The A Word

Regina, is not, like the song says, my beautiful town: but then, neither is Saskatoon, hah, where 75% rent increases are touted as “normal” or the “market correcting itself”, to quote several City Councillors, whose stupidity is so pervasive that to even begin to speak about it would hijack this entry. But that’s okay: given a choice between Atch and Fiacco, I would choose not to decide, to quote Geddy Lee.

I say all this as I was recently in Regina, for two reasons, really: one was to tag along on the trip by a number of the Mendel Art gallery staff to the MacKenzie, for the reception for the opening of James Henderson, Wicite Owapi Wicasa, “the man who paints old men”, but also as Linda Duvall’s exhibition “Where were the mothers?” was soon to close at the Dunlop, and I wanted to see this installation, for a variety of reasons.

Friday night was the MacKenzie: alot of meat, and I have never eaten that much venison, and I must say that the MacKenzie throws an okay party (the drummers were wonderful, all the speeches were short, and the last speaker, in talking of StarBlanket, his legacy and this place, spoke with such warmth and honesty, touching on how wonderful that so many have worked so hard to honour Starblanket  – continuing what Henderson began – that there are many good people here…and I thought again of Neil McLeod’s comments about this place, its history, and how in this place, we – white, red, black, yellow, whatever – are so much more than the past 150 years of rage and pain and genocide and denial). Good food, with much more booze (in variety ) than the Mendel, and with much more meat (yes, I know I said that already) but no where near as much fun.

Sure, I lost a game of thumb wars to Mendel Director Vince Varga (he ambushed me), and got to make faces at Dan Ring as he was speaking, but for sheer oddness and entertainment, I’ll take the Mendel (several openings ago, one of the wonderful Mendel volunteers at the bar asked me how many drinks I’d need to write a positive review – not as an insult, but in a bribe kind of way. And after the Symposium on the Henderson and Longman shows, Vince and I were told by another volunteer that we’d best drink faster, as they weren’t putting away the half open bottle of wine, we’d have to finish it – all said in a stern, maternal voice that brooked no opposition. Mendel volunteers rock.).

The MacKenzie is like a massive warehouse space, high ceilings, gov’t coloured carpet (inoffensive and bland): and frankly, I prefer the Mendel installation to this version, perhaps as the Mendel, with its smaller space, could use that to speak to the contradictions and contrasts of Henderson’s work: so his CPR stuff was separate from his Aboriginal portraits, or Hugh Richardson is kept away from his “betters” (there is a wonderful song by Bruce Cockburn, that talks of how Kit Carson’s ghost wanders the plains of America, as a punishment for what he did, his betrayals and destruction…..), and an entire side room of the Mendel had the many portraits of Flying Calf, or Starblanket, with the interactive stations for veiwers to listen to the many oral stories about these men, and their legacy, from their successors and children, literally and metaphorically.

Its always fun to go to Regina, though, even if it snows and hails, as it did: talked with David Garneau briefly about the plans by the U of S to build a new, arts focused building (as I type this, the second floor of the Murray building – the building for the Department of Art and Art History, on the U of S campus – is leaking water like a sieve into various buckets, and how we are to be part of a “new, interdisciplinary initiatve / building” as the U of S unilaterlly seeks to eliminate sessionals is unclear at best, untenable at worst, and perhaps an underhanded attempt to eliminate the Department itself – hey, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you), the Clarion project. Also spoke with Erin Gee and Jeff Morton, and a quick word with Elwood Jimmy: but it was a fairly staid opening, perhaps no different than here, where a local artist will bring in more than a traveling show……even if its tripe like in Through and through and through…..no, wait, that’s not fair. Tripe can be very good if well prepared. The drummers did make it seem more present and contemporary, less historical, though, and this was good – demonstrating that after a number of genocidal ventures, that “they” are still here, and doing very well, thanks for asking.

The next day was the Dunlop, as it was clear that Duvall’s work would require time: a brief conversation with Amanda Cachia, Director of the Dunlop, Friday night confirmed that, as well as a few other insights, such as her wonderful comment that they’ve had visitors more about quality than quantity, as they’ve had fewer visitors to this show, but those that spend time with it, spend a great deal of time with it, and often returned. “Where were the mothers?”  definitely required time, space and focus.

The Dunlop space was filled with video projections, and headphones, mounted on the wall opposite, save for one video projection that was presented on the wall at the end of the gallery. This “prime” projection didn’t require headphones, its audio washed into the space: the others did, but looped in an acceptable amount of time, and some were very didactic, whereas the first projection on the left side of the gallery was more “artistically” shot, in that the mothers who are talking have a linked visual projection that focuses on their hands, never their faces, and that works amazingly well: the hands move, or “squirm” (too negative a word) or grasp and move, a very strong visual metaphor for the helplessness that pervades the words of the mothers.

Let me explain that: its not “helplessness” in not having voice – as they do, here. And mothers – good mothers, and these women are presented as such, and I believe that they are – are never powerless. They are often overwhelmed by their responsibilities, and the weights they carry, but the mothers here are talking about the helplessness that is implicit in the damning and damned title of the show. One can easily picture someone, in response to a crime, asking “Where were their mothers?”, and this implies much: fathers are assumed – and often are – absent, and mothers can do nothing “right” – to quote one of the mothers, if you don’t work many jobs, you’re lazy. If you do work many jobs to support your children, you’re an “absent mother”.  Several commented on the stereotyping of race and crime that happened in the infamous Jane Creba case (my personal take is that it was punished so severely as it made people afraid to shop, or that it was implicitly an issue of consumers vs. non consumers, but my Marxist is showing….)

Here are some of the artist’s words,  coutersy of Duvall and the Dunlop, that will fill you in on the process, and the objectives, of this show, and like many of Duvall’s past work, they bleed together, enhancing and enriching the other:

“We are deluged by reports of crimes, violent acts, regrettable incidents, and seemingly senseless criminal activity. The media presents very simplistic versions of these events – who, when, where, what. The rest of us try to make sense of what seems to be an alarming increase in crime committed in our communities. We often look for someone to blame – the system, the schools, the police, drugs, the offenders themselves. One of the most common responses is ‘where are the mothers’? The easiest approach is to dismiss these women as bad mothers, unable or unwilling to properly raise and guide their offspring.

In Where were the Mothers?, Linda Duvall has worked with professional musicians in Ontario to assist individuals who have taken alternative paths to write songs about their mothers. Duvall also gives voice to mothers whose offspring have taken paths other than what one expects for one’s adored babies. These alternative paths may include involvement with the legal system, battles with addictions, living or working on the street, or related directions. Edited excerpts from these two related processes are being prepared for a multi-channel video and sound installation to be presented at both the Dunlop Art Gallery and the Art Gallery of Mississauga, and a catalogue is being co-published by the two galleries. Each gallery presentation will include related artifacts such as preliminary lyrics and musical notations.”

Duvall’s exhibition made me sad: partly because class is still so much of an issue, here. When we cite that horrible concept that “it takes a village to raise a child” it means something other than letting the yuppies take up as much space as they want with their massive strollers, their “babytanks”, to quote a friend. Maybe it also must mean forgiveness and community and rehabilition and second chances…you know, all that “bleeding heart liberal shit” to paraphrase our federal minister for revenge that only applies if you’re the right class, or the right colour. I mean, blow and drunk driving are reserved for the ruling class, and its best we remember our places: everyone else only gets one strike…..and I might add that a society is judged by how it treats its weakest, and perhaps putting the onus on the mothers is more about blame, than “family values” and responsibility.