remembering and seeing the details of clothing or objects that surround us in our everyday life. In this instance, it’s not about a historical moment, but the way you sow your pants, and the way your pants connect with your boots. The second part is about relationships, what is the dynamic like, how does this father talk to the daughter, what is respect like. And then the last part is the historical event. Understanding what happened at this moment, what was going on in his life and his mind when he gave up his spirit guides? It touches all of us. The films have all of these levels, of our lives and our potential to be able to remember our history.

He also adds a touch of modernity to these depictions as well

Yeah, because that is definitely a part of our lives as well.

Do you believe adding an element of fiction in these films would be counterproductive or perhaps interfere with the message?

I think every film is fiction at some level, even documentaries…You are closing off a space and isolating yourself to reenact this. With these films they are doing their best to show things as they were and tell stories, so I’m not sure how fiction could fit into them. So I guess it would be difficult to add fiction, and also difficult to keep it out, at the same time.

How natural was it for you to learn about your cultural history while living in the city? Was it passed down to you by elders or did you have to seek it out?

I grew up with learning parts of it, but not as much as I’ve learned in the past five years. I’ve learned more about my cultural history and cultural presence now than I had for the rest of my life. At the same time, it was never hidden away from me, or never not a part of me. I always visit my home and family, but had not necessarily learned about singing or stuff that I may have learned about if I had grown up in the North.

At the same time, even if you had grown up in the North, in an Inuit village, you can still go without learning the language or anything really. You still have to seek it and have a family that teaches it. The thing about colonization is that it continues doing its job unless people stop it, and critically think about what is going on. There are people who have to still decolonize themselves, and are still removing themselves from their cultural beliefs. So it’s still possible to still grow up not learning anything.

What comes to your mind when you hear the words ‘decolonial filmmaking aesthetics’?

I have never described my work as such, though I do think some people are more theoretical and like to use the phrase. I think part of it is because…if you are just in the mindset and you know your cultural beliefs and live your life by them, then any part of your life will be guided by them. If it’s the way you eat, or dress, or the way you talk to someone, or make your films, it’s not something you think about. If it’s decolonial, it’s because my mind is in the mindset of addressing whatever needs to be decolonized.

Do you believe film documentation is headed down a direction where it will become as sacred as the word of an elder? Will the need to film our present selves for the future interfere with the tradition of sitting down with an elder and hearing these stories orally?

I think that people live in so many different ways…For the benefit for people who grow up in a myriad of possible circumstances and for the benefit of the understanding for outsiders, there’s always going to be something beneficial about making these videos and it’s also important to encourage being on the land, and talking to people- real, live people. I think they both have their space, and it’s a really good point to be aware of. How do I both make my film work, and encourage people to keep talking face-to-face? (laughs)

At a certain level you need both, at least at this time. I hope…it could be nice if in the future we didn’t have to make films… I mean I love making them, but we make them for a reason, because there’s a problem. And if the problem doesn’t exist, that’s also great.

Zacharias’s films bring Inuit lifestyles and stories to a global stage. What stereotypes have you personally encountered about the North, and would like to see addressed in future film projects?

The thing I’m confronted with most is people thinking we live in igloos, and have sled dogs, and it’s like…It wouldn’t be a bad thing if we live that way, but we just don’t…there’s internet. ‘Don’t you Google anything?’ You can see that we dress the same way as you. The hardest thing is people thinking we live in a different time... No, we’re living in the present time.

What advice would you give young emerging Inuit visual artists who want to transition from traditional media (drawing, prints, sculpture) to experimenting with moving image? 

I live in many different media in my life and with artworks, so I think format and media that you choose has to be in line with the message that you choose. Not everything is a film, some things are a film. Not everything is a painting, some things are a painting. Really try to pay attention to the media and the best way to get the idea across…Sometimes I see a film and I think, “That’s a play! Why didn’t you make it into a play?” or “That’s a film script, and that could’ve been a film, but it’s not reaching its full potential”. What is the best way to say it? I would tell someone, do it, but make sure it fits, because you need to maximize the potential.

This comes back to the idea of Isuma then, the concept of being mindful about what you are creating or doing?

Yeah, exactly.

Lastly, is there anything you would like to add in closing about your experience as the guest curator of the exhibitions?

Yeah, I’d like to acknowledge that it wasn’t just me curating the show, I bring the first initial idea and an idea for the setup, and then all of the staff at Humber is able to have their say, and their suggestions. We were all able to have input in it, and that was really special and that they agreed to do it that way, and I just wanted to acknowledge that collaboration. Also the collaboration with the Aboriginal resource center and helping to inform what content should be in the shows.

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Isuma collective will be representing Canada at the Venice Biennale 2019!

Watch IsumaTv films here

Baby Driver is a movie which successfully illustrates how individuals who function in an unconventional manner in society are capable of contributing positive change within and beyond their own unique aesthetic framework. The movie is centered around a protagonist named Baby, who is a getaway driver trying to disentangle himself from the life of crime. Baby has difficulty successfully doing so as he is convinced by the heist mastermind, Doc, that he is the best in the business and will jeopardize the lives of his loved ones by leaving. Baby had been involved in a car accident in his youth, and it is explained that he listens to music to help him with cope with Tinnitus, a condition which causes a ringing in his ears. All the characters’ actions are subtly choreographed to a soundtrack (gun shots are fired to punctuate notes in the background songs, some dialogues are delivered in sync to lyrics, and so on). 

