Discarded Beauty: Steve deBruyn

There are some unexpected contradictions in the “installation of painted wooden sculptures” currently at NAC. Or, if I defer to his description of Pile On, the singular work, as Steve deBruyn intends the free standing and precariously balanced “pillars”, along with the wall works partly inspired by Kurt Schwitters’ assemblages, as a singular whole; an inclusive installation that envelops the visitor.

Many of the components were fashioned by deBruyn, with NAC volunteers, in the week leading up to the show opening, which adds to this interpretation. A singular artist, perhaps, but many hands in the making of the installation.

Many of the pieces have a ragged quality, a roughness, and may give you a splinter if you handle them (deBruyn wasn’t precious, at the reception, and both handled the works himself and encouraged visitors to do the same). But then you’ll notice delicate and exacting evidence of the artist’s hand (the colours and patterns and textures that unite all the components, subtle yet significant, or the cleanliness and perfection of some edges and lines, harshly contrasted to the ramshackle detritus within the same piece. One set of sculptures, flowing and bending with wainscoting, making them look like escaped, “wilder” house works, on the right side of the gallery, are delightful in this lively, almost jolly, manner. The repetition of the pink purple blue black crisscross pattern pieces in the wall works, the random – perhaps added after, perhaps already a part of the slat or chunk added to the works – splotches of paint that further make the pieces connect across and around the room).

The works presented here are very much “worker’s” art (like George Sawchuck): the materials from which they’re constructed, how they’re installed and the recognizable components (pressboard), have a proletarian – almost plebian, or common –  aspect. Its funny how some artworks inspire you to leave any heavier theory at the door, while other works invoke the same (often remote, often academic or irrelevant) ideas into a real, and lived space. It’s impossible for me to separate these works from my conversation with Steve in which he talked about working “at a lumber yard—and busy constructing a backyard deck when called to discuss his upcoming exhibit—deBruyn’s work responds to the common discarded construction materials he refuses to build his sculptures, echoes of the skateboard culture he was once very much a part of, and his own sensibilities about the narrowness of our perceptions of what is beautiful in our living spaces and built surroundings.”

There’s an interesting contradiction, if you’re familiar with Kurt Schwitters’ Construction for Noble Ladies (1919) and the almost overtly masculine (yet not as the pillars tilt and the pressboard looks cheap like an overtly macho poser) pieces from deBruyn. He pointed out how some of the works, with mouldings and finishing you’d expect in any good suburban bathroom had gouges and breaks in their making, a hand less concerned with making a “perfect” object than exposing the ludicrous nature of it all (like Schwitters’ mocking of “noble ladies”….)

The back gallery at NAC is installed in a manner that spaces the wall works out at regular intervals – all are relatively similar in size, and all share not just colours, but also are constructed from shared pieces of wood (evidence of repurposing) that further unify them, as a perimeter around the room, defining the space. Fragments are arranged in an orderly manner to form the whole: whether this is “modernist” or more about crafting a seamless suburban renovation is debatable. All property is theft, comrade, and maybe I’m talking about the wealthy, ignorant suburbanites or how I hope that some of the source materials were “liberated and secured” for these alternately bright, or blighted, wall works.

The pillars lean in a way that suggest they’ll be coming down soon, and you might not want to be under them when that happens. They’re painted in the same colours that unite many of the works – there’s the small painting card sample, near the comment book: Peach Brick, Lotus Petal, Copper Trail, Green Grey Mist and Northern Landscape (I still wish I’d somehow gotten a job naming paints, but I’m sure I would have lost it, in the beige, impotent spaces. I’d go slowly crazy, calling things Arterial Spray Red or Leprosy Grey or Gangrene Green…this might seem like an indulgent tangent, but deBruyn and I also talked about work and trying to do what you want while having to pay for what you need…). All of these scream inoffensive interior design, and all – on their own, if you painted a room and not a work of art made from cast offs and crap that sat in your backyard for months – would suit any bourgeois bathroom.

The six columns are generally one solid paint chip colour, whereas the wall pieces have flat shapes in variable samples from this selection, often arching up from the bottom of the “plane”, in geometric shapes (trapezoids and pyramids – once again, a reference to building or construction, perhaps?).

To return to the statement for the show: “[H]is objective is only to have audiences reconsider the environments that we spend our lives in and possibilities for greater aesthetic pleasure from them.” In that respect, deBruyn succeeds: these pieces are fragments, discarded or torn, it seems, from the houses and rooms that we build – or have others build – for “us.” With current debates regarding houses, whether the cost or who gets to own, and who never will, I see these as something that my generation and those after us might consider as future (or current) housing.