Baby’s foster father is an elderly, deaf character in a wheelchair named Joe, with whom Baby prefers to communicate by using sign language. The character of Baby has been widely speculated by fans to have Asperger’s, or high functioning autism. As the diagnosis of a social disorder are based on an individual’s behavioral reflexes, the phrase ‘if you’ve met one person with Asperger’s, you’ve met one person with Asperger’s’ seems appropriate. As Baby’s disability is not hypervisible or readily confirmed as Joe’s, it is speculative whether the producers intended to write an autistic character. A medical diagnosis of Asperger’s on a neurological/cognitive level is impossible to make of a fictional character, but a few traits of Baby’s demeanor and speech which overlap with the social diagnosis of autism include: Baby’s inability to detect rhetorical questions and sarcasm, his consuming fixation with a hobby (collecting and creating music), scarce verbal communication and eye contact, clumsiness (repeatedly bumping into people on the street), and resorting to reiterating phrases he has previously heard in movies or secondary conversations when he is placed in unexpected social situations.

Baby’s quirks do not go unnoticed in the movie, as various characters comment on them with varying degrees of passive or direct aggression, often as a result of Baby choosing to keep to himself and display little emotion. In a scene which takes place immediately after Baby has demonstrated his exceptional driving skills while helping a group of criminals escape a heist, the following conversation takes place between two characters, “What’s the deal with him, Doc? Is he…retarded?” “Retarded means slow, was he slow? He’s a good kid and a devil behind the wheel, [what more] do you need to know.” 

This exchange becomes a recurring joke, as we later see Baby has recorded the conversation on a tape recorder, manipulated the audio on a tape scratching machine and added a beat to it, labelling it Was He Slow before placing it in a suitcase full of mixtapes. 

Baby’s appropriation of the slur aimed at him puts him in the position to aestheticize his own disability, consciously making a creative product which he enjoys.

As music is a significant part of Baby’s life, we often see it played in his home on a record player. As Joe is deaf, he listens to music by placing his hand on the speakers and feeling the vibrations, which encourages the audience to think about making everyday pleasures more accessible to disabled individuals rather than pitying them for having limited senses. Later in the movie, an antagonist confronts Baby for mistakenly having his partner killed, and fires gunshots close to Baby’s ears before saying “You took something I love away from me, I have to do the same to you.” However, in the following scene Baby awakens in the passenger seat of a car and initially struggles with his new muffled hearing, but reaches for the speakers to listen to the song playing in the car through its vibrations. 

This small gesture speaks volumes on the concept of an individual being complete and functional despite a physical disability; all they require is a small adjustment in their surroundings. Though the movie could have painted the physical disabilities of Joe as limiting and crippling, it chose to add dimension and warmth to his character by placing him in a crucial role which influenced Baby to make responsible decisions for his safety, while suggesting ways to make the world more accessible for deaf individuals. The character of Baby could have been portrayed as a stereotypically aloof and antisocial individual whose only skill was driving, but was instead placed in the role of the protagonist and the tone of the movie was entirely guided by the autonomy of him choosing the music, which dictated the actions of all the supporting characters to sync to his beats. Baby Driver as a creative product is a positive step towards representation of disabilities, physical or social, that sends the message that an extraordinary body could lead to developments in aesthetics which are inspiring, enjoyable, and progressive.

The artist talk was led by AGG’s head curator Andrew Hunter, who was the former curator of Canadian art at the AGO, and Chelsea Brant, the art gallery’s curatorial assistant. Hunter and Brant would ask the artist questions which encouraged her to discuss the personal significance of the artworks on her personal timeline. 

Resting with Warriors, 2001. 

Resting with Warriors fascinated me most. These are large woodcuts, currently exhibited at the Art Gallery of Hamilton for the Shelley Niro: 1779 show which will run till March 18th. They were initially intended to be viewed as outdoor installations, from wooden platforms that the audience could stand back on and absorb the energy of the women from. When asked about the scale of the works, Niro replied that she wanted their presence to be felt. They are native women depicted in the four elements of Intellect, Spirit, Emotion, and Strength. “Where were these women?” Niro asks with this piece, “What were they doing?”

The Shirt, 2003 

The Shirt is one of Shelley Niro’s most iconic works, often talked about in academic circles in and outside of Canadian art history. In the short film, the camera travels over views of the Pacific Ocean and stretches of greenery, before panning to a series of women wearing simple white shirts with printed phrases based on the theme of colonization and cultural genocide faced by Indigenous communities, all leading to the punchline of “And all’s I get is this shirt”. 

The artist admitted that she is aware of the misspelling of ‘annihilated’ now, and poetically re-framed the small mistake to compare it to beading practice; she says, “it’s like when you see beaders accidentally use the wrong bead... there’s always a bad bead. The spelling error is my bad bead”. Chelsea Brant asked Niro a question about the role of text in this work, and the use of clever wordplay in her practice as a whole. Niro explained that she does not see herself as overly literate, that though she enjoys reading and writing, it exhausts her. The dark humour in her works is used to confront the viewer with issues that need to be talked about, doing so with a lasting impression.  