Its not coincidental that as I wrote about this work, I spoke with a friend who does street photography and he mentioned a squat under one of the bridges that had been burned out in the past week. There is a stronger conceptual connection between that now discarded, abandoned space and deBruyn’s backyard, where some of the elements of these works in Pile On were subjected to the elements, than the suburban spaces the colours and finer details allude to, obliquely. 

 Steve deBruyn’s exhibition Pile On is on display until Saturday 22 July. 

2017 Redesign & Purge

There are facts that sometimes are quite banal but carry the weight of a blow to the chest: such as considering that I launched this blog over a dozen years ago, and that it has continued to grow and change along with myself and the places I’ve lived in. In light of that, it seemed like a good idea (or perhaps, if I may quote one of my favourite editors, its an aspect of my overly introspective self) to engage in some redesign and re evaluation of what should still be online, and what can be archived and removed, for posterity.

In light of that, I’ve updated The A Word to be almost exclusive to my ongoing time in Niagara, which is fast approaching two years. I’ve removed a number of posts that included radio conversations centred on when I lived in Saskatoon, and also several reviews of the same ilk. However, it seemed important to leave, at least for now, a few posts of significance: specifically one that highlights the ongoing institutional racism at the University of Saskatchewan (as it had a hand in my leaving that place, as it is acceptable to criticise others, but not the racists within “our” own party, comrade), another that highlights the bullying cowardice of aka artist run and several others in the community when called to account on exploiting artists and not paying them, and another about a controversial series of events as regards public art in Saskatoon.

What that means as any other links are gone: you’re welcome to contact me, as radio shows are archived. However, it seemed time to move on, and to remove the last vestiges of that site at this site, hah.

As a further update: there will be an upcoming review of the current exhibition at NAC, Pile On, and I’ll be finishing off and publishing a few things over the Summer of 2017. These include a further review of Anna Szaflarski’s LTTE publication (you can listen to her latest podcast here), as well as a longer review of Philip Monk’s award winning book Is Toronto Burning? : Three Years in the Making (and Unmaking) of the Toronto Art Scene.

Perhaps the most appropriate external factor as it relates to how I’ve removed much of the #YXE coverage from this site is that in 2018 Art From The Margins: New Perspectives on the Visual Culture of Saskatchewan (McGill University Press) will be published. The chapter I contributed to that book focuses on my role in that community over the nearly two decades I wrote about art there, and contributed to the larger cultural community. I’ll be sure to share links to that – and perhaps a teaser PDF, even – when it hits the shelves.

In the Soil 2017: your intrepid #artcriticfromhell’s purely subjective synopsis

It’s been suggested that what truly makes Art in the public sphere successful are moments of unexpected joy. Perhaps when you’ve suddenly remembered, amidst Pendulum Pulses music and the entrancing Sojourn of Spectaculous Wunderkle Things, an installation that fills the entire community room at the Mahtay Cafe in downtown St. Catharines (with black light and jellyfish, squid like and Cthulhu – like beasts) that the Rheostatics have just started playing in the Festival Hub.

A mad rush ensues through back alleys, past white tents housing various performers and activities on James Street, but you pause as the first sounds of their opening song wafts across the downtown. The Rheostatics began one of the most anticipated events of In The Soil 2017  with Saskatchewan (“…the moon hung high… in the canopy of sky. Home, Caroline, home”). This wasn’t my premiere experience of In The Soil since I returned here (from Saskatchewan), but that’s a moment I’ll treasure. It joyously defined In The Soil 2017 for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At this (second for me) extravaganza, it became more like the joke one of the performers made onstage: spending twelve hours in the downtown, forget a change of clothes, crash at a friend’s downtown place, and lurch awake the next day to pinball from site to site, from theatre to art to music to installations to events that straddle such descriptions. My first day culminated in The Sex Appeal (“…this song goes out to all the millennials in the house. It’s called “eat ass & call me daddy….””) and Pizza Sharks. My ears haven’t yet recovered from the latter. The sheer volume that rolled out from the Merchant Ale House was physical, almost enough to stifle your heartbeat.