The Shirt, 2003

Niro glanced back at the screen, and recalled an anecdote that made her smile. She explained that during the shooting of this video she was at the location with these women, when they noticed a police car that had been parked and watching them from a distance. A police officer stepped out, and addressed the women with a megaphone as he insisted that the women “put the cameras down and step away” unless they wanted their equipment confiscated or face a hefty fine. When a befuddled Niro asked about the nature of her crime, the officer replied that they were not “family cameras” and saw the act as a threat.

Honey Moccasin, 1998 

Honey Moccasin was briefly discussed in the talk, but I recall it mostly from having viewed the film just a day before at OCAD. It is a 47 minute film which stars several recognizable names in the art world such as Tantoo Cardinal, Florence Belmore, Billy Merasty. I was amused to see Ryan Rice in a scene, who is the film’s art director as well a former professor of mine at OCAD. Honey Mocassin offers an interesting visual take on Indigenous identity in the late 90′s, bringing together elements of television access, gender and sexuality exploration, contemporary night life and the fashion scene, the value of traditional regalia, and performance art all told through a mystery narrative. It is quite humorous at parts. 

Tantoo Cardinal in Honey Moccasin, 1998

Niro also talked about the ONGNIAAHRA/Niagara exhibition at the Boarding House Gallery in Guelph, which showcases a history of beading works from the 18th and 19th century, in conversation with Niro’s video installation from 2015 titled Niagara. The Falls were a site of souvenir trade, offering European tourists beaded works made by Haudenosaunee women during a time when Indigenous cultural practices were restricted due to The Indian Act. The works symbolize a period where systematic racism and displacement caused poverty and the commodified production of beaded works was one of the only means to sustain families and allow the craft practice to survive. Niro reflects on the beautiful beaded work as she quietly says, “I don’t think these were very happy works.” The presence of these beaded souvenirs in a contemporary gallery remind visitors of the significance of Canada 150, and how difficult realities of Indigenous history stretch far beyond the celebrated colonial event.   

Susan Hobbs

The first gallery I was at today was Susan Hobbs, on Tecumseh St. As it was a ‘field trip’ for my curatorial class, we were able to have a conversation with Susan Hobbs (the gallerist), and her assistant. To describe what the space looks like and what the tone of the gallery felt to me, what I walked into was:

Two very alarming (and noisy) clowns tapping on a glass case from the inside

(They were a part of The Glass Ticker exhibition featuring Sandra Meigs’ work. I really recommend checking out Meigs’ work, I first saw it in 2015 in the Susan Hobbs gallery and the circus-vibe really stuck in my mind.)

The second floor of the gallery was a very small room with a storage in one end and the reception desk on the other

A lot of books on a shelf

A very stern and wise-looking woman with silver hair (Susan Hobbs) in a long dress. (I think this is an unspoken gallerist uniform..or every successful woman in the art field owns a dress like this). 

5 medium sized painting-installation pieces by Meigs installed on a wall adjacent to the staircase that we climb. 

The gallery space feels a bit like an intimate attic, which can be a little disorienting and distracting from the artwork. 

Hobbs is a very articulate woman who seems to have the answer for every question regarding running a business; it is an impressive feat to run a gallery for a quarter of a century. Hobbs selects artists and work that is intellectually stimulating and offers new ideas. 

What I recommend for a visit: 

Hobbs mentioned that the artists she chooses do not need a formal education but needs to have the capability to self-edit and display some intellect. Likewise, critical thinking is also required from the viewer. 

 Her assistant offers text to support the shows. In order to really appreciate the art on the walls, it helps to read about it. Even if it’s the couple sentences on the exhibition introduction sheet.  

Have to remind yourself to look past the physicality of the gallery to listen to the art. Viewing art is a process, it changes the more time you spend with it. Spend more than 10 seconds with every piece to really view it. 

Bau-Xi

The second gallery I wanted to visit was Bau-Xi Gallery, located right across the street from the AGO, next to the antique-looking building with purple pillars. Bau-Xi was founded by Paul Huang in Vancouver, in 1965. It was one of the first commercial galleries on the West Coast, and when the need for representation arose among young artists and photographers, a Bau-Xi was opened in Toronto. Learning the gallery’s history surprised me because I had always overlooked it.

What I noticed right away was: 

A smell of fresh paint! I’m not sure why the gallery smelled so strongly of fresh paint but it gave me the feeling that the paintings were straight out of the studio, like bread out of the oven. 

Alex Cameron (left) Kathryn MacNaughton (right)

Art in really creative places, such as top of the staircase. It felt like a house I would like to live in.

Kathryn MacNaughton

Garden by John Barkley 

Really fresh, energizing paintings paired with weighty sculptures in some rooms. 

Many rooms filled with creative curatorial solutions, which keeps the gallery experience interesting 

What I would recommend: 

Always take pictures at galleries that allow them. Seeing a lot of art in one day is similar to perfume testing (or candle shopping), it can all become a blur of sights. You might come home and remember a piece that you liked, but forgot the details or the artist that made it. It’s a good idea to take a quick pic of the label to look up the artist and their work online later. 

Some galleries offer take-home brochures. They can often range from black & white simple images of the works featured, to coloured high quality images of works complete with a curatorial essay. Bau-Xi offers a really nice one. 

Art Gallery of Ontario 

After the intimate visit at Bau-Xi, I headed to the Art Gallery of Ontario to look at the AIMIA Prize exhibition.