Saturday was a day of itineraries and schedules, initially devoted to theatre; Young Drunk Punk (Bruce McCulloch’s sometimes coarse, always cutting monologues) and lemontree creations MSM (men seeking men) specifically. MSM (dance theatre which sampled online chats of men seeking men) was graphic and salacious, not for the faint, but had moments of emotional honesty that bridged gender and orientation easily. It made me feel a bit old, but also reminded me how far we’ve come – oh, did I just make that pun? LOL. Well, “we all need someone we can cream on / and if you want to / you can cream on me…”

And more music. And Ceasars. Okay, it’s not “Art” but I must praise the bartenders for their excellent work in the Hub. My research was thorough. A lubricant to the enjoyment of In The Soil, for sure; or a sedative so you’re not too taken aback at the shambling Cloak of Cosmoss, as she silently, unhurriedly wandered the Hub all weekend…

Perhaps it should’ve been milk, as Katie Mazi’s Spent Cows of the 20th & 21st Century, which graced the window of Beechwood Donuts, was a slick porcelain white pile /herd of tiny cattle. Rose McCormick’s Children’s Toys for the Apocalypse (I repeatedly photographed floating backlit Barbie in that instalment of RHIZOMES in the MIWSFPA. As the world ends, #allwehaveisplay) and Lacie Williamson’s Garbage and the Beautiful Embrace both appealed. Garbage invited you to “write down whatever you wish to let go of, and toss it over the balcony. May your worries fall to rest while you rise above the garbage heap.”

 

 

 

 

 

I felt lighter – a placebo perhaps, but so what, I say, so what – scrawling “Saskatoon,” crumpling and jettisoning it away….

 

 

 

 

 

An interjection to my reminiscence: those of you familiar with my rants know that paying artists for their work is a significant issue. In The Soil deserves your support (as it marks a decade, next year) not solely for the quality and quantity of performers, but because Soil pays artist fees to every participating artist, as well as professional production fees,  and the marketing around the fest is excellent and effective (the free booklets were indispensable to any festival goer). Too many festivals are exploitive: perhaps one of the major reasons that In The Soil is about to mark a decade – no small feat for a festival of this breadth – is due to it being respectful of participants and being not solely artist driven but by investing in the artists, making artists invest back in the festival.

Stepping off soapbox now: let us return, you and I, to RHIZOMES. Sandy Middleton’s Shadow Play was literally collaborative: stencils and objects and visitors become actors in the projections, with Middleton less a “director” than facilitator. Middleton will be posting images over the next while, so that Play – and In The Soil – has a continuing online component, after the hectic events. Blue, by Whetstone Productions, was described as “Clown meets the Blues by way of ’30s Berlin Cabaret with a detour through Las Vegas in this interactive solo musical all about love.” I attended against my better judgement (clowns!) but it was one of the best performances of In The Soil 2017: pathos and humour, and love songs that I have added to my playlist. #youlowdowndirtydogIstillloveyou #stabyouintheeyewithmyhighheel #ImallforlovebutIcantseethelight

I spent approximately six hours at the Merchant Saturday (not consecutively). The dulcet strains of Supernatural Buffalo to the raucous thunder of Strange Shakes were equally outstanding (I’d heard rave reviews about both, but not yet enjoyed them. The festival format, offering concise tastes of performers both local and beyond, has acted as a prompt for myself and others to experience more). Know performed for the first time at the Merch that evening, another fine teaser of an excellent local band: #willyoulovemealrightwillyoulovemealrightwillyoulovemealright.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The purple pink blue lights lent an ephemeral, eerie atmosphere; the lime green drum sat atop the hot orange shag carpet. Again, an In The Soil experience as visual as aural: loud in both senses.

Sunday I was nearly eaten by The Cardboard Land Creature (brought to life by the Summer Collective) in the interactive village at the Festival Hub. 

But, after documenting for posterity, my escape was facilitated by one of the numerous industrious #inthesoilfest volunteers. This might have been foreshadowing for seeing The Ash – Mouth Man by the Stolen Theatre Collective; consumption was a recurring trope in that play. Ash was a story equal parts humourous and horrid (offstage hushed sibilant ghostly voices and balloons will never be the same, for me); it also played with audience interaction.

 

Further spatterings of music saw In The Soil to its conclusion, to the Dirty Cabaret VI that evening at the Odd Fellows Temple. But before that, Aaron Berger + The Blues Stars offered a medley of songs in the Hub, under a greying sky that would break into a downpour as I stood inside the parking garage on Garden Park & Carlisle, listening to Sound Sound, interspersed with the outdoor percussion of the falling sheets of rain.

Alternately abrasive in tone, then suddenly delicate and deliberate, Sound Sound embodied the energy and will that is a hallmark of In The Soil: coming together to create a larger whole, for the enjoyment of many, in unexpected ways in unexpected places.  

In the Soil Arts Festival ran from April 28 – 30 in the downtown of St. Catharines. Next year will make the tenth incarnation of the festival. All images here are poorly shot by the writer, with the exception of several shots from Joel Smith and Liz Hayden, and the Shadow Play image, shot by Sandy Middleton. 