 What I noticed this time around at the AGO was:

There was a Guillermo Del Toro feature exhibition 

The contemporary level features Every. Now. Then: Reframing Nationhood, which I would like to revisit when I have more time to really absorb it. It features many amazing Indigenous artists, and I was surprised to see Lisa Myers’ Blueberry Spoons there, which was my favourite artwork in second year. 

Blueberry Spoons, Lisa Myers. 2010

Also, more work from Sandra Meigs was there! It took up an entire room, there was a loud hum playing from speakers on the floor. It was very unexpected to see work from the same artist in different settings in the same day. 

Room for Mystics. Sandra Meigs. 

Found the AIMIA Photography Prize exhibition, which displayed very unique works from photographers exploring new methods of image production.

Taisuke Koyama

Raymond Boisjoly

What I would always recommend while visiting the AGO: 

Give yourself lots of time. Lots and lots. 

Pack light! 

Could you tell me a bit about yourself and how you found your way into the art realm?

I am a student at York University taking a double major in philosophy and culture and expression (social studies). I want to be a teacher and teach abroad. I have a wide variety of interests and can always keep myself entertained. I am very friendly and talk to everyone…My love of art started in college. I was attending Humber for fitness and would draw a lot in my free time. My friends really liked my art, which surprised me at first because I had no idea what I was doing. I started submitting my art to galleries, websites, blogs, etc. and began showing my art regularly in the community. I became more and more inspired by the responses, which inspired me to create more.

Are you academically trained in art?

After Humber, I took an art program at Centennial College which exposed me to a lot of different mediums and improved my art techniques, like perspective. I especially enjoyed the life drawing classes.

Flower Seize, 2016

What are some mediums you have played around with? What are your favourite go-to’s?

I have tried so many mediums, from clay and textiles to acrylic on wood. My personal favorite is watercolor. My mom is an amazing watercolor artist, so I grew up being inspired by her. I love that watercolor is flexible, because you can adjust the color intensity and it looks good whether it’s applied loosely or rigidly. I also enjoy crochet and have been designing crochet patterns since I was 16. I have designed from scratch and made everything from a patterned coat and bunny slippers for my dog to running shoes and a ruffled peplum sweater for myself. I always joke, “If I can think it, I can crochet it.”

Your art definitely has a very distinct style; how did you develop that, and what were your inspirations behind that style of illustration?

My visual style developed from drawing, writing and painting daily in my journal. I draw out my day in pictures, which sometimes takes on a surreal flare. The ability to experiment on a small scale, using stories and objects from my daily life, has helped me hone my style. I refer to my paintings as “dreamscapes,” because they resemble the weird logic of dreams but are landscapes rooted in real concepts.

Natural Capitalist, 2016

Are there certain narratives that always emerge in your illustrations, or do they all tell different stories?

My narratives surround issues that I am passionate about, which tend to be the environment, injustice and how to improve our society. I paint concepts that I wish more people would think critically about, like what we could do now to improve the future of our society.

Do you have any routines you like to do to get the creative juices flowing or do you sort of start working on a piece when you’re feeling inspired? What is your process like?

Over-planning hinders my creativity. I have found a balance of being spontaneous but also taking the composition into consideration. I begin by staring at a blank page, thinking of a broad concept that I like, sketching it out and if I like it I ink it and then paint it. If I don’t, I change parts of it or scrap it entirely. I feel the most creative late at night or when I am really tired. Music also helps and I listen to bands like Jars of Clay, Tool, K Flay, We Were Once, Alt J, Puscifer, Demon Hunter and Linkin Park.

During my day if I observe something meaningful, I write it down. I sometimes explore a variation of these observations in my work, but I can always think of weird concepts on the spot when looking at a blank page. I also write as a creative outlet, so I enjoy writing descriptive paragraphs that intermingle with my visual art. 

Ant Farm, 2015

What forms do you envision your artwork taking on in the future and outside of your sketchbook?

I would love to do a 3D piece either as a crochet installation or a wooden sculpture. I would also like to do some more large watercolor paintings. I recently completed a local art residency and would love to do one abroad.

Would you see yourself collaborating with other artists?

Yes. I would especially love to paint a sculpture or 3D object or some sort created by another artist. It would be fun to build off another artist’s creative vision.

And finally, what are your thoughts on navigating the Toronto art scene?

I really enjoy the Toronto artists I have met over the years. They are very supportive of each other and happily give advice on my work and art practice. I felt really clueless when I first started, so it has been nice to meet supportive and knowledgeable folks. Getting out in the community with my art has opened me up to new experiences, including exhibiting art at a CD release party, live painting at a rock concert, being published in a comic book and crocheting costumes for dance competitions.

How do you balance the different realms of your painting and curatorial practices? 

When I was in Florence I found myself delving into painting, mostly because I was the only curatorial student there. I feel like when I approach my studio practice, it’s different than when I approach my curatorial practice- so in my mind they are two very separate things. With painting I’m always thinking of how my work fits into the field or relates to peers’ works that I’m surrounded with… Going forth I’d like to find a balance with my painting practice and curatorial interests.

What was a personal moment of inspiration for you to choose the Florence program? 

Before I had applied for OCAD, I was touring the university with my dad, who is from Oakville, Ontario. We passed a sign for the program, and I asked my tour guide “what is that?” They explained that it’s a program that has been going on at OCAD forever, and they choose a small group of people every year. I had never travelled anywhere except Canada and the U.S. and just the program seemed really endearing to me; the fact that you get to build such a tight community with the students that you’re there with, having your own studio and access… my family is from Italy so I always wanted to see where they grew up…so even before I got accepted to OCAD I knew that was a program I wanted to try for and seemed very far off and distant that I would get in, so it was always this exciting thing for me, to see if I could do that. 

Vanitas, 2016

How would you describe the Florence lifestyle and contemporary art scene? 

Florence was very small! We could walk the entire city within 45 minutes, like across the river and back. It was really different, because they were so celebratory of the Renaissance and their role in art history that there wasn’t a huge contemporary art scene directly in Florence, because most of it is all museums and galleries that wanted to show older work. Neighbouring cities like Pradoux however had a contemporary art scene and really good galleries. Our student manager partnered each of us with working artists in Florence who acted as our mentors, based on our type of work… Some artists were in their 20s and 30s, while some were more established, and it was really nice to have their guidance and get to know the Florence art scene with them. 

What would a day in the studio be like for you? 

The studios in Florence were beautiful! There were eight different studios within the larger floor we had. It was really small but nice because even though mine is a solo practice, everyone would still be walking around, popping into each other’s studios, and it was always nice to have someone around for an opinion… You’d be there at 2 am since it was a 24-hour studio. It was really interesting seeing how students worked off each other- when I was painting next to another student we would often find that we’d be using similar palettes of colours subconsciously while painting with each other (laughs). Seeing everyone’s practices grow from the beginning of the year to the end was really amazing, it was a much bigger way to build onto your practice. 

A Room of Her Own,  2017

Was it a different experience from working in a studio here at OCAD or in Toronto? 

I paint very slowly (laughs) It takes me a long time to get through a painting because I paint in detail, so during the Florence program I definitely would step back and ask people “what do you think of this composition?” or “how do you think this colour is going?” just having their opinion throughout it was really nice… It felt a lot easier to just leave my work in the studio, paint for 20 hours when I felt like it, drop it when I wasn’t feelin’ it and go home and come back to it, it felt a lot more…Unlike Toronto where I would paint for a little while, then have to bring my work into the studio for a critique and then bring it back home, I felt I had a lot more room to breathe. 

What is your preferred medium, and was it easily accessible to you in Florence? 

I love to work in oils, I’m an oil painter, I usually haaate acrylics. Since I love to work really slow, and go back and change things, I find acrylics just dry way too fast for me. I use acrylics for commissions sometimes, but I just love oil paint and building the layers one by one…I work in really thin layers and glazes so I love to take my time with my paints. 

Since I was a painter, it was easier for me to find the medium I wanted. It was different than [Toronto] because the art stores there were very specified, I would go to one store for my paints and mediums, and another store for my brushes, and another for un-stretched canvases. Some artists had a lot more difficulty finding materials- one of the photography majors made a pinhole camera herself, and had to go find all the chemicals herself and turn her extra room into a dark room. My studio mate worked in sculpture and she had to go to four or five different art stores just to find enough clay to make a sculpture! A lot of the stores were very small. 

Folded, 2017

The fabrics of your work look so realistic; I can almost feel the fabrics! 

Thank you! I really wanted to push myself in that area this year. Before I got to Florence I thought I was going to be a figure painter, but it turned out there was no budget for models… And so I became really enthralled with the Renaissance and Caravaggio’s style, and also fell in love with Mary Pratt’s work with the still lifes. I started looking at objects around me more, and how they influence or move through our space, as well as the history of material culture. 

What was your conceptual thinking behind choosing to depict textiles? 

Initially I was studying more sentimental objects and those kinds of ‘precious memory’ pieces, but since you would have to pretty much pack up your life for eight months [for the Florence program] I really didn’t have that many sentimental objects with me and so I began looking at clothing and items that really show the routine of the home, and pieces that had been interacted with…Like you know that a bed has been slept in, the clothes had been folded, been in contact with a human touch. I was also exploring the absence of the body in still life, and really looking at the detail of an object and how it became important. Every crease and fold in the fabric was its own little beautiful thing... I love that about it. 

You’ve also painted figures, how do you feel about the expression of a face and the intimate details of the fabric coming together? 

I believe that in portraiture, the painting needs to have a lot of emotion, or certain expression in it that resemble a likeness and it’s easy to get too caught up-or trapped- in it, but looking at a still life I was enraptured by the stillness and subtlety of everyday things. With still life, I liked to think of ways I can capture the aftermath of a human interaction with an object.

Self Portrait, 2015

What tone do you intend to display in your paintings?  

I like to think that it’s more…calming and on the easy side. I’ve never been too interested in aggression or a large scale of emotions. In old renaissance paintings it’s usually a huge scene and a dramatic story, but I like to focus on subtlety and step back and see the smaller things around us

Layout, 2017

I definitely get that from your work, it’s very soft and intimate

Yeah, intimate! I really like to depict these small intimate moments that aren’t open to the eye everyday, and even though they are these small individual things they are still universal at the same time because everyone handles clothes and items in a similar way. I get out of bed everyday and don’t bother making it…but when I was painting every single fold of the sheets, something that I see everyday, I began to look at it in a totally different light since it takes me hours and hours to paint. It makes me think of the importance of things and how the medium can transform and elevate seemingly banal objects. 