Peculiar Practices in Grimsby & Beyond

The Grimsby Public Art Gallery is a site that merits regular visits; there’s more in this region than is perhaps obvious, as I recently visited the TAG Art Gallery again, and found some enjoyable new photographic works (by Danny Custodio) amongst familiar works. Along those same lines, in doing some recent research regarding art in the public sphere, it’s another way in which stories and contested narratives are rich in this area, if you pay attention.

GPAG’s space is a fine one: and although it’s a standard “gallery cube”, in a library building, this seems to be taken as a challenge in terms of past exhibitions there (Carl Beam’s works as a part of the Canada 150 events, or Jordyn Stewart’s Public Ice Installation, or a recent screening of Kanehsatake: 270 Years of Resistance all testify to enlivened programming).

Fabulous Fictions & Peculiar Practices is an exhibition that incorporates at least three individuals, and considering its original incarnation at the Peel Art Gallery (curated by Tom Smart, in 2016), and that it includes several folios, could be said to intersect with several more. Dieter Grund of Presswork Editions was invaluable in execution of many of the works, as any artist who’s ever worked with a master printmaker knows.

The works in the gallery are text heavy: this is somewhat balanced by two massive paintings by Tony Calzetta, on the immediate right as you enter. CRY! CRY! CRY! and Dirty Boy are both acrylic and charcoal on canvas, with a strength and directness that makes them powerfully simple. The stylized waters, the spurting and flowing lines, and the boldness of the framing of both works in black offers a contrast of bright colour and childlike shapes.

But although those two works will immediately engage you as you enter, the rest of the space will pull you away to interact with the smaller, more detailed and intricate pieces. Whether you read all the text, or some of it on multiple visits – or enjoy it as mark making you needn’t decipher – is up to you. Some are reminiscent of book page layouts: others play with fonts and text in a way more graphic than typeset (The Ravenous Beasts At Fairy Godmothers House are white scratchy words on black, bracketing above and below a sketch of the named house), and words “speak” in scribbly scrabbly ways, or in more insistent, detailed and tiny tidy insistent forms. Some works are cruciform in shape, furthering the planes in which text and image meet and meld or meander around and with each other. The titles betray a wry humour: Ms. Smith Is Hard Put To Explain To Her Husband How She Came To Spend The Night Unexpectedly in Phillip’s Nightgown is one. Other evocative titles that hook you in: Comma Fucked, or Those Lousy Pessimists Sometimes Make a Guy So Blue All He Wants to Do Is Run Amuck, or Sullenness in Machines in Advance of Outright Rage. I suspect these are speaking directly to me, but that’s a consistent quality of good artwork, to reach out in that manner.

Sometimes a random fragment offers a portal to the whole: GOD TALKS IN HIS SLEEP, proclaim wobbly globby letters, sharp white on black and yellow, in the work How God Talks in His Sleep and Other Fabulous Fictions. That succinct sentiment is what I took away, and still hold, and have been applying elsewhere (the same way I quote my favourite stories and books incessantly). It may also favour my use of literature in approaching art, as I thought of Neil Gaiman’s wonderful character Sam who posited that maybe God created the world and went to hang with her girlfriends….or perhaps it’s more sinister, like “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn / In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming…”

Fiction’s conception was this: “Tony Calzetta [painter, draughtsman and printmaker recently relocated to Welland] and his printmaker friend Dieter Grund … were looking for a project they could work on together. Tony suggested they collaborate with … [Toronto based Governor-General Award winning novelist, poet and painter] Leon Rooke to produce a limited edition livre d’artist [artist’s book, but that’s almost too confining a term]…instead of the customary practice of the artist illustrating the writer’s text, they would approach the Fabulous Fictions project the other way round.

Tony presented Leon with a number of small drawings [and he] wrote sketches for nineteen of the images, which artist and author then winnowed down to a select nine ‘Fabulous Fictions’. Tony reworked the original drawings and combined them with Leon’s texts and media that included intaglio, woodcut and digital printing. In addition, one of the drawings and its text, How God Talks in His Sleep, was reimagined as an interactive paper sculpture and attached to the front of the slipcase.” (that comes from the notes from The Porcupine’s Quill publisher, Tim Inkster, and it’s worth considering the intersection of how this project is part of GPAG’s annual spring celebration of the book arts, which is a wonderfully fluid and fun area, that many artists reconfigure playfully. This year, Waygooze 2017 continues this nearly four decade long tradition; by the time you read this, the April 29th event will have passed, but anthologies of the contributors from this year, and the past years, are available).

Fabulous Fictions & Peculiar Practices runs until the middle of May, and is open seven days a week; and this show requires multiple “readings.”

Images here are courtesy Tony Calzetta and the Grimsby Public Art Gallery. There is also an artist talk with Tony Calzetta this Sunday, May 7th. More information is available here