How did you find the process of co-curating the final exhibition Una Piccola Scintilla at OCAD with Jennifer Rudder while having your own work in the show? 

I let Jennifer curate my work, because it definitely felt strange and egotistical being like “my work goes HERE!” I had an idea of how my work related to the some of other student’s works here, with similar painting themes that hit the same note. It was nice to take a step back and look at all the 24 Florence students works come together one last time. It was definitely enjoyable to step back from painting and into the different practice of curating. Jennifer and I gave the students some say as well for how they envisioned their work displayed, then we picked their strongest pieces and made some changes during the installation and presentation of it. 

What directions do you see your painting practice evolving in, and what narratives or ideas would you be interested in exploring in your curatorial practice in the future? 

Well, the past few shows I’ve curated have been more along the opportunities that have arisen. It was nice to curate the student works from Florence, and then I curated a show at the gallery I work at utilizing their collection, so it’s always been with what’s been around me. With my painting practice I’m very clear about what I want to paint and what I’m interested in personally, and I’ve learned from the Florence program that once you get into the realm of working alongside other artists and their perspectives, it opens up so many doors. 

I visited Art Gallery of Guelph’s When We Were with my friend Keifer, who is a political science student and part-time landscaper in the summer. The exhibition featured paintings from Guelph artists Scott Abbott, Janette Hayhoe, Jessica Masters, and Kathleen Schmalz. As we made our way down the hallway which displayed the artistic reproductions of landscapes, Keifer slowed down to take a closer look at Scott Abbott’s works. 

Scott Abott, When We Were, Art Gallery of Guelph 2017.

His comments about the landscape works were surprising to me because he had instantly started connecting the dots between the content of the painting to events and places that shaped his life; whereas I was processing them by how they made me feel, comparing them to other paintings I have seen, and calculating what makes them unique.   

The viewer swallowed the painting, coated it with his personal associations and relative context- then produced a description of it that didn’t concern itself with visual scrutiny, but instead, had the quality of being intimately handled and handwrapped with memory. 

These are unaltered captures of Keifer’s recollections of some of the works in the exhibition.  

My friend Megan and I got to work right away by heading to a studio to cut out printed labels of artwork descriptions and artists’ bios. Returning a good half-hour later (“using this paper-cutter is tricky! I don’t want to mess up our only copy! why is this ink smudging! are you sure this font is readable?”), we came back to a room filled with art. As most of the artists responded to our call for submissions by emailing us images of their work, we were surprised when the artworks’ real-life presence and dimensions produced disparities with our expectations. We filled out condition reports of all the artworks, carefully documenting all smudges and indentations we observed. Then, allowed the artists to sign a loan agreement. The artists let us know if they absolutely wished to see certain pieces displayed together (as Michelle Perazza wanted, with her Henri and Porfi portraits) or gave us specific instructions on how to handle their delicate work (as Becca Wijshijer with her Hides).  

Michelle Perazza’s Henri and Porfi

It requires rigourous teamwork to make judgements of where each piece should be displayed! We had to take into account how the audience would enter the room and how their eyes would travel along the two walls of our gallery. We also had to decide on the ‘eye level’ that would inform the display of our canvases (as most consisted of canvases). The standard is between 54 and 60 inches, and we went with 56; it is safer to assume most viewers will be shorter than average rather than taller. 

A curatorial decision we had to make with the aesthetics and sizes of the pieces in our show, was whether we wanted to group artists by their works or disperse them. The latter execution works well for abstract pieces, because there is more freedom to arrange them by conversations that emerge between different palettes and visual harmonies. Portraits are strongest and most coherent when grouped together. 

Then came the handiwork of physically preparing the work to be exhibited. Ryan Rice, our professor and a veteran curator, unlocked his toolbox and unleashed a surfeit of hooks and nails of all sizes, and most importantly, a pencil to make marks. With his guidance, (and patience), we hammered nails and inserted hooks onto the canvases and panels. 

Becca Wijshijer’s  Hides: Love and Redemption I on display for In Negative Space

The final step was to paste the labels of work descriptions and artists’ bios ( that Megan and I had very meticulously measured and cut) next to the artworks and adjust the lighting of the gallery. We pasted the text just below 56 inches, for easy reading access. The overheard lights had to be moved around to illuminate the canvases and panels in a manner that didn’t create shadows, as shadows could also make a work appear lopsided to the onlooker even if it was perfectly level. 

 Overall, the experience was very revealing of just how many decisions a curator has to execute with a team of people to succesfully exhibit content of varying sizes, mediums, and aesthetics within a space in visually cohesive, professional, and appealing fashion. 

     Temporarily pinned to a corner of her studio, an intricate web woven with sturdy embroidery thread catches a plethora of little figures drawn on Japanese paper. As Wijshijer explained her inspirations and intentions behind the piece, Hides: Love and Redemption I, I learned that it is an extremely layered and complex work of art, which conveys a simple yet heart-warming message.  

     The installation feels as though it is alive with a certain sort of purposive energy. The ritualistic weaving of threads spanning across different points on the nails (some threads meet closer to the head of the nail, while others are pushed back to the wall) come together to resemble an animal hide, given life through the symbolic undulation of indestructible energy that flows through, and is ubiquitously present in our surroundings.

     The soft colours of the thread makes the piece very approachable, and the line drawings of anonymous figures drawn on Japanese paper are very delightful and…endearing. They appear alone, in pairs, or sometimes enveloped by the outlines of a bird. When I asked the artist why she decided to portray her characters with a minimalistic aesthetic, she recalled that she was inspired by the look of Paul Klee’s angels and has developed her unique style of illustration since.

Forgetful Angel, 1939. Paul Klee

Love.

     These ambiguous figures resemble no political hierarchy or linear narrative, though their anonymity and repetitious appearances add a symbolic layer to the piece. Hides: Love and Redemption I expresses a universal craving for intimacy and emotional protection. Wijshijer reflects, “Emotions and struggles do not truly exist in isolation. It is human nature to have desires related to feelings of acceptance, emotional connection and nurturing relationships with others. As the global population expands, anyone can forget how similar every individual need for intimacy is”.

     She has also included phrases that fly across the hide, such as ‘they softened, we finally felt cleansed, cleansed, cleansed’… or ‘you remembered something from a former life and found a way to mend’… Wijshijer commented that she derived the inspiration to include these abstract yet elegant phrases through the work of Jenny Holzer, as Holzer’s texts also revolve around personal and universal resonances. Though the older artist’s work pulls texts from various sources as a way of creating ambiguity within the artist’s voice and position, as displayed in her Truisms, Wijshijer’s work uses text and anonymity as means of incorporating her identity and position as the creator of the work, while encouraging personal interpretations from the audience.

     The repetition and anonymous quality of the drawing encourages the idea that everyone is part of a collective system; we share similar experiences of emotions, fears, celebrations, and tragedies. While reflecting on this human need for mental, emotional, and physical connection, I was reminded of Denise Markonish’s essay on the magnetism that the landscape of Canada has on the psyche of its people. Markonish is a curator for the Massachusettes Museum of Contemporary Arts (MASS MoCA), and in May 2012, she curated Oh, Canada- the largest survey of contemporary art that had taken place in the United States (which she discussed in an interview with Canadian Art). In an accompanying essay titled O, Canada or: How I Learned To Love 3.8 Million Miles Square of Art North of the 49th Parellel, Markonish shares, “The vastness of the land has a strong bearing on the Canadian psyche. There is an average of 8.31 people per square mile in Canada (compared to 87.4 people in the United States), making for a lot of empty land, much of which is, to most people, inhospitable. In fact, the results of a Globe and Mail poll drive this idea home: ‘When Canadians of all heritage were asked to name, the defining characteristic of Canada, the results stunned Globe and Mail editors: 89 percent chose the sheer vastness of the land. That’s one in every ten Canadians -8 of whom live in cities- choosing the landscape”. No wonder we feel impacted by a shared sense of loneliness. When there is a dominating feeling of unease present due to the vast physicality of the land itself, and the mental void created out of simply not being familiar with large areas where we live on now- or that our families have migrated to, it’s natural to feel a sense of isolation and to seek comfort and protection.

     Wijshijer’s art takes a spiritual approach in responding to the notion that while it may seem that though it may appear we come from vastly different walks of life and search for a place to call home, we might ‘already be home’. To come back to the repetition of her figures, it’s an element that reflects how our personal identities could have more collective similarities than disparities.  

     “We might be everyone’s mother, maybe we are everyone’s child”

Redemption

     Healing is an element that is visually activated in Hides with the depiction of these figures and the actions they perform within the space. Wijshijer makes it very clear that healing is non-linear; it is more of a cyclical process, such as life and reincarnation in itself. These figures are able to demonstrate a sense of healing without overly pacifying the viewer. The figures are in different stages in their lives, some struggling and accepting comfort from others, while some are making leaps within the support of the spirits (the birds). “These ones”, the artist gestures, “are the liberated ones”.

      Sometimes we need emotional support and protection, and other times, we should be able to lend it to those in need; a sentiment of balance. The artist further symbolizes protection through materiality, as she has sown a simple white suit resembling clothes, or hides, for her invented characters.

     An unspoken concept I found most intriguing personally, was that there isn’t a single indication of stagnancy within the whole of the work. It is driven by the exploration of healing, which is a soothing concept, and yet the installation appears ever-evolving and invigorating instead of relaxing. The figures, with their furrowed brows and clenched fists- leaping and huddling and walking and slouching, are tremendously expressive. They do not acknowledge the viewer or break the fourth wall, but act more as agents in demonstrating how you, the viewer, have autonomy over being your own catalyst for personal growth.

     Hides: Love and Redemption I is in a sense a performative installation, possessing a gentle and enduring power. Every artistic decision is a nuanced and conscious choice that finds its way back to the inescapable theme of a connected humanity finding redemption and healing through love. While it tells invented stories of survival acted out by invented characters, it simultaneously makes the viewer realize that this representation of humanity may not be as fictional as it appears.  

The witty twenty-one year old emerging artist is working towards a BFA in drawing and painting at OCAD University, primarily channeling her talent onto acrylics and canvases. Her expressive palette is inspired by her mood and intuition, post-impressionist paintings of Vincent Van Gogh, and more contemporary artists whose work she admires on Instagram, such as Leonid Afremov. If violet, blue, and red resonate with her, they are sure to appear on her canvas. 

Tran confesses that though she uses store-bought canvases for thumbnails, she prefers to build her own for projects. The term she used to describe her unease with the smaller canvases was ‘plasticness’, signifying the dimensional uniformity and industrial feel of the canvases. Rarely using paintbrushes for her abstract works, she enjoys letting her intuition guide her by allowing pallette knives to conjure the images. Her abstract paintings are usually informed by visual contigency rather than concepts or predetermined ideas. 

In her further exploration of the medium, the artist produced striking portraits of nude models used for studies in her program. Her knack for choosing pleasing colour combinations appears in these series; each plane of background colour is harmonious and bold. The fleshy colour choices are sensitive to the nuanced complexion of the subject, and the juxaposition of the colour blocks and her treatment of light and shadow in the figure is reminiscent of Henri Matisse’s portraits. 

In Matisse’s Notes of A Painter from 1908, he poetically writes, “What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter, an art that could be a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair that provides relaxation from fatigue”. This is an effect I can best attribute to Lily’s colourful and dynamic portraits. They allow the viewer to experience an enlivening, alternate, hard-edged reality. 

A painting of Chris Brown, Lily’s Tran’s instagram 

Tran’s finesse and precision is displayed in this abstract painting she completed in her second year at the institution, undoubtedly spending long hours in the studio and putting the concept of a good night’s sleep on the back burner. 

A second-generation artist, Lily Tran explores how Chinese cultural traditions could be incorporated into a work of art. This piece, inspired by Tangrams, is driven by the structure and concept of the game and skillfully rendered to the artist’s style.  

Commited to developing her drawing and painting practice, Lily is unafraid to take risks and take her art in unpredictable directions. She is always keeping an eye out for techniques and styles of work that evoke a positive reaction, and hopes to try her hand at resin finishes and pushing the tactility of her future works. The artist likes to keep her art accesible and open to the viewer, allowing them to spiritually immerse themselves in the visual experience of her dancing colours.  

To wrap up the review of the exhibition, I’d like to touch upon David Garneau’s essay on Extra-Rational Aesthetic Action and Cultural Decolonization. The critic and scholar writes, “the weakness of beauty as a tool of decoloni¬zation, or any other form of political use, is that it is a poor vehicle for conceptual content and critical engagement. Differences and dissent from the dominant order are tolerated, even celebrated, if they are attractively adorned and remain incomprehensible” (Garneau, Fuse). Though this idea may resonate with a wide array of political art, de Andrade’s work challenges the notion that aesthetically pleasing art cannot be a strong vehicle for conceptual content and critical engagement. Is the dominant order, symbolized by fisherman in O Peixe, displayed in a tolerable and attractively adorned light as they are shown as highly sensitive humans fetishized by the ethnographic lens? It may be so, although it can also be argued that instead of reaffirming colonial stereotypes and objectification, de Andrade brings a dignity to his people by presenting them in a positive light and as an affect, activates our intrigue. The vividly coloured posters suspended in the air of men shown lounging in the sun and disarming expressions- some mid sentence or posing humorously to show off their tattoos- accompanied with photographs of men in the midst of the dynamic action of leading horse races, present a different visual perspective on stories Canadians have heard in the media about the harmful consequences of a developing country hosting the Olympics. Showing a nation’s suffering may invoke pity, but this candid look into the real lived experience of the men of Brazil is essential in invoking a dignified empathy as a collective humanity to support our critical engagement with the issues happening outside of Canada. Without this intermingling element of truth and beauty incorporated into a window of global activism and politics, this Power Plant contemporary exhibition would’ve accelerated the transience of presenting a crisis from another country to an audience who’s wondering why they are exposed to it and encourage them to independently engage with these issues beyond just the duration of the exhibition.  

If we had walked into room at a different point in time, this is what we would see. A fisherman, with a most tranquil demeanour, has reeled in a fish.  He rests his prey upon his shoulder as if cradling a baby, and strokes its fluttering fins. Its gills open and close, and its mouth is agape. It is difficult to watch. It is not violent or erotic, but visceral all the same. Though it is repelling to some degree, I keep watching. Now not concerned with the narrative, on a subconscious level I try to make a connection to something I might have seen before that resembles this film. I come up short. Is this a real ritual performed regularly by Recife fishermen? If not, it appears entirely convincing.

I later learned that this ritual was invented by de Andrade, birthed out of his fascination for the relationship between humans and animals. O Peixe questions the dynamics of power imbalance; carefully balancing elements of empathy and intimacy into a representation of a dominant figure and its sentient prey.

The fish takes its last breath in the fisherman’s embrace.

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“The colour painted on the walls and floor, Baker Miller Pink, had to be just right”, the gallery tour guide explains, “it couldn’t be just any pink”. Baker Miller Pink, as I learned, is a colour that is proven to produce calming effects, often used by prisons to contain the aggressive behaviour of the detainee. However, after a person spends prolonged periods of time enclosed by pink walls, it’s been documented that they are likely to scratch at the paint as the pink becomes overwhelming. 

“The artist wanted to add blue flourescent lights, but the walls to be left white” 

Here the artist’s intention accurately conveys her representation of public bathrooms which are increasingly using flourescent blue lights in order to discourage heroin addicts from injecting the drug (the light makes it difficult- though not impossible- to see veins). However, this tactic either simply drives the person out of the space or creates a dangerous environment for addicts who attempt to inject, miss the vein, and face severe complications or death.